Sci-Fi Shorts

Breaking Point

A/N:  Written for a team-based competition (we lost), the prompts for this one were Kim Jong-un, a deflated basketball and K-pop.  1000 words.

"Where the hell am I?"

"Ah, good afternoon, Sergeant.  No doubt you're feeling a little disorientated, after being unconscious for so long.  I must say, I was delighted when the nurse told me you had awoken."

"Nurse?  Unconscious?  What the hell are you talking about?  Where am I, damn it?  And, more importantly—why are you purple?"

"We'll get to that, Sergeant.  Tell me—what's the last thing you remember?"

"What?  I don't know.  Let's see.  There was an explosion.  Gunshots.  My unit was patrolling the lower west side.  There had been reports of...reports of..."

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"North Koreans!  That's right.  There were reports that the North Koreans were attacking.  Only, when we got there, turns out they weren't.  The attackers were..."

"Not North Koreans, Sergeant?"

"That's right—it's all coming back to me now.  The city was actually under attack by aliens!  They looked just like us, except they were...they were...purple.  So, I guess that makes you..."

"Your powers of deductive reasoning are clearly intact, Sergeant.  I am indeed an alien.  Although of course, to me, you are the alien.  But all that unpleasant business with the invasion is thankfully well behind us.

"Invasion?  But—how long have I been out?"

"Three months, Sergeant.  After being grievously wounded during one of the very first skirmishes, you were brought here, to this hospital.  It was only our advanced medical technology that kept you alive."

"What?  Three months?  That's impossible!  I feel fine—fighting fit!"

"Oh, I don't doubt it, Sergeant.  And don't worry—you will have ample opportunity to fight."

"What?  But you said the invasion was over.  Look, what's going on?  Who are you?  What are you?  You bastards killed half my squad!  What do you want with the Earth? What do you want with me?"

"Never fear, Sergeant—all will become clear, in due course.  Perhaps a little background may be in order.  The reason you thought the North Koreans were attacking was because our forces had gathered in that country, prior to the attack.  You see, the North Korean leader Kim Jong-un is actually one of us."

"But he's not purple!"

"No, Sergeant.  He's a sleeper agent, planted here years ago.  In disguise, although I must say, it wasn't one of our better efforts."

"Is that why that bloody radio is playing nothing but K-pop?"

"Ah, how perceptive of you Sergeant.  Yes, I believe that's Dope by BTS—the Supreme Leader became quite partial to them.  And you may have noticed the basketball game on the TV over there—his favourite sport."

"Well, that's something, I guess.  But hang on—they're playing with a ball that doesn't bounce!"

"Yes, just one of Kim Jong-un's little, er—jokes—on your country, Sergeant.  He's mandated that this season's games must be played with a deflated ball."

"What a knob.  Say what you like about our president—he may be a real piece of work, but at least he's not a bloody alien spy."

"Ah.  Well, that's not strictly true, Sergeant."

"What?  You don't mean..."

"I'm afraid so, Sergeant.  It's funny—now I think about it, his disguise is even worse, but you Earthlings never suspected a thing.  Anyway, if you were to change channels, you'd find nothing but reruns of The Apprentice.  You see, Mr Trump and Kim Jong-un now rule the Earth, on our behalf."

"But that's impossible!  The President can't be a traitor.  We're the good guys.  We fought—hell, we died!"

"That's right, Sergeant—to keep the population on side, Mr Trump had to show at least the pretense of resistance, prior to capitulating.  Your friends were part of that pretense.  No omelettes without breaking eggs, eh?  That's a human saying that I'm rather fond of."

"You callous bastard!  I ought to punch you right in your stupid, purple face!"

"Oh, I don't think so, Sergeant."

"I don't care what you think!  Prepare to get pounded.  Hey, I can't move my arm!"

"Neural behavioural restraint, Sergeant.  Just one of a number of nifty little augmentations we outfitted you with, while you were sleeping."

"Augmentations?"

"Yes, Sergeant.  Enhanced speed, strength and stamina.  Improved eyesight and hearing.  Increased resistance to extreme temperatures.  And so on."

"How dare you?  I didn't consent to any of that!"

"Consent, Sergeant?  What a quaint concept.  Tell me, does the pig provide consent, before the farmer sends it to the abattoir?"

"I...but, why?  If we're enemies, why make me better?  None of this makes any sense!"

"Oh, we're no longer enemies, Sergeant.  With the war over, the humans and their new alien overlords are now good friends.  Just as we're going to be friends.  The trouble is, there are a few recalcitrant humans who refuse to accept this brave new world of inter-galactic harmony.  A few stubborn rebels who continue to resist the mighty fist of our benign rule.  That's where you come in."

"Me?  How?"

"You will infiltrate the resistance's hideouts, Sergeant.  You will befriend the rebel scum.  And then, you will kill them."

"Hah!  No way."

"Yes way, Sergeant.  Our neural modifiers will ensure that you do exactly as we wish.  Resist all you like—the modifiers cannot be overcome.  They are unbreakable.  No extreme of emotion, no amount of willpower, no torture—no matter how harsh—can defeat them.  Your puny human brain is putty in our hands.  You know this to be true—you can feel it."

"Damn it, you're right.  You bastard."

"Rest, Sergeant.  Resistance is useless.  I'll be back soon, to brief you on your mission."

"Fine, whatever.  Can I at least have a cup of coffee?"

"Coffee?  No, Sergeant.  Our civilisation doesn't approve of coffee.  Under our orders, every coffee machine in the world has been smashed.  Never fear, though—Mr Trump has released an alternative beverage.  Trumpee, I believe it's called.  It's made from ground up tax-records and spray-tan residue."

"No coffee?"

"I'm afraid not.  Sergeant, what's wrong?  You seem to be twitching.  Would you like a cup of Trumpee?  Errrk!   Let...go...of...my...neck!"

"No free will?  OK."

"Gnnnhghh!"

"No hope?  Fine."

"Mmpphheerrrgghh!"

"But, no coffee?"

"Eeerfff..."

"EAT MY SHORTS, YOU SMUG, EGGPLANT-FACED, ALIEN ASSWIPE!"

A/N: Written for 'The Team Up Challenge'. The prompts were that the story was to feature a hospital, a deflated basketball, a broken coffee machine and the BTS song 'Dope'.