What's worse than 8 babies in 1 dustbin?
1 baby in 8 dustbins.
…
But hold your nightmares, because the dustbin next to me wasn't just any trash receptacle—it was speaking premium English. Not regular English. I'm talking about Times New Roman, MLA formatted English.
I was still sitting on the ground like a rejected anime protagonist, and Erect was mirroring my "I give up on life" posture.
We stared at the dustbin like it had just leaked our search history.
It was a classic silver, cartoon-style, tin-can-shaped dustbin—the kind that usually holds banana peels and a banquet for orphans.
"Try talking to it, my lord," Erect whispered like we were ghost-hunting.
"Yeah? What do you want me to say? 'How you doin', dustbin?'"
"I am afraid I am not faring well, unfamiliar acquaintance. My situation is decidedly grim, and I must emphasize that I am not a trash can—despite my current circumstances suggesting otherwise."
The dustbin answered my question. I wasn't even talking to it.
"Circumcision, what?" Erect blinked, totally lost in the abyss of the vocab storm.
I sighed. I didn't understand half of it either. This dustbin was built different.
I had to activate my trump card:
[ Duolingo ]
Yup. This skill lets me understand any language. Even whatever dialect pretentious aliens spoke when they got bored of their own syntax.
"It's saying it's not doing well, and it's not a dustbin," I translated. "Then what are you?"
"Kindly allow me a moment to make my presence known."
Clink.
The lid of the dustbin slid off like a magician revealing trauma.
Then—POP!
Two antennas.
Then a head.
Then a full-ass body.
It rose out of the dustbin like a stripper at a funeral.
Both Erect and I blinked twice and confirmed what we were looking at:
It was an alien.
And not just any alien.
This guy was wearing white sneakers, a clean-ass three-piece suit, and a confidence level so high it made my self-esteem file for bankruptcy.
He looked like he was about to give a TED talk on "How To Lose A Planet In 10 Days."
He sat down on the ground with us like we were old friends sharing stories and psychiatric evaluations.
"I never anticipated encountering two humans here—let alone the Hero King himself. Consider me thoroughly astonished."
"…Was it your wedding today or something?" I asked.
"Oh, most assuredly not. This is simply my customary garb. I am akin to you in more ways than one—I am the Sovereign of the Aliens."
My pupils expanded like a cat seeing a cucumber.
"You're the Alien King?"
Erect and I both scooted back like he'd just pulled out a gun and a mixtape.
"Remain at ease, Hero King. I harbor no desire to engage in combat with you at this moment. We find ourselves ensnared in a most dire predicament, and I daresay you share in this unfortunate circumstance. Would I be correct in that assumption?"
"Stop speaking like the Queen of England. That doesn't suit you. And why the hell are you wearing a suit in broad daylight? You look like you're late to a court hearing."
"Oh, this attire serves as a symbol of my sovereignty over the alien race, esteemed human. I must say, I am quite intrigued that you possess knowledge of England. Tell me, do you hail from Earth, or have you, like us, delved into meticulous research? This suit was tailored exclusively for me—after all, is it not befitting for a man of great wealth to adorn himself in such finery?"
This guy alone will make the word count skyrocket.
"I don't care anymore. Why are you hiding in a trash can while your people are dying? Go save them. You're their king. Do something heroic. Fight that monster."
"Oh, no, no. I must refrain from entangling myself with that abhorrent being. I am but a humble alien, bereft of your remarkable abilities. You've already vanquished many of our finest warriors. Surely, you are the one destined to face him. Should you emerge victorious, I shall owe you a great debt."
"And our deity," he added dramatically, "has yet to grant me divine gifts. Merely gazing upon that creature stirs a bowel-shaking tremor within my being."
My face went blank.
"…So you're shit scared too."
"Indeed. That is one manner of phrasing it. Could it be that even you, formidable human, harbor trepidation?"
"Yes. I harbor trepidation. And if I fight him, I'll also start harboring constipation as well."
"Ho, ho. How amusing. You have managed to elicit a chuckle from me."
"He's calling you a hoe, my lord."
"No, he's not. And this guy is useless. He's got no skills. Their god gave him jackshit. He'll be the first one to die."
"Perish the thought, Hero King. My deity has indeed granted me a divine boon."
He reached into his suit pocket like he was about to pull out a Glock or a banana.
"This exquisite, diminutive tome of unparalleled value."
He showed it to us.
I saw it.
Erect saw it.
Erect didn't get it, but I did.
That tome of unparalleled value, that divine boon—I recognized it.
"That's a fucking dictionary!"
"I am well aware. It is brimming with such eloquent and profound words. I derive great gratification from perusing its pages each day. You should indulge in it at least once—an experience of unparalleled corporeal euphoria awaits you."
Translation: He masturbates to a dictionary.
"I have no interest in jerking off to words. And what kind of sick fuck gets off on a dictionary? Your god handed you a glossary and called it divine. I'd say just convert at this point."
"Do not speak so, Hero King. I am confident my deity shall soon grant me formidable skills."
"Yeah, right. If he had anything planned, he would've sent it by now."
[ He will receive his Skills soon. Me and their God have agreed to collaborate until this unknown threat is eradicated. ]
Ah. A temporary team-up.
Even the gods looked at that red demon and said, "Yeah no, let's tag team this boss fight."
"So, when you get your Skills… you'll fight that guy?" I asked.
"Oh hell naw."
I blinked.
Erect turned to me like he saw a ghost.
"That's the first time I understood what he said."
"Yeah… he's so scared he dropped his whole royal accent."
The three of us sat on the ground—me, Erect, and this elegantly dressed alien who looked like he escaped a wedding and a war zone simultaneously.
The Alien King adjusted his tie like a man who still believed in control.
"Pray, forgive the impropriety of my earlier words, Hero King. Moreover, how discourteous of me to neglect introductions. I am Sexistrum—though many call me… Sexis T."
He extended a scythe-like hand toward me.
I stared at it.
"…I'm shaking your hand only because your name resonates with mine."
I shook it.
"I presume we are bound by a temporary truce, at least for the time being?" Sexis T asked, crossing his scythe-hands like a gentleman who just farted at a royal banquet.
"Yes," I replied. "And you'll soon receive your Skills. Our gods are collabing now—probably on a Discord call or something."
"Splendid," he said, adjusting his tie like a man trying to hold onto one last shred of dignity. "And when the time comes for me to receive my Skills, my chest shall radiate with a brilliant white glow. Only then can we devise a strategy to expel this interloper. After all, it is but a lone individual."
"Yeah," I nodded. "If we fight together, we can handle one guy."
CLAP!
A single sound. Loud. Sharp. Like a gunshot in a funeral home.
Our eyes widened like we just realized the WiFi was gone during a live cricket match.
"You shouldn't have said that, my lord," Erect whispered like a man who just watched his own death preview in HD.
I gulped so hard it echoed in my soul.
The three of us peeked over the wall like cartoon characters hiding behind a bush during a drug deal.
The red bastard had clapped.
Just once.
And now he was staring at the sky like it owed him money.
KLACK!
A metallic groan vibrated through the air—like God just unlocked a boss door.
And then…
WHOOSH.
Like synchronized trauma, the smaller spaceships began to open—all at once, like they were sponsored by Pandora's Box.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Heavy footsteps.
Too many to count.
Too many to survive.
So many, my anxiety tried to file a resignation letter.
From each of the ten ships, silhouettes began pouring out like cockroaches in a Taco Bell kitchen.
Hundreds.
Clad in armor.
Built like war crimes.
"Racis," said the Alien King, voice steady despite the fact that his bowels were probably doing cartwheels inside him. "The sacred ritual our kind partakes in for bonding and camaraderie… I fear we are now destined to experience it from the wrong end. We are about to be overpowered in unison."
"What did he say, my lord?" Erect asked, trembling like a goat at a barbecue.
I took a deep breath and translated that poetic tragedy from English Literature mode to simple, raw truth.
"We're about to be gangbanged."