Action Figures - Issue One: Secret Origins Read Online Free PDF Page B

muster between my recent crying spreeand my state of shock, but I doubted it could understand me anyway. I mean, you know: alien. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be like TV where aliens all spoke flawless English.
    That theory was confirmed when he made a dolphin noise at me, a series of squeals and clicks and whistles. I couldn’t tell what he was saying but I knew he was hurt, maybe dying, but I didn’t know what to do. I thought about calling 911 but what good would that have done? Unless I got Dr. Bones McCoy or someone like that. For all I knew, he would have been taken away to Area 51 to be dissected.
    While I was waffling he reached for me with his trembling three-fingered hands. He wasn’t asking for help; he didn’t want to die alone.
    I took his hands. They were warm.
    No, not warm. They were hot. They were glowing. They were burning. I screamed and tried to let go but I couldn’t, he was holding on to me, his fingers had a death-grip on me, he wouldn’t let go and IT HURT SO MUCH—
    Everything went black.
    When I opened my eyes the world was still black. It took me a minute to realize it was nighttime.
    What happened?
    I remembered.
    The alien was lying next to me. He was so still. He was cold to the touch, and I thought he’d shrunk. He looked, I don’t know, like he was drying out.
    My hands hurt.
    What did he do to me?
    ***
    “What did he do to you?” Sara asks, wide-eyed. They’re all gawking at me in amazement.
    “I don’t know for sure, but I think he put something in my hands.” I show them my palms, which are smooth—and by that I don’t mean normal smooth, I mean the lines that once crossed my palms have been erased. All that’s left of the heart and life lines (Wikipedia again, I found a chart) are the ends at the outer edge of my palm, and my head line is gone entirely, replaced by this perfect circle of flawless skin. There’s a round lump there, just under the surface.
    “That’s wiiiiiiild,” Matt says, poking at my right hand. “Alien implants?”
    “Maybe?” I say. “I don’t know.”
    “Carrie wins,” Stuart declares. “Best. Origin. Ever.”
    “I don’t know about ever .”
    “Best origin ever at this table.”
    “Yeah, I can’t beat that,” Matt says, but he’s not resentful. “Unless I find out my gloves came from aliens, then I’m challenging you for the title.”
    “Just remember to have a training montage before the rematch,” Stuart says. “Very important.”
    “Good call.”
    “Wish I could do my math class as a montage,” Sara grunts.
    “I know, right?” Missy says. “I barely made it through algebra one last year and I know I’m already sucking at algebra two and I swear it’s just the same class and it’s all the same problems but they’re all harder and I feel like a dummy.”
    “Don’t sweat it, Muppet, we’ll figure it out,” Stuart says, and Missy smiles but she’s not convinced. Ifeel your pain, girl.
    “Ooh. Yeah, Carrie,” Matt says, remembering something, “we usually get together after dinner every night to help each other fight with our homework. We’re at Sara’s place tonight. What, seven?” Sara nods. “There you go.”
    Just like that, I’m part of the group.
    I should be grateful to have friends again, but instead I’m hit with a deeply unpleasant sense of déjà vu. This is almost exactly how it started with the pretty girls in middle school: unquestioning and unconditional acceptance by a group of total strangers. You’d think I’d learn from bitter experience.
    No. Stop it. You’re working yourself up for no reason. This is totally different.
    Right?
    Meanwhile...
    A flatbed truck backs up to the warehouse bay, delivering the crippled tankbot home to Roger Manfred, director of Advanced Robotic Concepts’ A.I. department, and Ashe Semler, ARC’s chief operations officer. Neither are terribly happy with this latest development, less so that Concorde is reading them the riot act over it—and