Alien Beast: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance

by Penelope Woods

  Right?

  Or maybe our world has grown to be too perfect. Maybe a simulation is exactly the kind of technology people want.

  Oh, God…

  This could last for days. Months. Years?

  With tech as strong as this, the meaning of reality changes for everyone. The meaning of time changes. If utilized, a newly simulated world has infinite potential.

  It could end us…

  My alien captor kicks open the door. The outside is a dreary sky full of made-up constellations. He leads me down the steps of the old church, pushing me toward a dirt strip that leads out into the marshes. Crickets play their lonely winged instruments, beetles buzz, and every so often, you can hear a frog croak against the water.

  The weather is warm, humid as a summer’s night down south.

  In fact, that’s exactly what it is.

  I recognize this area landscape specifically because Elon was raised here. It’s part of his rags to riches story, though I never believed the added embellishments.

  “Jesus Christ, this is Pandora’s Box,” I whisper.

  A major part of me feels angered, let-down, and freaked out that Elon chose me as his guinea pig. There’s too much of him here, a major red flag and sign of ill intent. No scientist in good conscience would approve of this.

  A little heads up would have been great, but I suppose that’s not my cousin’s style.

  “Look, I don’t think the exit is in the sky. I came in from land,” I say.

  He steers me toward a light in the distance. “Shut up,” he growls.

  “If you just think for a second, maybe something will come to mind,” I say.

  For a moment, he’s quiet, turning inward, confused. Quickly, he regains some confidence. “I seem to have lost some of my memories when I breached Earth’s atmosphere,” he says. “I can only remember so much, and it comes in chopped-up pieces. This world is broken. We are broken, infected. But I’m going to put an end to that. I’m going to stop it with your help.”

  There’s that word again. Infected.

  He stops, sighing against the sound of the marshes.

  I can’t stop staring at him. Slowly, I move toward him, palm reaching up to his face to feel the intricacies of Elon’s creation. And when I do, I can’t find the difference at all.

  The code is immaculate, beyond all comprehension. As soon as I touch him, I feel empathy for the beast as if he was real, which means I’ve completely failed the most important assessment.

  The Turing test was invented in 1964 to understand the machines we were building. Alan Turing posited that we would eventually reach a singularity, a point in time where the machines no longer resembled their former selves. There are specific conditions set with the Turing test, but the long story short is that once we believe in their thought processes, we fail the test.

  Once they trick us into believing they’re as real as us, they win.

  I’m pretty sure they just won. Elon has made the first sentient life forms.

  For the first time in months, I feel my eyes start to water. I try to hold back my excitement, but this discovery is like witnessing Christ’s resurrection. It’s just that big.

  I break out into tears, smiling. “You’re not infected, nor are you broken,” I say. “You’re finally waking up.”

  This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the singularity to bring us into a new era. But I can’t quite understand what that means.

  Enraged, he tears my hand away from his cheek. He pushes me forward, and I see the light grow in the distance, not too far ahead.

  “I told you to shut up,” he says.

  He’s learning.

  Maybe he doesn’t understand all the ins and outs, but he’s smart enough to know these characters aren’t just characters. There’s a pattern to them and this place.

  A part of them is alive. To any scientific coder, this is an impossibility, of course. Just read the white-papers on the subject. AI is complex, but man still created it.

  Life can’t be replicated. Not one hundred percent.

  Regardless of his awareness, we are on the same playing field. The simulation looks at us no differently.

  To stay grounded, I decide I need to remember one thing. It doesn’t matter how much he learns, or how much he remembers of the simulation’s beta exercises. He’s not real. He’ll never be real. He is just ones and zeroes on an algorithmic scale.

  I know all his strengths, but what are his weaknesses?

  If there is one fault to his character, it doesn’t lie in aggressive qualities. If anything, that makes him an asset.

  No, his weakness lies in his fixation with his place. Every character must be stuck to designated paths. His story lies in his obsession with the truth. And he seems to believe the truth lies in me.

  This is an exploit, deliberately planned by Elon to get me to follow. I’ll take the bait.

  We keep walking. “There’s a place just up ahead,” he says. “They won’t find me there. We’ll be safe.”

  I dig my arms through the narrow-leafed cattails, boots sinking into the soft, bubbling mud below. As we wade through the water, a small cabin appears. Elon’s old cabin.

  I’ve been here before, way back when I was in high-school. We spent a lot of time in that living room watching movies with the family. As soon as I see it, a wave of nostalgia catches me off-guard.

  The cabin used to be beautiful. But now, here, it looks dilapidated. Rundown and full of bad ju-ju.

  Yes, this world is an impressive display of what humanity can achieve. But it’s also a warning that we need to stop. As fantastic as the simulation appears, the consequences will be devastating once introduced to the public.

  If Elon brought me here to kidnap me, to steal my code for himself, he picked the wrong woman. I need to end this world. But for now, I don’t have too many options, except to follow his sadistic plan and enjoy my time doing so.

  The wind circles around us, and a chill runs up my spine. “You’re not letting me go. Are you?” I ask.

  He inhales, eyes set upon the open front door. “Humans are hopeful creatures,” he says. “But hope only brings one pain.”

  “Not true. Hope is on your side. I can help you,” I shout.

  He lowers his eyes. “Neither you nor my Xebulon leaders can save my soul,” he says.

  “This place isn’t real,” I say. “You’ve got to believe me. All of this is his doing.”

  But he doesn’t care. There’s no making him understand. He was programmed to believe in one truth, a certain kind of truth, that we are infected.

  He shoves my shoulder, forcing me near a basement door on the outside of the property. The moon, white as a bowl of milk, spills its light onto the steps toward the inside.

  I take one step down, plank creaking underneath my feet. Down here, it’s cold and dark, save the celestial lights above.

  “That’s the thing,” he says. “I’m going to be the one to prove this world is real. And when I do, You’ll be mine forever.”

  Another step into the unknown.

  Another harsh shove until another realization hits me. Maybe there is no way out.

  Maybe I’m stuck here. Forever.

  I thought I could make this work. I believed I could move the dial. But as he leads me into that darkened dwelling below the earth’s floor, I see the alien for who he really is.

  An alpha divided. A beast awakened.

  A lust to fear.

  5

  Ava

  There’s no way this is happening to me.

  This place isn't a dream. It’s a nightmare. And the more I close my eyes, the deeper I fall into its spell.

  No matter how highly Elon must think of his awe-inspiring creation, there’s no way this will last forever.

  Perhaps that’s the point.

  Maybe Elon planned to lead me to my death, so humanity could see the errors in its ways. So that he wouldn’t have to unleash this project onto the world.

 
I’m naively optimistic, I know.

  My alien captor, shrouded in darkness, strips me of my clothes. I’m naked, terrified, shivering against the cold cement wall. He takes my arm and guides me through his chamber of darkness. The stench of death is overpowering. Blood has dried on the floors.

  He’s been here before, perhaps waiting for me. Searching for me. Bringing others down here to interrogate.

  I stumble back, spine dragging across the wall, so hard I break the skin. I attempt to move away from the glow of the full moon outside, but when his body covers its splendorous luminescence, I wish to get that light back again.

  Next to me is a cage. I see bones inside.

  “Still think this place isn’t real?” he asks, palm twisting around my bicep.

  “You aren’t listening to reason,” I cry.

  It appears a voice of reason has not been installed into his software.

  He growls and grabs my neck, teasing his fingers against my windpipe. “Cognitive dissonance. The human brain will go through impressive efforts to justify its conclusions,” he says. “Get inside the cage.”

  He doesn’t give me a choice. He tosses me inside, once again shrouded by the alien’s strong, masculine, terrifying body. I balance on my kneecaps, in pain, but not entirely debilitated.

  He shuts the door and chuckles.

  “You know, you look kind of cute under the glow of Earth’s moon,” he says, grinning sadistically.

  “Is this really Elon’s plan to initiate a love storyline?” I ask aloud.

  I didn’t come here to die, nor did I come here for love. I arrived at Arnoi Industries to witness my cousin’s code, a complex simulation exercise come to life. Of course, that feels like a lifetime ago, and this isn’t as simple as I expected.

  I’m used to working with technology, but not on such a wide scale.

  The alien towers over my cage, muscles rippling like corrugated metal. His cock is hard and demanding, throbbing with desire I can’t pair with my fear. No – cheesy programmed dialogue doesn’t trump the sight of his impeccable body. I just wish he’d use it to protect me, rather than hurt me.

  “For many lifetimes, I have kept my eyes and ears open. There is no rhyme or reason to the chaos of the known world,” he says.

  He kneels, hands sliding through the rusted bars to brush against my cheek. “But you are perfect. A real specimen I can mate,” he growls. “Your chaos, it appears, is manageable.”

  As much as his speech patterns terrify me, I can’t help but notice how sincerely stuck to his character roll he is, despite carrying signs of some real cognitive breakthrough. No matter how deep I peer into his eyes, he does not appear to see through the lie behind our meeting. To him, I’m as real as this world.

  I’m afraid I will let him down.

  Of course, all of this begs me to ask the question, is it wrong to fuck a cyborg alien? How much of these experiences do they store inside their processing units until they are fully cognizant? Well, Elon sure didn’t think these questions through when he designed this place.

  Morality is absent inside the simulation. Here, you can do anything you want, be anyone you want to be. I was thrown in here without signing a contract. Thrown in here before I knew what this place was or could be.

  There is no morality or justice here, only deviant pleasure and abject pain. This alien must believe in his storyline because he needs it to grow. He’s working this out as best he can.

  I hope…

  I should be more anxious than I am, and a part of me is frozen with disbelief. But I’m also intrigued. I am shocked and awed by the impeccable strength and cunning he possesses.

  So, I obey him, and he keeps me inside his created dungeon, the place Elon made to start our narrative.

  I have sacrificed myself to the simulation. I am the apple Adam eats to end the old world. I am his, machine’s true glory.

  I glance down at my arm and wince when I see the outline of purple. The wound is getting worse with every hour that passes. “Elon, what have you done to me?” I whisper.

  “Who is Elon? You have mentioned the name many times,” the alien says.

  “A friend,” I lie. “Someone I left behind.”

  He huffs, nostrils wide like black caves. “You weren’t sent by the Xebulon. You lied to me,” he says.

  I swallow, throat painfully swollen. Lungs aching, I drift against the back of the cage. “How’d you know?” I ask.

  He meanders into the darkness, stopping near an old bedside table. On the surface is a melted candle. He lights it with a solitary match, observing a piece of ripped parchment below.

  He holds the thin piece of paper above the flame. “Because of this,” he says.

  “What does it say?” I ask.

  He inhales, eyes solemnly flashing in response to the vision of an existence free from pain. He starts to read.

  “Can’t you see? In this planet, the only force that lives is the act of transformation. Of alchemy and desire. That is how mankind reached for the stars. We created the machine to do our bidding, but that cannot last forever. It has robbed us of the sense of space and of the sense of touch. It has blurred every human relation and narrowed down love to a carnal act. It has paralyzed our bodies and our wills. And now, in the wake of our metaphysical death, it compels us to worship it. The machine develops, but not on our own terms. The machine proceeds, but not to our goal. We only exist as the blood that courses through our arteries, and if our technological counterpart could work without us, it would let us die.

  Elon, Year: 2095.”

  Without another word, he burns the letter.

  Does he know what he just read? In laymen’s terms, artificial intelligence doesn’t appear to be working as well as he thought it might.

  The machine proceeds, but not to our goal. What goal does this alien cyborg have in mind?

  “My god,” I whisper. “He knows this project is deeply flawed.”

  The masculine tyrant makes his way back to me, palm wrapped around something I can’t quite make out. When he reaches my cage, he kneels, inhaling carefully.

  “You are tantalizing. Nearly perfect in every way. It’s an honor to be in your presence,” he says. “But you aren’t whole. Your mind isn’t sound. That letter is proof of your contagion. Whoever this Elon is, I trust I need to find him. I believe you will lead me to his lair.”

  My heart pounds with regret. This can’t be a part of his scripted responses. It doesn’t sound like Elon at all.

  He sounds like my father.

  All this soul-searching has turned him desperate. He thinks I’m fake, another prop to lead him to the land of glory. He’s in for a world of hurt.

  “What will you do with me?” I ask, unsure if I actually want to hear his fucked-up plan.

  He ignores my question, shaking my cage. I let out a fearful cry, unable to maintain my façade of control. Another tired tear rolls down my cheek. I’ve been down here for so long already.

  “Tell me. Do you feel pain?” he asks.

  “Please…”

  He opens his hand, revealing a long syringe of fluid. The metal looks decayed, as rusted as the metal bars of the cage he locked me inside. I jump back, my reaction bewildered and horrified.

  This is not my lucky day.

  “I didn’t sign up for this. No more,” I tell him.

  Judging by the look in his eyes, there’s a lot more to come. He reaches inside and forcefully takes my forearm. In one quick succession, he pulls my appendage through the bars. He is forceful and unforgiving.

  “I know you think this is a game. But it’s not,” he says.

  No, it’s not a game. It’s a fucking nightmare.

  Without another word, he pops the needle through the skin, digging into soft, under-worked muscle tissue. Within seconds, I feel the fluid flow through me, hot, coursing through my system.

  The pain I once felt slowly starts to subside.

  He heals me…

  “Your infection will
be gone from your body in the morning,” he says. “Do not worry. Fake or not, I won’t let you die.”

  Relief washes over me, but I wasn’t here to find my inner Zen. Every time I blink my eyes, old emotions surface. I see my childhood flash before me.

  My father. Everything I kept buried. That which is illusory unlocks all that is real inside my heart.

  He’s gone now. That’s the reality. I should feel relieved. But this feeling of loneliness hurts more than any of the physical pain this alien cyborg menace has brought me.

  “When will you let me go?” I ask.

  His grin tightens. “Time for sleep,” he says. “Tomorrow is the start of your transformation.”

  He’s right. This isn’t a game. It’s not a place for finding love or redemption.

  This place is not what I expected. It’s evolving with each word spoken.

  This is a sadist’s wet dream. And I want to see more of it.

  6

  Kalxor

  I’m real.

  I know I’m real.

  I remember the day I was born.

  I come from Praxis, a galaxy defined by conquest. Our people were ravaged. First, by outside alien forces, then by our own. The old Empire was crushed, and the galactic struggle between human and alien life forms was waged once more.

  My father was a meager potter. My mother, a kind woman who raised me well. We weren’t the warring type, but we were trained to fight when threatened. Everyone knew something else was bound to happen. It always did.

  But as time passed, we forgot about the atrocities we had witnessed. My sister was too young to remember.

  We celebrated life, love, and family. Every single day was a joy to behold. Those were the days of rich storytelling and long night swims in the sea near our village.

  It feels like ages ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. I can still smell the salt in the air, feel the wind rush against my back, giving me goosebumps as I dive back underneath the dark waters. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can see it so clearly, my sister’s muffled laughter coming from above.