It was a Thursday morning, 7.42 am by the clock on the mantelpiece. It had been running off for the past few days and his mam had either not noticed or was okay with being told the wrong time constantly, but he still wasn't sure if it were actually 7.42 or not. His mug of tea sat on the table while he finished his toast, BBC News detailing the exquisite events of the previous day. "After an alien starship appeared above the White House yesterday afternoon, speculation has arisen over whether we have just made contact with alien lifeforms or if this is some enormous hoax? And if it is real, are we in danger? More on that in a minute." Sean washed the dry crumbs down with gulps of warm tea, then took his dishes to the sink and starting scrubbing them, gazing out of the kitchen window to the fenced-off back garden. The dog had left more shits last night, and they were clearly frozen in the middle of the chilly Irish night. A chap at the door disturbed him from his waking slumber, and he hurried to the door, eager to avoid them knocking louder and waking his mam. She had been sick and bed-ridden for the past few weeks which is why he had moved back into his parents house, and as her husband has passed away the previous year there was no-one to look after her besides her son. The silhouette behind the blurred windows was black from the neck down, which turned out to be two men in black suits, white shirts, and a black tie to finish the colour scheme. Sean looked at them a moment, wondering what detectives were wanting at his door. "You gentlemen alright?" he asked.
"We're going to need you to come with us," the one in the front said in an American accent, one Sean couldn't identify. He was taller but by far the uglier of the pair. The second remained stoic.
"Well I won't because I've actually got a job unlike some folk," Sean said. He raised his eyebrows and looked accusingly at the men. The one in the back took out his badge and showed it to him, but it wasn't one that Sean could recognise.
"What is this, a prank police badge? Fuck off why don't you, you silly bag of wankers," Sean said angrily. He went to close the door but it jammed, and Sean found the tall man's polished oxford shoe wedged between the door and frame. The joiner looked up, mildly infuriated. "Did that buffoon Jamie send you to annoy the bollocks off of me?" Sean interrogated.
"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to calm down and come with us. We have something to discuss with you," the man in front said.
"Watch who you're telling to calm down, you chav. I could have you arse-down in the time it took you to let that fart out, you dick."
"It's regarding the news sir."
"Let me guess, you're a fucking alien coming to test my ring-piece. I had vindaloo last night, bash on!" Sean yelled, slamming the door on the foot and kicking at the knee, forcing the man to retreat a few steps whilst Sean slammed the door shut. He went into th eliving room and picked up his mobile, texting Jamie. GET UR FUCKIN CRONIES OFF MA DOORSTEP U WEAPON. A few seconds later the screen lit up. Eh? Av no done anythin 2 u. 2 early for ur shite sean. Sean looked at the message, confused. Who were they then? He stood up and walked back to the door to peek through the eyepiece, but found the pair in his hallways with the door closed.
"We're going to have to insist you come with us immediately," the smaller one said. Sean nodded, horrified.

The WhiteHawk purred across the Irish Sea, the lands of Clydesdale visible from this height. "So you've got some program that scanned all the files and databases and stuff in the world, and you've all figured that I'm the best person there is for dealing with alien politics. Are you taking the piss? Let me down, I've had enough of this shite," Sean said. He was getting sick of these ridiculous statements, and his boss had been on the phone twice, first asking where Sean was and getting angry when Sean kept saying some guys in suits kidnapped him and put him in a helicopter, and second time informing Sean that he'd been fired for 'total fucking bullshit'. Couldn't argue with that really.
"Essentially, that is correct. The consultant you'll meet at the summit meeting will help you understand what was looked at and how that lead to you, but until then the best way I can describe it is that we were given a formula and you were the answer. Some question, isn't it?" the shorter man said light-heartedly. Sean wasn't a pointlessly angry man, there was always a reason for him to be mad (and he was always mad), but he could respect the joke of a man flying him to Hamburg in the very same brand of helicopter as the President himself flew in. Maybe it was even the same one. Sean rubbed the leather seat again.
"Should I have dressed better? I'm still in my work gear," he said.
"Not to worry, it's better if you look less prepared, considering you are unprepared. One of the criteria was something along the lines of an 'everyman', and being seen in your work clothes is an excellent way to help perpetuate that. The reason we haven't allowed you to verbally prepare either is that we require someone with no filter yet can still relay the facts in a thorough manner that will stand well with the people and not sound as... well, prepared, which we can vouch you can do," the taller one said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and unplugged his headset. Sean leaned in too. "Let me just talk to you here, Sean. The top brass? They're not looking for someone who can think on their own. They want someone that each and every one of them can use for their own purposes. The best advice I can give you is split into two things at the risk of sounding too patriotic. Firstly, you've been scientifically and mathematically chosen to represent us, and I can understand why. You won't stand for shit you frankly don't have to, it seems. Secondly, and most importantly, you're not alone. There's an entire universe coming down on us here, and that's gonna split people like you've never seen. Find an ally, someone who is genuinely interested in furthering the Human race while also wanting to further every other race, and I don't know about you but the only person I've seen so far to fully embrace them is President Olsen. Take that last bit if you want, but he is legitimately the only one in my eyes who gives a damn about us and them. That's important." The taller man sat back and plugged his headset back in.
"So, boys, if I become the liaison, do I get a wage?" Sean asked carefully.
The two men looked at each other and nodded. "Yeah, I assume so," the taller one said.
"What's your names?" Sean said.
"I'm Agent Rablow, and that's Agent Foxton," the smaller one, Rablow, said.
"How would you two like new employment?" the Human Liaison to the Consortium of Intergalactic Relations asked.

It's a dark gymnasium, essentially, with the wide circle desk from Dr Strangelove in the middle. You've probably seen photos of previous G20 Summit Meetings before where the stands are packed with people, photographers, and each representative has a whole entourage of people making sure he doesn't say anything stupid or inflammatory, but this time there was nothing, just the desk and the sweaty, exhausted people under the headlights. Cigarette smoke layered the roof in thick energy-less tendrils, highlighted in the harsh light many feet above. The spotlights cast darkened rings on the already-haggered faces of the dozens of politicians, as they looked at each other full of contempt and distrust. Rablow opened the door and allowed Sean to enter, with Foxton taking up the rear. A familiar man walked over to them, his features shrouded.
"Glad to see you back, gentleman. Mr Dowall, I presume?" the American voice asked.
"Correct, sir," Sean said.
"Well, I think we're needing some fresh faces in here. Everyone's going a little stir crazy. Russia is proposing killing ourselves to maybe kill aliens we don't really have to kill. China is adamant that we should keep our own individual currencies to make ourselves even weaker in the CIR Market. Britain is proposing we invade them, possibly the worst idea they've ever had. I think their colonial instincts are kicking in again. I won't keep you any longer, Mr Dowall, but if you could give us a little speech on why we should continue with you as our liaison and what you can do, that would likely put their minds at ease. I've had word from my men that you're the right man for the job, but their man aren't my man, you understand of course." President Olsen indicated to the empty space next to him, and the bleary eyes of the world leaders turned to him.
"I can tell you're wondering why some Harvard Navy SEALS boy was turned down for the likes of me, a joiner. But let me tell you this, they're programmed to follow orders. I'm an Irishman, we have a natural affinity to not do what you tell us. And that's something you people need. You'are all so used to giving orders and waiting on your employees to do it, when someone comes along with the right idea you're really very quick to turn it away. Well here we are, me the no-one, telling you what you can and can't do. But this isn't an attack against you, this is an example. When we get to the negotiating and the bartering and the eventual debates, you're going to want someone who won't have to look to daddy for what to say. I'm gonna stick up for my race, and I'm gonna make sure that we aren't forced out because we're the little guys. That's all I have to say, so consider it in great deal," Sean said, stumbling over his words and forcing sentences it. He was not a natural orator, at the least. But just out of sight, hidden in the dark, was a handheld camera on record, filming the short speech. And quickly, Foxton hit 'SHARE' on the video and it sped to YouTube at 300,000,000 meters per second with the caption 'New Leader Lays Down on Old Leaders', a video which quickly racked up millions and then billions of views, where it appeared on national news and solar system news, and Sean Dowall's word - and too his popularity - spread like a virus of hope and belief.



Somewhere - many, many kilometres - behind Pluto, the darkened pirate base was frozen in motion. Nothing moved outside, not even the stars twinkled, and no ships passed for thousands of miles. It was a total deadzone, partly for the frequent pirate activity but mostly for the fact that there was nothing here at all. Jim Perch sat in the canteen, nursing his soup lump, still very cold in the center. The cooks had once again forgotten to totally defrost their meals. On the TV mounted on the wall was sports, changed to a comedy show followed by angry shouts, quickly followed the flicker to sports again, and finally to the news, where the speech being passionately given caught Jim's attention like a hungry fish on a hook. It was nothing exceptionally well given, and nothing exceptionally given (it was a rehash of almost every famous speech given for the past 300 years, whether intentionally or not), but there was something in his voice, maybe the occasional crack or waver, that was very close to convincing Perch that this man truly believed he was the protector of the human race. But seeing as how deplorable the human race was, examples A through 100 being in the very same room as him, he somehow believed him. Not necessarily that he would protect mankind and all its interests, but that there was something worth protecting.

Have you ever did something so incredibly stupid and you're not sure at what point you reasoned it as clever, safe, or the right way to do it? This was something Jim pondered as the 7.62mm ammo ricocheted off of the wall to his left and then the wall to his front, pinging dully backwards before dropping onto the steel floor. The next barrage of rounds illuminated the hallway as sparks fluttered down and tickled his bare arms. He wondered what drove him to dig the spoon into the pirate leaders neck, just above the the collarbone and start digging, grabbing the station keycard in the same movement, but when you've done something like that there's very little time to contemplate the causes. Which is probably why he began hurtling himself down the hallways towards the shuttle bays while the man with the spoon in his neck fired his pistol off in the canteen to gain everyone else's attention. Most of the pirate ships were out, either on supply runs or harassing runs on the local garrison of Security Forces. Which left just two ships left in the bay, both well armoured and fast with impressive firepower. Only one solution to it. Jim ran up to the management office where he started the decompression procedure for the shuttle bay, then fled back down. The claxon was booming and Jim could feel the blood rushing into his ears. He hopped into the closest ship and started it up, the booming noise disappearing as the cockpit closed. In the rear-view video, Jim could see legions of pirates swarming the bay despite the warning sound ringing out. Their loss. The bay doors opened, and the swaths of men were pulled to the gap in the hull where many just splattered harmlessly against the metal while others used their brothers' blood as lubricants to slip between the crack. Jim left promptly. Earth was on the same hemisphere of the Sun this part of the year so it took him less than a day to reach the Blue Planet with some dangerous help from overclocking the engine.
It was at the checkpoint that created the most issues: his past. Jim had been to jail before for smuggling and was well known to most Security Forces for being a pirate (no-one else was hiring), so even getting near the huge colonising ships headed for Vrou'k and beyond was difficult. Except now he had leverage. Managing the checkpoint was Lieutenant Girter, a Sergeant last Jim had seen him beyond Pluto, and then he was moved out for his promotion. Girter was looking out over the crowds for trouble-making, and found it in the face of Perch. The Lieutenant forced his way through, an eager smile on his face.
"Perch," he said.
"Girter," Jim replied.
"It's Lieutenant Girter now, son," the Security Force officer said.
"What can I do for you?"
"You can step outta the line is what you can do for me." Jim out on a pondering face for a moment.
"I have a better idea. I give you something that no-one else can give, and you let me slide on by. And in the event you just decide to take it from me, well, we all know how distrusted your men are around here. I don't think a riot would look good on an alien report, do you?" Jim asked. Lieutenant looked angry for a minute before he conceded.
"What you got, son?"
"This," Jim said, taking out the pirate base keycard. Girter's eyes went wide before he took it gently in his hand and nodded slightly.
"Get on," he muttered quietly, leaving the pool of emigrants. And from there, Jim entered the first traveller ship, headed beyond the solar system, awaiting, frankly, who knew what, but probably violence and money. Who says you can't repeat the past?

Light. But not just regular light, this was a strange, ever-changing light. Like an oil spill, where coloured bands meld together against the blackness as the sunlight reflected from it in an irregular fashion. Yet these colours were in constant kaleidoscopic motion. That alone would have been enough to satisfy most people but it was the secondary sensation that really moved you to a higher place. The ice-cold tingle coursing through your veins, somewhat similar to the feeling of anesthetic being pumped into your arm before you're whisked off to slumber. It relaxed you yet kept you on edge at the same time. Goosebumps washed over you in waves every other second. Each wave bringing with it a cacophony of feelings and emotion. The most prominent being of happiness and love. As time passed by, the strength of each wave grew stronger until emotion was transformed into orgasmic sensation.

These were the effects of Ice. Or rather, Cryosurgical Muscle Stimulant other wise known as CryStim. It had been originally conceived as a medicinal stimulant for athletes to be directly injected into damaged muscle tissue in order to alleviate pain and allow them to continue on despite injury. It had been outlawed only two years after its' release when a prominent soccer star had been caught injecting the stuff directly into his blood stream. Now it was a highly sought-after recreational drug, with a high addiction rate but no apparently malicious side-effects other than exhaustion and dehydration. Despite the high price tag, it was this very drug that had been circulating Cagen's blood stream for the better part of six hours.

"Cag...get...u...ou...ass...le!" It was a sound he thought he recognized, but he couldn't be sure. "We...hav...g...tim...f...is!" It was a voice, definitely female. "Pathetic fucking junkie!" A harsh slap to his face instantly roused him and he shot bolt upright, protesting the act of violence in pain.

"Fuck, I'm up already! He yelled, his head pounding from the strike. "Don't you know not to wake someone out of a trip like that?!" He continued, obviously annoyed at the interruption of his latest dose of Ice.

"I couldn't give a damn about that shit you pump into yourself to help you jack off at night, we needed you on the bridge hours ago!" It was Celeste, his second-in-command and more-often-than-not his replacement mother.

"Alright, I'm coming. Just gotta clean myself up." He said, looking down at his completely naked self in mild disgust at the mess he'd made whilst still under the effects of Ice. "How long was I out for?" He inquired.

"About six hours." Celeste answered, only now deciding to avert her eyes from her Captain's pitiful state.

"Holy shit, that's a new personal best!" Chimed Cagen, suddenly upbeat and smiling.

"You're such an asshole." She sighed, rolling her eyes, before walking out of his chambers and leaving him to get dressed.

---

Cagen emerged on the bridge five minutes later, dressed in his usual attire and looking as pale as he always did after one of his lengthy trips. He walked gingerly to his command station, casually popping an aspirin into his mouth and washing it down with water. The bridge had gone quiet, with everyone turning to look at him, various looks of annoyance or pity filled their faces. All except Celeste who was sat to the right of his station, although situated slightly lower, furiously tapping away at her glass keyboard. "Morning crew." He said tentatively, almost at a whisper, before collapsing into his chair and slouching to make himself more comfortable. He took another swig of water, relishing the coldness of it and how it reminded him of CryStim.

"Heavy night, Captain?" Came a voice from the front. It was followed by a few laughs which were instantly put down by Celeste clearing her throat, who had then pulled herself away from her typing to glare in the direction of his Weapons Specialist, Dex. Cagen chose not to answer, figuring it'd be better not to aggravate his XO any further.

"Can I get a SitRep of the last six hours?" He asked. Normally he would have ordered it, had it not been given to him upon his arrival, but he was in the doghouse with Celeste right now and he would need to tread carefully. To his surprise, it was Celeste who answered him.

"We've arrived in the Neptune sector. There's a small pirate faction operating in the area right now and Security Forces have taken it upon themselves to detain us until we can confirm we're not pirates. We're being escorted planetside as we speak." Cagen sat up in his command chair, suddenly looking at the large visual display unit at the front of the bridge. He could see from various camera ports two Security Force patrol ships flanking his own ship on each side.

"Shit. Did they say who was in command?" He asked, somewhat annoyed at himself for being out for so long.

"Lieutenant Garrick, he will be leading the interrogation and inspection of the ship."

"That asshole? Are you fucking kidding me?" He tapped a few buttons on his keyboard, bringing up Garrick's service record that had been stored on the SFs public database. He looked at the name of his commanding officer then smiled to himself. "Sasha, get me a line to Lieutenant Garrick." He said to his Communication Specialist, who nodded in reply and quickly began carrying out the task at her station. Seconds later a buffering screen appeared on the VDU punctuated with a ringing chime that repeated itself every few seconds. After a few moments, the screen changed again and was now filled with the image of Lieutenant Garrick. A middle-aged man, impeccably dressed in his Service Blues and looking somewhat impressed with himself, evident by the smug sneer that seemed etched onto his face.

"Fletcher Payne. I wondered when I might be getting a call from you." He spoke, his smile showing several badly stained teeth. An imperfection that mirrored the man's personality, a rotten core beneath the perfectly pristine facade.

"If you knew I was going to call, you can cut the shit already and get these goddamn patrol dogs off of my ass." Stated Cagen, not wanting to partake in the Lieutenant's usual game of snide remarks and hoop-jumping.

"Can't do that I'm afraid, your number is up. As of about twelve hours ago, your ship was classified as a known pirate vessel and yourself named as a pirate aggressor. To let you go would be an act of gross misconduct and certainly treason." He explained, the smug look never once fading.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Garrick! Twelve hours ago I put in a renewal request for my Fugitive Enforcement registration, which is due to run out next week. Everyone in the system knows that renewal requests instantly relinquish any licensed status and automatically inserts the licencee's ship credentials as Potentially Dangerous to your sector scanners." Cagen was growing annoyed with the man faster than usual, a knock on effect of the exhaustion he'd been feeling since he'd come around.

"Well, we'll just have to confirm those claims after we've taken you in for questioning and performed a full inspection of your ship." Another smile, Cagen forced himself to bite his tongue. Instead of anger, he would match this asshole with a trump card. He sat straighter in his chair, taking a small sip from his glass of water and calmed himself.

"If it's time wasting that you want, Lieutenant, then I'm sure your Commanding Officer would be delighted to hear all about how you've detained such a dangerous criminal as myself. Surely he would promote you right there on the spot, wouldn't he?" Cagen's tone was sarcastic and passively aggressive. "Sasha, would you be so kind as to hail Commander William Payne?" Garrick's face dropped before forming into a scowl.

"Fine. If you want to cry to daddy, so be it." Garrick turned to speak to someone off screen. A few moments later, the two patrols ships that had been escorting him towards the planet slipped away, abandoning his ship to return to their usual patrol routes. "Just know that there'll come a day when your old man won't be around to save your ass. And then I'll be free to lock you up for the criminal you really are!"

"On that day, Garrick, I'll still find away past you and you know it. Now be a good boy and go back to shuffling papers, whilst I catch all the bad guys for you." Cagen retorted, smiling at his success.

"Got to hell, Payne." Garrick spat before cutting off the communication link. Cagen had always thought him a strange man. Garrick held this deluded grudge against him for as long as he could remember, the reason for it escaped him but whatever it was Cagen was sure it barely warranted the man's constant hounding and harassment. Looking at the screens of his command station, Cagen could see data readouts for the navigation system. It was advising an alternate approach vector towards their intended destination: Neso, one of Neptune's moons. The interruption of Lieutenant Garrick meant that they had deviated from their original path.

"Jensen!" He called to his Navigation Specialist, one of the newer additions to his crew. "Perform a course correction and get us back on-route to Neso. I don't wanna be in this sector any longer than we need to." The young officer said nothing as he immediately sprung to work.

Mate av just seen you on youtube Pinky said in the group chat. Sean glanced at his phone as the Irish national anthem went off briefly. "Mr Dowall, if you please," Dmitry Karkevsky growled, the thick accent providing more threat to the statement.
"Aye mate, no worries, sorry about that," Sean said, tucking the phone back into his pocket. It rang again and Sean's face went white. He stood up and exited, glad to be behind cover from the venomous glare of the Russian Premier. He opened up his contacts and found Pinky who he phoned, the other man enthusiastically picking up immediately. "I'm in a meeting with the Karkevsky, Olsen, Scott, Jeprain, a whole shit-tonne of others, and you keep blowing my phone up, what's wrong?" Sean asked irately.
"Bud, you're on YouTube, and you've got nearly 5 billion views. I'm not even shitting you. Who's Scott, by the way?" Pinky asked.
"Are you joking? The British Prime Minister? George Scott? You nonce," said Sean as he opened up YouTube. There it was at the very top, Most Viewed, Hottest, Most Popular. Sean Dowall, 28-year-old joiner, was a YouTube celebrity.
"My mate who works on the Venus rigs says they're all chatting about it over there. Crumbs has got a brother on a Jupiter asteroid right now and they're rooting for you too. Mate, you're a legend nowadays. You can't even go down Belfast town for a bevy now that you're President of the World, can you?"
"Have some tinnies in the house, mate, the sesh never dies. I've gotta head, the Russian bloke is heavy pissed at me and he's got soldiers hanging out his pockets," Sean said. Pinky said goodbye and Sean returned to the meeting and muted his phone, but could feel it now erupting like Vesuvius in his pocket: the other boys had caught wind of the message.
"I think it's agreed that we have to act united here. As some of the, frankly, most powerful nations on Earth, we have to show we're together on this, otherwise the radicals are going to simply out-campaign us. If that happens, we'd have to strip back stellar activity and we'd all be thrown out of office," George Scott said, sitting back in his chair, his thumb and forefinger clamped on the end of his moustache.
"I think it is dangerous situation we have gotten ourselves into, and we cannot sit here and say we are going to act defiant for long time when we have own people to care for. If my people begin to radicalise, I must radicalise too. However, I can guarantee that no dangerous action will happen if you gentleman accept this. If you cannot and I then radicalise then we will have problem on hands that stretches beyond border disputes. I will have to bend to people's way so that the next Premier elected will not be war happy. My radicalisation is much safer than anyone else's radicalistion, and you men must also accept that this is simply best way to ensure safety for others," Karkevsy said. He shrugged softly, uncaringly, then clasped his hands and crossed his legs.
"That is simply preposterous. There is no way I am going to go back on this deal. Thv'ar came to me, we forged this deal, and we're in it for the long run. Control your country or I'll control it for you," Olsen said, leaning over the table. On it were mugs full of cold coffee, crumbs from toast eaten many, many hours ago. Karkevsky looked disgusted at the memory of watching the alien visitor exiting the White House.
"You do not understand way of Russian, Olsen. When Russian is upset, we cancel what is upsetting us. When Russian is cheated, we right what has been cheated from us. When Russian is threatened, Russia will follow through. Any more of weak American threats and Russia will follow through," Karkevsky spat.
"Gentlemen, sit. I think I have heard enough. It is clear that the issue is not whether we can keep this deal, I think the issue is whether or not our people can keep this deal. And let me speak honestly, they cannot. There are too many radicals, bigots, supremacists to allow the planet to exist this way. What we, as the leaders, must do is make sure that no-one has any predilections towards causing any... murmurs. We are all content with the terms of the agreement, yes?" Most everyone in the room nodded. "What we must be prepared to do is to limit what the people may be willing to do. I think we may be forced to return to the bad times, but hopefully this is for the greater good," Jepain said. Her French accent could entice many listeners, and persuade them, if he wanted to, but the German Chancellor, Gittering, was on his toes.
"There is absolutely no way that I will let me country return to that barbaric behaviour, and I would have expected you to know better. There are ways to do this without becoming murderers."
Sean cleared his throat. "If I may?"
"No you many not, you fool," Karkevsky said. "You are here honorary, not for any important reason. We are discussing here."
"Shut up, Dmitry," Gittering said followed by some muttered insults from Scott.
"He has more right to speak than you do, you malevolent toilet bowl," said the Australian Prime Minister, Baker. "Carry on, son."
Sean stood up and walked to the white board and grabbed a pen. "Firstly, this is entirely possible in a non-violent manner. Secondly, we do it by giving out memberships."
"Wait, what?" Olsen asked, stopping halfway from putting the Oreo in his mouth.
"We allow people to become members of the CIR, otherwise many of their privileges at home will be cut short, discounts, fuel prices, tech prices etcetera. Meanwhile, President Olsen can talk with Thv'ar about our situation, try to convince him to pass a law that says anyone with an affiliation with the CIR who breaks their laws can be jailed at their whim, and then I assume they'll do what they're told. SOace jail is scarier than Earth jail," Sean said.
"I think that just sounds fucking stupid and incoherent, but I'm not sure," Scott said.
"He won't do it," Olsen said.
"Sit down you moron," Karkevsky said.
"I don't think you are grasping what I'm telling you here," Sean said. He pointed at the illustrations on the board, visually aiding his talk. "What I'm saying is we make them buy into this ordeal, and if they don't, they're going against the CIR. If they think they can get away with buying in and fucking around, they're gonna get a rude awakening. It's foolproof," Sean finished. The men and women around the table considered it for a moment. France's woman looked around.
"Well, shall we consider this option number 1?" she asked.


Not an hour later, Sean was on a jet to Port Canaveral, notes in front of him. A pretty stylist was fixing his hair and another was putting some make-up on, while the male stylist was picking out clothes for him.
"Jenna, what do you think about pink? A friendly, informal colour," Augusto asked. Augusto was the kind of man you wanted being your stylist, as another man. Augusto was tall, handsome, full of muscles, and an absolute ladykiller. His deep Italian accent and bronze skin grabbed the attention of many, his soft yet thick dark hair only helped to accent his sharp facial features, and his natural affinity with words was marvellous. The issue with the 'ladykiller' part is that he was gay, and the women would fall and he would spy a man of equal beauty walking past, and before the end of the night they would have a tub of Ben & Jerry's, weeping about how their love and been lost in the wind. Augusto was that gorgeous. Sean was very, very glad that this was the man dressing him.
"Sean is not exactly the kind of man who would wear pink," Jenna replied in her New York accent. She was preppy and blonde, full of pep, and by all standards stunning.
"Midnight blue, Italian, maroon tie," Anastasia said, her Russian accent sounding far more exotic than it actually was. Anastasia had raven black hair, dark eyes, and pasty white skin, her cold and sultry look making her by far the most intriguing, and therefore the most attractive to Sean. He couldn't help but staring every now and again. Augusto could see the sense in what Anastasia said, as he leapt to the job.
"We will be landing in 20 minutes, buckle your seatbelts," the Captain said. Anastasia put her stuff in the toolbox and put it in the cabin above, then sat down in the seat she occupied to Sean's left, and Augusto to his right. Suddenly Sean felt like he went from a 7 to a 3 in his looks.

As the gusty atmosphere entered the cabin, Sean looked outside at the rolling sea of rising and falling cameras. Anastasia stood behind him and whispered in his ear, "You are not a celebrity, you are a politician, do not wave," she said.
Augusto was a little further behind when he said, "You are dressed in some of the best clothes in the world, fitted perfectly. When we say you look handsome, you are. Act like it." He exited the plane and walked straight towards the stage, looking and smiling at the occasional camera. The stage loomed closer and he took each step, one at a time. There was no rush, he was enjoying the breeze on a typical walk through the park, enjoying the views. He breathed slowly and deeply. He smiled like he knew what he was doing. From his inside pocket, the notes were taken out and put on the stand. Sean looked around once again, taking in the vastness of his audience.
"Ladies and gentleman. I don't think I have to remind you, but this is the first day of a brand new revelation to us. This is the first day of things you have never witnessed before. And behind me, those are the beasts that will take us farther than anything you've imagined. They'll take each and every one of you to opportunities you'll never expect, and people you'll never want to leave. I do not need to remind you that the entire race is on display, but I do implore you to show them the one-of-a-kind personalities that make us human. We are humans and we've done so much. We've risen, fallen, and risen again, and now we've been placed on a platform that elevates us beyond anything you've pictured. Our humanity will drive us further than anyone will expect. Do us proud. I'll see you somewhere out there, in the infinite," Sean said. He waved shortly, and turned to his left to meet his team of publicists, bodyguards, stylists, and mates, who he couldn't leave behind on Earth. Anastasia shook her head as she watched the wave, and together they all sauntered to the largest of the three ships, destined for Vrou'k.