Rogers was not used to this kind of excitement. There were many kinds of excitement that Rogers was used to, but this was not one of them. This was some scary new kind of excitement that made Rogers want to scream very loudly and run around in a small circle, or at the very least wet himself. His reaction was, of course, the natural human reaction to blaring alarms and people running around with guns looking very panicked indeed. The real trick is overcoming this instinct and remaining calm, a skill which both Rogers and his fellow recruits had failed to master. Rogers screamed, tried to run in a circle, smashed into a recruit who had reacted in precisely the same way, and fell to the ground. He also wet himself.

Stepping carefully through a sea of unconscious, urine soaked recent enlistees, Benson gripped his gun and fixed his gaze ahead to the source of the alarms slicing through the air. He'd have to remember to shout at them later for being a bunch of prepubescent girls in dresses, but there were more pressing matters that required his attention. Just what those matters were, exactly, was something he'd yet to find out.

Benson kicked the heavy door to the interrogation room open. There was really no need for that, it was open and he had a key even if it hadn't been. But he thought it added a bit of dramatic flair and gave him the general air of an extremely important military official who had no time to bother with such things as opening doors by any method other than his foot.

"What's the problem here!?" he shouted in his best action movie voice which he found impressive but everyone else just thought was a terrible John Wayne, "If you guys set off the alarms again just to see the new recruits panic, you're all getting court marshalled. It was funny the first time. The second through fourth times were just annoying. The fifth time was pretty funny again because I was drunk, but then the sixth was just too much. The seventh- -"

"No sir," interjected a young officer with a large, almost disfiguring wart on his forehead, "This is far more important. We think we may have discovered. . ." something compelled the officer to pause for dramatic effect, "an extraterrestrial being."

Commander Benson blinked. "I'm sorry, what was that? I wasn't listening, I was staring at that big ass wart on your face."

Sighing, the officer began to speak again, "We have found- -"

"I mean you could hang a damn Christmas ornament off that thing!"

"We found and alien!"

"Oh. . . wow. Show it to me. You ever consider having that thing operated on or something?"

A large crate was brought in and pried open with some difficulty, since in this process a soldier broke a nail and had to be rushed to the medics. From the crate stepped a tiny creature- only around three feet tall. It was about the same as every clichéd alien you see- smooth, gray skin, a giant head with large black eyes, long slender fingers, and a Disco Sucks t- shirt. Reynolds gaped, then did what anyone would have done. He picked up a small pebble and threw it at the creature.

The rock bounced off the alien's head, producing a tiny "plunk" sound and causing the being to stumble back a few steps and shout what we can only assume were expletives at Benson.

Benson kneeled in front of the tiny extraterrestrial. "Hello! I am Commander Benson, from Earth! Welcome to our planet!" he said, talking very loudly and slowly of course.

The alien screeched something in another language, which roughly translated to "I don't know what you are saying, you piece of someone else's toilet tissue, but could you please say it at a slightly lower volume? My head already hurts from that banana ratting rock you threw at it, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't worsen the matter."

Flabbergasted that talking loudly and slowly seemed to do nothing to assist the alien in understanding a language it had never heard before, Benson rose to his feet and adressed his subordinates. "We clearly have only one option. . . cut out its brain and send it to the pentagon."

"They sent back the last brain we gave them and told us to please stop that."

"Then cut out its brain and fling it against the wall. I love that 'splat' sound they make when we do that."

"Yes sir."

"And that's how we operate in. . . Roswell, New Mexico!"

". . .Sir, we're in Montana."

"Suuuuuuure we are."