I'm just a normal guy. A pencil pusher. I live a boring life and have a boring job.

I wake up next to my beautiful wife. I get up before her, and feed Daniel before he can cry. I get cleaned up, and she makes me breakfast. I pick up my boring briefcase, walk out my boring front door, climb into my boring yellow car, and maybe rock out a little on the way to Meade.

I park in my usual boring spot, and I go through the usual boring security procedures. I put my things at my boring desk and file boring paperwork for about an hour. Sometimes, if there's not enough to file, I go on the internet and look at the chatter.

My boss asks me to watch the chatter. Usually it's boring, but when it's not, then I have fun. Usually I just send emails and sniff around websites, but sometimes I travel. Usually, my boss has my friends back me up.

If there's no chatter, I spend the rest of the day following my boss around, carrying the files so she can keep her hands free. I think she has a weapon hidden somewhere in that suit. I know she keeps a weapon in the blue handbag. I feel it when I carry it. Usually, life is boring enough that I don't have to use it.

A while back there was a case that wasn't boring. I like my boring job, and I hate to admit it, but I like my boss. But one of our analysts didn't, and I can see why. Talk about not giving two weeks' notice! I found out he was leaving through the chatter. I found when he was leaving, too.

But it's none of my business what he does. I realized, you know, I take my boring life too seriously. I called up my friends right then, right there and asked them if they wanted to catch a movie at the drive-in at Stephens City. I told them a shortcut I knew, but I guess I got it wrong. They set off all sorts of alarms going that way and got stopped. I didn't hear from them for days.

The next morning, that analyst was on the news. Huh. Would have thought someone would have stopped him. Guess they were busy hunting aliens.

My friends saw the news when they got out, and asked about the analyst; my boss asked about him, too. After you guys let me go, we're seeing that movie. I'm supposed to invite my boss to go with us. My friend will be pissed if I don't get my boss that message. And that message? It's coming from a Freightliner parked outside this complex. And he has big ass fucking swords.

Don't blame me, Agent. I'm just the messenger. And I'm just going to go back to my boring, pencil-pushing, messenger shit. My boring, alien robot friends are going to make sure of it.