"Hey, Gordo!"

Gordon's ears heard that phrase and twitched. He lifted his head. "Skip?" He muttered.

"Skip, y-y-you're right! It is G-G-G-Gordon!"

"Rick?" When Gordon looked around, he saw two of his friends from Melmac, Skipper "Skip" the 3rd and Rick Fusterman. They looked the same, but something about them was different. Skip wore a black leather jacket with pins stuck here and there (most were pins collected from the Orbit Guard), an Orbit Guard t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. Silver buckles hung from his sleeves and legs. His hair was slicked back in a pompadour. Gordon also noticed he looked more muscular. Rick wore a blue suit with an orange handkerchief tucked into his pocket, a blue-and-orange checked vest, an orange necktie, and blue spats. Gordon could tell that Rick was less nervous than he was on Melmac, though he still stuttered.

By Rick's side stood Stella, who had met up with Rick after the destruction of Melmac and got married. Stella was dressed in a glittery blue dress and matching heels. Her hair no longer hung in a ponytail; It flowed freely, wavy but curly. "Stella?" Gordon exclaimed.

"Is that really you, Gordon?"

Gordon's ears perked up, and his heart pounded in his ear. That was the voice of his girlfriend, Rhonda, no doubt. "Rhonda?" Gordon asked, just to make sure. Rhonda came running to him. She wore an Orbit Guard uniform, a scarf around her neck, and an aviator cap perched on her head.

Gordon was astounded to see all his friends from Melmac come together. But they all stared at him in particular.

"Gordon? Why're you in that outfit?" Skip asked. "Listen...I can explain the outfit," Gordon chuckled. But before he could explain, he noticed the chains hanging from his wrists. The chains pulled tighter and tighter. All of the Melmacians walked away as Gordon was pulled back to the Alien Task Force base.

Before this could go on any longer, Gordon awoke from his nightmare with a start. His jumpsuit had sweat marks all over it. "I just can't seem to get a good night's sleep anymore - Wait a minute, where am I?" He murmured as he looked around the room. He wasn't in the truck anymore. He was in a room - a motel room, to be exact. The room was dim.

And, after looking everywhere, he couldn't find the man.

"Did he leave me here? Alone? Isolated? Unattended?" Gordon wondered aloud. He decided to survey the parking lot to locate the maroon truck. His weary eyes had been widened by excitement. He still carried the heavy burden that was his helmet. He gazed out the window and then squeaked, "The truck...it's not there." He was beginning to worry. After gathering his belongings, he rushed to the hallway, almost breaking the door. No one was in the hallway.

He ran to the elevator and got in. The attendant in the elevator stared. "Where to?" The attendant asked, still staring. "Ground level. Oh, and don't worry, I mean no harm." Gordon answered. The elevator repelled down the shaft and then arrived on the ground floor. Gordon quietly nodded to the attendant as he exited the elevator.

He became stunned when he entered the lobby. After his thirty-year stay at Edwards Base, Gordon had become so unaccustomed to a crowd of people. He didn't know what to make out of this many people. As he rushed through the crowd, people would stop in their tracks and stare. They had never seen someone in a helmet and jumpsuit in real life. That was only something that could be seen in science fiction movies with aliens. When Gordon got into the parking lot, he looked everywhere for the maroon truck, but he couldn't find it. He was beginning to really worry now. Gordon searched the parking lot several times but then decided to give up. He couldn't believe the man had left him alone at the hotel. Gordon sat down on the curb and watched the vehicles ride by.

He began to think about how he would get to Los Angeles now. He couldn't be that far away from his destination. "Maybe I should ask somebody how far away I am from Los Angeles," Gordon thought. He arose from the curb and walked up to a bus driver. "Excuse me, Ma'am, but how far away is Los Angeles from here?" Gordon asked. "Oh, about an hour away from here, but that's only if you're driving," The bus driver answered. Gordon could tell she was bewildered at his appearance. "Thanks!" He exclaimed as he ran off. "Yeah...No problem," She muttered. Gordon ran as quickly as he could to the freeway. When he saw a promising sign for Los Angeles, he felt his heart skip a beat. Gordon was finally away from his horrendous prison.

Meanwhile, at Edward's base, Zack awoke when he heard Andrew yell. "Oh, no, he found out Gordon's gone," Zack thought. "#424! Where is #324?" Andrew screamed as he stomped into Zack's cell. Zack hung his head and acted depressed. "Well, last night, #324 was just sitting there on the bed. I tried to talk to him, but he didn't reply. I knew at once that this was a sign that he would disintegrate because we Melmacians are prone to disintegrate after we experience too much violence. Then, I had to watch him turn into a pile of dust. On the one hand, I'm all alone now, but on the other hand, you don't have to deal with him anymore," Zack explained.

He wondered if Andrew would actually believe the lie. There was no such thing as Melmacians disintegrating after experiencing too much violence. But, considering Melmacians' already bizarre biology, it definitely could be believed by humans. "Excuse me for a moment," Andrew muttered. He walked out of the cell and closed the door. Zack could hear Andrew hollering and exclaiming for joy. When Andrew walked back in, he muttered, "I'm sorry, I just really hate #324." Zack just steadily bobbed his head. Andrew left the cell again to get the food cart. After a minute or so, he returned with Zack's breakfast. "Thank you, sir," Zack murmured as Andrew left the cell.

Andrew locked the cell and then rushed off to Mr. Ziegfeld's office. "Mr. Ziegfeld, sir! #324 has disintegrated!" Andrew reported. "What?" Mr. Ziegfeld exclaimed, jumping up from his desk. "I know! Isn't it great?" Andrew laughed. "How did this happen?" Mr. Zeigfeld asked. After Andrew told Mr. Zeigfeld what Zack had told Andrew, Mr. Zeigfeld sat with a blank stare in his eyes. "I...don't believe it," Mr. Ziegfeld said. "There are ashes in the cell to prove it, sir," Andrew advised. "I won't believe it until I see it," Mr. Ziegfeld muttered as he walked out his office door.

When Mr. Ziegfeld and Andrew got to the cell, Zack had already finished his breakfast and was getting his devices applied. The two guards were about to escort Zack out to the grounds when Andrew stopped them. Mr. Ziegfeld inspected the pile of sand. Zack could tell that Mr. Ziegfeld knew it wasn't ashes. "These aren't ashes...This is sand!" He exclaimed. Andrew turned around to face Zack and then screamed, "You liar!"

"I am disappointed in you, #424. Truly, I might add. I would expect this behavior from #324. But from you, it surprises me," Mr. Ziegfeld said, ashamed. "Excuse me, sir, but I went to sleep right after supper. I wouldn't know what happened to #324," Zack testified. "That's possible, but you could be lying. You might know where #324 has run off to. You might be working with him. I'm putting you under heavy surveillance, #424," Mr. Ziegfeld announced. A third guard joined the two burly escort guards. An armed guard walked in front of Zack and his escort guards, and another armed guard trailed close behind. Zack felt like a framed prisoner.

Over in Los Angeles, Gordon slowly strode down the side of the road. To the passing vehicles, he looked like someone picking up trash, based on his orange jumpsuit and the brown bag containing his luggage slung over his shoulder. He wanted to focus on his freedom, but it was difficult for him to do so. All he could think about was how hot he was.

To him, it seemed hotter in Los Angeles than it was at Edwards base. He had thought about taking off his helmet but decided he probably shouldn't. Under the helmet, Gordon was practically melting. He had been sweating heavily, and his jumpsuit was drenched. His helmet had fogged up because of his heavy breathing. "Whew. Time for a break," Gordon sighed as he wandered over to the side of the road. He jumped over the railing and sat on the ground, leaning against a bush. He then considered taking off his helmet so he could cool off.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to take it off for five minutes," Gordon thought. He fumbled around with the straps that secured the helmet to the jumpsuit. Eventually, Gordon managed to unbuckle all the straps. As Gordon pulled the helmet off, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Of course, his snout was still encased in his muzzle, but he wasn't going to take his muzzle off. He laid his helmet down beside the bush. "What a relief. I mean, I'm still burning up in this uniform, but at least I don't have to worry about this helmet for a few minutes," Gordon remarked. He sat there for a minute or two, taking in the fresh, cool air and watching cars go by. It was such a relaxing moment for an alien who had just escaped from his prison. His eyelids started to droop after another minute.

"It wouldn't hurt to take a ten-minute nap, would it?" Gordon thought. The next thing he knew, he had gone into a slumber, curled up next to the bush. In his sleep, his ears picked up what sounded like skateboards. Along with that, there was laughing. He decided to ignore it and go back to sleep.

After a while, he awoke to discover he had slept longer than ten minutes; He had been asleep for roughly an hour. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. He then decided to strap his helmet on and continue his journey to Los Angeles. When Gordon looked for his helmet, he discovered that it was missing. "Oh, no, my helmet's gone! I'm definitely going to get even more stares than I got with the helmet," he complained, "Well, I guess I'll just have to move on without it." He made sure he had all of his things in his brown bag, then proceeded on his voyage. As he walked down the side of the road, he tried to figure out what had happened to his helmet. He realized that the laughing he heard must've been from teenagers riding skateboards. The teenagers must've thought it'd be fun to steal the helmet. Gordon thought it was a huge relief to not wear the helmet. Of course, it came with a risk of being exposed. "I've just got to keep a low profile," he thought.

While Gordon journeyed to L.A, Zack ended his work shift early. He had been escorted to a dark room. He sat down in front of a figure hidden by shadows. There was a sound of steel doors closing. Zack shivered. "I'm Dr. Byrd. I've been told you are #424, correct?" the shadowed figure greeted. Zack nodded. "Nice. Now, I'm going to ask you a very important question, and you are not to leave this room until you answer it...Where did #324 run off to?"

Zack's entire body stiffened. Yes, he knew Gordon had run off, but he had no idea where to. "Um, Dr. Byrd, I'm afraid I don't have an answer to the question. He just ran off anywhere, I guess," Zack answered. Dr. Byrd was not going to take that as an answer. "Come on, #424, you know where he is! Just tell me and you can leave," she exclaimed. "But I have no idea where he is!" Zack shrieked. Dr. Byrd's eyebrows furrowed. "Does the phrase 'Electric shock' strike fear in your heart?" she taunted.

Zack froze. In all his time at Edwards' Base, Zack had never been electrically shocked. Of course, he had seen Gordon being shocked countless times. Zack knew it would mean being in pain for the next few days (Gordon would hold his cheek in pain and would walk lamely during the days following an electric shock).

After thinking about it, Zack realized that Dr. Byrd was talking about an electric chair. He had remembered that Gordon was once put in an electric chair during his first five years at the base, but luckily never received a shock. Zack heard Gordon's voice echoing in his head, saying, "Stay out of the E-Chair. The thing can cook a man in his shoes, Zack. I know, I've seen it happen." Zack knew it would be a life-or-death situation if he didn't answer the question, but he didn't know the answer. "Listen, I have no idea where #324 is. I'm being honest! Please don't send me to the chair," Zack pleaded.

Dr. Byrd speculated about his answer for a moment. She stood up and paced the room. When she looked back at Zack, he had placed his head on the table. Clearly he was distressed. Dr. Byrd placed her hand on his back. "You sound genuine about your answer. Come with me. I need to ask you another question," she coaxed. Dr. Byrd began to walk out of the room. Zack decided to follow her.

As the pair walked into the hallway, Zack felt the presence of armed guards. Zack was led into a room with lots of monitors. He was directed to look at a specific monitor. Even from a glance, he knew that code.

It was a Melmacian code.

"Could this be another Melmacian survivor?" he wondered. "We're going to let you off the hook easily this time. Just tell the truth, that's all you have to do. Just tell us, yes or no, if this is another alien," Dr. Bryd explained. Zack certainly was under a lot of pressure.

Over in L. A, Gordon walked down the street, trying his best to keep a low profile. He felt that people were probably suspicious of him. He had so many sights to see, but he also had to blend in with the crowds. Every time he spotted a Police car, he thought that meant the Police were after him, but the cars always sped the other way.

After a while, Gordon walked around a corner where two Policemen were stationed. Even with his back turned to them, Gordon knew the Police were staring at him. "Seems suspicious," one of the Policemen murmured. Gordon picked up the voice and started to walk away more quickly. The Policemen slid into the crowd to follow him. Gordon picked up the speed and started to run. He ran into a store and exited from another door. He weaved his way in and out of shops until he felt that the two Policemen couldn't track him anymore.

He walked toward the middle of an alleyway. He sat between two trash cans and sighed. "Man. I just escaped jail, and now the Fuzz are after me!" Gordon lamented. Even though it was summer, the alleyway was cold. Gordon shivered. His clothes were wet from sweat, and his metal ear caps and muzzle pressed coldly against his ears and snout.

After an hour or so had passed, Gordon decided that the coast was clear. He walked down the alleyway and spotted a Pet Grooming Salon. "I do need good grooming... But getting into that salon might be difficult. Someone would need to act as my owner because they probably wouldn't accept a stray. Besides, it's embarrassing to have to pose as a deformed Golden Retriever. Oh, and they'd probably call the cops on me because of my jumpsuit," Gordon considered.

"Oh, you poor thing!"

Gordon jumped a bit and turned around. A young woman in a T-Shirt, blue jean shorts, and sandals walked up to him. Her Brown hair was pulled up in a bun. Her T-Shirt was advertising the Pet Grooming Salon. Gordon immediately picked up on the idea that this woman worked for the Salon. He started to whimper innocently to act like he had been hurt. "You seem so harmless and docile...Come with me. We'll get you groomed and you'll feel a lot better. Come on!" the woman cooed as she led Gordon out of the alleyway and into the Pet Grooming Salon. She brought him into a room with a grooming table in the middle of it. He immediately jumped on the table. A few minutes later, a man came into the room with a toolset. Gordon thought he was the toolman but quickly regained his senses. "So, he has a muzzle on, eh? He either had an abusive owner, or he's been in the pound. We'll get it off in no time. Just relax," the man deduced. He unscrewed the ear caps and the muzzle.

After the muzzle was taken off, Gordon whimpered. "He's disfigured...A fire, maybe?" "Definitely." Afterward, the man and woman helped him out of his jumpsuit. They then gave him a shower and spent over half an hour combing out all the tangles in his fur. After the entire process was completed, the woman tied a pink bow around Gordon's neck. She guided him to a cage. "It's about time for you to go to sleep," she said as she closed the cage door.

As she walked away, Gordon began to pick at the lock, hoping he could pry it open. It eventually swayed open. Gordon poked his head out the door and then escaped from his cage. He scampered out of the salon, trying his best to look like a dog. He stopped beside the garbage can. He had spotted his jumpsuit. He ripped the ID tag off the jumpsuit. He then ran off into the night.

Meanwhile, at Edwards ATF Base, Zack sat in his cell, looking out the window. Andrew had just walked out the door. "Thank you for confirming our sights on the alien, #424," Andrew smirked as he slammed the door. Zack turned around and rested his head on his hands. He had told Dr. Byrd that the signal he saw on the screen was Melmacian code, and possibly another survivor from Melmac. "I'm so sorry to whoever Melmacian that might've been," he sighed.

He looked at the cell window that looked into the neighboring cell. The cell that used to house Gordon. "I guess if they catch another Melmacian, they'll put 'em in there," Zack contemplated. He sighed, then walked to his bed and lay down. "I sure hope Gordon - wherever he is - is safe," Zack mumbled as he shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Over in L.A., Gordon was leaning up against a building, catching his breath. He had been running for a few minutes. "Well, at least being at that Alien Task Force base got me in shape a bit," Gordon chuckled. He looked around the corner and spotted several clothing racks. He looked around several times and then tip-toed over to the racks. He had originally thought that he could sleep under the racks to keep him warm, but he then read the signs on the racks.

"Free clothes? Oh, the answer to my prayers!" Gordon exclaimed. He pulled several articles of clothing off the racks and then dressed with them. After he buttoned the top button on his button-up shirt, he looked up at the night sky. A glowing object high above soared across the sky. Gordon didn't think much of it. He thought it was only a plane. He walked over to a mirror leaning against a wall and looked into it.

After getting groomed and dressing in clean clothes, Gordon didn't feel like #324, the alien who had been in captivity at Edwards Alien Task Force Base for over three decades.

He finally felt like himself.

He finally felt like Gordon Shumway, the Melmacian who was sarcastic, sassy, and funny and was meant to live with a human family. He studied his apparel. He wore a Blue short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, a pair of shorts, a Black belt, and sandals (He somehow found a pair large enough). He ripped off the Pink bow tied around his neck. "Those groomers knew very well I was a male...They could've at least given me a Black bow tie if it was necessary," Gordon complained.

As he ripped the bow off, his ID tag fell out from under it. He clutched it in his hand as if it pained him to touch it. He then decided to look at it. "I don't need this anymore. I'm not #324, and no one's gonna call me that anymore. I'm not ALF, and no one's gonna call me that anymore...Well, if I see the Tanners again, they can call me ALF...I'm Gordon. Gordon Shumway. That's what people are gonna call me from now on...But, on a related note, I may never see the Tanners again..." Gordon announced to himself.

He dropped the ID tag to the ground and crushed it with his foot. He was silent for a few minutes.

"I think I need to sleep," he muttered. He climbed under one of the racks and nodded off.

Up in the sky, the glowing object Gordon had seen had been sighted by the government. Inside the object was one of Gordon's own kind, even though he didn't know it.