1. Mel

CHAPTER 1

MEL

Y ou ever get the feeling your boss is from outer space?

Let's face it, bosses are weird. I mean, who else would even come up with the concept of trust falls but a total weirdo? Just saying.

I'm used to my bosses being eccentric. But my latest boss, Mr. Gregor, takes the cake.

Let's not even worry about the fact his last name is a first name. I'm way past that at this point. This is going to sound weird, but I've never seen Gregor blink. Not once. And one time, I came in on him in the break room and he was mainlining coffee straight from the pot. Piping hot coffee, the kind that results in million dollar lawsuits for fast food franchises.

The telltale squeak of dress shoes on linoleum makes me alt-tab faster than a teenager hiding porn. Not that I'm hiding anything illicit - just my personal observations about the most peculiar boss I've ever had.

"Hey there, Mel. Having a productive morning?" Mr. Gregor's voice comes from above my cubicle wall, perfectly pitched to sound casual. Too casual.

"Always, sir." My reply is cheerful, and hides what I've been up to. I hope.

He drapes himself against my cubicle wall in what I assume is supposed to be a relaxed pose. It reminds me of those poseable action figures Sam plays with - all awkward angles trying to approximate human movement.

"Great, great. Say, I've got some files that need processing." He drops a data stick on my desk. "About ten gigs worth."

The stick gleams under the fluorescent lights. That's a lot of data entry, but hey - at least I know I'll be home in time for Sam's soccer practice.

"I'll get right on it."

"Excellent. You're really..." He pauses, consulting what looks like a small notepad. "...crushing it."

I bite back a smile. Modern slang from Mr. Gregor sounds about as natural as my ex-husband's promises of fidelity.

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

He nods - three times, exactly - and walks away with that peculiar stiff-legged gait of his.

The thing is, for all his oddities, Mr. Gregor's actually a decent boss. The pay keeps Sam in new sneakers, and I've never missed a parent-teacher conference or dance recital. In this economy, that's worth putting up with a few... quirks.

I plug in the data stick and get to work. Numbers, dates, figures - they fill my screen in neat rows, waiting to be sorted and filed. Just another Tuesday at Ayl Lean Company.

The data sorts into neat digital piles as my fingers fly across the keyboard. File after file slots into their digital homes - a place for everything and everything in its place. The mindless task lets my thoughts wander to tonight's dinner plans. Maybe I'll pick up some takeout to go with that cake-

My phone buzzes. Annie's smiling face pops up on the screen.

"Hi Annie, everything okay with Sam?"

"Oh yes, she's fine! Just wondering if she can have another cookie? She finished all her homework early."

The proud mom smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. "Tell her no. I'm going to bake a German chocolate cake tonight so she doesn't need more sweets before then."

Through the phone, I hear Annie relay the message, followed by Sam's high-pitched squeal of joy. That kid's sweet tooth rivals mine - guess that's karma for you.

"Thanks Annie. See you in a few hours."

Back to the grindstone. The files aren't going to sort themselves, though sometimes I swear they do - especially when Mr. Gregor gives them to me. Half the time they seem pre-organized in ways that make no sense, but somehow work perfectly for our system.

Click, drag, drop. Click, drag, drop. The rhythm of office work, as soothing as a lullaby if you're weird enough to find data entry relaxing. Which I am.

The last file drops into place with a satisfying digital thunk. Done and dusted, as my grandmother used to say. Though I doubt she ever applied that phrase to computer work.

The crisp winter air nips at my cheeks as I step out of the office building. My good mood from a productive workday carries me down the sidewalk with a spring in my step. Maybe I'll splurge on some fancy hot chocolate mix for Sam-

A burst of laughter stops me cold.

Across the street, a family of three emerges from the boutique, their shopping bags swinging. Their matching Rudolf sweaters hurt my eyes with their garish red and green patterns. The dad adjusts his son's crooked Santa hat while mom beams at them both, her own hat jingling with tiny bells.

Perfect. Just perfect.

My throat tightens. Sam and I have our own Christmas traditions - hot chocolate and cookies while we decorate our tiny artificial tree. But sometimes... sometimes I catch myself wondering what it would be like to share those moments with someone else. Someone who'd help Sam with her math homework when I'm stuck at work late. Someone who'd remember to buy milk without me writing it on three different lists.

The happy family disappears around the corner, their cheerful voices fading into the evening bustle.

I dig in my purse for my car keys, blinking hard. The metal bites into my palm as I reach my sensible sedan. Time to pick up Sam from Annie's, start dinner, help with homework, throw in a load of laundry-

My purse feels too light.

"No, no, no..." I dump the contents onto the passenger seat. Wallet, keys, lipstick, random receipts... but no phone. Great. Just great.

With a sigh that could power a wind turbine, I trudge back toward the office building. At least the halls will be quiet this time of day.

The office building looms over me, dark and quiet. I shiver, pulling my coat tighter around me as I push open the door. The lobby is empty, the security guard's desk abandoned. Guess even rent-a-cops have families to get home to.

My heels echo in the empty hallway, the sound bouncing off the walls like a bad horror movie soundtrack. The Christmas decorations that seemed so cheerful this morning now cast eerie shadows, the twinkling lights more menacing than merry.

I hurry to my desk, snatching up my phone with a sigh of relief. The screen lights up, a picture of Sam's gap-toothed grin greeting me. I allow myself a small smile. Time to head home, snuggle up with my girl, and forget about the weirdness that is my job.

I'm halfway to the lobby when I hear it. Voices, low and urgent, coming from the rarely used conference room on the first floor. I freeze, my heart pounding. Who else would be here at this hour?

Curiosity wars with common sense. I should leave, pretend I didn't hear anything. But something draws me closer, my feet moving of their own accord. I creep toward the door, left slightly ajar, and peer through the crack.

Mr. Gregor stands inside, his back to me. He's speaking in a language I don't recognize, the words harsh and guttural. Across from him is a man I've never seen before, tall and broad-shouldered in an expensive suit. He replies in the same strange tongue, his face expressionless.

I lean closer, straining to catch a word, a phrase, anything that might make sense. But it's all gibberish to me. The man in the suit gestures to something on the table between them, and Mr. Gregor nods. They shake hands, the movement stiff and awkward.

My phone chooses that moment to buzz, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the quiet hallway. I fumble with it, my heart in my throat, as the voices inside the room fall silent. Footsteps approach the door, and I bolt, my heels slapping against the tile.

The exit sign's red glow beckons like a lighthouse - until two security guards burst through the doors, blocking my escape.

"Stop right there!"

The stairwell door stands ajar to my left. No time to think - I dash through it, letting it slam behind me. My purse thumps against my hip as I take the stairs two at a time.

Voices echo from above. "She went this way!"

Down is my only option now. The emergency lights cast sickly shadows as I descend past the parking level, past maintenance, into depths I didn't know existed. My lungs burn. The sensible pumps I wore to work weren't made for this kind of cardio.

The bottom landing opens into a vast chamber that looks nothing like the corporate offices above. Strange machinery lines the walls, pulsing with otherworldly light. Transparent tubes snake across the ceiling, filled with swirling, iridescent liquid. The air crackles with electricity.

What is all this? My mind refuses to process what I'm seeing. This can't be real. None of this makes sense.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs behind me. I duck behind what looks like a giant metal egg, trying to control my ragged breathing. The cold steel seeps through my blouse.

When the voices fade, I peer around the egg's curved surface - and freeze.

Through a glass dome the size of my car, a face stares back at me. Not human. Dear God, not human at all. Blue fur covers massive features. Curved horns sweep back from its forehead. Its eyes are closed, but I can't shake the feeling it could wake at any moment.

The creature floats in some kind of clear liquid, tubes and wires connected to its massive body. Frost patterns the glass, suggesting whatever's inside is kept very, very cold.

My scream catches in my throat. I press my hand against my mouth, but it's too late - I hear shouting from the stairwell again. They're coming.

Symbols cover every surface of the pod - jagged marks that hurt my eyes to look at. They pulse with an eerie blue light, and though I can't read them, their meaning seems clear: DANGER. DO NOT OPEN. NOT EVEN IF THE WORLD ENDS.

The footsteps grow closer. My options shrink with each passing second.

What's worse - the devil you know or the one you don't? Mr. Gregor may act human, but those voices, this facility... who knows what he really is? Then again, the creature in this pod looks like it could tear a car in half.

Sam's face flashes through my mind. Her gap-toothed smile. The way she hugs me after a long day at work. The chocolate cake we're supposed to bake tonight.

If I don't make it home...

No. That's not an option.

My fingers find a control panel near the base of the pod. The symbols here glow brighter, almost like they're warning me away. One button stands out - larger than the others, covered in what looks like radiation symbols.

"Check the storage area!" A voice echoes from above.

Here goes everything.

I slam my palm against the button. The pod hums to life, its surface rippling with energy. Frost begins to melt away from the glass as the liquid inside bubbles.

Time to run.

I sprint behind a cluster of machinery, wedging myself into the shadows. The creature's massive form twitches inside its prison. Those horns could definitely impale someone.

The pod's seal breaks with a hiss of escaping air. The liquid drains away.

Please let this be the right choice.

The creature's eyes snap open - brilliant gold, like twin suns.

I press deeper into my hiding spot and wait.