“It’s been quiet around here lately,” commented Urgorx 77-Q, gazing out the expansive windows of the main deck with boredom. “Kronbub, are you sure that HQ hasn’t assigned as any more planets to initiate the sow/reap process on?”
Kronbub 32-C, sitting at the controls of the spaceship, waved his anterior cilia to demonstrate similar levels of ennui. “We’ve been told to observe for the time being. Apparently, the denizens of the Crob cluster somehow became aware of our attempts to meddle with their so-called ‘athletes’, so we’re not allowed to do any more fun stuff until a full review and audit is conducted. Knowing the jokers over there, cozy in their relaxation spheres, it could be millennia before they even cast their infrared sensors upon our archivo-tapes.”
Porgon 18-F looked up from cleaning her radiation pistol for the 3.743*10^32nd time and flapped her cranial membrane in annoyance. “Are you serious? We’ve still got six whole refrigeration units full of dunking serum that’s nearing expiration.”
“Well, it would be easy enough to falsify our movement logs should we want to take some side-trips,” Kronbub mused. “Wormhole genesis in the Milky Way is very loosely regulated. We could drop back down to Earth and seed that odd sport of theirs, “basketball”, with more dunking talent than their underdeveloped cerebral organs will be able to comprehend, and nobody would ever know.”
Commander Zeeborg 56-A appeared in the door to the stardeck, obviously having just stepped out of the magnetoshower. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I’m in good enough standing with the overseers that we could probably annihilate a whole planetary system with little more than a slap on the wrist. If we wanted to go experiment on Earth some more, I wouldn’t say anything to the higher-ups. It’s either that or watch our holotapes of ‘Grublork and Zendina: Love in the Face of Intergalactic Battle’ again.”
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The group of aliens, having carefully gone through the cloaking process for their craft, walked down the quiet, upscale Los Angeles street. It was a far cry from the ‘ghetto’ where they had first located their subject.
“So, we’re sure DeAndre lives somewhere around here?” Urgorx asked, swiveling his head-stalk to monitor for danger.
“It says right here in their residence index,” Porgon replied, holding up a thick yellow phone book. “These humanoids sure are well-organized, considering the illogical, non-vertical design of their cities. Too bad they would never be able to dunk without our divine interference.” There was much chuckling in the form of rapid-fire infrared transmissions.
“Oh, here we are,” Kronbub announced, peering at the house number on the mailbox. “Let’s go around the back and see if we can locate our little experiment.” Soon, four odd-looking creatures were gathered around the window, watching DeAndre slumber peacefully.
“Do you think he’s going to cry like last time?” Porgon asked. “Humanoid babies seem to be prone to such behavior, but I have never observed it in a fully-mature adult.”
“Well, we’re about to find out, aren’t we?” Zeeborg said, laughing. “Does everybody have their beakers of dunking solution ready to go?” Cranial membranes quivered in affirmation, and each crew member held up their ancillary appendages to show containers of purple liquid, held firmly in three-pronged hands. “Okay. Here we go.”
Zeeborg, despite having more subtle options at his disposal, cleanly broke through the wall of the house with his immense strength. The loud crashing noise immediately caused DeAndre to wake; when his eyes fell upon the intruders, he began to shriek.
“Shut up, human. Your distress signals will not persuade us to spare you, so you might as well halt your production of them,” Zeeborg commanded. However, all DeAndre heard was a series of menacing beeps, and his panic only intensified. Retreating to the far corner of the room, he pleaded with the extraterrestrials as they approached him with their flasks of solution.
All at once, DeAndre found himself being splashed from all angles by the freezing-cold liquid. “Aaah! My legs! MY LEEEEGS!” he screamed as an unbearable tingling broke out through his lower body.
The containers were soon exhausted, and the aliens ran back out through the hole they had made, laughing in a most terrifying and maniacal manner. Lights all along the street were being turned on, the residents of the neighborhood curious as to where the unearthly sound was coming from, but the cloaking of the starship was sufficient to conceal them.
“We’re probably going to get in so much trouble with HQ, but it was so worth it,” Zeeborg gasped, not having felt such excitement since his teenage years. “When the next cycle of basketball begins, DeAndre will certainly be dunking with more ferocity than ever previously seen in the sport!”