Conspiracy - 1 - The Beginning
2.5 minute read
Moriarty couldn’t believe his luck.
The last thing he remembered was crashing his spaceship.
Then darkness.
When he woke up he was naked, but somehow still alive.
He was on a cold slab staring up at a light brighter than his home star.
There were weird faces around him; he recognized them as human.
The humans flipped their shit when he opened his eyes.
Panic ensued.
The humans were freaking out, so Moriarty sat up and managed to successfully find an out-of-the-way room filled with mops and brooms and buckets and signs. It smelled weird, but in a little way, it reminded him of home. And it was away from the humans who, he had learned during training, weren’t very friendly.
He left the door cracked and watched as the panicky humans flailed their fleshy arms and ran up and down the hallways, right past where Moriarty was hiding.
They didn’t see him, and he was still alive.
He couldn’t believe his luck.
He stood in darkness among the mops and brooms until he regained his energy. He focused on one of the weird-looking humans with a mustache and studied his face, his details, and his screams. Moriarty closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the outer edges of a mustache crawled into his peripheral. His tentacles had been transformed into fleshy human hands, with five fingers and sharp fingernails.
Moriarty found a mirror in the back of the closet. He recoiled at the mustached face, squinty eyes, and oddly round head. There was a name tag attached to his shirt. It said “Jeff.”
The closet door opened and Moriarty turned around, surprised to see another mustachio-d human staring at him.
“Uh…” the mustache said.
Moriarty tried to remember more of the training he had taken before his intergalactic trip.
What were the traditional human customs?
Moriarty stuck out his newfound hand and exercised his vocal chords: “I’m Jeff.” Moriarty jumped at the unfamiliar sound and sent a broom crashing to the floor. He recovered and remembered his training; locked eyes, hand extended. The mustache at the doorway took his own hand, held it out, and shook Moriarty’s. His hand was warm and squishy.
“Dustin.” The mustache said, now called Dustin.
“Hi,” Moriarty replied. He tried to remember what came next. An awkward amount of time passed before Moriarty remembered. “Dustin!” It came out louder than he was expecting.
Dustin adjusted his hat. “Who are you?” He asked.
“I’m a…” Moriarty kept recalling his training. “Scientist!” The word came out loud again. “Jeff.” Quiet this time.
Dustin stared at him, blankly. “What are you doing in the broom closet, Jeff?”
“Broom closet!” Moriarty recalled his training about buildings and architecture. He realized he had yelled again. “Sorry.” He whispered. He stepped over a bucket on the floor and headed straight for the door. Dustin stepped aside and let him through.
“Can I help you?” Dustin asked, scratching his head and watching Moriarty, who he thought was Jeff, walk away.
“No!” Moriarty was still getting used to his human voice. “No.” He repeated, this time lower in tone.
“Ok.” Dustin said, still scratching his head. He turned back to the broom closet and picked up a mop.