Page 61 of Prize for the Alien Grumpus

"Someone's been a naughty boy." Gregor's voice crackles through the building's speakers. "We knew you'd come."

I rip the panel off the wall and toss it aside. "Good. Saves me the trouble of hunting you down."

A squad of guards rounds the corner, plasma rifles raised.

"Stand down, criminal."

"Make me."

The first shot singes my fur. I grab the nearest guard and use him as a shield against his companions. Their weapons discharge harmlessly against his armor.

"Sorry about your friend." I hurl the unconscious guard into two others. "Actually, no I'm not."

More troops pour in from both sides of the corridor. Time to show these amateurs how we fought in the old days.

I charge straight at them, roaring. Their formation breaks. Amateur hour.

"Is this really the best you can do?" I slam two guard's heads together. "I've fought tougher toddlers."

A stun baton catches me in the ribs. Tickles. I grab it and jam it into its owner's chest. The guard drops, twitching.

"Getting tired yet?" Gregor taunts through the speakers.

"Nope." I punt another guard through a wall. "But your insurance premiums are about to go up."

Three more rush me with shock sticks. I grab one by the ankles and swing him like a club.

"Having fun?" Gregor asks.

"Time of my life." I headbutt the last guard standing. "But playtime's over. Where's Mel?"

"Come and see for yourself. If you can make it past the next wave."

More troops stream in, weapons ready.

"Challenge accepted." I crack my knuckles and bare my fangs. "Who wants to go first?"

These guards fall like dominoes. Almost disappointing. The last one tries to crawl away, so I help him along with my boot.

"Thanks for the workout." I dust off my hands. "Now, where's that launch control?"

The sub-basement reeks of ozone and mold. Familiar smells - I spent centuries down here after all. Speaking of which...

My old cryo pod sits in the corner, right where I left it. Except something's wrong. The status lights pulse green instead of the dead black I remember.

"What the hell?"

The pod hums with power. Frost coats the dome, but there's definitely someone inside. The shape looks... familiar.

My claws scrape across the glass, clearing away the ice. Blue fur. Horns. A face I know better than any other.

"No way." I press my nose against the dome. "That's impossible."

My own face stares back at me, peaceful in cryo-sleep. Same scars. Same markings. Even that notch in my left horn from that bar fight on Centauri Prime.

The pod's readout shows it's been active for three hundred years. Which means...

If I'm in there, then who the hell am I?

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