Page 1 of My Big Alien Bodyguard

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Intergalactic Superstarlet Lyric

LYRIC! I LOVE YOU, LYRIC! BANG ME WITH A RAKE, MOM!

The slightly filthy chants and off the wall shrieked requests coming from the throats of thousands are twisted versions of the lyrics to one of my songs. A mob of people are screaming at me from a great distance, and all of this is a very good thing. These are my fans, and every shout and scream makes me grin broadly.

“I LOVE YOU GUYS! I LOVE YOU ALL!” My screams are whipped away by the wind as I put my head out the bathroom window of the hotel and wave down to a group of at least five thousand people clustering outside. They’ve blocked most of the road outside, and it’s causing absolute hell with the traffic, which is just so flattering. I don’t think they can really see me up here. I’m just a figure way, way at the top of a very, very big building. I need to get closer.

When I pull my head back in, I am inside a bathroom bigger than my last apartment, because this is the penthouse suite of one ofthe finest hotels in one of the finest entertainment centers on Earth.

It’s Las Vegas, baby! The year is 3032, and I am the hottest thing on this strip, or off it. I am also the most famous person on Earth by a very wide margin. Over a billion dollars has been spent on promoting me. People brush their teeth with brushes with my face on them. There’s not a bus or train on the American continent that doesn’t have me beaming from it.

This is all astonishing when you consider a month ago I had five thousand followers on my socials. Now I have thirty billion followers, and a three-year intergalactic contract. Everybody knows me. It’s practically mandatory to know me at this point. And that means people want to see me. And I want to see them. I want to see them more than anything. I want to thank every single person who has chosen to jump on this crazy bandwagon with me.

I decide I’m going to go down and see them. They deserve my personal attention, not to be left to scream at the side of a building. I know a lot of them have traveled for miles, because this is my first big in-person show. For most of my career, I’ve been performing online and in small local venues. But a twist of fate and about a decade of hard work changed my life forever.

I make my way across the suite, heading for the personal elevator that this place comes with. No expense has been spared here. I am being given the intergalactic superstarlet treatment, and I am loving every moment. I’ve never been this cosseted, or this spoiled. I can order literally anything on the room service menu whenever I want and nobody cares. And my mini bar? I’ve opened all the little bottles in that thing. Every single one. And I haven’t paid a cent for the privilege. When you’re this kind of famous, everything is comped.

I’m getting really used to getting my way, put it that way. Which is why it comes as a real shock to me when my way out of the suite is blocked by several feet of steel blue alien towering above me. This guy is built bigger than the doorway. I don’t really look at him. I’m busy. Places to go. Massive achievements to celebrate. Fans to thank for everything.

“Excuse me,” I say.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even look at me. Rude.

“Dude. Move.”

He angles his head down slowly and his great gold shining eyes meet mine. I wish I was a little bit taller, because I suddenly feel very small and somehow insignificant which is very strange given absolutely all of this is about me. I inspect him up and down, finding him massive and scaled and very imposing. His head is vaguely human-shaped, but his face is very alien. The eyes are incredibly golden, and the brow is intense and strong. His skin is lightly scaled around his eyes, and there is a sharpness about his features, as well as a ruggedness. He is powerful, a large walking dragon man. The colloquial term is lizard, but that’s an offensive term.Thrakins, that’s the proper term. I’ve never seen one before, and I’d love to be interested in him, but I don’t have the time. Thrakins do not wear a lot in the way of clothing, so he is bare-chested and wears thick black pants with long boots that come up above his knees. He has a utility belt around his waist, filled with god knows what, but it looks somewhat tactical. His chest is broad and muscular and scaled with thick plates. He is standing very still, far more still than any human would ever stand. It could be creepy, or hot, I guess, depending on your orientation.

There is one element of movement, however, and that comes from his tail. I see the very tip of that long, scaled, prehensile appendage twitching the same way an annoyed cat's does. His face might be impassive but that little flick flick motion shows some kind of irritation or arousal.

If I’m pissing him off, the feeling is mutual.

“Hey,” I say again. “I’m trying to get through here.”

He says nothing. I’m about to say a whole lot when Simon Scowl comes to consciousness with his customary post-nap roar, a sound that shakes me to my core.

Simon Scowl is a leonine alien, meaning he’s a carnivore and he has a mane. He’s my manager, and he’s the whole reason any of this is happening. Simon discovered me thirty days ago, and he has changed my life forever.

Suffice to say, he is one cool cat. His mane has been sprayed gold and pink, and he’s wearing contacts to change his naturally slitted green eyes to round blue ones. I’d say it’s uncanny, but when you’re in showbiz, you get used to weirdness. He weighs about three hundred pounds, and it’s all muscle and claws. He is almost as famous as any of the other starlets he has rocketed to fame over the years. People literally kill to try to get an audition with Simon, and I was lucky enough for him to come and see me of his own accord.

“Hey! Lyric!” He beams at me with sharp fangs. “I see you’ve already met Zayne.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“He’s going to be your bodyguard.”

“Since when do I need a bodyguard?” Even as the question comes out of my mouth, I know it’s naive. As much as I try to pretend I am acclimating quickly to this insanely quick change in personal circumstances, I am failing dramatically on several fronts.

“Since you got death threats.”

That makes me hesitate a little. “I got death threats?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? I haven’t done anything. To anyone. I’ve been in the studio recording the tour album since it was announced.”

Simon Scowl shrugs. “It’s just something that happens once you’re famous. There are some people who want to kill everything they know about. Annihilate the world. Don’t worry about it. Zayne will keep you safe. He’s managed to keep every single starlet we’ve processed through the last ten years intact.

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