Oblivion: Alien Thermal

A Weyland mission to Mars yields an image of incomplete-dogma worksheets and a thankful journeyman seeking post-miracle retirement forever.

A brooding fanfiction of the iconic sci-fi horror masterpiece franchise Alien. Happy Summer, 

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WEYLAND: So you found our laser-hand cannon quite the mod-marvel, Satan?
MR. AMLAN SATAN: As the lone-hero of this Martian-contact with dragon, yes!

WEYLAND: You suggest this fight for escape earned you island-retirement view?

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Surely a cottage in the Virgin Islands for my wife, ok.

WEYLAND: There's no such thing as pure malice, Satan.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: You needn't believe me about this Xenomorph.

WEYLAND: Pure malice?
MR. AMLAN SATAN: Had I misfired and escaped in my ship, I'd become a trophy!

WEYLAND: For what, pray-tell?

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Outright denunciation of our Earth/Selfie culture of vanity.

WEYLAND: What, like some 'Devil's Advocate' insect with bloody-murder smile?

MR. AMLAN SATAN: It wouldn't matter if we never return to Mars for 2nd-greet.

WEYLAND: So you satisfied a 'Grendel' with your shot-and-escape speed.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: That's the view of any game-master demon from darkness.

WEYLAND: Well, it's our human capitalist face to make such contact, surely.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: That's what that Martian-dragon said...Selfie-Jabberwocky.

WEYLAND: Happy retirement (Facebook-like!).

WIFE: You shot it and dumped hot-lead in one of its one Mars tunnel ditches!

MR. AMLAN SATAN: I earned the dark dragon-insect's eerie respect and fled, hon.

WIFE: I got you these Xmas-thermals for our Brussels retreat, for forgetting!

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Weyland Company's labeled me as a quiet-man; I warned them.

WIFE: Oh, we doubt humanity will send anyone else back to Mars for deviled eggs!

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Hopefully that's an incomplete 'cinematic' truth, hon (ok).

WIFE: Facebook-like!

CONCIERGE: I see you've got a 9/11 postcard, sir.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Love Brussels, friend.

CONCIERGE: You looked quite-happy with your wife in our lobby this Saturday-AM.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Happy as a patriot-turned-writer for peace/retirement, friend.

CONCIERGE: You're quite the first-contact Weyland celebrity, Amlan (ok).

MR. AMLAN SATAN: I can equally dance/forget away the past of fight.

CONCIERGE: I hear they're crafting an action doll-set in your honor with the alien.

MR. AMLAN SATAN: I'm sure kids will sing, "Satan took dragon-down for 9/11."

CONCIERGE: Isn't that a lovely Summer-camp ABCD?

MR. AMLAN SATAN: Selfie-like (thanx so much).

WEYLAND: We've got the weaponry and beautiful mind to seek new Mars-imagery!

CONSULTANT: This is a social media Blue-Planet, and Satan's offered omens, no?

WEYLAND: Amlan and his lovely-wife are in Brussels managing a waffle-house!

CONSULTANT: Thus begins a long-saga of Xenomorph-contact lyrics (graph-paper).

WEYLAND: We shall make toys and Xeno-cookies for Thanksgiving-TV (Selfie-likes).

CONSULTANT: Maybe that 'dragon' simply seeks post-satisfaction self-exile/coven?

WEYLAND: Maybe that's the Devil's Advocate test...to see if we're extra credit.

CONSULTANT: You've single-handedly justified (to us) more Mars-missions.

WEYLAND: Good for leviathan/uncertainty (Facebook-like!).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)