Protocol 1337 by D. Henbane Page A

at all. It actually has alien life on it, more specifically, alien microbes. The microbes are all dead, and their lead scientist is in the process of cloning the DNA he found. He has no idea if the microbes are harmful or not.” I explain.
    “That in itself is worth a fortune. So what you are telling me, agent that the army fully believes they are in possession of alien life? Worse yet, it's microbial, and the scientist involved has no idea whether it's harmful or not?” Reese replies.
    “Yes, sir, that’s exactly the situation from what I gather of it. I had some trouble with the scientist at first, but I believe we are past that now. I think he will open up even more as time goes on.” I say.
    “Good work agent. Keep me informed on any updates, and for god's sake, don’t blow your cover.” Reese says.
    With that, the conversation was over. I head back to my bunk to get a little more sleep. It takes me a bit to get back into my sleep groove. Then, I am once again dreaming and, as of lately, everything has been static dreams. The kind associated with weak sleeping patterns. They call them static dreams. Basically, a lot of random events get mixed together and the dreams never make any sense.
    I awake the next day and head down to Cox's office. I arrive well before he does, so to lighten the mood, I draw smiley faces on each of his marker boards. I even opt to add some comic relief to the situation and draw a large mushroom on his main board. Under it, I write I am a fun-guy. If that doesn’t brighten his day, I don’t know what will.
    Around 11, Cox strolls in. He obviously hasn’t slept for very long. He is unshaven and outfitted with bloodshot eyes. Given all of that, he still seems to cast a determined look in his eyes. I can see years of pent up sexual aggression painted across his face. I really need to get this guy out of here for a bit. A little R&R might do him some over-due good.
    “Doc, you don’t look so good. Are you alright?” I ask.
    “Yeah, I am fine, long night and all.” Cox replies.
    “I think you should take a break, man. You look like death warmed over. How about taking a nap in your office for a bit?” I reply.
    “A nap sounds really good, now that you mention it.” Cox stumbles like a zombie over to his desk. He hesitates for a moment, and then passes out in a coma for several hours. He snores like a freight train, but I don’t want to wake him. Poor guy is working himself to death. I have never been that dedicated to anything in my life, and I can't understand why he would do it. Shortly after six, I poke him with a stick.
    “Hey, DOC!” I yell.
    “I’m up, What time is it?” cox replies.
    “Dude, it is seven pm and I am starving. Let's get out of here.” I reply. Doc was resistive at first, but I could hear his stomach growling. The mess hall was long closed down so we hopped in his car and headed off base.
    “Where are we heading doc?” I ask.
    “Spearfish. That’s where my apartment is and I know a nice steakhouse there.” Cox replies. Steak, now that sounds like an excellent idea. We drive for about twenty minutes and pull into the parking lot of a western themed steakhouse. The green neon sign out front makes me giggle. Ringneck Roost, Biggest Cock in Town. The wording surrounds a large Ringneck pheasant, its wings animated to simulate flapping wings. The name is so cheesy I can't help but laugh out loud.
    “What's so funny, Haus?” Cox asks.
    “Nothing, just reminds me of a gay bar.” I reply.“The name is silly but the onion rings are all hand-made and the service is nice.” We walk inside and sit down in a booth near the bar. It is dimly lit inside. There is a candle burning in the middle of our table, and I am starting to wonder if Cox meant this to be a date. An attractive twenty something comes to take our order. “The house special with onion rings again tonight, Dr. Cox?”
    “Yes, Angela, and some ranch dressing too, please.” Cox replies.
    “And