Bruce Alford isn’t the saviour of the human race, despite what his alien abductors might think. He’s an out-of-shape actor who spends his life soaking in hot tubs and devouring crispy tempura rolls. So when he’s dropped into a multi-event tournament halfway across the galaxy he wishes he’d spent more time in the gym and less ordering room service.
Bruce Alford had once deactivated a malfunctioning nuclear android, drunk, in a freefall, whilst simultaneously negotiating a peace treaty between the New Luna Empire and the Terran Republic.
He’d defeated more aliens, clones, super villains, dictators, and terrorists than any other man could claim. He’d foiled plots to take over, destroy, sell, even eat the Earth. He’d had, what some might call, an eventful career.
Yet, what quickened Bruce’s pulse, what really turned his stomach, wasn’t the barrel of an Infinity X8 Plasma Rifle pointed down his nose. What spun Bruce’s blood to ice was something far worse…
“You’re a damn liar, Gary!” Bruce forced a laugh through a facade of perfect white teeth and Gary Tenderman put his hand on Bruce’s arm in that pho-friendly way a host tended to, his free arm flapping meaninglessly as he tried to settle the crowd’s laughter.
“No! No-no-no!” Gary said. “You don’t come here, on my show–my show–and call me a liar!”
“I’ll call you what you are, Gary Tendershit.”
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