After THIS
The very next day, after the RV had been towed away from the ditch and hauled to the repair shop...
On an abandoned stretch of road, miles from anywhere a boxy black ford pulled up to the side of the road and a young man with red hair in a black suit stepped out and took in the surroundings. There in the ditch were the remains of some sort of sensor array. And not too far off was the smell of burnt grease and flesh.
What little hope Agent R in the MiB had of having something appraching the day as usual for an average agent went away very quickly, hiking up towards the source of the smell.
"....oooooh boy."
Three seconds after making the call to headquarters the boss finally picked up.
"R! Where the HELL are you and why are you calling my office."
"It's about that party crasher sir, out in Utah."
"Good. Where?"
"...ooh...over there, up on the rock, on top of that bush, over there, up there and down there."
"Wonderful." Pause. "Who do we have to thank for this?"
Whatever his boss had in mind...it wasn't a handshake.
"You're going to love this."
"I'm all a tingle."
"Earth tech from the looks of it. There's a crash site, some RV tracks and the remains of someone's homebrew sensor array about 500 feet from where I'm standing, and human tracks leading to the point of disintegration."
"Get on who or whatever did this. I'm still dealing with the Hephastians over their ding dong ditch."
"Got it chief."
---------------
Two hours later.
---------------
R strode out of the repair shop and back into his car, before driving back to the scene of where it all happened.
Maybe neuralyzing himself would spare him the horror of having to explain how their least favorite conspiracy theorist had done this.
Maybe not.
"Boss."
"What've you got R."
"Darryl...'Mother'...Roskow."
On an abandoned stretch of road, miles from anywhere a boxy black ford pulled up to the side of the road and a young man with red hair in a black suit stepped out and took in the surroundings. There in the ditch were the remains of some sort of sensor array. And not too far off was the smell of burnt grease and flesh.
What little hope Agent R in the MiB had of having something appraching the day as usual for an average agent went away very quickly, hiking up towards the source of the smell.
"....oooooh boy."
Three seconds after making the call to headquarters the boss finally picked up.
"R! Where the HELL are you and why are you calling my office."
"It's about that party crasher sir, out in Utah."
"Good. Where?"
"...ooh...over there, up on the rock, on top of that bush, over there, up there and down there."
"Wonderful." Pause. "Who do we have to thank for this?"
Whatever his boss had in mind...it wasn't a handshake.
"You're going to love this."
"I'm all a tingle."
"Earth tech from the looks of it. There's a crash site, some RV tracks and the remains of someone's homebrew sensor array about 500 feet from where I'm standing, and human tracks leading to the point of disintegration."
"Get on who or whatever did this. I'm still dealing with the Hephastians over their ding dong ditch."
"Got it chief."
---------------
Two hours later.
---------------
R strode out of the repair shop and back into his car, before driving back to the scene of where it all happened.
Maybe neuralyzing himself would spare him the horror of having to explain how their least favorite conspiracy theorist had done this.
Maybe not.
"Boss."
"What've you got R."
"Darryl...'Mother'...Roskow."