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“Ooooh.” Purple elbowed Red in the side and pointed, whispering, “Hey. Who’s the new guy?”
Red turned to look at the cadet who’d just entered the lecture hall, and was now standing under the Future Irken Leaders Association banner. The “you must be this tall to enter” sign set up by the door pointed squarely at his imperiously set lower jaw.
“Huh.” Red squinted. “I don’t recognize him.”
“Me neither. Whaddaya think, somebody hit a growth spurt?” They both watched as the new guy walked to the luxurious snack table set up at the front of the hall. He was a little unsteady on his feet.
“Or maybe he transferred from another base? That trench coat isn’t standard uniform here.”
“Maybe he’s in special training for rainstorm operations.”
“Someone that tall?”
“Ehh, good point. Guess he is a transfer.”
Now he was stuffing himself at the snack table: for every two snacks in his mouth, one stuffed into his coat. Saving them for later, probably.
Red got to his feet. “It’s another ten minutes until the meeting starts. Should we go met him?”
“Yeah! This is a perfect opportunity for…” Purple wiggled his fingers spookily at Red, “networking.”
“… Don’t do that.”
“Make me…” Wiggle wiggle wiggle, “stop.”
Red punched him in the arm. (“Ow!”) He weaved around the other tall cadets as he headed to the front of the lecture hall, Purple trailing behind. “Hey there… new friend.” Red and Purple grinned predatorily.
“Eh?!” The new guy turned to peer over his shoulder. “Oh! Oh yes! That’s me!” He punched himself in the stomach, shuffled around 180 degrees, and punched his stomach again.
“Say, that’s kinda weird,” Red observed.
“What? No! What’s weird?” He waved his arms, which seemed unusually short for a guy his height. “I’m a totally normal tall cadet!”
“Yeah, Red’s right,” Purple said casually. “You punched yourself in the stomach.”
“What? Pfft—no I didn’t!”
“You did. Twice.”
“… Oh. Oh yeah. That. Heh. Y'know, I—I didn’t even notice. You see, I… uhhh…” He stared blankly at them. “… I h-have a… a leg… condition?”
Purple’s antennae perked up. “Oh!”
Red nodded. “Oh, sure!”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Could happen to anyone.”
“Nasty things, those leg conditions.”
“Hey Purple, remember that time you broke your back and had a leg condition for a month?”
“I sure do. I sure do.”
Red and Purple smiled at the new guy. He smiled nervously back. “So,” Red said, “what’s your name?”
“M-me? My name?”
Purple leaned in closer. “That’s what he asked.”
“It’s… Zom! Yes! I am Zom.” His stomach whispered, “I thought we agreed on—” He punched it.
“Zom. Cool, cool.” “Cool cool cool. So! Where ya from?”
“Uhh…” A long moment of silence. Zom started reaching behind himself, grabbing snacks and stuffing them in his coat. “Weeell, you see…”
His stomach whispered, “Tell them you’re from—”
“Shut up.” He punched his stomach more viciously, lost his balance, and flopped back on the snack table. Or his top half did, at least. His bottom half stared at Red and Purple in terror, little red eyes wide and antennae sticking straight up.
Red and Purple stared back.
For a moment, all was silent.
“Aa-AAAHH!” Zom wailed. “Oh no! My legs! They’ve gained sentience and detached from me! I-I need to... go to a doctor! AAAAH!” Still wailing, Zom jumped off the table and sprinted out of the room, trench coat dragging behind him. The entire room watched him leave. His legs fainted. A hush settled over the room.
“Boy,” Purple said, “my leg condition never got that bad.”
Red smacked him.