Cameron's Arrival

Inside the large house, nobody noticed the flash of light that came from the back yard. All of the tenants were either drunk, or too preoccupied with the party inside to notice such things.

Cameron stood up from a kneeling position on the smoking hemispherical hole in the ground. Observing her surroundings she determined that she was in the back yard of a fraternity house. The Greek letters sigma and pi were written on the back door that she did not bother to knock on before walking inside.

As she passed through the kitchen, two chatting guys stopped mid sentence to stare at the slender, naked brunette striding past them.

"Niiice." One of them commented, and continued to stare until she rounded the corner into the living room. Once she was out of sight they continued their conversation. " anyways, once you use this hack to make yourself a level 60 paladin, you can score all this epic loot and..."

The stereo was blaring "Lady Don't Hurt Me" by Haddaway, causing everyone in the room to bob their head in a slightly sideways motion. Cameron found this behavior very unusual, and began to theorize that she had walked into some sort of halfway house for mental patients.

These people are mentally unstable. Proceed with caution.

As people started to notice Cameron, they gave her more and more space. Soon she was standing in the middle of a circle of college students, all staring at her in disbelief. Cameron could hear comments coming from every direction:

"Who's this chick?"
"Bet she's a tri-Delt' skank!"
"Shut up! I'm a tri-Delt!"
"You must be cold!"

"Shake it, baby!"

Cameron did not "shake it". She stood still as a statue, moving only her head, scanning the crowd. Her HUD eventually told her that a girl standing at her nine o'clock was a perfect body match. She turned on her heel and took two steps toward the girl, who was wearing a pair of low-rise blue jeans and a UCLA softball style shirt. Standing only a few inches from the girl, Cameron began to profile her. She determined from her dilated pupils and seemingly out of balance stature that the girl was intoxicated. A quick analysis of her breath concluded that her blood alcohol level was 0.31 percent; far beyond human tolerance for maintaining coherence.

"Take off your clothes," Cameron said in a stoic, but commanding voice.

This comment was met with an uproar of whooping and hollering from the crowd of inebriated twenty-year-olds.

"Better listen to her, Macy!"
"Yeah! You said you always wanted to switch-hit just once!"
"Tri-Delt' sluts ruullleee!!"

The girl, Macy, polished off the drink she was holding and tossed the red cup on the floor before immediately proceeding to pull her shirt over her head.

This is going much smoother than originally predicted. All resources have shown that humans are reluctant to relinquish their clothes.

Before long, Macy was standing in nothing but a bra and panties. More cheers from the crowd drowned out the stereo. Among the cheers, one guy heckled, "What the hell?? Macy! Better make a trip to the laundromat!" while pointing and laughing at Macy's panties.

Cameron looked down at the undergarment's Macy was wearing.

Odd...her underwear says "Wednesday" yet my internal calendar indicates that it is Friday.

While Cameron was musing as to why humans were so unorganized she was attacked by the mostly naked, drunk girl before her.

It was a two part attack. From Cameron's point of view, Macy was making a futile attempt to crush Cameron against her body, and eat her face.

This is the most inefficient form of attack I have ever experienced, Cameron thought as Macy continued to slobber on her mouth and wrap one leg around Cameron as she stood there, perplexed. After a few seconds of this, she shoved Macy to the ground.

"Ow! What th' hell?!," Macy protested, slurring her words. "Whaadja do that for?"

The crowd became much quieter as they watched Cameron quickly slip on Macy's jeans and shoes. "Hey! Whatterya doin with my pants!?"

When Cameron bent over to pick up the shirt that was in a heap on the floor, one of Macy's slightly less drunk friends stepped up. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm taking her pants, shirt and shoes," Cameron responded, matter-of-factly.

"You can't do that!" the friend yelled as she shoved Cameron. Cameron barely moved from the blow however the other girl nearly fell over from essentially shoving herself backwards. Utilizing the moment of shock that everyone seemed to be in, she slipped the shirt on.

One of the larger, well built guys at the party approached Cameron. He stood towering over her in an intimidatingly close stance with his chest puffed out and his legs spread slightly. "Ok girly. Enough's enough. Macy's a drunk dumbass, but you can't take her clothes. Give em' back."

Cameron looked up at the man and locked eyes with him. She placed her hand on his thigh and began sliding it up towards his waistline until she felt something bulging. She could feel his heart-rate quicken significantly when she asked him with a slight grin, "Is that a set of keys in your pocket?"

The man's heart skipped a beat as he stammered, "What? Uhh...I..." He was at a loss for words as he felt her hand slip into his pocket. By the time he realized that she had just lifted his keychain off of him, his ability to breathe was temporarily taken away as her fist drilled into his solar plexus.

When the muscle-bound man fell to the ground gasping for air, two other guys attempted to attack Cameron. Everyone watched in awe as the petite young woman threw one guy across the room into the kitchen; his body making a high pitched squeaking sound as his skin slid across the hardwood floor. The other guy ended up crashing headfirst into the stereo cabinet, causing the CD player to skip ahead to the next track; "Welcome To the Jungle" by Guns 'n' Roses.

Concluding that all immediate threats were neutralized, Cameron turned and began walking to the front door. It took her a few steps to calibrate her walking algorithm to accommodate the high heeled shoes she was now wearing.

Inefficient human apparel. These will be the first items I replace.

"STOP! I'll shoot you, bitch! I swear!" a desperate voice called out as she was nearly out the door.

Cameron turned around to see a scrawny, pasty adolescent across the room pointing a Desert Eagle pistol at her.

Excellent. I need a weapon.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Cameron walked over to him with the gait of a runway model, glaring at him with burning eyes the whole time. It was obvious the kid was bluffing. Cameron could see that he was no murderer by the way the gun was trembling in his hand, and the sweat on his brow; not to mention the short, girly scream he let out when her lightning quick hand snatched the gun from him.

Just before she reached out to grab the gun, Cameron accessed her database of weaponry, and calibrated the force in her arm to quickly grab an object that weighed approximately 70 ounces. The object she grabbed weighed only about a fifth of that, and shattered as her hand gripped it.

She looked in wonderment at the shards of plastic that fell out of her hand when she opened her fist. Little white, plastic BB's fell out of the handle of the gun and scattered on the floor.

A replica? Humans in this time are more incompetent than I have prepared for.

The youth looked in horror as his favorite Airsoft gun was crushed and destroyed. Taking a few steps backward, he stumbled and fell on his rear.

"Poor choice in weaponry," was all she said as she tossed the remaining hunks of broken plastic in her hand at the feet of the owner.

"You better get lost Bitch. Campus police are on their way," said another girl who was holding a cell phone to her ear.

Another bluff? Likely not. Avoiding authorities is a priority.

Without saying another word, Cameron walked out of the front door and stopped on the front step to examine the keychain she had stolen. There were several keys on the chain, but only one with a matching symbol as the decorative pendant attached to the key-ring. On it was a graphical "S" and the Letters "GSX-R". Cameron scanned the vehicles parked in front of the house and in the driveway until she saw a matching graphic on a white and blue motorcycle.

This won't do at all. No weapon storage space. No armor.

The sound of police sirens caused her to whip her head around and look down the street. A couple blocks away three police cars with flashing lights were traveling in her direction.

She quickly scanned the motorcycle:

1000 cubic centimeters engine displacement...
6 speed manual gearbox...
Capability of outrunning police vehicles...99.99 percent.

Quickly, she mounted the bike and started it. She eased the clutch out and began to roll forward. The police were approaching quickly, and she needed to make a fast exit. Twisting the throttle wide open, she felt the front end of the motorcycle lift off of the ground.

I have underestimated the torque curve of this vehicle's engine. This must be what humiliation feels like, she thought as she slid along on her back, and the motorcycle crashed down in front of her, scraping across the pavement and into a tree on the other side of the road.

As she lay sprawled out in the middle of the street, a pickup truck screeched to a halt inches before running her over. She sat up and stared at the blue oval emblem on the grille of the truck with the script "Ford" in white letters inside it.

"Holy Jesus! Are you alright?!" said the driver of the truck when he stepped out and walked around the front of his vehicle to see Cameron sitting there, unaffected. He just watched her wheelie her bike and smack her head on the road; she should be dead, or unconscious at the very least.

"I'm fine," she said as she stood up, scanning the truck.

Ford Motor Company, model F-250...
Three-Quarter ton class...

460 cubic inch engine displacement...


As the man stood, absolutely dumbfounded, Cameron said to him, "I need to borrow your truck."

Disclaimer: I chose the fraternity and sorority names at offence to anyone intended.


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