Harran popped the green head like a peach, fuzz and blood sticking to his skin. The other guard shoved his volt-baton into Harran’s side before Harran punched through his lungs.

“Stop,” yelled the eight-eyed Senator. “Stop the alien thug!”

Harran threw a comm-pad through the Senator’s face and stomped on three of his fellow politicians.

“Who’re you calling thug, bug?” Harran snorted and grabbed the President’s daughter by the waist. Like all of the willowy, voluptuous blue women of her people, she stood twice the height of her father and just a few centimetres above Harran’s own two metres five.

“Come with me, Princess. Your race are decadent fools, not powerful warriors.”

“I’m an MP, Harran. But I suppose you’re right. Let us take my father’s spaceship and fly far from this stable, progressive nightmare!”

“Flying ships? What sorcery is this? Have your people enslaved the wind just as they have the lightning? Get me an axe, a weapon for a more civilised … "

“Just follow me.”

“Yes Princess.”