“Good morning, sir,” the man said, his tone flat, business-like. “Are you Richard Sykes?”

Richard looked at the two men standing in his doorway. Black suits, black shades, black shoes. They looked like rejects from a bad espionage movie.

“Yeah, I’m Sykes. What’s up?”

“We understand you reported seeing a UFO the other day,” the other one said, his tone equally flat.

“Yeah, I did.” Richard didn’t like this. Not one bit.

“Mr. Sykes,” the first man said, “we are here to inform you that what you saw was, in fact, your imagination. You saw nothing. You made it all up.”

“The hell I did!” Sykes fired back. “Just who do you think you are?!”

“You’ve seen the movie with Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones?” the second asked.

“Yeah.” Richard laughed. “What? You gonna erase my memory or something?”

“No, Mr. Sykes,” the first man said, pulling a gun with a silencer attached. “We’re who they send in when that doesn’t work.

“We’re the permanent solution.”

Sykes was found the next day, victim of a home invasion gone wrong.