The scent of the forest fills the air this Sunday afternoon as you follow Bill through the woods. He's hauling a backpack full of camping supplies, determined to finally enjoy a peaceful day of grilling far away from all the alien nonsense.

"You know, I've been kickin' around an idea to take the fight to all o' them space hooligans who keep disrupting my backyard barbecues, but for today I figured: let's go grill somewhere else. So that's why we're hiking out to this idyllic little grillin' spot I know—"

He steps into a clearing and freezes.

A flying saucer sits right in the middle of it.

"Typical," Bill grumbles. "Right on top of the firepit." He huffs. "Well, we're here, and I'm grilling!"

He circles the craft. Noticing the door is open, he marches up the ramp and into the ship. Inside it's deserted. Bill finds his way to the flight deck and begins unloading tinder from his backpack onto the empty pilot's seat.

"I reckon the firepit's about here underneath the saucer."

Just as he's about to light it, a series of clicks and hisses sounds from behind him, where several reptilian aliens stand in the doorway.

The ship's computer translates: "Halt! What are you doing?! You will destroy our ship! We won't be able to get home!"

Bill pauses, then sighs.

"Ugh… well we can't have that, can we?"

He starts backing toward the exit, grumbling.

"Wouldn't do me much good if y'all couldn't go away."

Bill stops abruptly before he's out the door, a sly grin materializing. "Get home, you say?" He mumbles. "I guess today's the day."

"You know what? I've had enough of you space boys ruining my BBQ. Today that ends. You ruin my beef, I ruin your life! And you're going to help me do it."

Bill grabs his shotgun out of his pack.

The reptilians freeze. One stammers, "Who are you?!"

"Bill—" He smirks. "Bill Grillem. And this spaceship—is mine!" He pumps the shotgun. "Any questions?"

The reptilian captain raises his claws. "This vessel is under the authority of the Council of Scales!"

"It's under my command now!" retorts Bill, "but we can discuss it with the space delinquent council when we get there. Now get flying, lizard boy!" Bill waves his shotgun. "Set course for your home planet and don't touch it."

"Y-yes, sir!" cries the captain, ordering, "Take off for home immediately!"

His subordinates scramble to comply, punching buttons on glowing control panels.

Bill glances back at you, "You comin'? I'm gonna need someone to watch the grill—and my six."