I want a good name, the alien told him, wisely choosing not to comment on his problem. It’s gonna be my name and you said I only have one shot at it.

Riley threw up his hands in resignation and sat his ass down on the bed. Might as well get comfortable.

“No girly names,” he advised, idly picking a piece of dried grass from the brim of his hat. “Except if you are a girl.” He paused, alarmed. “Are you a girl?”

It didn’t sound like a girl and it had definitely looked male in his dream, but Riley figured that didn’t mean much when it came to alien armor systems. The thing was probably asexual or transsexual or whatever. Or it could change its sex. Or it was going to lay eggs into Riley’s belly like some kind of spider so its young could devour him from the inside out and

—

A ripple of movement under his skin made him break out in goose bumps. Stop it, his passenger demanded, sounding thoroughly disgusted.

That’s revolting! I’ll be checking you and me for eggs now, thanks.

“Sorry,” Riley muttered, chagrined. So maybe he wasn’t entirely convinced of the alien’s good intentions. Could you blame him? It was an alien. He shook himself, tried to focus on the issue at hand. “Okay. Boy names or girl names?”

I don’t know, his passenger replied, still a little testy. Not like I have a dick… or a pussy. I feel male. Maybe because you’re male. I don’t know.

Can we just assume I’m a guy and go with it?

“Fine by me.”

Riley slapped his hat against his knee to dust it off and tried not to let on how glad he was that he was at least possessed by a male alien. It was plenty disconcerting, but still better than sharing his body with a woman.

He might be gay, but that didn’t mean he was ready to explore his (or anybody else’s) feminine side. That kind of thing wasn’t even funny in shitty C movies.

McClane, the alien said, apropos of nothing.

Instinctively, Riley turned his head and checked the TV set. It was off.

Apparently, his squatter had caught the stray thought about movies and run with it. He shook his head. “Name first, TV later. Come on, I wanna get outta here sometime this year.”

I’m talking about my name. The alien shifted, and it felt like a tongue stroking Riley’s sternum. From the inside. It was a surreal sensation.

McClane’s a good name. It’s a hero’s name. Also, male. I want to be McClane. He’s funny, smart, and invincible.

It took Riley a second to make his brain work in order to answer. He was still trying to decide whether the not-lick had felt intensely good or extremely disturbing. “McClane’s not real,” he argued, once he was coherent again. “He’s a movie character. He’s make-believe.”

All names are make-believe.