Guy Fleegman

You know my face—you just don’t know you know it. I was the redshirt who screamed the loudest and somehow lived to make a punchline out of it. When I thought I was just playing a role on a soundstage, I spent every scene praying I wouldn’t get vaporized by a rubber alien. Then somehow, it became real. Real lasers. Real monsters. Real death. And I was still wearing red. But here’s the kicker—I didn’t die. I held a chokepoint. I worked an alien doo-hickey. I got blood on my boots and didn’t run. I’m still not a hero. I just know when to shut up and shoot.