Okay, bear with me here...
What if the futurists had it right the first time? What if, by the 21st century, things really did change? And not the change that you or I know it to be, but a sudden leap. As if someone thought it wise to just cut a large, important portion of history and glued the end bits back together. What was the worse turn out of the century was the fact that no one cared to notice. They were quite indifferent about it, actually. It was a regular day in the life of a human; like well trained dogs. Pavlov would be proud of such conditioning. But, conditioned or not, the universe didn't quite care about a human's opinion. Soon, the world no longer ran on floppy disks, but rather intangible memory banks stored in microbial chips. The trend was no longer booty shorts and Capris and more like Artificial Intelligence and nanobots. It was only slightly dreadful to the previous generation.
And suddenly, with its vast stores of technology and no vast intelligence to run it, the Earth had become worthy of the acknowledgement of other cosmic civilizations. But, what one would expect were the liberators of our own ignorance soon became different amalgamations of our own foolishness. Not quite what a being of intelligence would hope for. So, it would be determined by the minds of the scientific community, of what little remained, that the current state of the universe was simply: tragic. And thus, the Stephen Hawkings and Niel Degrasse Tysons, with the sudden 'eye-opening' brought on by the tech advancement, were refuted and disproved until they were finally erased from the fabric of our universe. Such fickle beings. But, tragic or not, it was alright.
You want to know why it was okay?
Because it really didn't matter if it was okay or not. It was survival of the fittest, social Darwanism at its best. Not to mention any theories of evolution were completely eradicated or merely rewritten to accommodate the sentient A.I. that somehow appeared out of thin air. It didn't help that, with the cosmic witch-hunt of forward thinkers, Darwin fell as they did into the trap of non-existence, despite already being dead. By this account, the universe (or at least our world) should have imploded and become just one giant black hole of nothingness, but nothing makes sense anyways, so why the hell not? And no one questioned this sudden paradox of discontinuity. Why? Because someone already did and that person was sucked into a giant abyss, now dubbed a Paradoxical Wormhole, to be forever trapped in oblivion or transported through some weird Einstein-Rosenburg bridge to Asgard. No one knows which one, but they assume the former. It's exactly how the novella and encyclopedia came to get its best seller (and a lot of money), dubbed, "Poor Gary," along with its rave reviews on how it was such an informative and melancholy piece of reference work.
This is the world as it is today, messed up and so full of itself that it should have erupted millennia ago. Sadly, this is where you live and you aren't getting out. At least the technology is great and there is an abundance of people to dribble mindlessly with as you go along your worthless life until you ultimately die, like the rest of us. The good thing is, you're ignorant enough to go along with it. No one asks questions because if they did, they'd end up like Gary. And who wants to get a posthumous Nobel Peace Prize or the fame that he did? Do you know what posthumous means? It means your in-laws and ungrateful children get your hard earned reward.
That's not a world I'd like to live in.
Your story takes place in this exact same universe.
But, there is no fancy guide to help you along the way, no towel for safety, and certainly no assurance that you'll survive, printed in fabulously bright and bold letters on the cover. This story is terribly bleak, and only slightly comical—comical, in the sense that everyone, on the outside, finds your struggle to live hilarious. If you want to put a genre on it, I think the best would be dystopian. And maybe a satire because you are middle-class, right? And you are downtrodden and oppressed. A great quip to the society we currently live in, right? Anything that'll sell. What more, there's only one job out there that will take you in. Only one job that can maybe, possibly help you live a few days longer.
My job.
The job you're currently looking at from the newspaper you found in some teaser's garbage. A job that provides way below the minimum wage with absolutely no insurance, not even the one the world government grants you (who am I kidding, that's just an urban legend). You want to know why? Because I'm in your exact situation, with just about no way out but a rundown delivery company that barely got off its feat before—maybe not barely, but that's not important. That's a lot of hope that I'm instilling in your heart, right now. But, it's a lot more than any opportunity that you can barely grasp. Most opportunities are granted to those with a lot more privilege than what you currently have, like people who can actually think properly and aren't hopelessly scrounging in the gutters. And honestly, this is as much hope I can afford. The more I instill, the more I pay for in this ad.
You'll get about $2.75 an hour and work enough hours that it would be defy the laws of physics if you were to get another part-time job. But, there's been a lot of that recently, so I wouldn't be surprised if you found a way. There are no breaks and I dock your pay for every hour you don't work, including hours that you're off. I need a profit if I'm able to keep this company afloat and we sure as hell aren't getting that by delivering shit. What more, I do expect you to be my personal guinea pigs so that we can make even more money selling scientific information that may or may not be a detriment to your health. I don't pay for your medical expenses, so it's not my problem. As well, our lovely ship will be piloted by a very trusty pilot. The ship, of which, is an old United Bureaucracy of Corporate Worlds Navy (UBCWN) battle cruiser that I rigged to work as a delivery ship. By rigged, I mean screwed up the controls so that only the basics work. It currently doesn't have a name because I'm quite inept at that. Maybe... "The Entropic Dementia." Huh...
Any questions regarding why a delivery company when teleporters are a thing will be funneled into my, 'I don't give a shit,' box of complaints.
We hire anyone, anything, for whatever the hell you want. We deliver shit; that's our motto. That's actually our entire motto. You've got no where else to go, so why not go here?
"We deliver shit; that's our motto." — Dr. Nosek, Ph.D (I'm a reputable source of information, so why not trust my word?)
1. Don't be stupid. Have some common sense, please. If there are any disputes, take it up with me and if I can't find a reasonable way to solve it, then I permit you two to a Mexican stand-off, within the privacy of your own rooms. I heard those either end in two ways: with the two of you in a heated, steamy pile of coitus or one (or both) of you riddled with bullets. I'm fine with either solutions, as long as it is a solution. The kind that fixes things, not the one where you mix... never mind.
2. If I make an order, then you follow it. That's pretty simple, right? So, if I say, "Hey, Phil, why don'tcha get me a sandwich?" what do you say? Definitely not, "Kindly fuck yourself, sir." No, I kid. You're at your own devices, but if there's a time I need to put my foot down, I do expect you all to wholeheartedly listen.
3. Life demands of us all. I totally understand if you're ten tentacled wife is being the B word and the C word combined to make the S word. That's bitch, cu—never mind, you aren't children. But, if it does happen to pull you away from work, I'm docking your pay... and I would like you to notify me beforehand. You don't have vacation days, but I'd like to fill your spot in as soon as possible. Chances are she's going to kill you and you're going to end up on the nightly news as that 'One-guy who just couldn't please her woman,' and we're all going to laugh at your expense. But, hey, at least there wasn't a meltdown at work today because I didn't have a navigator that could have told us we were heading into a photon storm near the Andromeda Galaxy, which shredded us to pieces and left no one to mourn for our long, lost, and disintegrated bodies.
4. Don't be too hasty there, hotshot! I can't have you turning the ship port-side into that gas giant station without first having our co-pilot give the station our docking codes so we can get our clearance without getting shot out of the sky. Plus, if you go in too fast without our engineers checking for any leakage or properly venting the excess heat from our exhaust, then we're all going to explode the moment we hit the stratosphere. Slow your horses, kiddo—this is a ship we're running, not a carnival. Wait for at least two people do do their jobs before you go running around like a maniac. Even the ship's idiot has to have time to prepare his gallivanting before he goes and does it (and tie his shoes).
5. I don't want nonsense! If you want to speak, then use the Queen's English! Or, at least turn on your translator. I'm not asking for much here; I just want to know what the hell you're saying. We don't need any mishaps caused by a misunderstanding. I don't need any of you shouting 'Pom-Poms' while pointing at a cheerleader and having it read as, 'BOMB! BOMBS!' to the nearest policeman. I don't give a shit if she gets her head blown off by a .50 caliber. What I care about is the expense we'll have to pay when they find out you were just screaming out a jumbled nonsense and getting someone killed! No need for fancy words or grammatical cues that our local stenographer will have to type out. I just want people to understand you.
6. A maximum of two sentient artificial intelligence, please. I can't stress this enough. You have no idea the money I would have to pay to keep more than two operational and even then, there's a likelier chance that a HAL 9000 will come rolling on in to kill us all. Can you open the bay doors?! "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that." My name's not Dave. Just no, please. I'm not dealing with a homicidal maniac—human, robot, or otherwise.
7. Be respectful of your crew mates. I can't stress this either. I don't need you to get along, I just need to know that none of you are going to kill each other. It'll only benefit you because I'm not paying for shit—emotional or physical trauma. Don't be dicks and you may survive each other.
8. Have fun. This only benefits you. If you're having fun, then you aren't worrying about the fact that you aren't making shit for money and have no insurance if you get maimed and broken. Just make sure your fun isn't at the expense of others and, most importantly, isn't costing me money.
9. Lastly (maybe), if you're going to have sex with your crew mates, then I have a few guidelines to lay out. Firstly, if it's not a relationship, then you DON'T have to fill out a form. Secondly, no sex on the fucking controls. Thirdly, no goddamn sex where we eat our food, for fuck's sake. And lastly, this is between two (or more) CONSENTING ADULTS. Oh, and don't do it publicly. You can do it anywhere but where I've told you not to, as long as you're the only people there. No one wants to see any of your nasty asses getting it on. So, be kind and do not fuck in public. And no weird mutilation shit either. I don't care if he or she or it has ultra regenerative powers. I'm not cleaning any of that shit up.
Note: Below is a survey on the current crew we have organized. When possible, please complete the survey. You may start and submit copies regardless of their current state. The survey is ever growing as more crew join the ranks of our Glorious State of Arstotzka Delivery Company. Your submitted drafts will be saved in our databanks and will sway further decisions concerning the crew.
Please, consider these questions: How are your current relations to the crew? If not, how would you feel any relations would develop? Is this person a detriment to your personal environment? Is this person generally a sourpuss? What is the likelihood of a dimensional rift tearing between the two of you caused by unwarranted conflict, thus releasing an eldritch horror into our universe? Is there anything you would like to say about this person? Is there anything mature and adult you would like to say to this person? Do you believe them to be a good addition to our crew? If not, then why? If so, then... I guess, why?
I do expect you to be able to gather this data through simply scanning their dossier, which is submitted and given to each crew member to read and analyze. Thank you, for your service.
Glory to Arstotzka
Scientist/Owner — Taken by Sixsmith - [Doctor Eckhart Nosek]
Scientist/Towel Boy/Girl/It (A new addition) —
Pilot — (Jump Pilot taken by Ex - [Jane Pepper]) Taken by both The MightyGos - Arthur Can'tpronounceyourname and Mizuho - Clarisse Even Jenkins
Co-Pilot — Apparently No One
Engineers/Mechanics — One Taken by RedDusk - [Krios Cerus]
Janitor (Another established addition) — Taken by Gargoyle - Harriet
Resident Idiot — (Back up Idiot taken by The Whacko - [Carnus Uvenk])
Cook — Taken by Slint - [Johanne Bry]
The Sex Appeal (Position can be filled by an active crew member) — Taken by Ex - Jane Pepper?
Medic/Doctor — Taken by Dusk/Fallout - [Glyxisarius Sel'thice]
Delivery Boy/Gal/Thing — Taken by The Whacko - [Carnus Uvenk]
Tech Expert (Also in charge of advertising and marketing) — Taken by Fetus - Hay the Horse
Navigator — Taken by Ex - [Jane Pepper]
Possibly a Robot (Just not a HAL) —
NOTE: If I missed anything, then please tell me! All of these don't need to be filled for us to get started, but eventually we will need most of them filled to keep going. Also, if we need, then some of these can be taken by more than one individual. As long as it makes sense! As well, if we end up with not enough people, then some of you HAVE to take on more than one role. The roles that are needed are Pilot, One Engineer, Medic, Navigator, Techie, and The Other Scientist.
Doctor Eckhart Nosek - Owner/Scientist
Jane Pepper - Pilot/Navigator
Glyxisarius Sel'thice - Medical Doctor
Krios Cerus - Engineer
Carnus Uvenk - Idiot Delivery Boy
Martha - Minor Character/A.I.
Johanne "Joh" Bry - The Carribean Cook
Hay - The Techie Half-Asshole
Harriet - The Janitor Without a Voice
Arthur BECAUSE HIS NAME'S TOO HARD TO PRONOUNCE - A Pilot
Clarisse Eve Jenkins - The Other Pilot