“How did the moon digger get all the way to us?” I ask.
“We rigged it. Listen–”
“Who is we?” I ask.
“Listen, Shelley, I don’t have much time to explain,” says Rosie. “I shouldn’t explain much either since all calls could be intercepted. Lord Christ Long Cock limited our visor calls home down to two minutes.”
“He limited my calls to one minute,” I sigh.
“He what? Whatever. Listen, tell them to look for a body in the wreckage. The driver of the moon rigger was named Rebel Saint. They are gender neutral. You hear me? Did you get that? You’re doing us such a solid by–”
The call is cut off. We couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ to each other. Ever since our parents were deemed obsolete 612 days ago, she’s been my only family. I couldn’t tell her Fun Words will be shut down either. There’s no way I can get the word out like she wants me to, anyway.
I lean back in my living chair. Watching whatever InstaFlix clip the algorithm feeds me, I feed myself the tiny drop of slime in the little plastic box I bought before the call. Bored by the three second videos, I click on the NonStop News banner. I slurp the rest of my mini meal and choke for a second. As I swallow it down, I see what I thought I saw scroll by moments ago.
Lord Christ Long Cock buys Fun Words.
My visor tightens. It buzzes. I receive a message telling me to return to work early tomorrow. Why would he buy us? Why not shut us down instead like his chrony Captain Spikez assumed?
I type in my passcode, but push the 7 button one too many times. It buzzes, shines red in my eyes, ‘incorrect,’ and tightens. I type in again, but click the 3 and 4 at the same time. The buttons are so small and too close to each other. My visor buzzes, brightens, and tightens. I fall to my cold hard floor and writhe in pain.
I’m locked out from taking off my visor until the morning. My controls are disabled. The InstaFlix clips continue, one after another, blaring entertaining nonsense so loud my eardrums need new drumheads. The NonStop News ticker slides words over the videos tenaciously.
Pope Dope Blunt announces New Jesus Sneakers
Emily Berring Marries Cool Keeng 69
Earth – US – New State – Day 37/365
Fun Words ‘will be Funny Again’ says Lord Christ Long Cock
Moon Miners Awarded More Work Hours, Chance to Earn More!
Man Steak Stocks Soar! Lady Microbe Salad Stocks Remain Steady
Click here for more information on the attack on LCLC Tower
My morning alarm buzzes. My visor loosens its grip. I type in my passcode. The visor comes off. I put it on its charger, next to my living chair and walk towards the vending machine.
My morning microbe salad pops out of it, and my visor cha-chings in the other room, indicating that I am properly charged for my meal. I slurp down the salad and look out my little round kitchen window. The advertisements rise in the East, lighting up the skyscrapers. The big buildings turn and wobble one way and slide another way, changing the directions of the commuters already out and about. I put on my visor and join the commuters, sleepless.
–
The office is abuzz as I type out my next story. A small part of me thinks Lord Christ Long Cock himself will walk in our front door at some point today. I send my story to the newly appointed editor-in-chief, Hard Steel. He skims it as he eats his third lunch steak of the day. He almost chokes.
“Gender neutral? They/them pronouns? This isn’t good,” he says.
“Look, I know it is illegal, but it is what I was told about the perp. Please don’t k–”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch! We’re publishing it for sure, but the police and Lord Christ Long Cock won’t be happy. You’re sure your sister didn’t give any more descriptions of Rebel Saint?” he asks.
“Positive! We only had a minute to talk,” I explain, hoping to get permission to reactivate my long call features. “Why? Why do they need more information?”
“No trace of a body, not even a hair was found in the moon digger’s wreckage. Rebel Saint is still out there.” Hard Steel looks out his office’s tiny round window and zooms his visor towards the LCLC Tower.
“Do you want me to visit the tower and write a report?” I ask, hoping to get a breath of fresh air. The smell of the steaks is too overwhelming. I already had my lunch salad, but I want another one to ease my craving. Hard Steel turns his head towards me and the red pupils of his visor shrink.
“That’s not a bad idea, hot stuff,” he smiles.