Life has no point. Endless life gives you longer to dwell on that.

Petformin Label (Batch 48)

1 Week Later - Ty - Apartment 9 (Roof)

“I’ve heard your concerns about the gliders.” says Tommy. “You’re right, their fuel consumption is insane. Will kill planet for sure. So I did some research, and the new thrusters detonate the gas. The power to fuel ratio is much better.”

“I thought all engines detonated fuel.” I say.

“Ha! No. They ignite it.” Tommy shakes his head. “Amateurs.”

“Okay. So this design uses a lot less gas?”

“Yeah, sure. Or it could use the same fuel and go a fuck load faster.” says Tommy. “Which is what I actually built.”

“Dammit Tommy!”

“I’m making an electric version! Not as fast, but 100% clean energy. That’s the design I’m going to release.” says Tommy. “The Detonator is just for us.”

I rub my head. “If the Detonator design gets out, we’re fucked.”

“Nobody knows about it. Except us. And a couple other people.” Tommy waves. “They’re cool.”

“I won’t tell anybody.” says Storm. “As long as you let me try it.”

I rub my head. We’re all gonna die.

“Is this the new plan to stop global warming?” asks Storm.

“Kinda. How’s Petformin doing?”

“Okay. We have a new DNA-repairing enzyme that cures dementia.” Storm shrugs. “It’s hell on your liver. We’re tinkering with it.”

I look at Bowser. He’s asleep. Or meditating. Or dying from liver failure.

“Cool. Let me know if I can help.” I take a slug of alcosynth. “I’ve been a bitch about Petformin. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Okay...” Storm rubs her head. “What does Petformin have to do with global warming?”

“Old men don’t care about the future. Maybe if they live longer, they’ll stop fucking us over.” I shrug. “It’s either that or kill’em faster.”

“Fair enough. May work.” says Storm. “Immortality could have a moment of social responsibility before the nihilism sets in.”

We drink. Smoke Icarus. I lay out sandwiches.

“You hear about the Copycat bombings?” asks Tommy. “Black Hat hangouts hit with thioacetone. I think Supreme is gonna lose members.”

“I think we have three days until we’re hit with retaliatory tactical malodorants.” I say.

“Meh. Weaponizing thioacetone is tricky.” says Storm. “I’m sure some of those towns were stunk out by Black Hats trying to make their own bombs.”

“How sure are you?”

“Real sure.”

We drink, and smoke, and eat.

“I don’t think we should be attacking the Bad Hat towns.” I say.

“We’re not attacking. We’re dispersing.” Storm says. “Inviting them back to society.”

“Well, it’s a shitty invitation. Expect them to show up mad.”

“What else do we do? It’s tempting to let them self segregate, but they’re actively recruiting. Let’s deal with them before they outnumber us.”

“Okay, but use of force is going to end badly. It’s too fucking easy to kill people now. Nobody’s gonna survive World War III.” I say. “These guys met online. That’s where we should engage them.”

Storm shakes her head. “We can't negotiate with these people. They don't trust us.”

“I have a drug that could help with that.” says Tommy.

“Hmm…” ponders Storm. “Oxytocin. Maybe, but how would we disperse it?”

“If only we could get people to drug themselves” Tommy smokes Icarus, pops Petformin, washes it down with Alcosynth.

“We don’t need Oxytocin.” I state. “Nothing builds trust like winning. It's why I trust Ultra. Even though I probably shouldn't. No offense.”

“None taken.” says Ultra.

“You want a clear, non-violent, win?” asks Storm. “Sounds good. What is it?”

“Well… we’ve had lots of wins. Less work, more friends, less stress, more love.”

“Meh.” Storm's not impressed. “Supreme has twisted versions of all that.”

“Free drugs.” suggests Tommy.

“They’ve got drugs.”

“Better drugs?”

“So subjective.”

“Petformin!” I exlaim.

“That’s a work in progress.” says Storm. “Anyway, I’m already selling it to them. Should I cut them off? Or, is that another shitty invitation?”

We smoke and drink.

“Well this is fucking stupid.” I swear. “Maybe we don’t have any clear wins. You’d think the benefits of peace and equality would be self evident. Why don’t they trust us?”

“Do they think we hate them?” asks Tommy. “Because I kinda do. Only because they’re genocidal maniacs. Not for a weird reason.”

Storm turns to me, ignoring Tommy. “Trust is funny. Why do we trust anybody? Usually because we have to. Modern life is extremely complicated - we need the expertise of strangers. It’s that or live naked in the woods. But sometimes the strangers disagree. What do you do then? Obviously, you build an advanced laboratory and uncover the truth from first principles. Or you just pick one. Eventually you’ve sunk so many decisions into trusting one side, that switching teams would require a redo of your entire life. Who’s got time for that?”

“So, we just randomly pick a team, then trust them our whole lives?” I ask.

“Pretty much.”

“Well that’s an idiotic system.”

“Pretty much.”

I rub my head. “What if your team changes their mind?”

“Then you do too.” says Storm.

“Cool. We’ll stop trying to break up the white supremacists, and just convert them en masse.”

“Great idea. How?”

I rub my head. “Have a hobbit throw Supreme into a volcano?”

“Why not have a giant eagle do it?” asks Tommy. “Way faster.”

“That’s how you get giant racist eagles.” I snap. “Use your fucking head.”

Tommy offers an apology. I accept. We spark another.

“Why would getting rid of Supreme change the opinions of their group?” asks Storm. “Symbionts don’t push an agenda, they just execute the will of their user.”

“Sure, but who’s Supreme’s user? Every other symbiont has one user. I bet Supreme only has one too. The others are sub-users. Supreme gets them what they want, as long as it benefits his true user.” I smoke. “One ring to rule them all.”

“Huh.” Storm looks thoughtful.

Felicia arrives. We cheer, and toast, and smoke. Party for a few hours. Eventually Tommy and Storm check out. Felicia and I fuck hello.

“Finally!” She snuggles into my bed. Sleeps.

I’ve got a little go left. I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years. It adds a few hours to my party time. Bowser’s up too. We head to the porch. Spark up. Call Ultra.

“You were right.”

“Of course.” she says. “About what?”

“Me burning out. Your plans have given me love, and health, and happiness. Mine have just caused misery.”

Ultra shrugs. “Important jobs are often miserable. You corrected a major power imbalance. Everything may go to shit because of it, but it was probably a good decision. You did what you could, with what you knew.”

“I’ve been thinking about what Zenith said. About humans striving to be better than other humans, including their past selves.” I shake my head. “Why are we doing that? It’s obviously impossible. Social climbing is pointless. Nobody cares about my status. I can’t possibly be healthier, happier, or better looking than my past self. We’re collectively stressing over our failure to achieve the impossible. It kinda explains why everything is fucked up.”

“What about Petformin?”

“I guess if I lived forever I could drag out my peak. Possibly forever. But I would still peak.” I say. “It’s not like I’d suddenly be better than everyone else. They’d be immortal too.”

“Okay.” agrees Ultra. “Humans still need to strive to feel happy. If self improvement has diminishing returns, what do you work on?”

“I think we have to get old school.” I say. “Work to help everybody. It’s a bottomless task, but strangely not impossible. Instead of diminishing returns, we get accelerated returns. Because the people we help are better able to help others, who can then do cool stuff, and eventually we get a Millenium Falcon.

“Also, you can help people till the day you die, and it’s never pointless. You can’t say that about making money. Or sit-ups.”

“Cool.” says Ultra. “I’m in. Let’s grow the Guild. Take over the whole economy. Anything else?”

“I’d like to find aliens.”

“Fucking A.” Ultra smiles. “I am the luckiest symbiont in the world.”