SURPRISE!

There was going to be a surprise at the end of the night.

Not a marriage proposal, god no. Even if I had thought we were there, I would have dropped hints to gauge her reaction first.

Nor was it a break up. Even if I had concrete evidence she'd have cheated on me, I hated when people made a huge song and dance (sometimes literally) about dumping someone.

No, I was simply going to reveal that I'd won the lottery and was now a multimillionaire.

The surprise turned out to be she did like public dumping, without concrete evidence.

I'm Fucked

I woke up with an alien probe up my ass, and two little grey men staring out a window. I could understand them, somehow, maybe the probe, I dunno.

"I say we just jettison it."

"Oh come on Blorgnac, if this gets investigated, they'll find it floating out here and start asking questions!"

"So we go closer and do it."

"And leave our warp field signature near the wreckage! Come on! We could just eat it."

"I'm on an unintelligent only diet."

I sat up, to see Earth destroyed.

Suddenly getting probed wasn't the worst fucking I'd had that day.

Encounter Tangency

The problem came an hour before the encounter tangency. Everything had been going well until I ran a test check on the stasis field generator.

And it failed.

This was a problem as the stasis field was going to be the only thing stopping the giant asteroid from destroying us in the encounter tangency.

I brought this to the attention of the rest of the crew, who all were convinced it was a mistake, and that it would work when required.

I took their opinion on board, and then had a quick encounter tangency with the nearest escape pod door.

Army Surplus

The lone survivor pushed aside the remains of the armored personnel carrier he had been riding in, slowly rising to his feet.

"What the hell, is he a zombie or something?"

I slapped the shocked solider on the back of his helmet.

"There are plenty of possible explanations for his survival, most of them revolving around sheer luck."

I walked up, slammed the butt of my rifle into his head, knocking him down and then shot him twice in the chest.

I turned around, and then heard it get back up.

"Right, NOW you can start to claim zombieism, maybe." 

From The Desk Of Dr George Bolin

This is the confession of Dr. George Bolin.

I am being held against my will at gunpoint by four men in masks who are insisting I write a false confession for the death of Alicia Booth-Smythe. She died of complications from surgery, but these men wish to put the blame of it on me for unknown reasons.

So, I am writing this note in my usual handwriting style on the assumption that they will force me to redo it so they can read it, so please understand that it is also not true.

Signed,

Dr. Go fuck yourselves Boys fully.

Simplicity

I hated jobs that required split second timing. Give me a closed bar after payday that just needs a shotgun, balaclava, and an intimidating voice. I leave the million dollar casino heists with biosecurity bypasses, guard switching timetables, and a dozen different getaway vehicles to those who care more about knowing they did something hard and 'cool' to the payoff.

That said, there was one time where I appreciated a job like that. Those four guys pulled off an amazing heist, no question.

And then they got robbed by a guy with a shotgun, a balaclava, and an intimidating voice.

Shared

The different friendly messages the app displayed informing me in slightly differing wording that my rideshare was on route had begun to loop.

By the fourth cycle, I was getting frustrated.

By the eighth, I snapped. I went back to the homescreen and opened the more expensive rideshare app.

But then I paused. What if the other one turned up? It was well past the point where I could cancel for free, but still...

Eventually I booked the more expensive one. It arrived quickly.

"Let me just ditch this loser." He explained, pressing a button.

My original booking was cancelled.