Chapter 13

 

Chapter 13: Six Months Later

The Cosmic Entertainment Circuit had become the hottest destination in seventeen dimensions. Earth, now officially branded as "Earth: Where Apocalypse Meets Broadway," was booked solid through the next century. Mars, operating under the slogan "Mars: Authentically Awful Since 2042," had developed a dedicated following among cosmic entities who appreciated understated misery.

Dr. Pestilence sat in her new office - officially titled "Director of Existential Programming" - reviewing the quarterly reports. Humanity had not only avoided extinction but had somehow turned their self-destructive tendencies into the most profitable entertainment venture in the known universe.

"Knock knock," Jenkins said, entering with his arms full of cosmic mail. "We've got fan letters from the Dimension of Perpetual Sadness, a request for an encore performance from the Federation of Really Annoying Godlike Beings, and what appears to be a marriage proposal from something called the 'Embodiment of Cosmic Loneliness.'"

"File the fan letters under 'Validation,' schedule the encore for next Thursday, and politely decline the marriage proposal," Dr. Pestilence instructed. "We're already in a committed relationship with professional catastrophe."

Outside her window, she could see the latest performance in progress. Today's show was "Climate Change: The Ice Capades," featuring synchronized melting of polar ice caps performed to classical music while world leaders skated on the rapidly diminishing ice, representing humanity's ability to literally dance on the edge of disaster.

The cosmic audience was loving it. Several entities had brought their offspring to watch, and the concession stands were doing brisk business in existential dread-flavored snacks.

President Doom-Harbinger entered, wearing what had become her trademark costume: a business suit made to look like a nuclear missile with a briefcase full of choreographed disasters.

"Pestilence! Great news! We've been nominated for three Cosmic Choice Awards: Best Dramatic Apocalypse, Most Creative Use of Nuclear Weapons in a Musical Number, and Outstanding Achievement in Making Viewers Question the Meaning of Existence."

"That's wonderful," Dr. Pestilence replied. "Any word from Mars?"

"They've been nominated for Best Understated Suffering and Most Authentic Portrayal of Everyday Misery. Apparently, their latest show - just Administrator Bleakworth trying to fix a broken atmospheric processor for three hours - had cosmic critics weeping openly."

Through the cosmic communication system, they could hear Emperor Cannibalus conducting a tour for new visitors: "AND HERE WE SEE THE HUMANS IN THEIR NATURAL HABITAT, CREATING ELABORATE SCENARIOS FOR THEIR OWN DESTRUCTION WHILE SOMEHOW MANAGING TO SURVIVE THROUGH SHEER STUBBORN INCOMPETENCE. NOTE THE ARTISTIC FLAIR WITH WHICH THEY APPROACH THEIR EXISTENTIAL DREAD!"

Dr. Pestilence had to admit, despite everything, that this arrangement had worked out better than anyone could have expected. Humanity got to continue doing what they did best - creating disaster, chaos, and elaborate reasons to feel terrible about everything - while also gaining cosmic recognition, job security, and a steady income from ticket sales.

"You know," she said to President Doom-Harbinger, "I think we might have accidentally solved the human condition."

"How so?"

"We've found a way to be professionally miserable. We've turned our greatest weakness - our tendency toward self-destruction - into our greatest strength. We're getting paid to be ourselves."

"And ourselves are terrible," President Doom-Harbinger agreed cheerfully. "It's perfect!"

Jenkins looked up from sorting cosmic fan mail. "I've got a request here from something called the 'University of Interdimensional Studies.' They want to establish an exchange program. Apparently, they think studying human self-destruction could provide valuable insights into the nature of existence itself."

"File it under 'Educational Opportunities,'" Dr. Pestilence instructed. "If we're going to be professional disasters, we might as well be educational disasters too."

Outside, the current performance was reaching its climax. World leaders were now performing the "Dance of Mutual Assured Destruction" while actual climate scientists provided live commentary on the irreversible damage being done to the planet, all set to the tune of "My Way" by Frank Sinatra.

The cosmic audience was giving it a standing ovation, which was impressive considering most of them didn't have anything that could be described as legs.

"I'M SO PROUD," Cannibalus announced to his guests. "WHEN I FIRST ARRIVED HERE, THESE CREATURES WERE JUST RANDOMLY DESTROYING THEMSELVES WITH NO ARTISTIC VISION WHATSOEVER. NOW LOOK AT THEM! THEY'VE TURNED APOCALYPSE INTO ART!"

Dr. Pestilence smiled. In a universe full of cosmic horrors, interdimensional entities, and beings of unimaginable power, humanity had found their niche: they were the comic relief. The entertainment. The ones who could be counted on to make a spectacular mess of everything while somehow making it look intentional.

It wasn't the future anyone had planned for, but it was the future they'd earned.

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Chapter 14