Chapter 6

 

Chapter 6: The Terms of Service

The contract negotiations took place in what had once been the BNBAAS cafeteria but was now designated as the "Cosmic Commerce Chamber." President Doom-Harbinger sat across from Emperor Cannibalus at a table that had been hastily reinforced with steel beams and existential certainty, while a team of lawyers frantically typed up the most unusual terms of service agreement in the history of jurisprudence.

"ARTICLE ONE," Cannibalus dictated, his tentacles gesturing grandly while cosmic spittle flew in all directions, "THE MORTAL MEAT CREATURES AGREE TO PROVIDE FRESH DESPAIR ON DEMAND, WITH NO LESS THAN SEVENTEEN VARIETIES OF SUFFERING AVAILABLE AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT."

"Counter-proposal," President Doom-Harbinger said, consulting her notes. "We guarantee at least twelve varieties of suffering, with three seasonal specials rotating monthly. We're only human, Your Magnificence - we need time to develop new forms of existential dread."

"ACCEPTABLE. ARTICLE TWO: I REQUIRE A FRONT-ROW SEAT TO ALL APOCALYPTIC EVENTS, WITH COMPLIMENTARY SNACKS."

"Done. We'll set up a cosmic viewing box with the finest despair-based refreshments Earth can provide."

Dr. Pestilence, who had been appointed as humanity's chief negotiator due to her unique ability to maintain sanity while surrounded by insanity, raised her hand. "What about our own survival? We can't provide ongoing entertainment if we accidentally annihilate ourselves completely."

"AN EXCELLENT POINT," Cannibalus agreed. "ARTICLE THREE: THE MEAT CREATURES MUST MAINTAIN A MINIMUM VIABLE POPULATION OF... LET US SAY... FOUR BILLION UNITS. ENOUGH TO GENERATE ADEQUATE DESPAIR, BUT NOT SO MANY THAT THEY BECOME OVERCONFIDENT."

"Four billion seems reasonable," President Doom-Harbinger agreed. "We're at about seven and a half billion now, so we have some wiggle room."

General Blastmeyer looked up from his calculator. "That means we can have approximately three and a half billion casualties while still maintaining our contractual obligations."

"Perfect! That should cover our next few major conflicts and at least two pandemics."

Secretary of Creative Self-Destruction Timothy Misery waved enthusiastically. "Can we put in a clause for artistic freedom? I've been working on some truly innovative forms of societal collapse, and I'd hate to be constrained by cosmic micromanagement."

"ARTICLE FOUR," Cannibalus pronounced, "THE MEAT CREATURES SHALL HAVE COMPLETE CREATIVE CONTROL OVER THEIR METHODS OF SELF-DESTRUCTION, PROVIDED THEY MEET THE MINIMUM DESPAIR QUOTAS AND MAINTAIN ADEQUATE ENTERTAINMENT VALUE."

"Excellent," Misery beamed. "I've got a new economic system that collapses in twelve different ways simultaneously. It's going to be beautiful."

The negotiations continued for several hours, covering everything from cosmic health insurance (Cannibalus wanted coverage for existential indigestion) to vacation time (humanity would get one week per year where they were allowed to be moderately optimistic, but not enough to ruin the overall ambiance of doom).

Jenkins, still diligently updating his suicide note, raised a tentative hand. "What happens if other cosmic entities want to muscle in on our arrangement? Do we have exclusivity rights to being devoured by His Hungriness?"

"ARTICLE TWELVE," Cannibalus declared, puffing up with cosmic pride, "THIS ARRANGEMENT IS EXCLUSIVE TO THE EMPEROR OF THE INFINITE REALM OF THE FAR FLUNG HUNGER. ANY OTHER COSMIC ENTITY ATTEMPTING TO CONSUME OR INTERFERE WITH THIS PLANET SHALL FACE MY TERRIBLE WRATH."

"So you're essentially offering us protection?" Dr. Pestilence asked.

"PROTECTION, YES, BUT ALSO QUALITY CONTROL. I HAVE INVESTED TOO MUCH IN THIS DINING EXPERIENCE TO ALLOW SOME AMATEUR COSMIC DEVOURER TO RUIN THE FLAVOR PROFILE."

President Doom-Harbinger grinned. "We're getting cosmic protection services and job security. This might be the best deal humanity has ever made."

"I'm still updating my suicide note," Jenkins announced, "but now it's more of a memoir. 'How I Accidentally Negotiated Humanity's Employment Contract with a Cosmic Entity: A Cautionary Tale.'"

Chef Deathwish, who had been quietly taking notes, looked up. "What about the catering requirements? Are we expected to provide regular meals in addition to the ongoing apocalypse buffet?"

"ARTICLE FIFTEEN: WEEKLY PREPARED MEALS SHALL BE PROVIDED EVERY WEDNESDAY, FEATURING SEASONAL INGREDIENTS OF DESPAIR AND SUFFERING. I AM PARTICULARLY FOND OF WHAT YOU CALL 'COMFORT FOOD,' THOUGH IN MY CASE IT WOULD BE 'DISCOMFORT FOOD.'"

"We can do that," Chef Deathwish agreed. "I've been experimenting with a casserole made from dashed hopes and broken dreams. It's quite filling."

By the time they reached Article Twenty-Seven (covering cosmic bathroom breaks and who was responsible for cleaning up reality tears), the lawyers had developed a collective nervous twitch, and President Doom-Harbinger was beginning to wonder if this was actually more complicated than simple planetary annihilation.

"Final clause," she announced. "Article Thirty-Three: Either party may terminate this agreement with thirty days' notice, provided they can find an alternative arrangement that doesn't result in universal consumption or nuclear holocaust."

"AGREED," Cannibalus said, "THOUGH I CANNOT IMAGINE WHY ANYONE WOULD WANT TO TERMINATE SUCH A PERFECT ARRANGEMENT."

"Neither can we," President Doom-Harbinger lied smoothly. "This is definitely the culmination of human achievement."

As the cosmic entity and the human president shook hands (or hand-to-tentacle, technically), Dr. Pestilence couldn't help but feel they'd just made either the best or worst decision in human history.

"So," she said to Jenkins, "how do you think we explain this to the rest of the world?"

Jenkins looked up from his tablet, where he was now working on Chapter Twelve of his memoir. "I suggest we start with a press release. Something simple. Maybe 'Humanity Avoids Extinction by Agreeing to Provide Dinner Theater for Cosmic Entity' would work as a headline."

"That might need some workshopping," President Doom-Harbinger admitted.

"I'M HUNGRY AGAIN," Cannibalus announced suddenly. "WHEN DO WE START?"

_________________________________________________________

Chapter 7