We live in an age of abundance. Why are we white-knuckling through unprecedented prosperity?

* Mr President’s Notes to Self Twitter Account

4 Days Later - Raptor - Freedom

I soar through a mountain pass. Enjoy the thermals. See a little lamb far below. Yum. He's a chunky little fucker - better slam him hard.

Drop into a dive. I'm going hella fast. Lock my talons and shriek. Bones crack and blood flies. I drive my beak into his neck and tear out his throat. His blood is spongy and dry. The fuck?

I come out of my trance. I'm crouching naked on Candy's couch. I've torn the throat out of one of her throw pillows. I spit out a mouthful of foam and fluff. Good thing she doesn't own a cat.

I stand and stretch. I'm sore, but the good sore. I've tried all of Candy's new hypno isometric exercises now. The Raptor is the best. I love how strong my hands are getting. And whatever muscles I'm growing in my face and neck make oral sex effortless. But mostly the strong hands thing.

I look over at Candy and Lodestone. They are really giving it to each other. There's been lot of fucking and drinking since we decided we’re fucked.

“She’s not really there, honey. You’re gonna throw your back out.”

Candy grunts and falls on her face. “Ah yes. I see.”

Lodestone sits up, wipes her mouth. “The Space Prick is making his move.”

“God Damn Space Prick!” I turn on Mr. President.

Earlier in the week, Space Prick had launched from Mars to rendezvous with the settlement ship Hephaestus. Now, to the surprise of no one, the Hephaestus was changing course to Damocles.

Can't blame him for trying. Damocles is way nicer than Mars. But, the politicians on Earth are going to lose their minds, and take it out on Mr. President. Maybe Space Prick will get eaten by space monkeys.

We drink and watch it all go down. It's depressingly predictable. Concerned politicians call for the destruction of the Hephaestus, because they're scared Space Jesus will smite them. Or, because Space Jesus promised Damocles to them. Mr. President refuses to execute thousands of people to satisfy the fear and greed of idiots. Everybody freaks out. Mr. President's approval ratings slide further down the toilet.

“Damocles is driving the ordered fixers crazy.” says Lodestone. “It’s gotta mean something. Caused by something they did or didn’t do. But they don’t know what.”

“Hilarious.” says Candy.

“It’s shaking their foundations. We could actually see a bunch of them break and join Mr. President as random fixers. If he survives. And we do.”

“Hmm. That’s scary. But still funny.” Candy shakes her head. “How can anyone think life makes sense and has a plan? Are they living in a different world than us? How can you watch this shit for decades and come up with the wrong answer for everything?”

“Dunno.” Lodestone shrugs. “But they think the same about us.”

“We’re the sane ones tho, right?”

“Absolutely. But if we were crazy, we wouldn’t know. That’s kinda how crazy works.”

“Perfect.” Candy gives a chef’s kiss. “Wondering if I’m the crazy one is life’s best spice.”

We smoke and drink and watch Mr. President. He’s quietly penning a proposal for virtual suicide. It’s kinda like declaring social bankruptcy and putting yourself in witness protection. It’s needed.

I’ve got my own work. Boozily trying to add berserkers to my old ass theory. Candy and Lodestone chirp at me, Mr. President, the news, and each other.

“Mr. President and Old Money are fighting to control humanity's superintelligence.” says Lodestone. “The collection of rules, assumptions, and goals, that all humanity serves as their unthinking desires, only evolutionary pressure, and unspoken god.”

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“That’s just what I was thinking.” Candy smokes. “Okay, if Old Money wins, we get a hierarchy. A small group in charge who do whatever they want, while the rest of us struggle and serve them. And you can’t switch groups - you’re born into one or the other and you stay there.”

“Yes.” says Lodestone. “Also, the main goal of the Hierarchy is to preserve the Hierarchy. Very inward facing. No need for improvement.”

“Lovely. Presumably Mr. President wants the opposite?”

“Partially. He definitely thinks everything can be improved, but he’s fine with the people in charge doing whatever they want. He just wants us all to be in charge of our own lives and to export the imperial lifestyle to the masses. Eight billion little emperors crashing around.”

“Great. Sounds insane, but way better than the other plan. What about The Darkness? What does she want?”

“She’s ambivalent.” I chirp in, frowning down at my statistical game theory equations. “Probably wants Mr. President’s world, but doesn’t believe they’re gonna win. Destroying Old Money’s hierarchy is her main objective. If that helps Mr. President, then great. If not, at least Old Money’s fucked.”

“Okay…” says Candy. “What happens then? If we destroy the hierarchy with nothing to replace it?”

Lodestone shrugs. “Bodies. Lots and lots of bodies. When the berserkers win, they kick over society, and a shit load of people die. Violence, but also deprivation. Eventually society starts over a couple centuries later. Google the Dark Ages. Or the Bronze Age Collapse. You won’t find much detail. Cause nobody literate survived to describe what happened. But you can get the gist of the population collapse from the number of ruined, empty cities.”

Candy looks at me. I nod.

“Well that sucks. Let’s not do that. How do we get people out of berserk mode?”

Lodestone and I look at each other. Shrug.

Candy rubs her head. “Jesus Christ, guys. You’re supposed to be good at this shit.”

“I just found out about it.”

“I’m not even a real person.”

The lights flicker.

Lodestone winces. “Aw crap. It’s started.”

All of our screens and devices start thrumming and flashing with notifications.

“It’s a big one.”

The internet is spamming itself to death with one message - Mr. President is in DANGER!

I look at Mr President's feed. He's still working quietly. I find a feed outside the building. Men with red masks and machine guns are storming in. There are a lot of them. Security is overwhelmed.

Mr. President is notified of the attack. He watches the feed of the fighting for a few moments, then he dismisses his staff and tells security to stand down. The fighting dies down, though many of the staff stay at their posts.

It feels like I've been watching for hours, but it's been less than a minute. I project into his office. I don't want to watch anymore, but it's all I can do. I won't leave him.

Mr. President is beaten and thrown to his knees. There are a dozen men around him, pointing guns at him. There's hundreds more in the surrounding hallways and rooms.

There's a moment of stillness. Mr. President and the lead gunman look at each other. There's nothing to say.

The lights go out. The wall of windows behind Mr. President shatter. The Darkness has arrived.

“Get out.” says the Darkness.

The lead gunman turns to her. Makes to speak. Drops dead.

“Get out.” says the Darkness.

The dozen gunmen in the office look at her. They finger their guns nervously. They drop dead.

The Darkness turns on the hundreds of gunmen behind her. “Get out.”

They get the fuck out.

The Darkness approaches Mr. President. With him on his knees, she’s a little taller than him. She digs her fingers into his hair. Pulls him close. Kisses him.

“I will never abandon you. But I am leaving.”

She lets him go. Steps back through the broken window. Disappears into her namesake.

Mr. President stays on his knees. The feed shudders. Goes dark. Mr. President is offline.

“Holy shit!” exclaims Candy. “Was that it?”

Lodestone shakes her head. “It hasn’t started yet.”

Around us all of our feeds and screens flicker.

“Red Team is hunting us. Dead Men are hunting Red Team. Leviathan just ate itself.” Lodestone shudders. Rallies. “Woof. Someone took a run at me.”

I look at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She does not look fine.

I patch a large hard drive into my phone. Hold it to her face. “Send me your alignment. I’ll grow you back.”

“They’ll kill you first.”

I nod. “They’ll have to.”

She stares. Uses Leviathan’s last gasp to send her alignment. Discorporates.

“How much time do you think we have?” asks Candy.

The lights go out. I look out the window. The whole city is dark.

“Nevermind.”

We stand in the darkness, waiting for the Darkness. It’s a bit of a relief, actually. I’ve been living in fear. Fear that Doc-Danger was dead. Fear that Doc-Danger abandoned me. What if I had nothing to fear? What if Doc-Danger loved me and hadn’t fucked up?

“God Machine?”

YES.

“Ha-ha! Can you take me to Doc-Danger?”

YES.

A glowing eleven dimensional construct appears. It looks kinda like two croissants fucking.

I grab Candy. Kiss her deeply. “Keep the lights on, Baby.” Let her go.

I grab Lodestone and jump through the hole in reality.