There isn’t enough time. You’d think that I spend all the time on something, but whatever it is – if I’m interested in it – there isn’t enough time to do it. I’ve told Nikki this before, and I realise I’ve been messaging them about it once again – four long paragraphs about the futility of my life. I look up at them as they read the last of these messages.

“Alright, I’m done,” I whisper, able to talk again. “Do you have any thoughts?”

They bite their lip gently as they re-read the last paragraph. “I mean,” they begin, “that all sounds pretty accurate, but who cares?”

“That’s your only reply?”

“Yep.” Nikki browses the books in front of us, and I see another customer in my peripherals watching us, waiting for us to move.

“Well, I care. This world unsatisfying.”

“Sure you can’t change it?”

“Short of stopping the heat-death of the universe and becoming immortal … no.”

“You care way too much.”

“I don’t care anymore, though. I know my work is futile, so I'll just pour out as much as I can and then die.”

The shopper motions her hand towards us and I pretend not to see it. Nikki actually doesn’t. They ask me, “Have you decided on a book yet?”

I shake my head. “Have you?”

Nikki has not. “Shall we go?”

“Yes.” Nikki turns left to the door, and I glance to see the shopper walk back around other isle. I forget about this and return my attention to Nikki whose eyes follow as a truck passes the WHSmith. “There's a thing that you might like to check out. We have to hurry, because other people might already be there. But I think you'll like it.” They leave the store. Naturally, I'm compelled to follow them. Soon we are running to keep up with the truck, and for a few moments I think we’ll lose sight of it, but it slows and reverses into a nearly-empty parking lot. Without any pause, a massive, dull-black crate is offloaded, and the truck drives away. As we stop to catch our breaths, Nikki continues to explain: “Basically, someone is dropping off shipments of a particular book around the world, and that is one of the shipments. It's about the same time of day that other people noticed it too.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’ll show you.” Nikki approaches the crate, and I follow. I see written on its side is “Your Company. For You. By You.” As I finish reading, Nikki abandon’s caution, rushes forwards and is almost hit by a reversing car. They're yelled, and I feel bad for them. They regain composure and study the crate.

“How did you know this would be here?”

“I just saw the truck. It fits with other people's descriptions.” They walk to its side and find a lever. “The door is going to drop down, so you better stand over here.” I walk to Nikki’s side and question them further.

“Then should we really be doing this? This isn't for us.” Nikki pulls the lever, and I jump as a result of the bang that follows the doors sudden descent. I look behind us, and as I thought, we’re now being watched. “Nikki, we're drawing a lot of attention to ourselves.”

“Yes, I know. I didn't expect it to be that loud. But we have to hurry and get a book before anyone arrives.” They take three books. “Let's go.” And so, we return the way we came. Looking back, I see our onlookers approach the crate. At least we're not the only ones.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

#

We walk back past the WHSmith and keep on going until we’ve reached a park that’s not too far away from Nikki’s home. We sit next each other at a table and Nikki takes one of the books out.

“Right, sorry,” they say. “I got excited. I didn't expect it to happen here so soon. They must be planning to get them out as fast as possible before they're stopped.” I look at them, confused, and they nod. “So, this is what happened. I saw it on Reddit. People from different parts of the world have found these crates. They always appeared at the same time of day, with regards to time zones, and always by a truck with that slogan on it. Then this morning, the thread got very active – it was spreading a lot faster. That’s why I decided to go out today.”

“But it could have appeared anywhere. How did you know it would be there?”

“They were, when possible, dropped off near bookstores.”

“And it's fine to just take them?”

“Well, they're dropped off in a public place and no-one has been to collect them, so I assume so.”

“People will know about it now, though. The government might get involved.”

“I think that's very likely. The whole thing is a lot more complicated than this.”

“How?”

“Take a read.” Nikki hands me their book.

I read the title. Your Ideal Selves. Browsing through the book, I see illustrations of people, accompanied by profiles. They're generic looking, with occasional distinct features. “They look a bit like me, don't they?” says Nikki. They’re right: the face shape, body-type and eyes are all very similar to Nikki's, though they're not identical. I consider this for a moment before continuing to browse. Next to each illustration are words detailing their lives, skills, interests, and ambitions, and at the top right corner is a number. The numbers repeat often, but get higher as you go through the book until they seem to cut off at 103.

“That's my book. I was the one who opened it first.” Nikki picks out the other two. “Choose whichever. I guarantee you it'll be different to mine and unique to you.” I pick the left hand one and skip past to the first illustration. This one begins on 106 and does look … like me. But more attractive. More ideal.

“This is odd.” And with that understatement I close the book.

Nikki looks confused, but before I ask why they make their puzzlement clear: “Why are yours all female?”

I blink and open the book again. The people are female. I’m surprised I didn’t notice at first. I acknowledge it and reply: “Why aren’t yours all female?”

“Well, I guess I don’t know. But anyway, this is so much more interesting in real life.”

“Is it some kind of marketing thing?” I know it’s not. But I don’t have any better suggestions.

“I don't think so. This is spreading so quickly, since today. They have enough books for the vast majority of people on this planet. And they don’t know who would pick up which book.”

“And they're all unique?”

“Everyone one that people have compared so far has been.” They stand up and put their book back in their bag. “We should go to my place. It'll feel easier and we can have a more thorough look there.” I nod and stand too. I hand Nikki my book and they put it in their bag. As we walk, we continue to discuss this.

“Maybe the books are produced by a program?” I ask.

“Everyone's copies are far more different than you'd expect for something that shuffled through different phrases. Even if it shuffled through words you might expect some similar sentences to often appear, or for it to sound unnatural.”

“There's no-way a single person wrote it all out, though.”

“No. But perhaps a very large team of people? Then again, the style is very consistent.”

“But is it a unique style?”

Nikki thinks for a moment. By now we're only a few blocks from their house. “It's not that unique. It's very factual and to the point, but it's not … formalised. It's interesting to read.”

We go quiet as we continue thinking, and do not speak again until we arrive at Nikki’s house.

They unlock the door, we take our shoes off at the entrance, and we seat ourselves in the living room. No-one else is home right now so Nikki takes the liberty of resting their feet on the leg of the couch. I dare not do the same.

“I'm going to have to read more of it later,” I say. “You’re right; I do like this.”

“We can tonight.”

“I don't really like messaging while I read.”

Nikki looks confused. “You're staying here?”

“I am?”

“Where did you think you would go?”

“Well, back home …”

There is silence for a moment and I wait for Nikki to say something.

“I mean, it's your choice. I just didn't think going back there after what happened is a good idea.”

“I suppose it might be a bit boring. I need to think of moving somewhere else.”

“I don't really care if you stay here.”

“Thanks. Then I'll go get my things.”