Uber

Everyone agreed it was evil, but evil was kind of their brand by that point.

They were already applying nothing by way of background checks as part of their hiring practices, the pay they offered was, once you worked out the math and expenses, well below minimum wage for their drivers, and while we’d bitched about surge pricing we hadn’t actually stopped using the companies services, sorry, the app’s services, they’d made it very clear that they were an app rather than a corporation, and as such were not bound by labor laws or regulation the same way a corporation was.

So yes, they already provided a service where, for prices that spiked randomly through the day, a driver who earned less than the legal minimum wage would drive you to were you wanted to go, probably, and for all you know would murder you once you arrived there, with legal steps taken to distance them from any consequence of the results of their policies. They were evil, they were an evil company, sorry, an evil app, and we’d at some point just kind of accepted that.

In our defense, cabs are also horrible, so our standard with regard to this sort of thing had already been abysmally low.

Nonetheless, corporate malfeasance level evil is a completely different thing from actually sending suicide bombers out to blow up trains in an attempt to drum up business by disrupting public transit.

And we were shocked, at first, that they would do this. First because privately held companies had not, to that point, resorted to acts of actual terrorism, at least ones that were public knowledge, and second, because how did they even find people willing to blow themselves up and kill hundreds of innocent bystanders on behalf of an app-based rideshare program?

I mean, on behalf of a religion, or a political ideology, is one thing, it’s horrible but I at least get it, but on behalf of an app-based rideshare program? I found it, frankly, bizarre. And also horrifying, as at the time I took the train to work each day.

Watching bodies being pulled out of the wreckage, after that first attack, I was in shock, watching slack-jawed as cameras panned over bloody debris and pundits speculated as to who might have been behind this brutal, senseless attack.

We assumed it was a terrorist organization, because it was an organized act of terrorism, and that’s who generally tends to commit those. But before long, rumors started spreading….

And, when their CEO finally went in front of the cameras and explained that no, his company was not behind the bombing, because he didn’t own a company, he only owned an app that allowed suicide bombers to find their way to public transit hubs in exchange for significantly less than the legal minimum wage, I was furious. We all were. There were very clear laws against both this sort of shady business practice and murder, and I couldn’t even begin to process the fact that he thought so little of the people who worked for him, and also the people who’s remains were being pulled out of the wreckage he’d caused, sorry, facilitated.

We were all angry, every one of us, and we demanded that our leaders do something about this, arrest him, arrest the whole board of directors who’d signed off on this whole horrifying campaign, do SOMETHING to keep us safe. And our leaders did what they could, or at minimum claimed they were doing so.

Because, by keeping the attack at arms length, legally there was nothing to connect the company that owned the rights to the app to the actual terrorist attacks, they were two legally distinct entities, and the authorities’ hands were, from that point of view, tied.

I have zero doubt the sheer weight of campaign donations thrown around the previous election cycle had had something to do with the relative lack of response as well, but I don’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist…

“Well,” we told one another, “I’m at very least never going to use their service again.”

And, as we said it, we meant it genuinely. Though for most of us it was only a few weeks ‘til we were using their app (the rideshare one, not the suicide bomber one) once more.

I mean, what else could we do?

We have places to go, after all.

And it’s not as though we could take public transit, I mean people suicide bomb trains, public transit is very dangerous.

And really, sometimes a little creative destruction is just what an industry needs…

The Day it All Went Down

They took city hall, guns blazing, trapping the Mayor, councilmen and assorted reporters inside. And worse, rumor was they’d snuck in an atomic device.

Their demands were insane, nonsensical, impossible, but SWAT teams had no way in without endangering the hostages.

The only chance to save the city was one man, working alone, under the radar, with nothing left to lose…

…and here I was, one day away from retirement.

Fortunately, I’d taken vacation time in the lead-up to retirement and didn’t have to deal with any part of it.

I watched the whole thing on CNN.

It was exciting!

Panic Room

The world is a more dangerous place today than it’s ever been in history.

I mean, obviously it isn’t.

My parents grew up during the Cold War, and lived with the specter of nuclear annihilation hanging over their head for decades, never even knowing what it might be like to be free of that constant threat.

My grandparents met while doing their part to fight a war that burned most of Europe to the ground, and so did my great-grandparents.

Still, in spite of how demonstrably safe I am in my suburban home in Canada, it FEELS more dangerous today than ever before, doesn’t it?

I’ve heard theories that this is due to the nature of news coverage and the need to fill 24 hours a day with news-like programming that draws enough viewer attention to sell advertising, but I don’t know if I have an opinion on that...

What I do know is that the world feels dangerous, more dangerous than it’s ever been.

And so, I’ve had a panic room installed in my home.

I know, I live in a safe neighborhood in one of the safest cities in the country, and the crime rate’s been consistently trending downward for decades, even with the recession, but I can’t be too careful when it comes to my personal safety.

I’m worth it.

I can’t really afford it, but that’s a matter I’ll deal with when my credit card bills come due. Or when they start calling me with warnings.

Or when they turn the account over to collections agents.

In the meantime, panic room!

It’s absolutely fantastic, I’ve spared no expense. It locks from the inside, obviously, and there’s no way to get somebody out of it if they’re unwilling to go.

The walls are reinforced with concrete, but covered on the inside with thick foam padding to prevent any sort of injury occurring.

The room is well lit, but completely free of furniture. When I’m inside it I’m there alone, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.

And late at night, when I can’t handle some aspect of my personal life, or when the dangers of the modern world start to get to me, I can get out of my bed, creep downstairs, lock myself inside my brand new panic room, and freak the fuck out to my heart’s content…

Weekly Challenge Story: Dubstep

http://podcasting.isfullofcrap.com/2012/04/08/weekly-challenge-311-sick/

Dubstep

By Chris Munroe

I’m gonna drop some sick beats.

No, seriously, these beats are the sickest. You ain’t never heard beats this sick.

These beats are so sick the CDC has declared them a class one biohazard, and warned that exposure to them isn’t safe, dog.

The death rate from exposure to these beats is 96%, and they’re airborne, bro!

That’s right, airborne! No body-fluid contact required for transferral of these sick beats!

These beats are the sickest. The sickest!!!

…and unless the United Nations meets my demands, I will drop these beats.

You have been warned. You have twenty-four hours to comply.

Saving the World

Dr. Harrison had, somehow, acquired an orbital weapons platform, and he was using it to blackmail the United Nations security council. If his demands weren’t met, he’d destroy one city every day until the collected global governments bent to his will.

Nobody doubted he’d do it, the man was a lunatic with a God complex. He’d demonstrated that fact on more than one occasion.

I couldn’t let it stand, something had to be done to protect the innocent from a fate worse than death. And it had to be done quickly, lest the worst happen.

Using my security clearance and some good old-fashioned detective work, I quickly located his secret headquarters. Then, I gathered the identity and location of every field agent operating in the vicinity, compiled the Intel into one master file, and contacted Dr. Harrison.

My price was steep, but he agreed that the information I was offering to provide was more than worth the expense.

Later, on the yacht I’d purchased to sail around the Caribbean, I read in a local paper that, after the destruction of Paris, San Diego and Beijing, the U.N. had finally paid Harrison his blood money.

` It was sad that so many had to perish, but I knew in my heart that their sacrifice would not be in vain. Because I had saved the world.

I’d saved it from the parasitism of learned dependence. From the unreasonable expectation of suave secret agents and governments that swoop in to “rescue” them every time an ambitious, productive member of the supervillain community attempted to use his intellect and resourcefulness in an enlightened, self-interested way. From the idea that anyone would help them, that anyone could help them.

From the idea that they deserved help.

Yes, millions had died, and millions more would suffer enormously. Men, women and children who’d done nothing to deserve their fate had been snuffed out in the blink of an eye, and I couldn’t help but feel empathy for them. But empathy is weakness, and as quickly as it raised it’s demon head I pushed it back down and did my best to ignore it.

Because in the wake of this horrific tragedy the survivors would learn, would be forced to learn, to fend for themselves, and to discover free-market solutions to madmen with superweapons blackmailing the United Nations. And perhaps some of the parasite class would even be roused from their stupor and pull themselves up by their now-radioactive bootstraps, becoming productive citizens truly worthy of the lives they’d been given.

And if even a few of them did, then truly my work would be meaningful. Because with each new genuinely productive, individualistic person in the world working solely for his or her own personal gain, mankind as a whole would become that much better prepared to advance.

And if I, by allowing Dr. Harrison to destroy a few cities and blackmail a few governments, contributed to that, then truly my work was worthwhile.

And though the world might curse me now, as the parasites will always curse the productive, I suspect that someday they will understand the higher moral imperative I laboured under. And when that day finally comes, the world will sing praises to my name.

The name of agent 001.

Rand, James Rand.

Meanwhile, at the U.N...

I released the bees into the U.N. building.

All hell broke loose, as you’d well imagine. As I was entering the building, people were in a panic, running to and fro, screaming.

I entered as though I owned the place, calm, cool, collected, clad in a Tuxedo of Bees and a silver-rimmed monocle.

I walked into the chamber and, as the international ambassadors cowered before my army of bees, took my place at the Secretary General’s podium.

Looking out at the terrified faces, I couldn’t help smiling.

Some say cartoonish super-villainy is played out.

Not in my heart, it isn’t.

All Will Bow Before Me

My newest superweapon is complete. At the flip of a switch, from safe within my bunker, I can unleash upon the world the greatest man-made disaster anyone’s ever seen.

I’ve hacked the pentagon and UN mainframes, and when the time’s right I’ll take control of their systems, to make my demands known.

The world will finally tremble before me. They’ll have no choice but to submit to my will.

It’s been two months since my weapon was complete, but I’ve yet to make the call.

I’m waiting for the Gulf to be cleaned up.

I don’t like to share focus.

Terrorism

It’s remarkable who you can track down online. It actually took surprisingly little effort. A half hour of research, quick email and after a few weeks I had my contact.

The meet itself was a lot more tense. It wasn’t the sort of bar I normally went to and I didn’t feel perfectly safe. But when I handed the shadowy character my suitcase full of cash, and he gave me the product, I knew it was worth it.

And now I have it, three cases of weaponized Anthrax.

Now; off to Vancouver. I have a Justin Bieber concert to interrupt.