It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like F*ck This by Andrew Shaffer

Author:Andrew Shaffer [Shaffer, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 8th Circle Press

I was brought to a large makeshift building composed entirely of empty boxes. “Inside,” one of the savages said, prodding me with the sharp end of his spear. I walked through the door. Sitting on a throne of printed books was a man shrouded in darkness, lit only by strings of Christmas lights draped from the ceiling.

“We caught her inside the perimeter, sir.”

“Thank you,” the man on the throne said. “Stand guard outside. I wish to speak with her in private.” The savages left.

“So, we finally meet…Mrs. Earl Grey.”

Dammit! He knew my name. “You can’t keep me here. Earl Grey will find you!”

“And what?” the man said, still shrouded in darkness. All I could make out was a tight black shirt and jeans; his face was almost entirely hidden. “Will he buy you back? Is that what you think this is, ransom?”

“I have no quarrel with you or your savages. I didn’t mean to enter District Thirteen. It was an accident.”

“Or maybe it was fate.”

“Fate?”

“Do you believe in fate, Miss Grey?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never thought about it, I guess.”

“How is that possible? You’re, what, twenty-three? And you’ve never once contemplated the interconnectedness of the universe and your place within it?”

“Not once,” I said. It was true: I just didn’t ever think about such things. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t always get myself into such stupid situations.

“You called us savages,” the man said. “But do we not resemble learned men?”

“Your ‘men’ wear rags and paint their faces. They carry spears. What would you call them?”

“Warriors.”

“Warriors? In what? What ‘war’ are they fighting?”

“We are fighting for the future of publishing. My men are all ex-Amazon employees, recruited to the cause.” The man stepped down off his throne and walked slowly toward me. I didn’t flinch. What could I do? My arms were still bound behind my back, and the door was guarded. When the man was just two feet from my face, I could make out his visage finally: the black turtleneck sweater, the thin-rimmed glasses, the scruffy facial hair and close-cropped hair….

“Elvis Presley!” I said.

“What? No, no, no. Steve Jobs.”

“Who?”

“Co-founder and ex-CEO of Apple? The inventor of that iPhone you probably carry?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“How is that even possible? I’m Steve Jobs. Ain’t nobody who don’t know who Steve Jobs is.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I like my iPhone, though.”

“Damn straight you do,” he said. “I still can’t believe you aren’t astonished to see me alive.”

“See, that’s why I thought you were Elvis,” I tried to explain. “Most dead white guys look the same to me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not dead. Just in hiding, training an army to one day retake the future of publishing—and, by extension, the future of the world—from Jeff Bezos. The only way to do that is by using his own people against him. It’s the ultimate inside job.”

“Did you invent the iPad too?”

“What?”

“Did you invent the iPa—”

“I heard your question. Didn’t you hear anything I just said? I just explained my big, bad master plan to you, and you’re asking if I invented the iPad?”

I nodded.

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