The Depopulation Project 832 - destination the Earth
“The Deadly Pub” on the corner of Fifth St and Spring was as lively as ever. They were celebrating the best day in the history of the establishment: exactly 3 years ago, one of the patrons bit a slice of the chef's pizza, convulsed violently, and died. There’s never been a slow day in this place ever since!
Old-style kneading bowls, utensils, and dry herbs decorated the walls. The owner was especially proud of the humongous brick pizza oven. Yet, the most impressive by all accounts, was the redwood bar counter stretching all the way to the back wall.
The white-painted contour of the awkwardly bent body, now in permanent white paint, immortalized the event. Only the best tippers were allowed to sit on the stool right above it. At that very moment it was occupied by a bulky pink-faced middle-aged guy in an expensive suit. The bartender referred to him as Mr. Enders, while placing two large beers in front of him and his companion. The latter looked quite uncomfortable. After sorting his confusion, he haphazardly produced his ID for the bartender and took a sip.
Mr. Enders smiled at him approvingly all the way from the height of his famous stool.
“Some things I intend to keep after the project has been completed. The beer is one of them.”
The young man looked out of place: too angular, too pale, too fidgety.
"This is your first Planet Depopulation Project, I take it?"
“Yes, and to be honest, I still don’t get how it works.”
“Oh, to be young!”
“It’s a rather ingenious idea, Bob. Should I call you Bob?"
"Yes, please, I’d better get used to my name here."
"Right, so the depopulation idea saved us a lot of resources. In the old days, the hazard pay for the mercenaries alone could put the whole project over budget for years!
Invasionism, what a wasteful, stupid way to go about acquiring development property. Blood, gore, and zero finesse.
Instead, why not nudge aboriginals to extinguish themselves? Not only are they game for it, they also do it with such enthusiasm! I feel bad for not launching the project a few centuries earlier.
All this nature! Oceans, valleys, and mountains - what’s not to like?
Of course, some of us have it easier than others. Look at the Climate Deteriorators, getting fat bonuses for every single degree of global warming. Just like that! They will resign here to buy their own vacation planets someday, lazy bastards.
Rising temperatures, melting ice caps, vicious droughts all around. And you know what? With a little extra nudging, humans are ready to tear each other to shreds with their falling teeth and rotting nails to prove that it is all a big “hoax”.
Oh! Zsigmondy Hoax! That’s the man who deserves every piece of property he owns in the galaxy. His Hoax principle is ingenious! One can say being a Hoaxer is the best job in the galaxy!
Take Anti-Survivalists. All they do is skim budgets.”
He looked at his beer. “Not all Depopulation spots are this nice. I was hoping it will last a bit longer, but these humans just can’t pace themselves.”
“Anti-Survivalists…” Bob reminded him.
“Yes, right. Take the virus. Mind you, we had nothing to do with its origins. No need. Tell them that it was all a hoax. Lynching and stoning the loudmouths who dared to scare the masses gradually turned into a Grand Virus Debunking Celebration. I almost missed the main attraction: happily coughing on each other’s babies, while they gawk at the fireworks.”
“Right!” Finally, Bob had something to share, “You must know Mr. Vaxxed.
He asked newbies to come up with a funny conspiracy and make it work.
Who would have thought that you could convince enough people that the virus spreads via 5G? My roommate laughed so hard, he lost his human shape and had to be evacuated.”
“Still,” he hesitated, “wouldn’t it be much simpler to put a few agents in key roles here and there to make sure all go as planned?”
Mr. Enders smirked, “It sounds like someone has his sights set at the “Improved Efficiency Proposal Award”!
“Well, you know, I promised to invite my girlfriend to Earth before all big felines go instinct.”
Oh, to be young!
“That’s a definite no-go. It would take ages for the best of our best to become as convincing and ingenious as the locals. Some here still believe that the planet is flat, and Finland doesn’t exist. Can you top it off? What can we, pathetic fact-huggers, offer to these “Stable Geniuses’’?
“WHO chief regrets US President’s decision to pull funding...” echoed from the TV hanging in the corner above.
“See what I mean? They are perfect!”
“I don’t know,” Bob was disappointed. “I almost got kicked out of the project because the locals decided to push the vaccination.’’
“Don’t you worry! Just tell everyone that the truth behind vaccination is something nasty, like... hmm, wait… I know! Tell them that it is done to administer mind-controlling microchips into their brains. Tell them to stand up for their children’s right to get polio, hepatitis, and diphtheria unobstructed! This is what their founding fathers were fighting for after all!”
Before the young anti-survivalist could express further doubts, a fight broke off at the far corner.
“I am telling you, all these school shootings are a hoax! No! They are organized by anti-gun activists! They want our machine guns all for themselves!”
“But, but what about Australia, they have no mass shootings anymore…” someone objected meekly. ‘Australia! He believes in Australia! Fool indeed!” Everyone turned to watch, so the barmen grabbed the first thing from behind, which happened to be an old rolling pin, and cracked it on the redwood in front of them. That ended the argument, and everyone went back to their drinks.
Meanwhile, cleverly tucked in the shade of the moon the Architect of the Depopulation Project 832 rubbed his knuckles, thoroughly exasperated. There is just no finesse in invasions! An urgent message was flashing on the screen: ‘‘Complete failure of the depopulation project is expected. Timeline acceleration is requested. The Chief Prognostic’s office reports that humans will irradiate the planet before the final phase is achieved, deeming the planet inhabitable for hundreds of years.”
Somewhere back in Deadly Pub Mr. Enders exhaled, “Sometimes I want to slow these humans down a little bit, you know? All in all, being assigned to this planet ain’t so bad.”