Skeleton crew

“You’ve got something on your collarbone.”

“Where?"

“Just there, on your collarbone.”

“Well, help me get it then, you know I can’t feel anything with these fingers.”

“I’m drivin’ right now, so I’ll get it when we stop.”

“Now, I feel dirty. How much longer?”

“What’d you mean dirty? You're in a simulation, wearing a bone-suit to boot.”

“Heh, to boot. Why does no one say that more often? To boot.”

“Probably cause no one remembers they can. I think I’ve only heard it in movies or TV shows.”

“Well, someone needs to bring it back. It sounds really cool.”

“Enough of that. Get ready, we’re nearly there.”

“Ugh, finally. Come on, let’s get out, I have this thing about stains and dirt.”

“You’re still a skeleton, Steve. There is no dirt, or stains, or blood, or anything like that. It’s just a simulation.”

“Still! Can’t we go out already?”

“We’re halfway through the protocol. Relax.”

“I can’t, man. I gotta get out. Now!”

“Hey! Don’t raise your voice, dipshit, or I’ll put your head through the window.”

“Sorry, sorry. Lost my nerve for a bit. Telemetry’s green, so would you open the door. Please.”

“There you go.”

“Thank you. Shoo, shoo, get away filthy. Is it gone?”

“No, because you’re swatting it with your palms like a lunatic. And for the last time, you don’t have skin or muscles. New guys, I swear…”

“Just get it off, okay. I’m really starting to freak out here.”

“Whatever. Just stand still for a minute. I said stand still. It’s fucking hard to grab anything with sharpened sticks for fingers, and you’re not helping with all the fidgeting.”

“Sorry. My skin starts to crawl when I know I’ve messed up my clothes with something. Stop looking at me like that and throw it away.”

“There, it's gone. Now close your damn door, and let’s get a move on. The timer simulates air left, and we’re a minute behind.”

“We’re skeletons. We don’t need air. Remember?”

“I warned you.”

“Hey! Why’d you do that for.”

“Cause you wouldn’t feel it, and you didn’t. Now stop pretending, and let's go.”

“You’re very mean. You know that?”

“Ooooo, mean. Are you fucking twelve? Why do you talk like a little fucking kid?”

“I just don’t swear willy-nilly like you. Lay off.”

“What are you even saying, man? I thought you were doing ten for bank robbery?”

“Fifteen, for aggravated assault, fleeing police custody aaand attempted robbery.”

“So talk like a fucking criminal. Don’t willy-nilly this and e that. It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m not even a little embarrassed.”

“Not you, dipshit. I was talking about me. Shit, you’re so weird.”

“Right back at ya!”

“Jesus. Let’s just go and get this over with, you waste of air.”

“You’re the one who’s just standing, talking your mouth off. I’m not the one wasting oxygen.”

“For the love of. I’m done. Walk behind me and be careful not to touch the flames.”

“I was wondering about that. Why exactly is everything on fire?”

“No idea. Probably just to keep us on the path.”

“Ouch.”

“Why did you fucking touch it?”

“Cause it’s not supposed to hurt, but this feels prickly, almost like I have skin.”

“That’s 'cause you do, in the real world. The fire is to keep us away. If you stand in it for too long you lose consciousness. I’ve seen idiots try to use it to get out of work.”

“And?”

“Oh, so now you’re a fucking outlaw. Huh?”

“Always was, just never use as much swear words as some people.”

“Or any at all.”

“So, what happens if you stand in the flames too much?”

“You pass out in the real world, and they throw you out of the program.”

“Can’t have that. This is much better than staying in prison, where it's full of foul-mouthed people and brutes.”

“No argument there, and if you wanna stay for a while, take my advice. Do your job, but don’t stand out.”

“Like, be intentionally mediocre. That what you mean?”

“Pretty much, yeah. If you’re too bad, they’ll just send you back. But if you’re too good, you might just make it to space.”

“Space is pretty cool, though. Why wouldn’t you want to go there, you’ve been outside, you know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fucking aware of the outside world. I was just born poor in a system designed to keep you poor. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass who destroyed the planet, but it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

“Wasn't me either, but it’s already happened, and we have to make the best of the life we have.”

“Pretty inspirational words... for a convict.”

“I never said my life was good, only that it's the one I got, so I’m gonna do my best to live it.”

“Fine, fine. Stop. I’m starting to get sick from all the positive emotions you’re throwing around.”

“Heh, that’s how you know they’re working!”

“Finally, I thought we’d never reach the damn case. Grab over at that side, come on.”

“Hup. Damn, this thing’s heavy. How do they get it here, I mean there.”

“One time we made it early, and I saw it fall from the sky.”

“So they drop it from orbit?”

“I don’t fucking know, man. Maybe they do, maybe they shoot it from a giant gun on Earth’s surface. Just keep the thing steady and don’t fall behind.”

“If they drop it from space, then the bot should be able to do everything by itself. Why would they need to send people ?”

“Some of the cases might not make it to the mining spot okay, and they need bodies to keep production going. Jesus, you with all your questions. Why do I even keep talking to you?”

“Cause it’d be lonely to walk for miles and miles. That’s why people had stereos in the old cars. That reminds me, wanna hear a joke?”

“No. This is it. I'm not here to be your friend or your fucking guide. I’m just here to get this case to a fake martian mining spot so the fake mining bot can do its fake job. Comms off.”