I guess it serves me right for being so gullible. I’m just a sucker for planets with the label “New Eden”. The ad showed some random galaxy, a daring font screamed “find your better self here”, followed by a huge red arrow.
“Clean atmosphere.” No clue how clean it is, but it smells as if I’m locked up in a sleeping bag with someone else’s fart. Taking a gulp of air is a safety hazard. Constant sand storms ensure that opening your mouth will fill it with stinging silicon choke powder in milliseconds.
“Abundance of food sources; huge vegetables ripe for the picking!” The huge cucumber we found yesterday picked up Igor and ate him. I didn’t stick around to find out how it tastes in a tzatziki.
Wilson our mission leader bolted for our escape pod. I’m no pod-expert, but I am quite sure they are not supposed to blow up like that. The explosion fried most of our emergency supplies.
It’s just me and Karl now. On the one hand Karl puts his faith in divine intervention. At the same time he keeps checking his iPhone, mumbling “as soon as I get my 3G up Google Maps will find us the nearest Wendy’s in no time.”
I should be terrified, but somehow all I can think of is whether or not my dental plan covers the extra fangs growing from my elbows.