PRELUDE TO A FEVER DREAM

You are Aldous Huckleberry, a 51-year old Chief Editor at the i-Ballz Social Media News Division, European branch.

You kinda wish you weren't. First off, you'd always resented your parents for giving you such a stupid, dumbshit name. The least your father could have done was change his last name while it was still legal, or at least possible to get done within 15 years. Couldn't trust those E.U. bureaucrats these days to furnish you with a driver's license, let alone change your primary form of identification.

Second, you really wished you could go on this next assignment yourself, instead of delegating it to some fresh-faced intern. You usually were happy to do so when it was yet another sob story OR racist diatribe about migrants (it changed depending on what the algorithm thought the reader wanted to hear).

But this was different. This was an assignment to the island nation of Luran. Ah, Luran... paradise on Earth. How unfortunate that you had been banned for life there.

So you had no choice but to hand it over to some schmuck.

You take a few sips off the cigar you're holding in your hand. Or was it... puffs? What do you take off of a cigar again? You wonder how you even made it to the position of Chief Editor at i-Ballz in the first place. It was all a big blur at this point.

You only know that you are the only person in the world you know to still smoke cigars. And that's because you're an "eccentric". Or at least, that is the persona you present to the world. Complete with your pocket watch and pimp cane. It was the way you had learned to cope with your ridiculous name.

You're standing there, in your Frankfurt office, toking on your cigar (was that the word? Fuck if you know) and staring out of the window.

Ah Frankfurt, that least German of German cities. Your head office is in the Bahnhofsviertel, which is probably one of the dirtiest and unsafest places in Germany, and also where the Red Light district is located. You sigh when you watch the - at this point - non-flashing neon sign of the "SeXXX KluBBB" in front of your building, with "Hübsche Geile Fräuleinen" written below (which you're not even sure is correct German). Oh by the way, there's a pair of dots in the middle of the 3 B's to make them look like three sideways pairs of tits.

This all seems very tacky and tryhard compared to the wonders of Luran. You wipe away a tiny tear.

But this is also why you like this part of Frankfurt. It's kinda crappy, but it's less aseptic and boring than most German cities... or, at this point, most of the bigger European cities. Another reason to feel left out of the Luran fun.

Anyway, you've got interviews planned with two promising journalists who work for your company... "Ahahaha" you hear yourself laugh in your whiny, high-pitched voice. "Promising journalists"? At i-Ballz Social Media Corp.? Yeah right.

Nonetheless, you've read some of their articles, and both seem quite capable of stringing a few sentences together in a pleasant enough manner, without any glaring mistakes that make you wanna kill yourself. If someone else than you is gonna do an in-depth story on Luran, then it better be someone with at least two braincells to mash together and ignite a spark with.

However, you dread actually doing face-to-face interviews with these people. When was the last time you did any bona fide work? You had people to do that for you. You don't know what got into you, that you actually thought you wanted to talk to two of your employees on the same day.

Then it hits you: you are the boss. You don't have to do shit you don't want to do. You have both employee's CV's lying on your desk - all the info you need to decide who will get the assignment. Your secretary printed out the CV's for you. That makes her a tree murderer, but you like looking at her ass while she isn't looking. God you're a mess. You make a mental note to make a time machine trip to the late 1950s where you belong, whenever that invention comes around.

You call up your secretary even though she's in the room next to you. "Hey Sheryl? Yeah, cancel those interviews. I'm gonna make my choice based on the CV only."

"But Mr. Huckleberry, both candidates are already on their way."

"Well, then call them up and tell them Mr. Huckleberry works in mysterious ways. Or something. I'm sure you'll think up something better than that, Sheryl."

You slam your phone on the desk, snapping you out of your 1950s fantasy. You forgot for a moment that you were dealing with a smartphone and not one of those oldtimey phones that you could slam into the receiver, or whatever it was called.

You grab the two CV's lying on the pile. You decide to skim them. You made your best decisions while skimming. Skimming is how you got to the top of the heap. That, and having the right set of parents.

The first belongs to a 32-year old male by the name of Andreas Pfeiffer. (Names, photos and personal demographic information were mandatory for applications at your company - this influenced about 75% of your hiring decisions). The only adjective his mugshot brings to mind is "clinically depressed". You could see how a guy like that would want a sexcation to Luran, even though this trip was supposed to be purely business, no pleasure. Ah, he's Dutch! You thought he was a Kraut. Same difference. Hobbies and areas of writing specialty: video games... psychological effects of technology... comedy... really, this gloomy-looking mofo has the ability to laugh? - science popularization, fantasy fiction, neurology... yawn, yawn, double yawn. But on the bright side, you're really curious what the sex-fiend craziness that is Luran would do to this fookin' nerd.

You look at your pocket watch. Is it almost lunchtime already? You better get a move on with this decision.

The second CV belongs to a 23-year old woman named Mandy Otway. Looking at her photo, you're surprised she doesn't sport purple hair or a nose ring. You'd pegged her down as one of those what-wave-are-we-on-again feminists. Indeed, feminism is listed among her hobbies and writing interests as well as 'politics and representations of the body', applied ethics, linguistics, history, bisexual and queer identity - ah, she likes both eggplants AND peaches... as well as... fan communities? Fan as in rotating blades? You've stopped caring. Oh, she's a Canuck? Birthplace Ottawa, currently living in Marseille, France. Ooh, that's quite the trip from here. Your mind is reeling with the possibilities of this rather uptight looking bisexual feminist being thrust into the sextravaganza of Luran.

You stare into the window, at that SeXXX KluBBB sign with the sideways pairs of boobs, and you ponder. This is probably the last meaningful decision you're gonna make this year. Whoever you choose will spend the next few months of their life discovering the dark underbelly of a strange, isolated country mostly known for its sex tourism for rich foreigners, ice skating prodigies, and almost complete radio silence when it comes to media. That... and an unhealthy obsession with pineapples.

Whoever you choose, they will be doing all the interesting stuff, as you fade away into background obscurity again, snorting whatever your nostrils can find to pass the time.

You think about leaving the decision to Sheryl for a while, but no. This one, you've gotta do yourself.