UPDATE (30th August 2020): Sitting here, I long should've realised that my 'weekly' updates were anything but. Always trying to fix this tale of mine, often and only going backwards to do so.
Instead, 'Future through the Past' will be reverted to its completed 6th Edit; upon completion of the 7th and final, I may wind up deleting this.
Welcome to New York, motherfucker.
Apologies that your first introduction must be so vulgar, but even for the enlightened Sol that helped the States' crown jewel to glimmer, the attitudes that once were borne from the enduring ruins underground hadn't changed a single bit.
No time for such courteous nonsense, not while everyone worked to keep it as the inspiration and place of pride for all. Not while everyone fought to help it grow and prosper, even for its devastating invasions, complete destructions and periods of human slavery.
If they couldn't keep the true New Yorker from getting shit done, then nothing else would.
However, even those citizens might've spared thoughts and prayers towards Planet Express, standing beside the Hudson. A Populuxe-inspired building that the original pioneers, now just stars sprinkled above the skyscrapers each night, couldn't have dreamed nor imagined to exist.
May 30th, 3004; an anniversary to forget for one particular woman, slumped across the desk…
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It was supposed to be a fairy-tale finale, the happiest of happy endings.
A green loveseat. A chilled glass of wine. A classic love song serenade, and a wonderful dance… Together alongside the most genuine, golden-hearted guy she knew, and moments before they'd lavish faces and enjoy some sensual shenanigans.
Until that panicked phone call from an anonymous citizen, and a promise of great reward. What sounded like a man, in tears for fearing extinction of an escaped creature of theirs.
She rallied a cry of "We're on it!", as her man could only lament. They'd dutifully get dressed, stop off to collect a friend, and disappear into their ship towards destinations unknown.
She as Clobberella. He as Captain Yesterday. Their friend as Super King. Together, they formed the heroic trio known as the New Justice Team.
Never a crime they couldn't fight, never a situation they'd cower from, never a call of duty they'd ignore…
Until they arrived on location, and were entrapped and overwhelmed by several lethally enhanced creatures… Baited and trapped by the arachnid-housefly creature they sought to capture, dubbed the Peruvian Spider-Fly.
Could still remember her friend's words as he abdicated his throne… "I'll save ME!"
Still remember the horse's hoof that knocked her out cold, only to wake up and find herself sent away. Could still remember Captain Yesterday being seized hostage, himself KO'ed and of no threat.
Banging at the glass and screaming, it wasn't long before she declared the mission failed, and the New Justice Team to be no more…
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Like virtually every other day, even for remembering her professional creed of 'You gotta do what you gotta do', she'd have preferred to be alone.
"I don't even know why the hell I'm here… Come here, do nothing useful, go home, just be miserable."
Such moods had Hermes, their company bureaucrat who'd been shuffling papers, slam the table to have her eject out of her seat.
"Sweet Doritos of Ocho Rios, Cap'n, we don't hear you talk anymore… Now what 'de hell's wrong?"
Only a stare to wither even his cold soul, before she gave a sigh and slid back into her arms. The muffle had soon forced everyone to lean forward. This wasn't the time to betray tears. Even as her co-pilot, an intern gone full-time named Amy Wong, caught every word and pressed her.
"Gleesh Leela, at least when we had who?" She hushed down. "You mean…"
"Was nothing!" came the harsh whisper, causing Amy's face to flush red. Still scarred too fresh to close yet, and only brought further ideas of quitting the gig full stop. Even if she couldn't go anywhere right now.
Her anniversary had been an insidious year of horrors; losing her crew aside, her company had suffered heavy damages to finances and deliveries. Twice the meetings, half of anything needed to survive into next week. Was either here or the streets, and as a former Cookieville 'alumni', she knew she'd been close enough already.
The co-pilot could only fumble against her pages, while Zoidberg, the company's dubious doctor, had clacked his claws and crooned an opinion.
"You ALL still have Zoidberg… If we get complete bupkis, you'll always have my dumpster and empty cans… That's a guaranteed promise."
A genuine though misguided kindness, but one that still earned him quite the pursed lips from Leela.
"Zoidberg, I'd sooner have our 'bupkis' over a single minute of your worthless friendship."
"Awwww…"
Contempt and dejection soon gave way to winces, as the echoes of cracking bones resonated through the conference. Though mostly their Professor, their owner, founder and CEO Hubert J. Farnsworth experienced a youthful fervour in his eyes, even for being a century older than the crew.
He knew of his shares trading for pennies, of commissions rare if not dead, of holding all these meetings… Even so, he chose to blast his underlings instead about their appalling efforts.
As the rant dithered, devolved and demanded everyone to get those packages delivered, his Captain's fists began to clench, her veins started to throb.
"The nerve to declare their failed efforts over his!"
A thought that manifested into launching her knee into their table, almost sending her superior into a cardiac arrest.
"Are you friggin' kidding me?! Speak for yourself, you senile twit! I just can't believe…"
Her comparative vow of silence, considering the Leela she was before, all but gone as she gripped her head, gave a great huff, and glared square into her boss's spectacles…
"For the hundredth time, how can we get packages delivered when there AREN'T any?! Why would anyone bother to choose us when your stupid inventions take priority over this company? Hell, how my ship hasn't been engulfed in flames yet, I don't know."
"Leela, that's no way to address the Professor!" Hermes had condemned.
"Hu-whaa? I don't recall anyone having problems…"
"Are you that dense?" Leela interrupted. "How 'bout my repair and maintenance logs, huh? Every month, I've stacked them higher than your boiled monster egg… And you've NEVER done a God-damn thing about them!"
First facing her like he knew, Farnsworth only shrugged his shoulders and stared towards his starship, letting the accused stew in her fury.
While most could argue that he had lived far longer than he had literal rights to, you'd think that he'd take better care of his empire. After all, he created the business for exactly that purpose.
But given all his decades of inventions, and the dog make-up lines, failed time machines and one-off jokes that resulted from them, you'd be quite wrong.
Leela's palms soon met her face, before she waved them in frustrated surrender. What was she thinking, trying to bring The Professor back to reality?
"I give it my all, and for what? Thanks to Methuselah we've done nothing but waste away, circling the black hole where all businesses go. So sick, so tired, so afraid of this tightening noose, these thoughts of finding this place forsaken…"
"Perhaps a squirt of the empathy bladder will help, Leela?" Another 'kindness' of the crab's.
"I… have had… ENOUGH!"
Seizing her lime-green jacket & handbag, she stomped for the lobby while letting her shout resonate among her colleagues. Once juggled hero duties and company meetings like a champion, but even Hermes knew serious problems when he saw them. And for a man with the coldest heart in a fifty-mile radius, that said something.
"Okay den, that concludes all our end-of-day business… See you all tomorrow, bright and early, all Gods willing."
Tried to rush out, but stopped as Zoidberg clacked his claws after him, hoping he'd lend his ears…
"Hermes, my friend! I'm normally not one to complain, but nobody's been tossing food in my dumpster anymore… I haven't eaten in two weeks!"
"We're not friends, you mouldy Rangoon, so go cram it with cranberry jam!"
Wasn't long before the blubbering, wretched tears fell… "I wish I could!"
Never a more malignant smirk to crack than now, as Hermes disappeared, a pleasure of gradually fewer fulfilled. Between his stench, his mooching, his incompetence or his awful inks, Zoidberg would've been fired and sent into the Sun to deep-roast, if the bureaucrat had his way.
Could never understand, and was never told, the bizarre reasons why his boss wanted him around…
Once borne from the published patrons of pen, paper & ink, before being realised by the masters of media and heroes of brilliance, Planet Express was once THE reality of once-impossible barriers being broken over the last millennium. The spacecraft to defy known laws of physics, the service to flip every conventional idea on its head, the staff of diverse, competent individuals (and Zoidberg) who kept things running smooth… They once had it all.
"Our crew is expendable, your package isn't!" Their catch-cry, though no-one took them up. These days, maybe it was for the best that this once-promising company stepped aside, if this was the final result right here…
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Looked like a perfect summer start in the city; gorgeous evening glow and a welcome forecast of clear starry skies…
However, most citizens who passed Leela had given their seconds glances & shivered, from either her eye or her outlook. Not that she cared; didn't matter whether she'd been a cryogenics counsellor, or even a Cookieville 'prisoner.'
Used to be after a crummy date or a long workday that she could come back to her crew for a cry, chat or a cuddle. The man and robot who were always there for her.
This time, compelled by her anniversary, all her feet could do was stop by her most painful memories of all.
The Applied Cryogenics lab, where she first met and chased down the 'kid from the Stupid Ages'. Was doing her job, only to inadvertently be led to a better life on his behalf. A small sniffle before she trudged onward, crossing O'Zorgnax's Pub.
First time he blended in to escape her sight, and now a haunt to clink whiskies or chug some beers, the best friends toasting to life as they talked of their weird world, or their wild work adventures. Shedding a soundless small tear on concrete, she trotted off again.
Next the National Head Museum, where one could visit a wealth of celebrities across all spectrums in their prime, perfectly preserved for the centuries they survived in. Quiet, dignified advice & contemplation, sometimes for free, and where she first discovered her true feelings for him.
His simple words had her question why she even worked at the lab, and answer them within the hour by quitting in front of him. Had protested and pummelled some peace officers, even against her best interests, when they laid beatdowns and insults upon them. Another shiver of emotion, a grab of her ponytail, as she rushed away hoping she saw nothing else.
But the more one avoids trouble, the more it finds them…
The damnedest double whammy of all; the Rocket-Skating rink and her local gym. Where she first saw Fry for who he was, beyond the reckless, immature idiot she'd always seen him to be.
Just for a few minutes dancing on ice, he had waited six HOURS in line for tickets. Just to see her smile and laugh, he'd lift heavy weights in low gravity, pulling off silly grunts and macho faces of the 20th century.
All the things she had, what she once enjoyed, what actually made her happy… They just vanished.
Threatening a public tsunami of grief as the creases and heaves cracked on her face & chest, she shot straight for home, more a shipwreck of the seas than a proper place to live.
Sandwiched between two imposing skyscrapers, but standing proof that appearances weren't everything. Had the full gamut of rooms, even for one as far-from-typical as the lady who burst through her building's front door.
Almost busting her fingerprint button after, she raced inside and slammed the door, hurried uneven breaths the whole way as she leaned against it. Those rueful memories once again, but perhaps a way to coax them out, as she slipped into the rec room for her Hover-Disk player.
Her mind most fond of the vivid voices, touching tunes and merry melodies collected over the years, she shut her eye, let her fingers fly in speed, and picked out a compilation to click on.
Might've done it blindfolded for how often she heard that needle, but as she always told herself, it never mattered which album she'd pick.
Anything would do… Until Fate had other ideas.
Upon hearing the familiar one, one-two kick drums, subtle bass guitar strums and sweet synthesisers, she felt an immediate regret seize her up. The same song she played, after her and Fry's first real date in years; the night-time stroll, the delicious meal, that glass of modest wine, their planned grand finale…
Of course, the hero's duty had come calling, and the rest was history.
And of all the songs to hear, only the soulful rendition of Just the Two of Us, the 1980s classic that now carried a most cruel burden it had never meant to. And just as a dam could burst forth once enough cracks appeared in its walls, it didn't take much for her to rip the record out and race for bed, her face salting the carpets all the while.
Took a good fifteen minutes or so of emptying tissue boxes and lying on her doona before she tried to read her Nosy Enquirer. Potential celebrity singles that graced the cover & editorials, yet those she knew could never replace what she had.
The desire to avoid sleep, for the nightmares en route… Ones that relived the moment Fry disappeared, or forced one of dozens of gruesome, vivid, and awful scenarios from her buffet of imaginative horrors.
Viciously murdered, sliced up Julienne-style. A ruthless, agonising disease that ate him from inside-out. Or a failure to save him from a preventable accident, all while under her 'control'. Even for words of comfort & love, only a screaming outreach as she watched him swan dive off a cliff edge.
And every night, she'd always spring upright, crying once more or forced to stroke her ponytail just to comfort against the lack of tears.
The questions on her mind, and Planet Express by extension, were simple ones: Where did Fry ever disappear to, were such a choice given? What was he doing, assuming he was still alive? Could they find him, if whoever seized him would allow it? And most importantly, who could help her bring him back, were such answers known?
Endless possibilities, and sure prudent to consider either ransom, service or slaughter, maybe all three.
But why go through all that trouble? What would a villain desire out of Fry to lure them all in, threaten their lives, and kidnap him out of those three?
From time to time, she'd grow angry dreaming of Bender, whose selfish cowardice had led her here. Doubted that he'd ever come back to Earth to apologise… Judging by his rap sheets, tyrannical deeds, and penchants for pissing everything off, he'd never give a damn for forgiveness or second chances.
But just as sure as cities like New New York were carved from the tombstones of pioneers, sometimes even the most irredeemable sorts could collect a second chance, a fresh start to get back into society's good graces.
They just had to reach rock-bottom first…