On Elon Musk’s Mars

Elon Musk laughs at a 20 year old meme, then stops and glares at his ottoman. The Martian X team member upon whose back Musk is resting his feet freezes in panic. To trigger the mercurial leader’s wrath was to court termination. Quite literally. For everything your eyes beheld was his.

The walls were Elon’s, as was the roof over your head and the deck beneath your feet. He was the computer console that awakened you from power sleep, and he owned the lights that dimmed at your appointed 15 minute rest period. His dominion encompassed the food you ate, the water you drank, and the receptacle that received the contents that left your body.

Oh yes, even your waste was his, as was your body itself. Once the spark that animated it ceased, the patterns and memories captured by the neural net fitted to every team member belonged to him well. Nothing went to waste on Musk’s Mars. For it was all his.

Everything you saw and heard and tasted and felt were Elon’s. They were Elon. He was all around you. He was quite literally the World, down to the last molecule of air that entered your lungs — precious air he metered to those who deserved it. Who performed. Who gave every last bit of devotion to to Him. Those who did not make the cut were cast out of Eden to the planet’s surface.

Losers. Moochers. Scum.

The glare quickly passes as the team member quickly adjusts to the preferred position, holding Elon’s legs at the desired height and angle. ‘Twas but a minor annoyance as something else catches his attention and he moves on to the next trivial novelty. The team member would perform for another day in Paradise, securing humanity’s continued future in space.

Elon’s future.