There had been twenty-two apocalypses to date. There were now four distinct variations of humanity roaming the earth—six, if you counted the undead. It had been suggested that there really should have been a new word to describe “the end of everything forever,” but most people had stopped noticing, much less caring, after the tally hit double digits. Not to mention the failure of “forever” in living up to its potential. The last apocalypse wasn’t even considered a cataclysm by most major governments. It was just a Thursday.
Thor, for his part, still held out hope for Ragnarok, but, seeing as how his mortality stemmed directly from science disproving religion, this wasn’t looking likely.
“Dick didn’t even tip me.”
“Why would he tip you?”
“Because I brought him pillows.”
“That’s not really difficult, dude.”
“OK, yeah, sure. But a little recognition would be nice.”
Thor was still pretty pissed that God of Thunder didn’t carry more weight on a resume.
To be fair, his lust for an actual, factual Armageddon wasn’t so much due to any longing for Asgard as it was a bone-deep hatred for his job as a desk clerk at the Secaucus Holiday Inn. Catrina disliked the job at least as much as Thor did and, near as he could tell, she wasn’t a fallen deity.
“What time you off tonight?” asked Thor.
“Eleven.”
“Want to hit up the diner?”
“Sure.”
The phone rang.
“Hello,” answered Catrina, “Secaucus Holiday Inn.”
Thor assumed the person on the other end of the phone was talking, but he had no real proof.
“Yes, we have an employee named Paulo. He stepped out about twenty minutes ago.”
Thor thought about what he might get at the diner later.
“You’ll have to be more specific. How exactly did he die? He’s just a porter. If he’s a zombie he’s still gotta finish his shift. We’re non-discriminatory.”
Eggs probably. Eggs were good.
“To pieces, you say.”
Fried, maybe. Or scrambled. Yeah. With bacon.
“No, no next of kin. He moved up here from Princeton about a year ago.”
No, wait, sausage. Yeah. Sausage.
“Yeah, the robot thing. Everyone died violently.”
Crap. Now Thor was hungry. And he still had another thirty minutes left on his shift.
“Well, thanks for the info. I’ll pass it along. Bye.”
Catrina turned to Thor and said, “Well, Paulo’s dead.”
“Yeah, I got that much.”
“Fucktard went to Jersey City.”
“Why the hell would he do that? Jersey City was taken by werewolves eight months ago.”
Catrina shrugged, saying, “He said he liked the Subway there better.”
“It’s a full fucking moon, Catrina.”
“Maybe he didn’t notice.”
“It’s been full for the last three weeks.”
“Oh, right, ‘cause of the…”
“Yeah…”
“Well, Paulo wasn’t that bright.”
“What a way to go, though. Mauled to death for a chicken sandwich.”
Ooh. Maybe a chicken sandwich.
“I’m not telling Mark.”
“Aw, come on. I had to tell Mark about the last two.”
“And you’re going to keep telling him. At least until we hire a bellman with a sense of self-preservation anyway.”
Catrina continued, “You know Mark’s got that x-ray implant. I feel violated every time he looks at me.”
“Fine,” said Thor. “But I’m telling him you’re a racist.”