itstotallyaliensSo, let me get this straight. Before you even knew half my past, you knew you wanted me to throw me into the middle of some alternate, dystopian, war-torn future just to watch me pitch a fit, because you know I'm not going to believe any of it. You know where you want me. And I don't get any say, whatsoever? I'm a grown man, you know, I can tie my own shoelaces and everything. I should probably get some kind of say in this. Unless you're suddenly two things you're not: a guy, and a really heavy smoker.
But nope, I still don't get to pick where I go, and even then, I have to cool my heels around here and do this thing you call "voice testing"? My vocal cords work just fine, thank you, I've got plenty of people who can attest to that, and if you don't believe me I could just start singing.
Fun fact: you don't want me to sing.
And while we're at it, why don't you want me to look too hard at this Night Vale thing that Scully was talking about last night? Sure, she's not my Scully, but she's still Scully, I can tell that much, and - and --
Oh, wait. I get it. You're afraid. Even though you haven't even done that "reserve" thing yet... You're afraid I'll like the look of that Vale more, and I won't let you force-draft me into that crazy future fascist war brigade. I'm on to you now. ... Maybe you're more like the top brass than I thought, after all.
I'm really not sure I trust you, after all, mundane.
... and wait, since when are we obscure?!