A Strange Mysterious Package, Indeed!

You’re a thirty-three-year-old woman named Breanne, still living in the home you grew up in. Not in a cute hallmark way. But in a way that says, ‘I went to university, and it took me six years to graduate because I couldn’t decide on a major, and now I make $50k working as a graphic designer and can’t afford to live on my own in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) or pay back my student loans.’

Working from home, remotely, is what you’ve done for years – even before the pandemic made it cool. Your parents, Roger and Lucy, still work, because, well, sixty-five isn’t exactly old anymore when one might live to be a hundred, and your daughter shows no signs of being able to financially assist you in your old age, let alone herself (Yep, that’s you.)

One day, a much-welcomed doorbell ring summons you from yet another revision of the dreaded Environ logo. Corporations never know how to ask for what they want. You just end up doing revision, after revision, until, somehow, you end up designing the same thing as the first design and they fall in love with it.

You get up from your desk in the basement. It’s where you sequester yourself from upstairs, where everything feels a little too close to your parents and there's a leftover taste of your teenage years.

You open the door, and a flash goes off and you rub your eyes. “What the fuck,” you say, before realizing it’s come from a drone, completing its delivery cycle with a confirmation that someone opened the door and received the package. The drone fly’s off into the sky with an annoying high-pitched buzz. You look at the large cardboard box from Shamazon. It has no name on it, no address, and you don’t remember ordering anything.

Do you:

A) Bring it in and open it immediately. Jump to a)

B) Inspect it suspiciously. Jump to b)

C) Think it must be a new creative scam and leave it on the doorstep. Jump to c)

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a ) You bring the package in and opening the flaps, you peer in. It’s full of Styrofoam peanuts. You dig your hands in, making a mess all over the floor, searching for whatever's inside. Eventually, you find a single gift card with instructions to visit the dark web at the URL address: http://nv3x2jozywh63fkohn54jasdkljifm3ueof52fmbjsigw6ad.onion and use

Access Code: UL4XT0909023NK

Do you:

D) Throw it in the trash, this is clearly someone trying to steal your identity. Go to c)

E) Try it out, what’s the worst that’ll happen? Go to e)

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b) "I wonder why there’s no name on it?" You pick it up and shake it, hearing a slight thunk inside the box. There’s some weight to it. You’re a Sagittarius, so it couldn’t possibly be for your birthday. Just then you see the man across the street open his front door to take out the trash. You watch him, his hair flowing in the slight breeze. His dark stubble reminds you of a cowboy from an old Western. You’ve had a crush on Jason since you were twelve. Funny, how you’re both still here, living as neighbours, stuck in some weird vortex of childhood, yet with all the physical markings of adulthood. His hairline isn’t what it used to be, but he keeps it long. He finishes tossing the trash in the outdoor bin, then catches you staring, and raises a hand in a sort of lazy wave. You wave back, then avert your attention back to the package, hoping he didn’t feel your eyes on him the whole time.

You start thinking about that one guy who used to send things in the mail, only for them to explode once opened. But then you think, ‘Oh, that shit only happens in America. Canada is boring.’ So, you rip the mystery package open right there on the porch and pull out the box that’s inside.

XXL Dildo is written in plain blocky letters across the box. “Not to yuck anyone’s yum here but what the hell,” you say out loud. You peer around self-consciously, ‘Who is trying to be a fuckin’ comedian here, eh? Someone’s gotta’ be out there, videotaping this shit’. You walk around behind the house shrubs expecting Kat or Pamela to be holding back howls of laughter. But no one’s there.

You go into your group chat and type: Please tell me if was you guys who sent me the mystery package. Little dots come up from Kat then stop. Then Pamela answers: WYT about? Kat sends: Mystery package? Do tell!

Your stomach curdles as another thought comes to your mind. One that hurts you. You type back: Nvm.

"Ewwwwwwuh!" The damage is done. You pictured your parents with it. No mental vision any child at any age should have to endure.

That night when your parents get home from work you:

F) Decide to mortify them and tell them you opened their package. Might as well make them feel the pain too, right? Go to f)

G) Tell them you’re moving out. You don’t care what it takes anymore. You’ll move to Alberta if you have to. Go to letter g)

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c) Fortune favours the bold, they say, but you’re more of a faded watercolour. Your mom, Lucy, gets home later that evening and discovers the package. She opens it, revealing it to contain a set of heated slippers she ordered for herself after a night of too much wine and feeling sorry for herself that she had to support an adult child.

Before you know it, chin hairs start to multiply on your face and you have to buy a 2x mirror to see them and keep up with tweezing. You even have to up the font size on your cell phone. But no glasses for you because you don’t have benefits. You cry a lot. You move out at the age of 46 after the housing market crashes in your favour.

GAME OVER.

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e) Carefully, you type the strange URL into the browser, but you use your dad, Roger’s laptop, just in case it’s a virus. You can’t go and destroy your own computer that you use to make a living, now, can you?

A dark page with a single form to insert the access code appears. You type it in.

This message appears: You’ve been selected by the Canadian Security Intelligence Service to be test subject no. 6 in a top-secret study. Details of your participation cannot be released until you agree to join this study.

Compensation is a house fully paid for, including property taxes for life. Student loans will be eradicated, and you will receive rebates on goods and services taxes. You will also receive up to half a million dollars depending on your cooperation.

Speaking about it with others will automatically disqualify you and may even result in charges.

Do you accept?

J) If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is, right? You move the mouse cursor to the X and click out of the browser. Jump to j)

K) One button says ‘Yes’ and the other says ‘No’. You click ‘Yes’ just to see what happens. You’re already this far in.

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f) “What the hell is this?” Lucy shrieks as she enters the kitchen, her eyes as round as kitchen plates. Your mother looks at you in a way she never has. There’s pain in her features and she winces in confusion. “Why, Breanne, why?”

“Jesus! It’s not mine! It showed up today and I thought you or Dad ordered it. Do you have any idea how revolting that was for me?”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t order it,” Lucy says.

Just then the front door opens, “I’m home! What you say we order a—” Roger stops abruptly as he enters the kitchen, and the motherlode of all dildo’s looks back at him. “—pizza.”

You and Lucy stand there, arms folded looking at Roger for answers.

Roger starts laughing awkwardly, “Why do we have a big ‘ol sex toy in our kitchen?”

“Did you order this Rog?” Lucy’s tongue is sharp.

“Jesus murphy, why the heck would I order this? It probably got mixed up. Who was it addressed to?”

“No one, it had no name. It just showed up on our porch this afternoon by a Shamazon drone,” you answer.

“See! There you have it. Most likely a mix-up,” Roger shrugs. “So, what d’you want? Pepperoni or Hawaiian?”

H) Pepperoni. Go to h)

I) Hawaiian. Go to i)

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g) After declaring very loudly that you’re moving at any cost, you leave the house. You get in your car and text the girls: Anyone wanna move out with me? Kat responds: In this recession? Hell no. Pamela texts: Sure, maybe in about a year when my finances are a bit better.

You search Indeed for jobs in Alberta. It might be nice to work in an office again, with in-the-flesh people. Maybe this is the fresh start you need. You drive to Home Hardware to buy some moving boxes. If you don’t use your energy towards something productive you’ll start the downward spiral into your gaming addiction again. Controlling lives on the Sims is so seductive…

The moment you leave the house your parents, Lucy and Roger, high-five. Roger pours a glass of prosecco into two flutes, handing one to his wife. “We did it Luce, and it only set us back $108 bucks and some pride.” Lucy giggles, clinking her glass to his, “Oh, my pride is perfectly intact.”

GAME OVER

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h) There’s a knock at the door and you go to retrieve the pizza from the delivery man. But you’re shocked to see your neighbour crush, Jason. He sheepishly smiles, holding his hand on the back of his neck, “Hey, I think you might have gotten a package today that was meant for our house. The Shamazon app showed your photo as the one who picked it up.”

Wow. You didn’t peg him for a freak in the sheets. “Oh, well that explains the mystery package then. Sorry, but I opened it,” you leave him standing on the porch and go get the XXL dildo from the kitchen.

“Here you are!” you pass it over, happy to be rid of it.

He chokes on his words stammering incoherently.

“Have fun!” you start to close the door.

“Are you sure this is it?” he pleads. “My mom asked me to come get a package. This can’t be…” he looks far off.

You nod sympathetically and cringe. “Like I said, I’m so sorry I opened it. I assumed it was our's since it came to our house.”

Jason’s shoulders slump forward, and he slowly walks back to his house. He never waves to you from across the street again.

GAME OVER

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i) “Do you think it’s the lady next door’s package?” you speculate between bites of juicy pineapple, ham, and cheese, “What’s her name, Patricia?”

Lucy lets out a throaty laugh, “Oh that’ll be the day. She’s practically the female version of Mr. Rogers. And I’m not about to ask.” She ponders for a moment, “Are you sure your friends aren’t pranking you, Breanne?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I asked and they seem to have no idea what I am talking about."

Roger shudders, “Yeah. I think it’s best we just leave this one a mystery.”

Later that evening you take the box down to your basement lair. You open it up to see the magnitude of this thing. When you pull it out, it is covered in every Environ logo you have created up to date.

You start hysterically laughing and immediately pull out your phone, snap a photo, and send it to your boss, Mel and type: What the FUCK?! LOL, Was this you?

Mel types back: You know I love a good metaphor and wanted to cheer you up. Did it work?

You type back: Yes, oh god yes. But dear lord, my parents saw this!

Mel types: Girl. You gotta move out. SRSLY…

GAME OVER

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j) You hear another knock at the door. Sneaking into the living room, you peek out from behind the curtain and try and catch a look at who is there. A man in a suit standing at the door notices your movement and catches you as you duck down from the window to hide like you’re ten years old.

Cheeks flushing, you crawl away from the window, then run to the basement and wait for the man to leave. But he doesn’t. The knocking persists.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Jesus Christ, fine,” you mutter under your breath as you make your way to the door. You try to appear tired and casual, “Sorry, I was sleeping. Night shift.”

The man swiftly pulls off aviator sunglasses, “Breanne Hopkins?”

“Yup, that’s me, what can I do ya for?” you say jokingly as you laugh nervously.

“Breanne, I want you to seriously reconsider your participation in the CSIS program. You’re giving up a lot. It could change your life. You don’t want to live with your parents forever, do you?”

“Well, actually my parents are pretty great—"

“Cut the crap, Breanne. We’ve been watching your sad little life for a while now and we need you in this study as much as you need the compensation. Show up at ‘Spill the Beans’ coffee shop at 2 PM tomorrow. A black car will pick you up,” he leaves without another word and no time for you to get another in.

Looks like you have no choice now. Jump to m)

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k) Instructions pop up on the screen to meet at ‘Spill the Beans’ coffee shop at 2 PM tomorrow afternoon. You recognize that as a legitimate business nearby. You’re sick of working on Environ logos anyway. Maybe this is your Willy Wonka golden ticket out!

Go to m)

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m) You pack a cute little pink mace spray in your purse just in case this is some sort of sick attempt at trafficking. You’ve watched too much Dateline for anyone to show up on your doorstep and tell you that you’re some kind of ‘special’.

You grab a dirty chai and step out onto the sidewalk in front of the café window, then pull your cell phone out for a distraction, peering upwards when the moment feels right to check for a black car.

“Breanne Hopkins,” the same man as yesterday opens the back door with level ten tinted windows, ushering you inside.

You’re taken to a non-descript facility that is behind a chain-linked fence with barbed wire at the top and surveillance cameras around the perimeter. You sign, what could very well be your life away, with multiple hard-to-read contracts. They got you, you’re locked in. But the image of a house of your own and some level of wealth to go with it calm any anxieties that might quell your reluctance to put ink to paper.

Now you find yourself in a blank room with a large window where scientists are probably observing you on the other side. You’re hooked up to an ECG monitor and a woman in a tight pencil skirt and suit top struts in and sits across from you at the table. She turns on a recorder in front of you and says, “November 29, 2022, Project Millennial Adult Child, case study number six with Doctor Hinterest.”

“Did you just call me an adult child?” you say. The ECG is wavering.

“Miss Hopkins, you still live at home, is that right?”

“Yes. But I don’t think—”

“I’m Dr. Hinterst, and I’m going to be asking you some questions. What age did you think you would buy a home when you were ten?”

“Um, twenty? But—”

“At what age did you think you would be married?”

“Um, like, also twenty-something?”

“Okay, and what age did you think you would have kids?”

“Well, I have a cat that I got in 2019 and she’s like my—”

“Miss Hopkins, answer the question please,” Dr. Hinterest peers at me like she doesn’t have time for any shit.

“Um, I guess at the age my mom had kids? But that would have already happened I suppose…”

“Have you even tried to move out? Or are you just milking off your parents?” Dr. Hinterest’s upper lip curls.

“Jesus, what kind of question is that? Of course I’ve tried. I’ve been in and out of that basement seven times!” The ECG goes haywire as your heart rate increases in frustration.

“Alright, alright. Settle down Miss Hopkins,” she turns off the recorder and walks out the door leaving you sitting there in confusion. Perhaps you should have read those contracts a little bit closer.

Dr. Hinterest is speaking to the man in the suit who drove you here. You overhear her muffled words, “Take her to the reject pile. She’s perfect for this.”

//

“Alright Miss Hopkins, here’s your new house!” the man with aviators drops you off and places a set of keys in your hands. It’s a village of tiny homes, with maybe thirty on the block. You’re bewildered and stand there quietly, waiting for the punch line. But none comes.

You see a familiar face at the tiny-house next door. It’s Jason, the neighbour from your parents' block that you have been crushing on for years. He gives you a friendly wave. You silently mouth, "What the fuck?"

He just shrugs and smiles.

GAME OVER