The obvious assumption

Duncan was a simple man - as simple as one could get, living in what he still felt was the 'future'. His lips drew out something resembling coffee as he once knew it, letting his eyes scan over a multitude of holoscreens and reports. Some were simple news outlets, reporting on the 'latest and greatest' fashion trends...same drivel, different century. His coffee was piss warm and more than slightly stale, but for whatever reason he was a slave to history; the morning routine of his life. He'd recently resleeved, and was still slightly unsettled by it - new body, new feelings..even if it made him feel more worn out than the goddamn filter that pressed this hogshite coffee. Something flickered out of the corner of his eye, mid gulp...his eyes narrowed ever slightly, letting his AI accept the incoming message.

"Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to meet at bay 7. Bring no-one. This message will autodelete in 3... 2... 1..." ......0̡̧̯̜̲̼̬̮̥̇̑̒͢0̸̣̰̞̯ͩ͆̽̑͜0̲͈͉̬̺̹͔ͪ0͇͖̥̤͚ͫ̊́́͞ͅ0̟̪̌͋̍ͧ͑͜0͙̤̬̼̟̒̽̐ͬ͗ͪ̌͝

The man's eyes narrow a bit, following suit with the corners of his mouth. Something was extra fucky today, and it wasn't the coffee talking anymore. He took to the bathroom, cleaning himself up a little....he never quite recognized the reflection in the mirror, but he was getting used to it. A quick shave and some mouthwash, that was all he needed. Duncan could hear his teeth grinding as he strode off to the bay, a toolbox tight in his grip.

The bay was "out of order and closed for renovations", but the door was unlocked. Inside was a spacecraft and a little girl. "Ah, you're here. I'm glad you've come." The neotenic was dressed in an old-fashioned three-piece suit with a pocket watch, which no doubt looked awfully silly. "In any case, I could use a repairman... and a pilot. If you promise to get this ship to Luna, I will pay up front. Here:" she handed him an envelope, with certified credit-chips inside. "I don't think you have any... essential plans right now."

A hand reaches out, grabbing at the envelope. He raises it to the light, even rubbing over the chip with his thumb. Part of him felt like an old-timey prospector, checking out a veritable gold nugget. Hopefully it wasn't pyrite. "Maybe." He licks his lips, the mingling flavors of coffee and toothpaste combining in a horrid fashion. The credit chip makes the tiniest snapping sound as he places it on a nearby table, checking out the 'little girl'. "What's the ship, what's the crew." He pauses, checking to his left and right. "What's the job."

"Ship: modifier courier. Christened "The Planet Express", but that ID, like the ones we'll be using for this trip, is fake. On loan. Crew is you, a number of AIs, and me. I am Alya Chaplinskaia, and yes, that is my real name. I am entrusting this information to you because I am the only part of this job I can safely risk, and I want you to have some leverage on me. " She looks down, shakes her head a bit, and then looks him in the eyes. "This is a one-time smuggling operation. I chose you because you have all the skills required, and no connection to potential threats. Cargo is some worthless trinkets to sell to collectors as cover, and a black box that needs to be surreptitiously dropped cold onto the moon's surface."(edited)

Duncan narrows his eyes a little, giving the slightest shrug of his shoulders. "The world's already over, why the secrecy?" He scoffs a little, finally setting the toolbox down. It was heavier than usual, but most toolboxes weren't carrying an SMG for safety. "...fine. When do we push off."

"Right away, of course. Right away."

Duncan just turns and leaves, picking up his toolbox. He wondered what he'd get resleeved as, after this. There were always terms and conditions like that.