[ WP ] a journalist tells a story about a mysterious event in which a person called him/her saying : `` I 'm going to die today . ''

Roger was an AP reporter, and since he was trying to hold onto his journalism career as long as he can, he was doing his absolute best to look as busy as possible. 
 
 There was a time when journalists of his ilk were revered for their craft. The dogged pursuit of a story. The gritty takedown of corrupt government officials. 
 
 And he had ilk. That's why he was the last one. The last journalist of the New York Times. 
 
 It was the year 2049 A.D. The earth has a population of thirty billion people. Thanks to technology, there is no more hunger. No more starvation. 
 
 And very few jobs worth having, Roger thought. He glanced up at his trophy wall. Forty-seven Pulitzer prizes. 
 
 Sure, they still give them out, but there was n't as much competition anymore. Not when ninety-nine point nine percent of all news comes through in textese. 
 
 He was the only one in the office. It had over fifty desks in the bullpen and three corner offices. Roger liked the bullpen. 
 
 The government-mandated cameras were still on. 
 
 Roger picked up his World's Greatest Reporter coffee mug and walked to the window, looking for inspiration in-between sips of the bitter brew. 
 
 Outside, millions of synthetic men and their metallic beasts of burden swarmed through the streets and thoroughfares. As he watched, a small one buzzed to his window and began to clean it. 
 
 `` Excuse me, sir?'' 
 
 Roger nearly dropped his coffee. 
 
 The voice belonged to a tall, rangy looking young man with jet black hair spiked straight up. 
 
 This boy was at least six feet tall and unusually skinny. That was strange. 
 
 With so little to do, the average weight of a human male is now three hundred and fifty pounds. The average height is just over five feet, four inches. Evolution begat devolution in just two generations. 
 
 Roger recovered and said `` Yes, son? What can I do for you?'' 
 
 `` Are you a reporter? I've come looking for a reporter. My dad told me that the New York Times was the finest newspaper in America.'' 
 
 Roger winced. `` Was?'' 
 
 `` Well, it's what he said. Sir, I just came to tell you that my name is Damien, and I'm going to die today.'' 
 
 Roger blinked. Then frowned. `` That's very dramatic. Why?'' 
 
 `` Why what?'' 
 
 `` Why are you going to die? After all. You're what, twenty? So you have n't even started on the anti-aging pills yet. You look healthy, so you must have been taking your GAMV's ( Government Approved Multivitamins ). And, well... I hate to be rude, but,'' and Roger paused to sit back down and pick up his notepad, `` one death is n't news anymore.'' 
 
 Damien sat down across from Roger, undiscouraged. 
 
 `` No, it's not me dying that's the story. It's how.'' 
 
 `` I'm listening,'' Roger said. Roger opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a working pen and let him tell his story. 
 
 `` I do n't live in New York. I grew up in a small town called Edmond in Oklahoma. It's a strange little town, full of people that think they're richer and more important than they are. But it's my town. Oklahomans are proud of their heritage.'' 
 
 Roger snorted and said `` What? Cowboys and Indians?'' 
 
 Damien winced. `` No. hard work. Clean living. Church. You know.'' 
 
 `` Not really, but go on.'' 
 
 `` I was n't very good at school. They graduated me just to get me out of high school. And college... well, I just did n't see the point. But I wanted to work for a living, so I went looking for a job.'' 
 
 `` When was this?'' 
 
 `` Three years ago. I tried an accounting firm, but they were only hiring people with a doctorate. Even the janitors were doctors. I did a few interviews, but with no college time at all, and the robots doing all the easy jobs I was n't having much luck. 
 
 Then I got a tip from a buddy that a friend of a friend was starting a new business. Not new as in new to the area. New as in a completely new concept. 
 
 I was curious, so I asked my buddy to set up a meeting with the guy. 
 We met in this little bar called The Garage. It was a Wednesday. His name was Tommy Boren.'' 
 
 `` Boring?'' 
 
 `` No, Boren. B-O-R-E-N. And mister, let me tell you. I'd never met anyone like him. He was slicker than an eel in a vat of vaseline. 
 I asked him straight out what his business was, but he kept avoiding the question and redirecting them towards me. Before I knew what was what, he knew my whole life story and I knew zip about him. 
 
 After a little while longer, he told me he thought I'd be perfect for the job and that it was mine if I wanted it. And I told him I did. But here's the darnedest thing, I still did n't know what the job was! 
 
 He asked me when I could start, and I told him I could start immediately. He laughed and asked me if I meant it. When I told him yes, he said'Well, let's go!' and out we went. 
 
 His car was double-parked. A cherry-red Cadillac. It was a manual drive, and it still ran on gasoline.'' 
 
 Roger whistled. `` Geez, his taxes must be huge on that. Even three years ago, that would have been... what? Well, more than my salary anyway. Sorry, where'd he take you?'' 
 
 `` An old abandoned gas station. The sign was still up and lit, though. Big, bright green and yellow letters. Kum and Go. K-U-M. Yeah, I know, right? But that's the name. 
 
 We pulled up right to the door of the office and got out. He fiddled with his keys for a bit and then found the right one and opened the door. 
 
 Once we got inside, he shut and locked the door and said'Now, do n't be alarmed when I turn on the light, OK?' 
 
 The lights buzzed on. I do n't know if you've ever been in a gas station. Probably when you was a kid, right? You remember the layout?'' 
 
 Roger smiled, `` Yeah, I'm pretty old, kid. A little bit of everything in there. Candy, pop, chips, beer. All laid out on shelves that take up the whole building.'' 
 
 `` Right, right. Well, it looked like that except that all the shelves were empty. But you know how some of those gas places had those big refrigerators in the back for the beer? Beer caves, they called'em. 
 
 This Kum and Go had one of those, but there were n't no beer in there. Bodies.'' 
 
 `` Bodies?'' 
 
 `` Yup, bodies. Human bodies. Stacked to the ceiling. I'd never seen anyone dead before. I did n't know what to say, so I did n't say anything. I just stared. 
 
 Tom slapped his hand on my shoulder, startling me. 
 
'Beautiful, is n't it? Look at them, and tell me what you see.' 
 
'Did you... did you kill them all?' 
 
'Yes, I did. And I'll tell you something else. They asked me to do it. But look closer, boy.' 
 
 So I did. 
 
 And it was the strangest thing. They all looked so peaceful. So... happy. 
 
'So what do you do here,' I asked him. 
 
'Kum and Go helps those who ca n't help themselves anymore,' he tells me.'We help them shuffle off this mortal coil. Is it entirely legal? Well, not yet, but almost. I've got a brother in the state legislature, and he tells me he's got the votes, so I opened up shop yesterday and put an ad in the paper.' 
 
'Yesterday? But there must be...' 
 
'Forty-seven,' he tells me.'Forty-seven in less than twenty-four hours. 
 
 And why not? We help them go out painless. Go out ethical. Go out happy. We get'em a free meal. Someone to hold their hand as they go out. One pin prick of the special Boren medicine and they leave this all behind.' 
 
'And what would my job be,' I asked him. 
 
'You'd be a gofer for them. You know, go for this. Go for that. Whatever they need after they've signed the papers and paid their thousand bucks. We work on commission here. You get fifty dollars per signature. 
 
 Another part of your job is you'd post their stories online for me. Part of the package: published story, meal, and a nice, calm death. And I'll tell you something else. It's good for the environment too.' 
 
'But, uh... the bodies?' 
 
'Oh, them? No, you would n't handle them. we've got a bot for that.' 
 
 I started the next day. It was honest work, and Tom, well... Tom was a genius. That man could've sold whiskers to a beard. His online advertisements and printed flyers were a thing of beauty. 
 
 That first week we did six hundred and thirty-two. 
 
 It was my first job, and it's going to be my last. 
 
 I've signed the papers and I'm going out at 3:30pm.'' 
 
 Roger raised an eyebrow, `` But even if you wanted to, Oklahoma is two hours away by train! And I do n't know where Edmond is, so it's not hooked into the train line. You wo n't make it back in time.'' 
 
 `` Oh, right. I did n't mention. We franchised it.'' 
 
 `` Franchised it? You mean?'' 
 
 `` Yup, Kum and Go is in all fifty-two states. And the local one is just down the block. But here's the thing. I do n't want some dumb worker like me posting my story online. I want you to do it. Will you do it for me?'' 
 
 Roger thought about it. Yes, of course he would. He nodded. 
 
 `` Okay, but I have a lot of questions first. I guess the first one is how many people would you guess that you have... you know?'' 
 
 `` I do n't have to. It's on my paychecks, remember? In just under three years, I killed seventy-one thousand, eight hundred and thirteen people. I'm only twenty years old, so that's more people dead by my hand than days I've lived. 
 
 More than double that. 
 
 I'm the world's greatest serial killer and I'm completely anonymous.''
