"I am a scientist and not a snow shoveler!" I heard Engie's yell from behind closed door. His accent sounded vaguely familiar, but it was too muffled by the gask mask and door to make sense of it.

"SEND ME AN EMAIL WITH A FORMAL COMPLAINT!" Captain responded.

"Email?! How long are you going to screw around with me? There's no email left! There's nothing left, look around you, you idiot!" Engie screamed, and banged. It sounded like he was pounding with the shovel on the floor in rage.

"YOU CAN ALSO LEAVE ME A VOICE-MAIL!

DIAL 9999 FOR DIREKTOR CAPTAIN."

"Need I remind you: There are no working phones around!" Engie's temper tantrum got louder.

"Surely, you can't expect me to do something with a snow shovel to end nuclear winter! I am not shoveling snow! You can't make me!"

Engie should calm his nerves. Being loud and demanding has no effect in arguments with Captain. It was then that Engie started to swear and call Captain names.

I chuckled and went downstairs. I've had better things to do with my time, such as finding my gun.

While I was outside, I saw Captain's head peer out of the window and yell "NEXT!"

I looked up. "You want me to come up there?"

"DON'T HOLD UP THE LINE!" Captain concluded, disappearing in the window.

I wondered what line there was. Pilot was missing. Photoshop was probably sleeping somewhere in the snowbank.

On the way up, I nearly collided with Engie on the stairs who was running as if to get away from something horrible. He was muttering something about radioactive bees under his breath.

"I heard you yelling at Captain in there. I know you can talk. Why don't you ever talk to me?" I've asked him.

Engie ignored my question and fled downstairs, as if snow-shoveling was the most important thing in the world right now. I briefly wondered why Engie was afraid of talking to me and what radioactive bees had to do with anything.

"ENTER" Captain stated as I approached the door with scribbles "ZEE BRIEFEENG ROUM" on it.

I went in.

"Well, what do you want me to do with this trowel? Scrape your limo's windows? Plant some petunias out the back?" I demanded, advancing on Captain.

"YOUR MISSION SHOULD YOU CHOSE TO ACCEPT IT IS TO END WINTER!"

"You want me to end winter with this?" I waved the trowel in front of Captain's face.

"Wait a minute... I can choose to not do this mission. Do I ever get my gun back then?"

"CORRECTOMUNDO! YOU HAVE NO NEED OF GUNS. THE TROWEL IS YOUR NEW BEST BUDDY. STRAP IT TO YOUR ARM-NOODLE AND DON'T LET GO, UNTIL SPRING COMES!"

For a very brief moment, in my mind flashed an image:

With a tribal scream, I leap towards captain, bearing the extremely dull trowel.

The scarf, binding my spine grants me monstrous strength for this glorious mission.

Fueled by sudden adrenaline injection my motions are swift and merciless.

With wonderful, inhuman precision I slice off Captain's head, ridding myself of the endless irrationality and insane demands. Captain's head rolls into the sunset and everyone rejoices applauding for my victory.

...

Wait what? Who's everyone? Who's clapping?

I looked down a the trowel in my hands, then at the grinning mask of the not so head-less Captain, then again at the trowel.

...

Biomatrix, stop showing me this nonsense.

I am not harvesting Captain. Not today.

No. Not Ever. I'm never harvesting anyone human.

Of course Captain is human!

...Whatever do you mean?

That's just disgusting!

We are not "Bestest organic friends"!

I am not trading Captain for unlimited powers on seventeen planets!

I focused on my surroundings, ending my internal monologue with my scarf. Captain merrily lounged in front of me waving a steaming mug as if conducting an invisible orchestra.

"This is the stupidest mission ever, you know." I said.

"YOU'LL GET A SALARY INCREASE!" Captain waved the mug at me.

"Bottlecaps are not a form of payment! I want my gun back."

"THE TROWEL POINTS THE WAY!" Captain cheerily answered.

"My scarf is telling me to stab you with it." I grumbled.

"TRY IF YOU MUST, BUT IT HAS VERY DULL CORNERS!" Captain postulated.

I gave up. I wasn't getting my gun back.