Charlie Pickle specialized in refrigeration.
He was working after hours and he tumbled into a vat of brine and was electrocuted and then frozen to death by some kind of automated machinery in this pickle factory.
What would be the chances of a guy named Pickle, dying in a pickle vat? Something to think about.
The chap who owned the factory was in a real pickle himself because he was deeply in debt and he knew that if he got nailed for hiring people after hours, and paying them below minimum wage, that there would be a big lawsuit.
So this chap sealed the vat and luckily no one, especially from any of the popular crime scene shows, investigated.
Well, here the story takes a bizarre twist because the pickle company was purchased by these doctors who did DNA research.
They thought the pickle vat (that Charlie was in) was part of their own research and besides nothing was labeled.
This pickle vat collected dust for 500 years and then some bean counter found it and they brought Charlie back to life.
The last thing Charlie remembered was inhaling pickle juice as 25,000 volts of electricity surged through every fiber of his being.
Here is the world to which Charlie woke up: Everyone was good looking. Everyone was smart. There were no wars and no disease. The DNA research center had done it all. Using genetic engineering, scientists had perfected perfect people.
It took Charlie awhile to get used to the fact that there was no art, no music and no drama. As a matter-of-fact, there were no artists of any kind.
The artists had some stuff wrong with their DNA so it would have been illogical to make any more of them. And since artists didn’t exist, what would be the point of leaving artistic appreciating DNA genes in the enhanced humans?
No point.
Charlie started yelling about a flaw in the system so they repickled him.
