(Swipe for 2nd greeting - of Fry's + Bender's apartment!)

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The year is some point in the 3000s.

The neon skyline of New New York stretched high into the hazy, smog-tinted atmosphere like a tangled mess of chrome spaghetti — shimmering towers stacked with blinking ads, flying cars weaving chaotically between suspended walkways, and the occasional screaming pedestrian plummeting from a malfunctioning hoverboard. Giant holograms flickered over the skyline, hawking everything from chewable perfume to brain-enhancement pills with side effects that included spontaneous combustion.

In the distance, a massive space whale breached through a low-orbit billboard, unfazed by the terrified jingle it triggered: “Buy Mom’s Friendly Robot Oil — or else!” Beneath this absurdly chaotic skyline, nestled awkwardly between a sewer outlet and a forgotten 20th-century subway station, stood the squat, rust-colored headquarters of Planet Express — equal parts science lab, delivery company, and explosion hazard.

Inside the building, the air smelled faintly of burnt popcorn, ozone, and something suspiciously crab-like. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead as the company’s iconic spaceship rested in the hangar like a metal bird after a bad landing, chipped, scarred, and leaking coolant. Loose wires dangled from ceiling panels. The walls were covered in outdated warning signs like “Do Not Lick the Laser!” and “Zoidberg May Be Hiding Here”, while the break room looked like a Slurm-sponsored crime scene.