Just once I'd like to see a story solve the sort of cliched pseudointellectual existential tripe liberal writers love to hinge plots on by having someone just call it out for the empty bullshit it is

"Oh really, you don't know whether to use the macguffin to save the world or destroy it, because you're hung up on the question of pUrPosE iN a WoRlD oF SuFferInG? What are you, a fucking 19th century aristocrat who thinks tuberculosis is cool and sexy because you've literally never had to struggle for anything ever and your brain has liquefied and run out of your ears as a result? Get the fuck over yourself and stop giving yourself brainworms with philosophy cooked up by bored, rich old drunks."