Finally, James had a moment of silence with the news and his sad excuse for a dinner. Sunrise put out a passable prepackaged meal, but three dollars only bought you so much flavor.

  He felt a familiar, sharp sting in his chest. Maybe he wasn't ready to check out just yet, probably thanks to that mouthy AI that spent every night badgering him to death—leaving him no room to dwell on how bone-deep lonely he was, or the fact that his future was a dead end.

  As he chewed on his steak, the wall screen streamed the nightly news. It was always the same. If the ancients had TV, they probably would have watched the same repetitive garbage for centuries.

  "The government has expressed growing concern over the rising demand for human labor as AI continues its total takeover. Dockworkers have staged yet another riot against the new automation policies. Meanwhile, Sunrise Corp announced the completion of a new bot factory in Denver; the facility is expected to churn out low-cost industrial robots, further fueling the rage of human laborers—"

  Personally, James didn't have a problem with AI replacing people.

  His father had died in a factory back when the place wasn't fully automated. There was a fire in the sector one night, and that was that. James didn't like to dwell on it; his father had been an asshole anyway. His no-good mother had made her own stylish exit via drug overdose later.

  He was just relieved he didn't have a dying parent weighing on his conscience anymore. In fact, he was glad the world was falling apart. His own life had collapsed a long time ago.

  He'd be out of a job at the garage soon anyway, and the government would just invent another system to keep people from rioting too hard.

  There were already talks of new measures, or rather, politicians putting on a UFC-style show in Congress, both sides screaming about who had the moral high ground regarding the future of humanity.

  James couldn't care less. This time, the entire world was going down with him. At least he wouldn't be alone in his misery. That was good enough for him.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Alice chimed in again. "I sense you’re lost in your thoughts again. Why can’t you focus on the present for more than five minutes? If you brought me to work, I could help you avoid any accidents, not to mention I could guide you through the repairs—"

  "NO," James growled. It was a low, intimidating sound, enough to silence Alice just as he had silenced the barista girl at the coffee shop earlier.

  "Fine. I’m preheating the shower. You have fifteen minutes to get in," she said, her voice sounding a bit prickly, or maybe that was just his imagination. An AI pouting because its human master was being sulky? Ridiculous.

  "Fifteen minutes is too—"

  "The temperature is already rising, James."

  "God damn it..." He muttered, munching on his steak as he surrendered to the AI's whims.

  He was glad he'd turned off the small screen that displayed the AI's face around the house. She had the features of a typical pretty girl with long brown hair and soft face. But her expression was eerily cold, and those determined brown eyes carried something almost mocking.

  For an AI, it was weird as fuck. So ever since he'd first seen her, when those sharp, judgmental eyes stared back, her hair rustling slightly over her shoulders—he'd never turned the screen on again.

  He would've preferred a seductive woman in her late twenties or early thirties, the kind of AI that would flash warm smiles and playful glances. Not this one.

  The next morning was more of the same, a relentless battle with Alice through breakfast and his shower.

  Then came the trek to the garage, the grind of work, and another cheap dinner at a nearby joint. Life was a loop. His boss was unbearable, and his robot colleagues were actually the better company. Just another day.

  He’d heard stories that in the old days, cheap diners were actually great—full of cheerful waitresses, hearty steaks, and decent coffee.

  Maybe that era never existed. People probably just glorified the past to feel better about the present. Low-wage workers eating a decent lunch in a warm, welcoming diner? Give me a break. The past was nothing more than a comforting urban myth.

  He checked the news on his wristwatch’s hologram projector. Those people in the old diners would’ve lost their minds if they’d seen a tiny watch casting high-def news and movies into thin air.

  But James? He’d trade every hologram in the world for a greasy, old-school meal and the genuine smile of a waitress.

  Tonight’s headline was about free energy. It was a tired topic, one that had been recycled for years.

  He wasn’t interested. Why did this keep popping up in his algorithm? Did he look like someone who gave a damn about the greater good of humanity? He’d honestly rather see an asteroid slam into the Earth.

  Then, a voice cut through his cynicism. "Sir, is this seat taken?"