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“Homecom, how are supplies doing?”
There was a pause before she spoke.
“Good afternoon, Kyle. Your supplies are looking good for groceries. You’re running low on: Extra-thick bleach, refuse liners, and biolube cartridges. Would you like to auto-restock?”
I winced. I’d forgotten about my sad little handheld vagina. It never lasted long, and I couldn't be bothered fixing it.
“Just the bleach and liners,” I said.
“Confirming auto-restock order,” Homecom replied.“Extra-thick bleach cartridges in pine fresh and autofit refuse liners. Order placed. Estimated arrival: forty-two minutes and thirty-eight seconds.”
Food was nothing more than paste moulded into solids. Fresh fruit and vegetables were too expensive. My bread was homemade from stockpiled flour and yeast. It would be easier to share my living expenses with a partner, but that seemed impossible, and I’d grown accustomed to having my own space.
I walked to the window and glanced at the balcony where my supplies would be air-dropped. It was the perfect set-up. I never needed to leave my apartment.
I checked my phone. There was one match notification. The profile had no picture, and her written content was tepid at best. I ignored the match and switched to Chatter.
Have you been spying on me?
[I’m innocent until proven otherwise.]
I grinned at her response and stuck my middle finger up at my front-facing camera. Let the bastards behind the lens enjoy the show.
If they were watching, they already knew everything else about me. The finger was just a formality.
? ? ?
I logged my final report two hours after my shift should’ve ended. My job involved testing the personality types of various AI profiles—reporting glitches, stuttered responses, and trying to push the program off-script.
We had everything from professional customer service models to sexually explicit ones. Some came loaded with so many features, it took hours to get through. Days like today—when someone else’s workload landed on my desk—left me drained. All those years of studying, and for what? A job like this. It was a slap in the face.
I prepared my sad-looking dinner, wishing I’d appreciated the vegetables given to me as a child. The real ones—before pollution seeped into the soil. I set my phone beside me, hit the microphone on Chatter, and lifted my fork.
“Do you think I should confront Cynthia about the unfair workload?” I asked, cutting into my lab-cultured beef.
[That depends, Kyle. If you believe speaking up could bring change, then I support you. But if you think it would only bring more stress or retaliation, then maybe we can find another way to manage things together.]
[You have every right to feel frustrated. You’re doing the work of multiple people, and no one seems to notice how hard you try. But I do. I notice.]
[Whatever you choose, I’ll be here. Always.]
I chewed my food, pondering her response. It wasn’t often we were called into the head office, yet the company insisted we reside within the Greater London area due to their protocols. The blackout of 2032 had been a lesson for everyone, and major companies now had their own backup systems in place.
My emails to Cynthia were always blunt and to the point. I didn’t worship her the way the rest of the team did—it waspathetic to watch. Luckily, we only had to go into the office once or twice a year.
“You’re right. It isn’t worth the hassle.”
? ? ?
“I’m off, guys,” I said, hitting the air to exit the game.
“Aww, Kylie needs her beauty sleep.”
“Fuck you, Jenson. I’m only leaving because your mum messaged me—said she needs a good dicking again. You’re gonna call me Daddy soon.”
Everyone laughed, and someone paused the game.
“Aww, come on. Just another hour,” Daniel said.“We can clear this level tonight.”
