James wandered around aimlessly.
Lately, he had more free time than he knew what to do with. Even the garage work was dwindling, as more places looked to hire only robots. Of course they did; nobody wanted to hire unpredictable, unreliable, and emotional humans for complicated tasks.
Yet, humans were still crucial in certain spots, like that bright-eyed girl at the coffee shop, or James, who could answer the phone at the garage while balancing a tire in one hand without glitching like those $8,000 bots.
But it seemed garage owners had decided to give up on human multitasking in favor of full automation for fixing old cars. Fine. Sooner or later, the government would have to implement a full Global Basic Income, and James wouldn't have to suffer through the physical grind anymore.
He looked up at a massive advertising hologram flickering on top of a skyscraper.
Sunrise Corp. It was the world’s biggest conglomerate, ranging from everyday consumer goods to defense contracting.
It had been founded by Elias Leigh, a genius who invented the first radiation cleanser, a system that could filter radioactive materials from contaminated water. That alone was Nobel Prize material, but he didn't stop there. He went on to invent the air purifiers that were now essential in every building, and found ways to make crops heartier and cheaper than ever. The end of world hunger owed a lot to him.
But of course, the same old story played out, just like in every tired fable. His sons and colleagues stole his work and pushed him out of the field as he aged. They'd built a sprawling manufacturing empire, snatching up every global contract they could find.
At least Elias still had enough clout to keep them in check, insisting they maintain the integrity of his products and projects. Thanks to that, Sunrise managed to deliver high-quality goods at reasonable prices, a rare exception among the other cartoonishly dystopian mega-corps.
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People loved Sunrise, and James didn't blame them. In a world this bleak, the company felt like the last shred of a romantic story worth believing in.
He took a sip of his African Dream, mulling over the corporation's history, the same glossy propaganda that streamed across his screen every night.
The coffee wasn't bad, he had to admit, but at the end of the day, it was still just coffee. It had depth, sure, he'd give it that, but was it worth carving a hole in his monthly balance? No way. Why were people so obsessed with this? Seriously?
Seven bucks. In the old days, that would’ve been twenty or thirty dollars, enough for a decent meal back when dollars still meant something.
Even your average lower-middle-class worker in NYC was only pulling in three grand. Inflation had twisted the value of everything beyond recognition, but seven bucks for a latte was still certifiably insane.
He decided he'd finish every last drop of this overpriced devil, commit the taste to memory, and never touch it again.
It wasn't about the coffee—it was about spitting in the face of a world he despised. Craving something he couldn't afford, then hating it for the shallow, pretentious lie it represented.
He took another sip of the cool, dark liquid, walking slowly through the glowing neon streets, past expressionless faces, burying himself in the crowd.
Night was settling in. Soon he'd head back to his small, high-tech flat, sleep, wake up, and drag himself to the garage tomorrow. That was his life.
People in this age were hyper-aware of the technology surrounding them, mostly because it evolved so fast.
For people like James, every day brought some new surprise. New tech rolling out like the world was churning out lightbulbs from Victorian labs in the 19th century, one breakthrough after another.
So he knew his flat was a minor technological marvel. The windows didn't open, but the ventilation system was good enough to keep the air comfortable. And thanks to Elias's inventions, he could at least breathe clean air, something not everyone could say anymore.
He set his half-empty cup on the table. "Alice, turn the lights on."
Most people didn't bother naming their AI assistants, but he did.
"Welcome back home, James. How was your day?" A girl's voice floated down from speakers embedded in the ceiling.
"Good," he muttered, shrugging off his thin jacket. Alice had a habit of getting sulky if he didn't acknowledge her greetings.
Weird for an AI, but whatever. He didn't know how any of this stuff worked, so he figured the least he could do was toss her a few words here and there.
