20 December 2025
There’s a simple thing about thinking. It’s in a moment and then it’s gone. Like holding a finger to my lip, I’m paused thinking, and then I lift my finger, and the pressure that was there is gone. “I think I’d like to say, I’m having difficulty feeling connected to you right now.” Is what I should say. Would that feel good though? Is it even good communication? If I say something but it’s not heard by the only person who’s meant to hear it, then did I do a good job? Not really.
“And why do you think you’re being so defensive?”
I’m sure it’s not ethical, but seeing a frown appear on his face for that split second brings great joy. Now I’ve thrown a pebble in the pond it’s time to see the ripples. “Piss off”. Oh no I did a bad job, now we’re not friends. What’s the point of trying. As I feel the impact of a rock that I’m kicking I feel the need for attention and connection, a last attempt at being a cohesive unit. “Alright be that way”.
If I were a real person I’m sure I’d know the right thing to say. Learning takes time, and I’ve had so little, it’s not really fair to be expected to act like an adult, but to have the depth of experience that I have. Repossessing is a very human job after all. It’s a critical moment for the debtor, they can choose to accept the mistakes they’ve made that’s led to my being there, or they can choose to fight. They know they shouldn’t choose to fight, everyone’s seen on the news that the Mark VI is likely worth ten times whatever debt these people owe. Alright, hypothetical. You come out swinging and just catch me on the chin. Very unlikely. And say my model is incapacitated. In that situation, they’d be going to jail for a long time. You fight me and you lose, I’m actually not a person so I’m not held to any ethical standards. My purpose being here is to take what’s ours. So like, why don’t they realise they should hand it over?
I reach into the truck and pick up the beeping and whooping machine. I press the button that makes it beep. “BEEEEEEP”. That’s good it’s loading up. I hear a rhythmic sound and I catch the feel of my fingers thrumming against the side of the ute, such a nice white ute, not many chips or rust yet. Lifting the tiny satellite looking gadget out of the ute’s tray, I point it at the house.
“Oh no WAIT”.
Time for it to whoop. “WHHOOOOOP”. The man collapses on his lawn. Great machine this, it beeps, it whoops, hasn’t failed me yet.
Stepping over the man, I reflect on the nature of the brain, and begin loading the more expensive possessions of Mr Taylor into my truck.
—–
The home database unit, the intellectual property machine, and the personal safety insurer are all peaking out of the tray of my ute. Roughly this should cover what Mr Taylor owes, but will he have any life left without them? Geez, my role in life, to take things that hold feeling and equate them to money owed. They’re not really equal are they, feelings and money.
There’s that gentle “beeep?” calling to me from the machine that I’ve left on the lawn. It beckons to me. Lifting the little satellite dish so it’s almost covering my face, like a child licking their bowl, I gentle pull the trigger. WHOOOHHHH—- Seasides and something.
—–
Tim looked at his phone quickly to check he wasn’t muted.
“Did you hear me? Hello?” Tim briefly pauses to hear the heavy breathing on the other side.
“He’s got to go. I’m not messing around. When he gets back to the yard you need to tell him to pack up straight away and never come back. His paycheck will come through for a partial fortnite. I’m done with him.”
These god damn robots can’t behave. They don’t listen. Tim’s thoughts running wild as he tries to account for his employee’s liberal use of the XLRAD. That bot, he’s ruined my business, no doubt. All three of the bots Tim had taken a chance on employing had performed poorly or illegally. No doubt he needed to let them all go. Rotten they must be. That one especially, like a damned drug addict.
Tim walked from his office into the cafeteria. He knocks on the plaster wall lightly with his head held down, other hand pressed against his brow. His knocking finishes with several heavier blows and he looks up to everyone’s gazing attention.
“Gary Four. Pack your bags, you’ve got to go. Samantha Six you too please.”
Gary’s face showed no emotion as he stood up and went to his locker wordlessly. Do they need an explanation? They’re not people.
“Thank you for letting us know Tim. I’d like to let you know, this leaves me feeling quite poorly treated. I’m not sure it’s fair that I’m now without work without a warning.” Samantha is still sitting with a terse frown, eyes locked to Tim’s.
“Samantha what do you need money for? If you can tell me what you need money for, I’ll give it to you. What I need from you is for you to never work here again. Please.”
Silence from the room confirms Tim’s suspicions. Bots don’t need money. Why do they even want to work for him if it’s not for money. Nope, there’s no ethical issue here.
Samantha stands, and says quietly “I’m sorry Tim I’m not sure it’s about the money, but I understand what you need, and so, I’ll oblige. Please know Tim, it makes me feel terribly alone.” And with a sad withdrawal of her chair, and a walk to her locker to remove her things. Disregarding Samantha’s theatrics, since those later issues, the fives and so on, are so over emotionally educated, Tim feels a satisfaction with completing the first step to save his business.
Withheld bits:
Why are they employed? Because they’re banging on his door asking for work.
What did they do that made him think they were bad employees?
