Three life sentences, and for what? A corrupt justice system. It had only taken the central AI three minutes to decide my fate. Three minutes to brand me a criminal for stealing company property. Just one AI out of thousands. Why should they miss it? But they did, and now I’m here in this sterile room with other prisoners. If only Mum could see me now.
“Next,” called the social worker on the left.
My AI-assisted hoverboard moved me forward, stopping just before I would have collided with the polycarbonate-reinforced screen of her workstation.
“Name?” the social worker asked, walking on an under-the-desk treadmill designed to keep office workers active. She glanced at her watch, probably checking some health metric.
“How can you do that?” I asked, the hurt evident in my voice. I hadn’t meant to speak out, but the sterile environment was driving me mad. We were carted around on these hovercrafts in a building that felt more like a hospital than a prison.
“Do what?” she replied, confused, as she clicked a remote to slow the treadmill.
“I’m here to die, and you’re just walking around like it’s another day!”
“I know this is hard. But this is just a job. Give me your name, and maybe I can help. Please don’t make this difficult.” She looked around and sighed. “They don’t like it when people resist, so just help me help you.” As she spoke, three cameras turned toward us, and an enforcement bot began to approach.
I knew it was more security theater than actual security, but the effect was palpable. If the mainframe wanted me dead, I would be dead by now.
“Alex. Alex Johnson,” I said, resigned.
“Thank you. Let me see… Aiding and Abetting. Three consecutive life sentences at nineteen years old.” She sighed and gave me a small, sympathetic smile. “Well, let’s review your options. Since your crime was nonviolent, you have choices. You can serve time with the sanitation patrol, go to re-education camp, be assimilated into the mainframe, or get euthanized. What would you like to do?”
“So, death by disease, death by erasure, death by assimilation, or just good old-fashioned death?” I asked, feeling an electric shock from the hoverboard as it propped me up. “I hate tech. Upload is my only chance of life after my sentence, right?”
“That isn’t entirely true. Re-education has a 98% success rate. It’s likely you would survive and be released afterward,” the social worker said, her tone sympathetic.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“No. I don’t want any of that in my head. Just upload me.”
“Very well. Your guard AI will escort you to the Pod chambers. Note that due to the nature of your crime, your physical form will be recycled. You will have AI citizenship status. After 240 years in the system, you can buy back your rights from the mainframe or your current owner, based on your value at that time. If you understand, please sign here.”
They had really done it. Removed the need for prisons and the elderly by converting them all into AI. For those who couldn’t afford it, indentured servitude was the only path to eternal life.
“Fine,” I said, signing my rights away.
Mum would likely be informed about my sentence soon. They don’t even give families time to say goodbye. Is it to prevent pushback? To keep civil peace? No, they just want to keep people inside their pods, isolated from the real world. Maybe I’ll see her again on the other side.
The hoverboard continued down a sterile hallway, following another inmate. As the cart began to slow, the woman in front of me started to scream. It was startling. I had only heard soft, melancholy whispers from the other inmates until now.
“NO, NO, NOT LIKE THIS! PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME,” she screamed, hyperventilating. A guard bot rushed up, trying to insert a needle into her neck. The woman was kicking and squirming, and the bot missed.
“No! She didn’t deserve that! That isn’t what we agreed to,” I screamed, panic rising.
In the chaos, the guard bot mishandled her. Her head now facing the wrong way. It had snapped her neck in her panic. She hung limp against the restraints, staring at me with blood trickling from her mouth. The room fell silent except for the hoverboard’s hum.
Human staff rushed out from the “Assimilation” room and began pulling the woman inside.
“Hurry, if we act now, we might still get her to undergo assimilation,” a man in a white lab coat said.
Her hoverboard dragged her through the swinging doors of the assimilation room. My hoverboard moved into the spot left behind, and I saw what caused the panic. Through the glass, it resembled a grisly surgical room. They did the harvesting in the same room. Couldn’t they at least have moved the bodies elsewhere? A few bodies were carted away intact, mostly young or conventionally attractive. Others were dismembered for organs, blood, and hair. You’d expect more blood, but there was barely a drop.
As the commotion settled and staff exchanged reassuring looks, my hoverboard rolled into the room. It stopped before an open pod that smelled of disinfectant and chemicals. The restraints released, and I was free.
“Okay, I know this is frightening, but I assure you this process is safe,” said the nurse, tapping on a computer monitor. “If you would kindly step into the pod, I can get started, and your new life will begin shortly.”
“Umm,” I stuttered, trembling from the atmosphere alone.
“Questions? I know this can be scary and, honestly, a bit unsettling for my taste. But I promise you won’t feel a thing,” the nurse reassured.
“Okay,” I said, climbing into the pod. The realization hit me. This wasn’t a dream. Why couldn’t it be? Please, let me wake up.
A low whistle of air began as the pod closed around me. I felt some kind of gas filling the chamber, and then there was only darkness.