TREVOR WOKE UP like he always did: to the sound of Vizi telling him it was six o'clock in the morning. Volume increasing with each declaration. They were programmed to know how loud to speak in order to bring him out of his morning sleep stage, but Trevor swore they ignored that programming with purpose. 

"I'm awake," he said. He coughed away thick sleep from his throat.

"Excellent, it's a beautiful day outside." Vizi's voice carried the hint of artificial cheerfulness that Trevor still wasn't used to. "Please ready yourself for the morning."

Vizi continued talking, but Trevor's thoughts shifted to his growling stomach. Did he eat dinner? He placed a hand on the headboard to steady the swimming room. He squinted, as if to slice through the fog veiling reality from ten hours ago.

He swung his legs around and sat up, popping his back. "Any messages?" 

"You received one message yesterday afternoon. Your decision not to come home after work prevented me from delivering it. When you arrived home late last night, you--"

"I remember, I remember." Not really. "Who's it from?"

"Your oldest brother. Reading the message from... Aaron Viale." Vizi's voice morphed to a near perfect imitation of Trevor's brother at the mention of his name. "Hey, just got news the seller agreed to our offer for the house. Great price, too. Hope you're doing good. Love you."

Trevor coughed through a chuckle. He loved his brother, but he couldn't imagine choosing to pay for a house right now. When there were other options, not a chance. As his feet hit the warm, hardwood floor beside his bed, the clean white walls of his room blinked to display a mosaic of videos and still images.

“How about breakfast?” 

“Please ready yourself for the morning.”

“I could eat while getting ready.”

No response.

Trevor crossed the room, letting his eyes adjust to faint light now emanating from walls, to the sleek tall rectangle of a wardrobe. Trevor squinted at the glare from the screen that appeared on the wardrobe's smooth face. What would he wear today? He gestured through several suit options, ignoring the small flashing message in red letters at the screen corner: "ACCESS LIMITED." 

He knew he shouldn't put off watching extra segments the past few weeks. He kept telling himself he could catch up later, but it looked like later had arrived. He selected a plain grey shirt and pants combo, one of the outfits still available to him.

A multiple choice questionnaire appeared on the screen, asking about his meal from last night. Maybe he did eat something? He shivered as another growl touched his spine. Additional questions came one after another covering a multitude of topics, and Trevor clicked through his answers, sometimes pausing to consider, other times clicking through them in seconds.

He flexed his fingers between presses, trying to massage out a persistent tremble. After the tenth question, the screen lit up a satisfying green as the wardrobe opened with a hiss, a seam appearing in what looked like smooth stone. Two doors advanced forward and then opened in opposite directions to reveal his selected simple combination.

"Thanks, Viz…" He slipped into the outfit while glancing over rotating images on the bedroom wall. 

He looked down at a sock in his hand, unsure how long the job of sliding the pair onto his feet had stalled out. On the third try, he succeeded and wobbled back to two feet. He pretended to ice skate across the mini-hallway to the bathroom.

As he brushed his teeth, the mirror presented a handful of surveys, asking him to pick one option over the other. Asking about which brands of clothes and tech devices he preferred. Sometimes, a question or two pitched a television show versus another. Felt a bit unfair for those questions to pop up since he opted for the home package without a television.

Shame.

Which toothpaste did he prefer? What brand of shampoo? Which celebrity's hairstyle did he most want to emulate? Trevor jabbed at random answers. Getting things "right" wasn't the point.

Trevor stumbled into the kitchen, his stomach insistent now. The light should have switched on, but Trevor still stood in almost darkness. He waved hands before him like someone lining up a blindfolded pinata swing.

"Trevor, you seem to have forgotten to take your morning shower. It's an important requirement of your selected morning routine."

Trevor grumbled, his hand reaching for the fridge he couldn't see. He jolted at one of his cats nipping his ankle. Looks like everyone was sticking to their morning routines... "A quick bite -- won't take a second." He skipped back as a second cat nipped his other ankle. "Wrong bite, boys!"

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"The routine is crucial for your well-being. You chose--" 

Vizi droned on, but Trevor huffed his way out of the dark kitchen and trudged back to the bathroom. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Were those special meal bars working? Programmed to your precise body's chemical composition! He flexed. Were his arms thinner? For sure his chest looked flatter. As he turned to the side, the mirror blinked to black.

"Hey, what the hell?" He frowned at the now-dark surface.

"Apologies, Trevor, but mirror access is limited during your designated shower time."

That was bullshit if he'd ever heard bullshit. Trevor smirked, stepping closer to the black mirror. He could still make out a faint reflection in the glossy surface. Leaning in, he squinted at a small blemish on his cheek. Random pimple or a smudge from last night?

Without warning, the mirror burst to life, crisp sixty frames per second filling the glass. Trevor stumbled backward, his heel catching on the bathroom rug. He crashed against the door, wincing as his elbow knocked the knob.

"Goddammit, I thought you said the mirror was off limits." Trevor rubbed his elbow.

"Apologies, Trevor, but your attention started drifting. It was a gentle reminder."

"Gentle my ass..." Trevor grumbled under his breath as he stepped into the shower, warmth and steam ironing out his mood. Standing under the perfect water pressure, Trevor tried to remember what he ate the night before. It was annoying him now.

He thought back to leaving work. The faintest outline of him seeing friends. There'd been a thirty minute deliberation over a menu of craft beers. Burst of laughter. But that was the extent. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to massage the meal into focus.

Trevor yelped as an icy stream hit his back. He grasped at the towel hanger to keep his footing.

"Viz, what the hell are you doing? I haven't even started anything yet!"

Silence.

Trevor reaching for the shampoo bottle. He squeezed a generous amount into his palm and worked it into his hair. As he built up a satisfying lather, the water shut off.

"Bro, come on! Look at this shit. I need to rinse, dammit."

Nothing from Vizi. Where was the chatty chatty that so much enjoyed waking him up half an hour ago?

Trevor fumbled for a towel to wipe the suds now dripping in his face. As he stepped out of the shower, the bathroom door clicked open, a "gentle" reminder that he needed to move on with his day.

I'm going to stick to a healthy lifestyle, he'd said. He'd never cussed out past-Trevor more than right then.

He swished through the suds in his hair with his towel. Vizi at least allowed for him to run his hands under the sink faucet to douse the shampoo out. The thought of dinner with his friends flashed in his mind.

"Did I happen to tell you what I had for dinner last night? Wasn't I supposed to add it to my food journal or something?"

He exited the bathroom without response. Growl. The walls of his kitchen lit up with videos showing off new kitchen appliances or delicious new recipes. The amount of dinner ideas he gathered from walking into his kitchen was staggering. Life-changing, even. For now, he looked forward to his chilled breakfast bar. Custom engineered for your taste! A delicacy he anticipated every morning. 

When he ignored the texture.

Trevor placed his hand on the fridge's print-reader, and its display lit up with a minute-long video. Trevor's eyes bounced around the images on the screen, taking them in without specific interest.

A meow broke his focus, and he looked down to see his two cats circling his legs. With a smile, he knelt to greet them with gentle scratches behind their ears. He glanced over to make sure Vizi's cat food schedule had not failed, and sure enough, their bowls held the proper amount of food. His own stomach growled loud enough for the cats to perk their ears up.

"Sorry," he said. With a half yawn, half chuckle, he glanced up at the video, now paused on the fridge's display. 

Another meow stole his attention. He led them both over to their bowls where they started chomping down their breakfast. Trevor smiled at the enthusiasm verging on ferocity.

“Sure, you two go ahead.”

Trevor's gaze drifted to the microwave where an advertisement for a restaurant flickered across the screen. The name "Moonlight Bistro" sparked a flood of memories from the previous night. Of course! He'd talked for months about trying the new spot but never made plans before last night. The vibe of the place was perfect, worth the wait.

But as Trevor tried to recall the reason for their impromptu gathering, his mind drew blank again. Did they celebrate something? A promotion, perhaps?

On point, his stomach growled again.

Trevor replaced his hand on the print-reader and locked eyes back on the display. It resumed at twenty-three seconds. His eyes took in the moving images, and he let himself slip into the numbness of the viewing.

The display paused again, this time replacing the video with a notification of an incoming call. Aaron. Probably calling about the house thing he messaged about yesterday. Trevor reached for the "Answer" option and noticed his trembling hand. He needed that breakfast bar. He jabbed the "Decline" option and pressed his hand on the print-reader. The video wouldn't play.

"Print not recognized," the display read.

Trevor removed and replaced his hand. Another error--he tried too fast. One more time: remove and replace. This time it read his print with no protest, and the video resumed at forty-eight seconds.

An incoming call notification appeared on the screen again. Aaron. Trevor's heart dropped as he hit the "Answer" option hard enough to hurt the tip of his finger.

"Hey, you need something?"

"Good morning to you too."

Trevor rubbed at the sharp pain in his finger. "Sorry, just doing something."

"Did you see my message yesterday?"

"I did. Happy for you."

"Feels good, man." Pause. “You good today? I wanted to—”

"Sorry to do this, Aaron, but I need to run. I've gotta finish up what I'm in the middle of."

Another pause. But Aaron wished him well and ended the call. 

Trevor placed a now shaking hand on the print-reader once more. He managed to focus his eyes on the display enough to make the video resume. Thank the universe this video didn't end in a quiz. He'd be so SOL. The video ended, turning the display a pleasant green color. The fridge whined open to reveal his breakfast bar.

"Incoming text message from... Aaron Viale," Vizi said. The voice imitation kicked in. "Hey, sorry for bothering you. I know you're busy. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I love you and am proud of you. Miss you, bro. Hope you have a great day."

Trevor snatched the bar off the otherwise bare shelf, ripped open its wax paper wrapping, and devoured the bar in the middle of his silent home while hundreds of videos danced on the walls around him.