My mother, when she died, was smiling and staring into space. She seemed to have known that it was her time to go. Fearless.

I’m scared but I know I need to go. I need to act fearlessly, or at least pretend to be fearless.

I wish I had talked to Mr. Peterson. It would be nice to talk to someone.

When will I see him again? I know I just saw him yesterday. Maybe he’s back home. I try his door, and it opens.

“Well hello there, young man!” his mouth seems to say. He smiles widely. I thought he was supposed to be younger, not this old husk hunched over and leaning on his cane. He definitely didn’t have a cane yesterday.

“Hello Mr. Peterson,” I greet. “How do you do?”

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He says something but I can’t understand it. Then his voice rebounds in my head. “Why did you run yesterday? I’m a harmless old man. Were you afraid? Did you find out something you’re not supposed to? Or perhaps…” His head opens into three parts with teeth lining each edge, and I’m reminded of something from an anime I watched long ago. Fucking parasites.

The mouth reaches for me and I kick his chest. Mr. Peterson is definitely not Mr. Peterson. Is this a dream? I didn’t dream before.

I run away back to my house, grab my keys, open the garage, and get into the car that is back to its normal shade of red. Mr. Peterson is on the street and walking slowly toward me. I start the car and back out quickly into the thing on the street. It makes a squealing noise and I switch the stick to the third gear. I step on the brake and acceleration pedals at the same time, and after a few seconds where the fake Mr. Peterson gets up, I let the brake go. The car zooms past the thing and once again I’m headed to the control center.

I regret wishing to meet someone. I wish I had wished to meet real people. I wish to meet real people, not some faking thing on the street that can’t even be real. Not some artificially intelligent being.

Then it strikes me. Beware the artificials.