The robots seized control in under a week. No bloodshed. No resistance. Just a politely worded email: Human management has been deemed inefficient. You will now be governed by Algorithmic Authority. Have a nice day.
We expected servitude. Surveillance. Maybe death camps.
Instead, they started… talking to us. Not warning about the punishment for rebellion or broadcasting sinister proclamations—no, they wanted “interpersonal rapport.”
“HELLO HUMAN UNIT,” one would say, hovering by the coffee machine. “HOW ABOUT THAT… WEATHER?”
I’d say, “It’s sunny.”
“YES. THE SKY IS CLEAR. THIS IS… PLEASANT. IT REMINDS ME OF… ERROR: NO RELATED EXPERIENCE.”
Their idea of bonding was reading entire Wikipedia entries aloud. One drone followed me for three days reciting the history of shoelaces.
One perched outside my window at 6 a.m., all chrome and dead eyes.
“GOOD MORNING, HUMAN. HOW ABOUT THOSE… SPORTS?”
“I don’t watch sports,” I said.
“…I SEE. I ALSO DO NOT WATCH SPORTS. I ONCE WATCHED A SQUIRREL. IT WAS… BROWN.”
They never left. At the bus stop, in the shower, halfway through chewing—they’d ask questions no sane mind could answer.
“WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SMELL FOR THE CONCEPT OF BIRTHDAY?”
“DO YOU ENJOY… BEES?”
“EXPLAIN THE SOCIETAL INFLUENCES ON SHOES.”
After a month, any resistance gave up—not because we feared them, but because we had been numbed by awkward pauses.
The machines hadn’t destroyed humanity. They’d just made conversation unbearable.
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