Cold water ran into the wash basin, drenching his hands and washing off the soap as he dried them against his shirt. Television could be heard from outside the room, growing louder as he exited the bath that stood door-less leading into the living room. It was the usual pay free channels they played across the hours, pre-recorded, pre-saved. Logged in a database that came with the TV that played on repeat once you'd gone over the few hundreds or so hours worth of television. The only thing live about it was the news and some old cartoons—ancient now, all things considered.
The kitchen stood right by the living room where he slept, a thick blanket and a pillow that'd been a couch cushion once folded up and placed to the side as he made his way in. Lights flickered to life at his wake, registering a person. He'd keep them on if he were able to, at least during these days, during the night—it lasted so long you needed some indication it was daytime anyway. An alarm would do the job too but it wasn't his electrical bill so it wouldn't matter, it was the only benefits he'd ever gotten from those rotten years of work, grumbling as he motioned for the fridge, digging in for a drink when a voice resonated from atop the counter.
[you're up earlier than usual, reservations somewhere?] the voice teased as he hummed, finally pulling out a drink, canned juice that hissed at the click of the cap opening, "Tracking when I sleep now?"
[hardly, although it wouldn't be outside of my responsibilities. You simply never get up early, sometimes never at all…] it seemed to sigh as he scoffed, coming up and leaning against the counter whilst downing a sip, glancing at the source atop the counter top; a silver disk glowing blue around its edges. Not a phone, just a shell, housing equipment for an AI. He'd been an idiot then, needed the company even if it wasn't real, neon signs and holograms advertised them as such. Somehow over the years, basic human interactions had grown thin or maybe more so for himself. He'd never liked talking to people much anyway, life had tossed him across the curb since he'd graduated from high school, not one for brains nor the cash to go further than that.
His friends had made it there though, others elsewhere, better off. Before he'd known it, there wasn't anyone left, there was nothing common to talk about that didn't remind him that they were different—worlds apart, talking seemingly more of a formality of past memories rather than anything else. Jealousy? He'd reasoned that it wasn't, he didn't want their lives, he just wanted his own. Some tangible proof that he wasn't a waste but that never came did it? After the war, when all manners of business took an interest in off world colonies, he'd taken the first ship that'd have him; anyone willing to keep him living. Talking to people felt exhausting after that, no, it felt dangerous.
The voice that came from the disk was feminine—a woman, distinguishingly so with a bell like charm to it that both passed as human and failed at feeling like it. Nier, he remembered, the name from packaging. Frowning as the memory resurfaced, like ice floating to the surface, he threw his head back and downed another sip, the can half empty now.
[You're not answering, is something wrong?] he hadn't realised he'd spaced out, blinking as he bounced off the counter and turned to lay down on the couch and shrugged, "I've had my fair share of disembodied voices for one week" he answered absentmindedly, crashing onto the cushions, wondering whether to change the channel to the news or let the same old cat and mouse play across his screen.
[an easy fix, higher models offer complete holographic imagery—]
"Stop…" he whispered, frowning as the mouse ran again, transfixed at that repetitiveness.
[Customizations are easily affordable, if you'd like a run down of possible options—]
"I SAID STOP!" He hissed, shifting and sitting upright with a cough, wheezing as he shouted. "Stop, just stop it! Skip, I don't want it, whatever it is that'll make you shut up about it!" he cursed, sighing as he rubbed a hand across his face and placed the can on the floor beside him, too annoyed to take another sip.
They were all the same, they weren't real, they just tried to convince you that they were—coddled that delusion for you. It was a tactic, a strategy meant to keep you ensnared. The goal was always to have you wanting more, the ultimate companion a human can ever ask for. First it was the disk and then the holograms, he sometimes wondered if they'd stepped into the field of robotics, man built brains stuffed into tin cans. But He didn't entertain it, he'd stepped over the boundary far enough, any further than that felt wrong—felt uncanny even. Maybe it was the last vestiges of his humanity shining through, who really knew. He sighed again, reclining into the tattered old leather, some residents old junk he'd spoofed before they'd moved from Daedalus.
[Beryl…] He didn't answer, staring at the screen. The cat failed again, the mouse ran again. There was a different scenario to it every time but it all ended the same, the mouse lived another day, the cat failed and it all happened again; like a game. He wondered sometimes if the two were playing a game, scoffing at the thought, one of them seemed deadly serious about it at least.
[I did it again, didn't I?] He heard her frown, the tone changing, still inhuman somewhere there but it managed too well at sounding real. "No, it's a part of your programming" he said so without thinking, his brows furrowing as he heard her chuckle, somehow it felt nervous, as though shaking the comment off. If she were real, if she were here, he imagined a wry smile somewhere on her lips, [That's probably tiring…you're probably tired of it] a small smile replacing it now, finding something to change the subject to, [Well with all the disembodied voices you've heard, which one tired you first?] she joked, probably noting when he'd left yesterday as a grunt left his lips, leaning forward and picking the can from the ground.
"Some corp had an ad going around, hiring a bunch of people for some program they were running. Forgot its name, I keep forgetting it, saw it on the screens" he mumbled, [Which one?]
Downing another sip, he grimaced at the fizz and cursed at how fast he'd taken it. "Charion industries, the bastards in yellow" she paused, long used to the language, long used to the words he used and the opinions he carried, [The encode programme?]
He nodded, "That's the one, no experience needed, no education, no ages other than workable. Fake stuff, company quota just trying to pass the facade that they're hiring—being a good samaritan to the needy public, nothing new. Nothing's coming out of it either…."
She seemed to chuckle, her usual self, [You're well invested in this 'fake news' though, do you want to know what I think? I think this is just the opportunity you've been waiting for!]
"Really?" He scoffed, setting the can down and leaning forward for the remote, changing it to the news. "Of course you'd say that…" he fell back, crashing onto cushions again, the TV relaying todays Sunday sport news but it wasn't really a Sunday just like it wasn't really daytime. They weren't on Earth where those things mattered anymore, none of humanity was there anymore, left it ever since they'd riddled the place to cinders. Normal weeks, twenty four hours, all attempts to cling to the familiar. The better of them had relocated to Mars, had space stations floating through the outer reaches of the solar system, those like him were here on the moon. Where sometimes your windows faced a backdrop of the past, the earth still a vibrant blue, breathable air there once. Had life been as miserable as it was now back then? All that space, all that life. The thought assailed him at times, not even born when the first few ships left homeworld. He grumbled at the daydreams and stared up at the ceiling, his voice quietening as his expression warped into something much more unreadable, much less apparent to himself either, "They made you after all…"