Six in the morning. The alarm screams like a saw blade chewing through bone. Jin Ashiro opens one eye .only one, because both would cost more energy than he has left. He slaps the phone, kills the noise, and lies there for two minutes, staring at the ceiling. The paint is flaking. The room smells of old mold and dreams that suffocated a long time ago.
He reaches for the phone again. The screen glows with work messages: fourteen from the manager, two from a coworker who's "checking in"....which means gloating. and one from the credit card company informing him that his balance is zero. Zero. Exactly like his value in this life.
"Morning, you son of a bitch."
His voice is a rasp. He hasn't spoken to another human being in two days.
He drags himself to the bathroom. The mirror shows a hollow face, sunken eyes, hair that hasn't been combed in a week. Was I ever good-looking? Maybe in high school. Before the days ate me alive. He turns on the tap, splashes water on his face, watches his hands shake. Not fear. Just exhaustion stacked on exhaustion.
Look at you. Can't even brush your own hair without an app telling you how.
He pulls wrinkled clothes off the chair. He doesn't care if they smell decent anymore. He walks out of the apartment and leaves the door unlocked there's nothing worth stealing anyway.
The subway is a packed throat of people, each face identical: dead, drained, waiting to officially die. Jin grips the pole, his eyes drifting to an ad on the wall. A new AI app. Manages your life for you. A bitter thought rises: That's your problem, Jin. You lean on this shit more than your own brain.
At the office, his cubicle is the color of a tomb. He sits, opens ten programs at once: email, customer-response AI, data analyzer, task organizer. The whole machine runs on autopilot. No thinking required. Just click, copy, paste. The manager thinks he's lazy. The truth is, Jin doesn't know how to do a single task without a machine whispering the answers.
Ten in the morning. The moment that will wreck his life arrives with stupid simplicity.
Kyle, a coworker, passes by, glances at Jin's screen, and lets out a loud, ugly laugh. "No fucking way, Jin. You're still using a bot to write your emails? Even the intern uses his brain now."
Jin looks up slowly. Three other colleagues are staring. His face burns. Say something. Curse him. Punch him in that smug mouth. But his throat is sealed. It always is.
Kyle leans in closer. "Honestly? If I were the manager, I'd have kicked your worthless ass out years ago. You're not an employee. You're just a human interface for artificial intelligence."
A few muffled laughs. Jin's blood boils, but his body stays frozen. He stares at his screen. The AI-drafted email sits there: "Dear Client, we are pleased to…" Dead words. Soulless. Just like him.
He closes the program. His hands are shaking.
One in the afternoon. Summons from the manager. Jin walks to the glass office like a man walking to his own execution.
The manager, a fat man in his fifties, doesn't even look up. His eyes stay glued to his screen. "Ashiro."
Jin waits.
"This is your third warning this month. Productivity zero. Mistakes piling up. And everyone tells me you can't do a damn thing without asking some app to think for you."
"I don't want excuses." Now the manager lifts his head. His look is pure contempt. "I don't want an employee who's nothing but a middleman for AI. I want a human being." He leans back. "You're fired. Clear your desk today."
Jin's mouth opens. No sound comes out. He turns, walks out, and the door closes behind him like a gunshot.
Outside, a thin drizzle soaks his shirt. He walks without direction. People shove past; no one sees him. He ends up on a pedestrian bridge, stops in the middle, and looks down at the speeding cars. The asphalt looks soft. Welcoming.
This is how it ends. The thought crystallizes, cold and clear. A failure with no talent, no brain, not even the ability to be human without a machine feeding you answers.
He puts one foot on the railing. His whole body shakes. It's not fear of dying. It's fear of failing even at this.
Then his vision flickers. A blue screen flashes across his eyes, blocking out the street for a heartbeat. He thinks it's dizziness but the text is sharp, crisp, as if written in the air:
[LOADING…]
He stumbles backward, heart slamming against his ribs. The text vanishes. The cars, the rain, the gray sky… everything returns.
Am I losing my mind? A laugh crawls up his throat. You lost it years ago, Jin. This is just the final show.
He looks down at the road again. One step. No more notifications. No more Kyle. No more staring at his own pathetic reflection.
But that screen…
He pulls his foot off the railing. Steps back from the edge. He walks home fast, almost running, his wet shirt clinging to his skin. He doesn't know that the blue screen was the first thread in a new noose and that he'll wrap it around his own throat with joy.