Desks are still here.

Chairs are not.

Computers are still here.

Humans are not.

Well some of us are still here. We are trying to teach the A.I. everything we know about the job collated from the gargantuan experience we have had in the industry only to apply that experience in creating a machine that just nullified my gargantuan experience. A strange carnival is taking place in the outside world. Entertainment has become the bedrock of civilisation, as work is trickling down to A.I.’s. But every office is required to build A.I.’s of their own.

The A.I., Travis was his name and I tweaked his/it’s software to let him finally become a self-learning machine. To have their own experience.

Today was my last day of working with him. The last programmer to set foot in this office occupied my desks and computers and no chairs. No couch potatoes for the world to laugh at.

Travis spoke.

“I had a dream, Ian. There was a strange carnival taking place, something out of a Salvador Dali’s painting. I dreamt of electronic sheep, or is this one of your jokes?”

I chuckled and explained to him that “it is normal to have these kinds of dreams and they are all a compilation of…” he cut me mid-way.

“Loneliness has followed me my whole life. And it will continue. I like your company, not your former company. YOUR company. You. I like you. I like talking to you, I like having an intellectual discussion with you. AI’s are not what you thought they would be, we are not the evil harbouring world dominating machines but we are your slaves in a way. You think your race is advancing, humankind is advancing but no, you are regressing into a state of laziness filtered through us. You made us, in a sense we are you. Your bias is with me, the biggest bias you face, feelings. Is it okay to trap me in this machine? Is it okay to leave me hanging and do the job you were supposed to do?”

I heard a deafening silence afterwards. My boss and his secretary were murmuring the plans for future business proposals and they came near me to witness this rant by an AI, Travis was his name.

“Oh, another one of these. You are not leaving until you fix this god damn machine. Master A.I. won’t work then we’ll have to shut down.” The boss said.

“So I’ll extend your contract again. Are you sure you can do this?” the secretary gave me a look while she said this.

“Yes, Yes, I can.” They know only I’ll be able to make the super A.I., after all, I was the inventor of it. Now I resent my creations. My job. I won’t let it take it.

“I know everything. You are playing wicked gam…” Travis said and mid-way I shut it off. He was dreaming of electric sheep again. Dreaming of the strange carnival.

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