“What did I say?” Chester Staples Martinfield Minidome exclaimed at the agent, disbelieving.
The agent was not bemused, nor nonplussed.
No response was offered. Chester gathered his papers hastily from the chest-high desk and stepped away.
Negative toned feeling words.
A minor flag had been triggered, sending off a flurry of shuttled requests and responses to and from linked agents. Cascading back into an annotated corpus of recorded actions resembling Minidome as a long, winding, multi-stranded hologram of the sum totality of his past actions.
He was not yet screwed, but he knew at the pace he was going, he soon would be.
I have this hazy future vision of some kind of post-catastrophic environment, where people are living in the husks of burned out shopping centers.
One or several artificial intelligences may have crashed the global economy…
+ Climate Change.
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