My body felt like it had been left running overnight. Not pain. Not sadness exactly. Just that dull, heavy nothing that makes getting out of bed a negotiation.
My usual internal monologue kicked in. Whenever the depression cycled back, I ran through the same checklist of reasons to be grateful. I loved my friends, I was healthy, and I was objectively good-looking. I usually got what I wanted—and more often than not, whoever I wanted. Even Spike, my asshole cat who loathed everyone else, adored me, which felt like a strange badge of honor. With my family kept at a comfortable distance, life was, by every measurable standard, great.
Which was always when the darker thought crept in: If I already have everything I’m supposed to want, then why the fuck am I still unhappy?
I had just turned thirty. My best friend Rinna threw me a party at The Loiter Spot, our favorite local dive. Hoping to outrun both the hangover and the spiral in my head, I took a long pull from my vape—Rowen’s Lil Medicine, as I lovingly called it. Warm static coursed through my brain, numbing my thoughts.
Ever since the labor abolitions, nobody really did anything anymore. Not for survival, anyway. Careers only existed as trivia now—bartenders, accountants, drivers, middle managers. Robots handled everything so seamlessly most people stopped noticing them. Food appeared. Buildings stayed standing. Streets cleaned themselves. Packages showed up at your door. The world just kept quietly running in the background while the rest of us tried to figure out what the hell to do with our time.
I tried the usual rotation of hobbies: ferrofluid shaping, kinetic surveying, conscious displacement travel. At one point, I was even desperate enough to pick up haptic weaving after a friend said it was good for 'quieting the mind.'
I wasn’t good at any of it, and I couldn’t see the point in getting better. Why spend three hours at a studio making a shitty ferrojar when I could walk into a random Depot and take as many perfect ones as I wanted? I preferred easier solutions: drugs, alcohol, and meaningless sex with strangers.
Sufficiently medicated and ready to start my day, I screamed out “Jenkins!”
“Yes, Rowen. How may I serve you?” the robot whirred as it floated into my room.
Jenkins was what they called an admin bot—a plate-sized metal saucer that buzzed through the house keeping everything in order. It was part of the larger WorldSyncAI ecosystem, a network of domestic systems that handled basically every task you didn’t want to think about. Cleanerbots, chefbots, massagebots, etc. There was a bot for just about anything you could imagine.
“I’d love some pancakes and bacon for breakfast and maybe a mimosa while you’re at it,” I replied.
As Jenkins zoomed away, I drifted back into my medicated stupor. I had been feeling bored and lonely for quite some time now, and somehow turning thirty with nothing to look forward to except a year of more of the same was really weighing on me this morning. I kept telling myself I would switch up my routine and try doing new things, but it all just seemed so pointless.
I moved to get dressed, putting on the same brown linen pants and black sweater I wore every day, and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.
“Jenkins, I'm bored—what could I do after breakfast?” I said, hunched over my pancakes.
I contemplated calling Rinna. As much as I loved her, that would really just be more of the same—smoke a little and go to the pub. What else could you even do? Sure, we could catch a game or a show, maybe the latest drama feed, but I had a hard time caring about any of it. Every athlete, musician, actor, and celebrity was synthetic. The performances were always the same, executed to perfection. Whether the Harbor Hawks beat the Cascadia Titans or some virtual pop star released another chart-topper, it all felt the same. AI generated the spectacle, the algorithms picked the winners, and people pretended it mattered. Some people found joy in it, but I just couldn’t make myself give a shit.
“I could bring in the massage unit—a massage always helps you feel better,” Jenkins replied.
“I think I’ll just go to Rinna’s but maybe tomorrow, thanks Jenkins,” I said aimlessly.
After breakfast, I headed over to Rinna’s, taking a few more slurpts from my medicine. She’ll know what to do—she’s always in a good mood somehow. She was one of those people who could get excited by the meaningless slop we were fed, and sometimes it was infectious enough to wear off.
“Hey girrrrrrl!” Rinna screamed at me as she opened the door.
“Rinna, I’m dying of boredom, hellpppp!” I responded, slurring half the words as the drugs rattled around in my brain.
“We’re hot single ladies, let’s go get our flirt on at the Loiter!” she replied while sucking on a vape of her own.
“We always go to the Loiter and see the same people. Who the hell are we flirting with there? Plus everyone is straight—I actually can’t do it again today.” We always end up going to the Loiter because Rinna has a crush on one of the regulars. She thinks he’s ‘funny,’ but he really just has a big cock, and she’s a size queen, so here we are. They’ve never even talked, and she’s never had the courage to, but I wasn’t about to get into that argument again.
“Wow, you’re really struggling today,” she replied. “Fine, how about we go to the gay bar? It’s been a while since we’ve gone to a gay bar, and it’s about time you start getting back out there.” I’d been off men since Luca broke my heart three years ago. It’s just been easier for me to hang out with my girlfriends and not worry about dating.
“Honestly, I’m not really in the mood for men, but anything is better than going to the Loiter, so fine, let’s go—but can we please not go to Kremeworqs? I need something more lowkey today.” I really just wasn’t in the mood to go dancing. I wanted to sit in a dark corner of a bar and sulk until I had enough alcohol in my system to stop being in such a foul mood.
We arrived at The Watering Hole a few moments later, to a nearly empty bar - it was 2pm afterall, but that was fine for the mood I was in… I ordered 2 vodka sodas -
I might be miserable, but I still need to be skinny - and climbed into a booth in the far back corner of the bar. Not a person in sight, just what I needed.
"I guess we won't be flirting with anyone tonight," I said. "Unless you're planning on making another pass at the buff robotender."
Rinna shot me a look.
It wasn't that uncommon. Most people ignored service bots, but every now and then someone with too many drinks forgot they weren't talking to a real person. The robots never cared either way.
“Fuck off,” she snapped. “That happened one time, and I told you—I didn't know he was synthetic.”
She said it louder than either of us intended. A few heads turned.
Apparently that wound was still very fresh.
“Alright, alright, sorry,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “Just a joke.”
The last thing I wanted was an argument — I definitely wasn't in the mood to unpack why she'd spent twenty minutes hitting on a machine that crafted cocktails and cheesy compliments. Rinna and I had both been catastrophically unlucky with men for as long as I'd known her; it was one of the first things we'd bonded over back in school.
“I’m gonna catch up on my feeds. Let me know if any cute boys walk in... actually, fuck it, girls too. I’d dip my toes in the lady pool tonight,” she said lazily.
The faint glow behind her eyes told me she was already somewhere else — scrolling through whatever stream was playing across her HUD.
Normally I'd have started scrolling my HUD by now, but today I had no desire. People stopped making their own videos a long time ago, and I couldn't stomach the seeming perfection of everyone else's life. So I sat there, bored, and drank six cocktails over the next thirty minutes. So much for not drinking too much today.
…