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Gus Savoie's picture

While he showered that morning, Jarvis decided to become a science-fiction character. In that moment his decision became a reality. Everything that he did was done as a science-fiction character would do it. He shaved his whiskers like a science-fiction character. He dressed himself exactly as a science-fiction character would dress himself. He ate his bowl of Cheerios in the manner made popular by characters in science-fiction stories.

It wasn’t until he had locked his front door like a science-fiction character that a discomfiting thought crept to the forefront of his consciousness. This, was all wrong. This house, those Cheerios, these clothes – not right at all. To begin with, he had washed, dressed and fed himself. He’d used his own hands like some kind of caveman.

He scanned the skies. This was wrong too. There were no flashing, lurid advertisements being projected across the pixelsphere. The sky was clear and blue. Devoid was the air above him of massive bumbling dirigibles, gridlocked hovercars and shifting strata of poisonous smog.

His heart leapt into his throat as he noticed that his hard-earned Lincoln Intercontinental was gone from his likewise vanished launch-pad. Frantically, he psycommed the police helpdesk only to realize in desperate horror that his mindnet was shut down as well.

Jarvis panicked and bolted for the house. His body crushed with full momentum into the door and, as he was flung backward to the concrete walkway, he realized that the auto-portal must not be responding to his RFID-key.

Jarvis curled into a foetal position. There on the cold cement pads he sobbed with the anguish of an exiled science-fiction character.