Land of the Free
Carson Fallon
“Remember, privacy isn’t a right, it’s a privi-
lege.” The robotic speaker droned at the front of the
large room. “Whether you like it or not, your com-
pany has been known to be involved in some ques-
tionable activities, and so you have all lost that priv-
ilege.”
Well that sucks. A wave of silent panic
seemed to hit the production line like a tidal wave;
some people just murmured, others started sweat-
ing or shaking. I leaned forward in my seat, antici-
pating the unwanted news that was sure to follow.
“As of tomorrow, the U.S. government will
be issuing several hundred observation bots to this
facility, and assigning them to individual workers
who may be acting suspiciously. In the event-”
“You gotta be kidding me!” yelled a worker
from behind me. “We didn’t do nothin’, and now we
got the bots breathin’ down our necks, all because
one guy couldn’t hold his marbles? What kinda sick
crap is that?!”
I wanted to stand up in agreement, show
this government scumbag we weren’t going to stand
for it, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. I would just be
painting myself as dangerous, and in the end noth-
ing would change. It had only been a matter of time
before the bots were rolled in anyway; nearly every
other place in the state had been occupied already,
all in the name of “safety.” All it took was one mis-
hap, in this case some random nutcase with a box
cutter and a grudge, and everyone was screwed.
The following morning, I woke up the same
way I always did: alone. I didn’t mind, with how pre-
cious a commodity privacy was becoming, I didn’t
want to take it for granted. As always, I turned on the
news as I slipped on my uniform, hoping for even the
slightest clue that things were getting better. They
weren’t.
“ . . . U.S. official have stated they are work-
ing on another wave of class two observation bots,
which reports say would bring the grand total to just
over 500 million, quickly approaching the total U.S.
popu-”
The TV went out suddenly, along with the
rest of the lights in my apartment. Not again. Grum-
bling, I walked out the door to my car. First they an-
nounce the bots are coming, claiming that it’s “for
our own security,” and then my stupid wiring self
destructs again; what’s next, another global food
crisis?
Approximately 10 hours later, I was exhaust-
ed. A record breaking 30% of our workforce had quit
at some point in the day, meaning I had to pick up
the slack. It was a struggle to say the least, and of
course anytime I did a poor job the bots recorded it.
My job was stressful enough as it was, I didn’t need
them watching every moment of every day, keeping
track of my every movement, my every expression.
I suppose that’s why so many left, I only hoped it
wouldn’t last long; I didn’t know how much more I
could take.
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