The speakers shrieked, cut out, and roared as the news played. Live footage flashed across the screen. My teen son watched intensely, jaw slightly agape and eyes glued to the shifting shapes and all the flashing lights of black-and-white night vision. Streams of white specks ripped across the landscape, scrambling the low-quality image into chunks of chaos. The camera panned as the drone dodged right, evading some sort of ground-to-air missile before barrel-rolling into a nose dive. I gasped, going wide-eyed as the edges of the frame morphed into streaks of pure speed. In the dead center, the image quickly began to grow, revealing five figures running. For a brief moment, I even saw their wide eyes. There was no point in crossing my fingers, however; we all knew how it ended. It’s the news after all.
“Shocking,” the anchor concluded, “Utterly shocking.” He glared into the camera.
Next to him was another anchor. Stirring conversation, she added, “How did this happen, Mel? How is it possible that we are seeing so many of these autonomous drone attacks?”
“It’s simple as this,” he answered, “We live in a cyberdrunk world. Those accords- the ones that everyone was screaming about during our last election- the ones that were said to restrict weaponized AI and save the world… where are they now?”
“Kicking my butt at the office,” I grumbled before switching off the TV.
John quickly grabbed his backpack before storming for the door.
“Woooah,” I drawled, “Where are you going, Wolverine?”
“School,” he answered coldly, “Just like every other day, Dad.”
“I know,” I said slowly, trying to be gentle, “But you seem mad, suddenly? Derick being a punk, again?”
“I’m not angry!” John growled, “I just don’t want to be late.”
“You can take my car if you’re trying to get past him.”
“Derrick is gonna be a jerk whether or not I’m on time or not,” John retorted, “Plus, your car sucks. Honda Move? More like Honda stall!”
With that, he threw open the door and left.
I walked over and called through the still-open door, “Just don’t get into any more fights, please… and thank you.”
John didn’t respond. He just kept walking, kicking bits of the snow as he went.
I sighed and took a sip of my coffee. “World is on…fire…”
My eyes glanced down at my watch.
“And I’m about to be!” I sputtered, choking on the coffee. Frantically, I grabbed all my bags, ran for the door, realized I forgot my keys, ran back to the kitchen, grabbed the keys off the counter, and finally ran outside and hopped into my car.
“Destination, Mr. Link?” the AI asked as the car automatically started up.
“Work as usual,” I chirped back, “Just the usual.”
As the car began to move, I turned my eyes to the screen and keyboard on my dash-desk.
“Hello millions of emails,” I sang sarcastically, “It’s been a whole seven hours of no sleep since I last saw you. Why, how big you’ve gotten.”
My fingers got to work typing as the car zoomed through the streets. I only looked up once when approaching the city, squinting as I tried to see past the LED-draped buildings. Once in the office, I hastily sped-walked through the halls to my office before waltzing in as if the whole world was mine. My watch said I was five minutes late but whatever, no one checked anyway. Plus, I was on a roll after creating CodeGen, the world’s easiest and most powerful, AI-generating code software. Smartware LLC was going absolutely nowhere without me!
I waved for my computer to turn on. Immediately, the wall lit up and displayed the bright pink cherry blossoms of my desktop wallpaper. Flicking my wrist, I flipped over to the email I was still writing when I arrived. As part of both the customer relations team and the developers, I was often tasked with explaining, “This company believes in the power of freedom – the freedom to innovate, the freedom to think without the barriers of yesterday’s thinking, the freedom to look society in the eye and say, ‘No, this is what you want!’ For this reason, the Transparency Act currently proposed by senators which forces everyone to lay their code out for all to see negates our ability to innovate. There is no freedom if the whole world is your backseat driver! Frankly, the world could use an auto-car mentality instead of mewling about Smartware’s privacy. Let the computers figure things out! After all, they are the ones really in charge.”
Grinning, I signed off. “You’ve done it again, Reece,” I cheered, “Yet another crisis averted.”
Just then, my phone rang. I took it out and groaned as I read the caller’s name.
“Well good morning sir,” I answered cheerfully, “Calling me about this fine weather?”
I turned to my window, not flinching at the sight of the torrent downpour outside.
“Reece,” my boss answered in his usual grumble, “A little birdy told me you were late. Again.”
“Well isn’t that something,” I deadpanned with a smile, “The truth is I got a jumpstart at home this morning and lost track of time. Did you see the email I sent to Mr. Chickenfeet?”
“Chicafee,” he corrected, “And yes, I did. All six sentences. I can see how you totally ‘lost track of time.’”
“Six, well-crafted and highly informative sentences, sir,” I added, “Six sentences which expertly sum up this company’s six years’ worth of rich ideas and a stellar vision for the future.”
“They sound more like your six, last brain cells blabbering about how we are totally not the mustache-twirling villains shipping darkware AI off to criminals! I mean, did you even see the news this morning? Are you aware of how the world sees us now because of your evasive slick-talk?”
“Well sir, I am aware buuut the issue of artificial intelligence is not original to our modern era.” I began shifting to a more professional tone as I continued, “Progression has always gotten everyone worried about big business shrugging off ethical dilemmas. I mean think about what Edison did when Tesla perfected alternating current. He freaked out and electrocuted the nearest elephant to show how big and scary it was! But in the end, the only monster anyone saw was Mr. Electro himself.”
“You like history, huh?”
I grinned and answered, “I am indeed somewhat of a past-events enjoyer if I do say so myself.”
“Then you’ll recall what happened to airplane technology when the world stopped twenty-five years ago.”
“What was twenty-five…” I began counting back from this year, twenty-twenty-six. Then I realized.
“It only takes one bad day for the world to turn on you,” he asserted, “Only one.”
I gulped. “And some terrorist intervention, mind you.”
“Terrorists didn’t have to lose millions shutting down their airports, Reece. If you don’t learn what it means to show some accountability in your emails, even if we didn’t do anything, then we are going to end up as this era’s big bad Electro. And no Spiderman is going to save us!”
“The world loves an anti-hero,” I answered sheepishly.
The phone began to beep loudly in my ear. With a sigh, I slipped it back into my pocket and slumped into my chair.
“My gosh,” I yawned, “Why does everyone have to always be sooo mad at me allllll the time?”
I spun in my chair to face the window again. For a moment, my mind found some serenity in watching the advertisement-lit rain fall between the city’s aisles.
“Siri,” I called.
“Yes, Mr. Link,” it answered.
“Write Herbert Johnson a letter where I express the utmost care for both the company’s accountability and progress. But don’t make it sappy.”
“Affirmative.”
My fingers twiddled as I sat thinking about things: my job, the world, the chaos… and my son. For all the effort I put into giving people some freedom, they seemed to never notice any of it except when things were good. But as soon as something goes a little off track, everyone just loses their minds and starts pointing fingers and saying names and pretending like it’s all my fault. All I wanted to do was just make things easy. Nothing needs to be more complicated than it already is. I know that’s probably what the bad guys think, too, but… gosh. Why does badness have to exist? I know, go ahead and applaud my original statement.
Suddenly, my phone rang. Groaning, I slid it out of my pocket and looked at the name. My brow raised as I read it.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Is this Mr. Linkin,” a woman asked.
“Yes… why?”
“We need you to come down to the police station,” she replied.
I paused. “Why?” I asked, confused.
“Your son has been arrested for attempted manslaughter.”
After a painfully awkward, back-and-forth session of explaining to my boss why I had to leave, I rushed to my car.
“Destination, Mr. Link?”
“Police station,” I answered quickly.
Water spat out from the wheels as the car took off into the street. Every second seemed to drag longer and longer as my anxiety began to build to the point I could hardly breathe. Before the car had even fully stopped, I threw the door open and finally chimed and ran up the steps of the station, giving no care for how soaked I was getting. Water ran off my face as I marched to the front desk where an officer greeted me. Gesturing for me to follow, he brought me through the building until he stopped at a door.
Holding out his hand, he told me, “No phones.”
I rolled my eyes and handed it to him. With a nod, he opened the door and let me in. There sitting at a desk in an interrogation room was my son. He looked up at me, eyes wide as I slowly walked toward him. The only sound heard was the clank of the door as the officer gently closed it. Our eyes just stared at each other, our mouths unable to speak. Everything except my son had become a blur. Shaking, I pulled a chair out and sat down opposite to John, remaining silent as I settled.
Minute after minute, all I could force myself to do was breathe. It wasn’t angry nor was it nervous. It was slow. The breaths you breathe when you’re on your deathbed and all you can do is contemplate.
Breaking the silence, I told him, “Glad you’re… okay.”
He looked away.
Another minute passed before I followed up, “Are you o-”
“Yes, Dad,” he muttered.
I sank back into silence, watching John stare at the ground.
“What did you do?” I asked, pinching myself.
John took a moment. “I… messed up.”
I frowned and added, “Can you be a little more-”
“I’M NOT ONE OF YOUR STUPID AI TEXT-BOXES, DAD!” he yelled.
I raised my hands apologetically. He sighed and shook his head.
“Infected his car,” he mumbled, “Turned his brakes off. But he deserved it after what he did to Tod. WHY AM I HERE AND NOT HIM?! I was just trying to get back at Derick for beating up Tod!”
“Why did he beat up Tod?”
“Because he wouldn’t cow down to him.”
I tilted my head. “What did Derick want him to do?”
John sighed and answered, “Either turn ourselves in or teach him how to use CodeGen so he could hack the school’s firewall and do stupid stuff. But Tod told him no.”
I nodded… before I thought about that first part- “Turn yourself in? WAIT! Have you been hacking the school? With my software!”
John groaned, “We never did anything they couldn’t fix… eventually.”
“How long have you been using my software to jack with your school?! Or people in general!”
“LOOK!” John exclaimed, “Don’t act like I’m completely unjustified!”
“You are unjustified!” I shot back, “A kid is probably in the hospital because of what you did!”
“What I did?!” John restated, “I and my friends have been nothing but picked on and bullied for THREE YEARS, DAD! But you just go to work and act like everything is okay and the world isn’t on fire and life is peachy.”
I sat there speechless. John wiped his eyes and looked away again, gritting his teeth as his face turned red.
“What else did you do with CodeGen?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head and cleared his throat.
“Remember Ms. Walker?” he asked.
“I think so,” I responded slowly, “Was she the one fired for making advances toward a student?”
“I don’t know who started that version but it was specifically cussing him out,” John corrected.
My hands covered my face as I took a long, deep breath. “Did you get a teacher fired? How?”
“She was a complete jerk! It’s only fitting that we made her go out the way we thought she would.”
“Tell me how, John,” I reiterated.
“We recorded my voice and used AI to change it to hers the same way someone made Squidward sing Hurt. Ben then posted it on social media and, before we knew it, she was gone.”
“Anything else?” I groaned.
“I don’t know,” John mumbled, “We once generated a password-cracker.”
“And what did you do with that? Spy on someone’s texts?”
“I… uh… did do that. But Ben and Tod deleted the person’s homework.”
“How long did this all take you?” I pried, astounded.
“What?” John squinted and shook his head, visibly confused.
“How long did hacking and voice-changing and making viruses take you?!”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Dad,” he responded, sounding heavily insulted, “First off, this wasn’t all in one day nor in one year. THREE YEARS, DAD! Second off, it takes like two seconds depending on what it is. The longest time I waited was a minute.”
“And what was that for?”
John stopped, his eyes looking down.
My teeth gritted and I turned to face the wall.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
I turned back. His eyes were looking at me again. Angry but sad, his eyes were finally looking at me again. Taking yet another deep breath, I turned back and started digging for the bottom of this.
“Why, John?” I asked point-blank, “Son, why did you do any of this? If you were being bullied that much… why didn’t you tell me?”
“Is there a quota of harassment I have to receive before you get involved?” John huffed.
“No- that’s not- uhg. That’s not what I meant. Son. I’m here for you! I’m trying to be, at least…”
“No, AI is there for me. You’re just the guy who gets satisfaction out of his life for feeding a son whom he never bothers to actually get to know!”
“How is AI there for you and I’m not?” I begged, “I try so hard to give you things you want. Even when you got in that fight with Derrick the other day, I WAS THERE FOR YOU.”
“AI doesn’t just diagnose the problem or give me some stupid pep-talk every drive home. It’s easy to use and easy to make it shut up. And when someone hurts you, AI allows you to get back at them humanely.”
“Such as turning off someone’s brakes?” I queried.
John growled and looked away again. Then he glared back and asked, “Did you even see him?”
“Who? Derrick?”
“Not Derrick! Tod! Did you see Tod after Derrick beat him up?”
“No,” I admitted, feeling embarrassed, “It’s just… blood makes me queasy.”
“Maybe you should be ‘queasy’ or whatever for once! Maybe you should remember what it’s like to be uncomfortable for once and look!”
I sighed, “Son, just because I don’t want to see blood doesn’t mean I don’t care. I just… life is hard enough as it is.”
“So why are you making it so complicated?” John challenged.
The words struck me.
“Complicated?”
“The bad guy did something bad. I got justice. Simple.”
“But it’s… not.”
“How?!”
My eyes looked into his. All I could think about was that baby boy I had held in my arms. The little boy I swore to my wife I would give the world to. I twiddled my fingers again, feeling where the ring used to be.
“Sometimes, son…. sometimes what feels like simplicity… is just laziness.” Though the words pained me, i continued, “Sometimes our ‘justice’ isn’t really justice. Sometimes it’s just easier to call it that instead of… taking some… accountability.”
My watch beeped. With a groan, I got up. But before I walked away, I turned to John.
“I love you, son,” I told him, meeting his eyes, “I mean that.” With that, I walked to the door.
As soon as the officer gave my phone back, I turned on Siri.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Link?” it asked.
“Did you send that email?” I asked, crossing my fingers, “The one for Herbert Johnson?”
“No sir. Would you like me to?”
I sighed and looked back at John.
“No,” I answered firmly, “I want to take a look at it myself.”
With that, I left to get back to work.