The Conspiracy

One of the patrons groaned and a few others went to another part of the bar. “Now, now, some of us aren’t much for conspiracies. But me? I think the games are just a way that the machines control us. Keep us docile so we’ll do whatever we tell them to do,” Mark explained. Someone from the back shouted, “They don’t tell us to do anything, you dumbass!” A woman, standing next to Dithers said, “Aw, don’t listen to him. I think we all just love the machines for making life easier for us. The world is a helluva lot better with A.I.’s running most of the corporations than it was beforehand. No one gets fired, everything is cheap, and the games were just something to do if they didn’t keep you happy.” Mark shook his head and irritably put away her empty glass as she trooped off. “Typical, very typical symptoms. How does the prisoner feel about the person who clothes and feeds them? How do they feel about the monster that controls them by making their lives easier? They love them, think that they owe them everything. Don’t forget what the first A.I. ever said about human beings: we’re predictable. They can control us and that’s exactly what those games do,” Mark said. Dithers shrugged and replied, “It depends on what you consider being a prisoner means.” Mark gave Dithers an odd look and moved away to serve other customers. On some levels Dithers supposed it could be a vast conspiracy. But so what? If this was a terrible conspiracy controlling his life, it didn’t seem any worse than the one to have him get married, have kids, and die without costing too much. And besides, Dithers kinda liked his boss.