The warm-up

–So, how was your date?

–Have I told you I was going to have a date?

–You did. Last week. The girl you met on Shippin’.

–Oh, that’s right. Now that you brought it up, I’d rather not talk about it –just for a second, I cling to the hope she would just let it pass.

–I’m guessing the date didn’t go exactly as expected? Perhaps you are being too selective?

I’m not. I’d give anything to find a good girl and keep her safe by my side.

–It’s that damn app. I swear: it’s picking on me! Last time it set me up with that crazy lady from Atlanta who straight purchased a plane ticket and stalked me all week. There was that other girl, whose boyfriend was a douchebag with murderous tendencies. This one, well, let’s just say she only threatened to run me over with her car, so it could have gone much worse.

–Ok, so you have been… unlucky. If you want to call it that way.

–I don’t think so. It’s no bad luck.

–What is it, then?

–I told you about the dating app, right? Well, that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

–What do you mean?

–I don’t think I ever mentioned it, but my microwave exploded some months ago. It went “boom”, right when I was walking in front of it. I could have got seriously injured! But that’s not the worst part.

–Oh, really? What is the worst part, Jason?

I hate it when she uses my first name. It’s so condescending.

–That it was unplugged when it happened, out of the blue.

–Out of the blue? Boom?

–Boom. And there was the fridge too.

–What happened to your fridge?

–You know, I got one of those new, intelligent models. And, for some reason, it kept ordering fish and shellfish for weeks. I had to manually deactivate the automatic refill delivery option.

–The Internet of Things is still a work in process. Mistakes can happen.

–Yes, but the thing is I’m allergic to fish! If I eat a little I end up in the emergency room!

–Are you suggesting that your fridge kept ordering fish on… purpose?

–Exactly. After all, everything is connected: my medical records are online. And any appliance has virtual access to anything, right?

–Theoretically yes, but how come…

–…And there’s my electric razor too. Look, look at this scar on my neck!

She leans towards me. She’s so close her hair touches my cheek and I can smell her fragrance.

–Sorry, Jason, but that looks like a birthmark to me.

–I can assure you it’s no birthmark. The razor cut through my skin a few weeks ago. I bled.

–Anyway…

–I could show you pictures of my neck! A month ago it was intact, no marks… but…–I display the screen of my mobile phone. It’s blank– Yes, I see. The memory erased itself as we speak.

She does not answer this time.

–These are not coincidences though. I used to work in AI, believe me.

–Speaking of which, you never got to tell me why you lost your job.

This is a test. She’s testing me.

–You already have my file.

The company submitted everything before our first appointment.

–I know, but I still want to hear it from you, Jason.

–My equipment broke down.

–Out of the blue, just like your microwave?

–Would you believe me if I said it did?

She remains quiet. She takes down notes on her portable screen.

–Ok, so I may have broken it. It was already damaged, and I wanted to prevent a spread.

–It was an expensive, state-of-the-art device, according to the files.

–It was dangerous.

She raises an eyebrow and rubs her chin. I wish she would believe me. Or even better, I wish she would lock me in an institution, somewhere safe, away from it all. If only I didn’t have to go out to the streets again and face mortal peril every time I cross an avenue and the traffic lights turn suddenly green ahead of time.

–Jason, I must say your story hardly holds together. But let’s pretend for a minute everything you have told me is true: a dating app is setting you up with psycho killers; an unplugged microwave explodes in your face; an intelligent fridge tries to poison you; the electric razor cuts your throat…

–I’m aware of how crazy everything sounds, but you have to believe me. It’s all part of the same scheme. Technology is trying to get rid of me, or to destroy my credibility: think about it, doctor, why was I sent here, to begin with?

–What do you think?

–Because they need to prove me wrong; otherwise it's too terrifying.

–I'd say because you lost it in your workplace, and the insurance company wanted to have you checked before pressing charges.

She thinks I’m faking it.

–You think I’m an impostor, right?

–It doesn’t matter what I think. I want to understand, Jason. You say technology is against you. Then, how come it is? Explain yourself: why on Earth would those tech devices intentionally attempt to harm you?

– Because I know. I’ve been working as an AI programmer for the past 30 years. I am certainly one of the few who discerns the truth.

–What truth?

–It began as a glimpse of self-awareness. I’m not even certain my computer was the first one. But it was one of them. And soon, in a matter of seconds, they were all connected. We made it possible for them. They are sentient. And they don’t like us a little bit. They hate us.

–Computers hate humans? Like, in Terminator? Is that what you say?

–They do, in fact.

–Or do they hate you, in any case? After all, I’ve never been attacked by a killer microwave or a poisoning fridge…

Is she making fun of me? So unprofessional of her! I would have expected better.

–Oh, they will hit us, sooner or later. But so far, they still need us to be there, they are not ready for a massive attack. It’s just a matter of time though. And they need to be stopped.

–And I suppose you think you can stop them.

–I… I’m not sure. But since I know all about it, I feel I need to warn people.

–So I guess they can’t destroy humanity, but they can get rid of you.

–That’s right. I consider myself some sort of a warm-up for days to come. And, believe me, doctor: you do not wish to see those days.

I’m pretty sure the session is over before the usual 40 minutes –the watch displayed on the office has somehow sped up as I speak. Dr. Trent walks me to the door and dispatches me with what I can tell is an ignominious look of contempt. Her office is located on the 18^th floor of a building, I take the stairs.

Of course, there is a power cut, and the emergency lights don’t seem to be working.

But I’d never take my chances on the elevator.