© Copyright J. Thornbury 2024 All Rights Reserved
Artificial
By J. Thornbury
With thanks to Tom, who was patient.
He never really thrived in school. It wasn’t just the academics, where he rarely got better than a B, for which it was often said “If only you applied yourself…” No, he never did that well socially, either, being slightly too nerdy for the cool kids, slightly too plain for the cute girls, slightly too desperate to have fun for an invite to parties. He knew this, deep down.Not that he did badly, though. He had a girlfriend, until she broke up with him; and he did alright in track and field, though he didn’t like the demands — “If only you had the discipline…”Most importantly, he wasn’t one of the weirdos. He wasn’t a theatre kid, or in the band, prancing and parading around like a bunch of queers. He wasn’t like the weeb, Michael, who spent all his time writing crappy stories about his animes. He wasn’t like Sarah, the ugly girl who spent all her time sitting alone in the canteen, scribbling with her coloured pencils.And he definitely wasn’t anything like that one kid – what even was his name? – who wore cat ears and meowed and got beaten up in front of the lockers, but who never took the hint, and kept on flying his freak-flag.No, school sucked. He’d been eager for college, to drink and party and finally flourish. Or so he told himself. When he finally got accepted – not at an Ivy League, but quotas had screwed him out of a place there – the reality hadn’t lived up to his expectations. The other students at State hadn’t been as cool as he’d expected, hadn’t been interested enough to listen to the important things he thought about, hadn’t been willing to see the value in him. And at the parties he tagged along to, people just got drunk.He’d had friends, even a couple more girlfriends. He graduated just a little later than he’d have liked. It wasn’t so bad; at least he had a real degree.…Not that it counted for much. No one was hiring. Physics with a minor in Business should have got him a job, for sure, if the economy didn’t suck. Who wouldn’t want someone who was smart, and who knew how the world worked?Yeah, living with his parents again felt humiliating, more so when he took a job at Lowe’s to keep his student loans off his back. “If only you’d learned a trade…”He deserved more.
Life was funny. If he hadn’t bought in when Ethereum was high, he wouldn’t have been having a sleepless night, and he probably wouldn’t have been fucking around on the right kind of subreddits to see the announcement post.“The fuck is a ‘generative model?’” Even though he was a smart guy, the text flew over his head. But the picture was cool, kinda weird and trippy, lots of bright colours. He clicked through, started reading, followed the link, stared at the blank screen and the blinking cursor in the text box.He could write anything?
Spongbob with big tits
The AI paused, as though thinking, or perhaps reluctant. Then, it dutifully complied.“No fucking way!” He half-leapt out of his chair; it really worked.
The Joker drinking tequial wtih Jack Sparrow
The grin on his face felt goofy. But fuck it, this was magic. He copied them right away, opened Discord, sent them to his college buddies.“Check this out.”They didn’t reply immediately. It was 3 am, and they had jobs. So he went back to entering prompts, tried some more stuff out, added adjectives, described a background.About thirty minutes later, he paused. His fingers hesitated, then fluttered against the keys.
A young women, 18, blonde hair, bluest eyes, nice ass, big tits, thin, on a beach, trpoical island
Beholding the result, he swallowed hard. He didn’t have the words to describe what he felt. It was more than cool: it was awe. He felt like it must feel to see god. Maybe, to be god. Whatever he could describe, he could create. Whatever he wanted. Whatever he willed. And that made him feel...A few hours later, Discord blinked with a notification — a reply from Gregg.“lol that’s funny, wheres it from”His answer was confident. “I made it.”
Ground fucking floor!The tech moved fast, each iteration of the AI superior to the one that came before. He learned how to better word his prompts, then how to refine the models, tweaking their generative biases by training them on new learning material he discerningly collected from Instagram and Twitter. Speaking of which, who’d have thought Sarah would end up as a graphic designer?Well, not for long. He was a better artist than her, now. She was stuck in the past, painting by hand, using primitive tools. Everyone like her needed to embrace the future. Her production would be way more efficient if she used AI to prototype her designs.Plus, her stuff was all boring, lots of pastoral scenes, landscapes, people holding hands. Her women were all unrealistic, too, though that was just the market: there was always money for woke if you didn’t have talent.But him? He had talent. He had some money now, too. He’d diversified pretty quickly – figuring that writers were going to be redundant in six months or so – and started work on generating a few books. They’d sold quickly, helped by the quality, professional-level covers he could make. The refunds had stung, but early reviews were promising; once the tech caught up, he’d make some real money, and until then they were a good proof of concept for his side-line in teaching Prompt Development.And thanks to all of this, his Twitter account had taken off like a rocket. A hundred thousand followers, which meant regular commissions; and that meant his name was mentioned in some news articles. Sure, there were haters, but those Luddites didn’t matter, or at least wouldn’t matter for much longer.Even his Ethereum was on the way back up. He was finally making it. It was his turn to shine.
“So, explain why you’re right for this position.”He did his best to look confident in his shirt and tie, absently fidgeted with his shorts just out of sight of the camera. “Well, let’s talk about what this position needs,” he hedged, his eyes flicking over the job listing on his third monitor. “Your company’s model is based on a game economy that needs new booster sets released frequently, and new sets means you need new cards. The issue with new cards is they have to be carefully tested, right? People are attracted by the characters, the art, the story, but they stay because the game is fun to play. It feels well-balanced.”Though they were nodding, he could see he was losing them. Time for the pitch. “This is where I can add value. Which is more cost effective? Spending on old-fashioned art, which is slow and needs a lot of run-up; or hiring a new kind of artist, someone who knows the modern tech and has a fast turnaround? I can iterate quickly, create assets that fits the cards, making art for prototypes and then remaking it for final editions — which lets you focus on getting the game right. That just makes more business sense.”“Right…” The lead interviewer beckoned him onward. “But why you, specifically?”“Oh, well, as you can see from my resume, I’ve been involved in the profession from the start, and my work’s even been exhibited in a few galleries. People like what I make, including in your game’s subreddits, so I’m a proven quantity. And the key to my success is that I really understand the technology. I can train a model on your existing art assets, to develop a solution that fits the existing house style. It’ll be a seamless transition.”This had the panel back on his side, all but one of them nodding. Another was even smiling – a woman introduced without a title, just Claire – and she leaned toward her camera as she spoke. “So you have a background in developing multi-modal Large Language Models? Have you worked with OpenAI?”“I’ve used their models,” he replied, “and the math I covered in my degree is pretty helpful in making the most out of their work.”“But, have you designed a model of your own?”“I’ve trained models, yeah–”“Sorry,” she cut in, looking unapologetic. “I’m asking if you’ve got any background in the design and development of the underlying technology?”What was her deal? “Well, AI is a big area, and that’s not my specific speciality. I focus on knowing how to get the most out of the whole field as it develops. I don’t tie myself down to one particular piece of technology, but focus on staying current, staying agile, and remaining responsive to market needs... like yours.”The others seemed to be waiting for her response. She gave a hesitant nod.“I think that’s what we’re looking for,” the lead interviewer continued. He was on side; he clearly got it better than she did. “We don’t have the resources to start competing on that level. We’re not Disney... not yet!”Almost everyone on the screen laughed, and he faked laughter along with them as he waited for the next question.“Alright, I think we’ve got a good idea of where you’re coming from. You’ll be joining Bob’s team, so... over to you, Bob?”Bob had a worse camera the others. Beneath the pixels he was an older guy, bald on the top, white hair trimmed short around his ears, a small pair of spectacles perched on his nose. The only one who hadn’t laughed, he looked like he sounded; unconvinced by everything. “Without meaning to sound negative, there’s a lack of relevant industry experience on your resume. Can you talk about working to brief, and what you see the major challenges are in team collaboration?”“Yeah, of course. And I don’t take that as negative, not at all. I know I’m new, and just getting my feet under the table.” He spoke to buy himself time to think, his lips feeling tight. “So I hope you take it the same way when I say, that’s kind of the point. This is a new opportunity, a whole new way of working, and no matter who you hire as a Prompt Engineer, it’s all going to look thin on paper.”“I don’t think unfair to tell you,” Bob answered, “that we have other candidates with industry experience.”“But the trade-off for that is they won’t have the same depth of experience in this new tech. And the whole point of hiring someone for this role is to get ahead of the new, not to go over the old. Anyway, you asked about briefs, so let me talk about the work I’ve done for clients–”“And team working.” Bob had folded his arms. “Collaboration.”“Well, while I won’t pretend I’ve done as much teamwork as I’d like, my pace of production balances it out. As a junior team member, I’d hope there’d be support for my learning as I get up to speed, and in return, I’m very keen to share my skill set with other artists.”The lead interviewer seemed excited by that. “Do you have experience teaching?”He relaxed: that would do it. He had the job. “Certainly. Let me talk about the school I founded, the AI Institute for Engineering in Art and Design…”
His co-workers hated him. Bob clearly wanted him gone. But they were all dinosaurs, and AI was the meteor: it was time for the rise of the apes.And as apes went, he knew he was a leader — a Caesar, throwing dice across the Rubicon.…Anyway, it didn’t matter how they felt about him. In the first few weeks he’d focused on training a model on the house art, and had made a point of getting it demoed to everyone, especially some chief officers from the C-suite. When they saw how quickly it could make card art, he was golden. Let Bob complain about the number of fingers and the edges of the hair; as long as the game was good, nobody would care about minor details.“We’re selling an idea,” he reassured Bob. “As long as the idea is there, people will love it.”“So… you’re more of an ‘ideas guy?’”He didn’t like the way Bob smirked when he said it.
Things were going good. Great, even. He was well paid, he had a professional title, and his following on X was truly massive. Even his investments were back in the green.Yet, despite it all, he still found himself staying up late into the night, browsing Reddit again, listlessly clicking his way through the small hours. At least he was talented enough that lack of sleep didn’t really impact his job performance.He had almost everything he wanted. But what he needed... he didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure if what he wanted and what he needed really were the same thing. He supposed they had to be, right? He was doing way better than most. It’s not like life came with a manual.On a whim, he went back to Facebook, scrolled through his timeline, looked for people he remembered from back in the day. Sarah was the most prominent, and the most vocal, part of a class action lawsuit, designated a ‘representative plaintiff.’ That figured. Those who could, did, and those who couldn’t, well — they kept the lawyers happy. Her posts were all about the social dangers of AI, but really they were about grievance, about anger at a world she thought she deserved that had been snatched out of her hands.Pathetic. He dropped a single emoji reply, then unfollowed her.The rest of them were just depressing. All the cool kids had become boring normies, working nine to five just to raise children that all looked the same. Their endless smiling pictures couldn’t hide the emptiness at the heart of who they were. Though, surprisingly, weeb Michael was living in Japan, and seemed to be dating a hottie. Looked like he had a teaching gig? Not anything important, just teaching kids how to speak English. Pretty weak stuff, but he supposed at least Michael had gone somewhere different with his life. Perhaps that was–A notification blinked: a new follower.On Facebook? He was almost never active on Facebook — it had to be spam. But when he looked at the full notification, his eyebrows raised, finding his new follower was a pretty girl, her makeup dramatic, her smile playful. Her profile looked real, too, and he recognised the landmarks in her photographs from nearby.What the hell, why not? He dropped her a wave.She answered a moment later. “Hey. Saw your reply on Sarah’s post.”Ah, damn. She was looking to fight with–“Figures. You’ve really made something of yourself, haven’t you?”...Well.He sat up a little straighter, thought hard about what to write. He had some rizz. He knew how to make an impression.Squaring his shoulders, he gave it his best. “Yeah, I’m pretty impressive. In lots of ways… *wink*"Her eye-roll emoji was nearly instantaneous.He swore, went to type, hesitated, then opened a new window in the browser. He pulled up a prompt for text generation, one he’d used when writing his novels.
Pretend that you are a smart, sophisticate, charismtaic man working as an Prompt Engineer Artist for a well known video game studio. You are exchanging messages with an female admirer on Facebook Messenger. Complete the folloing transcript with a reply that will recover from the foo pah you have made and make you look good to the girl
The trick was flirting smarter, not harder.He copied over their conversation, hit send, then waited. The result made him frown, and he ran the generation a few more times, until he finally had something he liked.Carefully, he retyped each character. “...And not so much in others! But thank you very much for your kind words.”There was a pause, as though she were considering whether to continue, and then she replied. “You’re different. I remember you being quiet in school.”They went to school together? That explained things. This time, he wrote without the AI. “Yeah, just wasn’t my scene. I couldn’t really be who I wanted to be. Kinda sucked lol”“I feel you,” she agreed, answering much more quickly. “Everyone there sucked. They always said ‘be yourself,’ but nobody wanted to help you find yourself.”Her words had a strange effect on him, making his thoughts freeze.
His eyes flicked back to her profile. Luna? He didn’t recognise the name. She was hot, though. Way hotter than he thought at first. He licked his suddenly dry lips, answering nervously. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t remember you that well. I guess you were quiet, too?”“Probably good you don’t remember. I was cringe.” She was still typing. “From your job, I guess we’re in the same city? Wanna grab a coffee?”Slowly, he smiled.
In the end, a clash with Bob was inevitable. What was insulting was that he tried to pretend it was for his job performance, rather than because he feared the future.“The work speaks for itself. He’s simply not able to follow revisions.” Bob tapped a stack of printouts with his pen, each of them a piece of art that he’d red-lined and sent back with changes. “I was open to giving this a try, but we just can’t work with this garbage.”The Chief Operating Officer and a woman from Human Resources were sat with them around the table, sat between them both, arbitrating the dispute. He knew that a member of the C-suite being present meant that this wasn’t a simple firing: he had a chance to make his case. So, he kept his mouth shut, let Bob take his shot.Although, Bob had nothing more to add. He sat quietly as the COO reached for the exhibits, examined the red lines and notes with a disinterested eye; the executive dropped the papers back to the table and spread his hands, making eye contact with each of them, affecting neutrality. “Can anyone explain?”Time to fight back. “Well, I can, but Bob isn’t going to like it.”Folding his hands around his pen, the old artist snorted. “Don’t patronise me.”Before HR could interject, he gestured to Bob, spoke quickly and calmly. “This is what I was telling you about. I’ve been dealing with this since I came on board.” He turned to address the COO. “As I tried to explain to Bob, AI involves new ways of working. We don’t make careful adjustments to a single piece until it fits a constrained vision; the nature of the technology allows you to quickly make a few hundred different iterations, each with tweaked parameters, until you hit on something that fulfils the brief.”The COO was listening very carefully. “Like monkeys on typewriters?”“Well, there’s more skill to it than that, but yes, you’ve got it. It’s a whole new world. New times mean new methods.” He shrugged, and lowered his hand. “But Bob isn’t willing to change the way we work to fit the times.”Bob tapped his pen on the table, hard. “Because your work is crap.”“Bob,” the HR rep interrupted, her tone soothing but firm, “while we all know artists can be passionate, we expect everyone to remain collegiate when expressing their grievances.”“It’s not a matter of grievance, Sheryl. It’s about the quality of the product we put out. Just look at the hands.”Bob getting frustrated meant that he was vulnerable. Speaking to the older man in a tone that sounded as though he was patiently making a concession, he moved in for the kill. “Future models will be better at minor details,” he assured him, “but this is the way the world is going. The old way of working is on the way out. It’s like evolution, the rise of the apes–”“Oh, bullshit.” Bob was exasperated. “You’re not some new breed, you’re just using a machine to ape the work of real artists.”Before HR could intervene again, the COO had stood up. “I think his art is fine.”Nonplussed, Bob blinked.The COO pulled his phone from his pocket, checking his messages while he spoke. “Our customers don’t sweat the small stuff. Art is inherently worthless — it’s price point that creates value. We own the marketplace, we set the price point, and people buy because they want what our brand represents.”While Bob was speechless, there was an opening to agree with management, and he seized it. “It’s the ideas people want, what their purchase says about them.”Faint amusement cracked through the COO’s facade. “You get it. And Bob…” He rounded on the old artist as he pocketed his phone “...Claire already decided this is the direction we’re going in. Get on board, or get out of the way, but don’t try to hold things up.”Defeated, falling back in his chair, the old man’s voice had become a sigh. “We can’t do this.”“If you can’t, that won’t be a problem for the board. Your call.”And that was the end for Bob.
He’d wanted to meet up at a Starbucks, but she insisted on a niche coffee place near the suburbs that he’d never heard about. A gay flag hung over the door on his way in, bright colours that stood out against the dim, cosy interior of old wood and worn leather, and he found himself on edge as he ordered a cappuccino from the intimidatingly muscular barista.“You meeting someone?” she asked him, waiting on the dripping espresso. “You look like you’re meeting someone.”He wasn’t sure what that meant. He nodded, paid by card, then sat by the window near the door.The place was busier than he expected. Nobody seemed to pay him much mind, which let him take his time examining them. Lots of bright hair colours, he noticed, and some of the fashion choices were louder than he was comfortable with. Still, the space felt happy despite the wokery, and the quiet babble of voices made him realise there was no music in the background, nor anything to regiment the mismatched tables and chairs. Even the art that hung on the walls looked painted by hand, though he smirked as he realised a few still had the price tags attached.“Hey dude.” A young guy in tight jeans had his hand on the back of another chair. “Mind if I take this?”He fumbled with his cup and saucer, set them down. “Uh, no. I mean, yeah. Go ahead.”The thankful smile lingered with him after the chair was gone. There was something–Then he saw Luna entering through the door, and he sat up nervously, smoothing down his shirt while she made her way to the counter. She was taller than he expected, and dressed in black, frilly clothes that he would have called goth, or perhaps alternative. Her long brown hair had a blue and pink streak through it, and her figure was curved, though he was relieved to see she wasn’t fat. Paler even than him, he caught a glimpse of her smile by the way her cheek curved as she chatted to the barista, and when she turned he saw she was wearing bright lipstick, which kept smiling as she noticed him and gave a funny little wave — her palm open, but her fingers curled, her fingernails matching the streaks in her hair.He waved back, then tried to sit casually, heart beating.“You’ve been at work?” she asked him as she came over, shifting the back of her skirt as she settled down on the opposite couch.Glancing down, he realised he was overdressed in business casual. “Uh, yeah, some overtime.”“Working weekends? That sucks.” She took a sip from her tea, the tapioca pearls swirling around as her lips moved the straw. “Glad you made it.” She jingled as she leaned forward and set the tea down, and he realised she was wearing a low collar, the bell glittering. Then she noticed him staring, and she gave him a big grin, batting at it with her hand. “You like it?”“You’re cute,” he answered, then blushed. “I mean, the collar is.”“First answers only.” She swung one booted leg over the other as she sat back. “This isn’t really your scene, is it?”“How can you tell?”“You wanted Starbucks, and now you’re on the edge of your seat.”Tensing, he glanced down again, then awkwardly shifted back.Which caused her to laugh. “Relax! You look like you’re in an interview.”The way she spoke, the friendliness in it made him breathe out, and he offered a weak smile. “I’m not… I don’t usually meet people in person. Outside of work, that is.”“Really? What about that school thing, from your timeline?”He lifted his cup, shaking his head. “All online.” He sipped, swallowed, trying to think about what else to say. “We’re moving to a digital culture. Pretty soon, places like this will be replaced by VR.”“That’s a sad thought.” Luna sighed, listlessly flicked her straw. “I don’t think you’re wrong, though. Rent’s getting really expensive. Independent places keep closing, and there’s not really good spaces for people to meet up. No– what were they called? Third spaces.”“What’s a third space?”“A space where you can be yourself, without needing money.”He shifted, mulling it over. “Why are they called third spaces?”“I dunno. I don’t really read much. I prefer videos.”“You know, AI video’s getting really good. Experts say that, in a few years, we’ll have custom films, tailored to include people’s favourite actors. Maybe even putting yourself in the film.”“So, what, I could star in Rocky Horror Picture Show?”“Sure. I’ve never seen it.”This incensed her, and her voice rose an octave. “You’ve got to see Rocky! Tim Curry kills.”Pretending to flinch back, he raised his hand in submission. “I’ll look it up! Promise.”“You better.” She snatched up her tea, shook it menacingly at him. Then she smiled as she sipped, reclining once more. “So, how’d life go after highschool?”Mirroring her recline, he sighed. “Well…”For the better part of thirty minutes he talked, and she listened, occasionally interjecting with comments that were agreeably sarcastic. As he described his time in college and intimated his struggles to belong, the sincere sympathy she showed him made him open up, and before long he was speaking animatedly, sharing everything that had gone wrong to an audience who was, much to his surprise, nonjudgemental.It felt strange, for his problems to be accepted without question, to be recognised as someone with so much to give but no opportunity to share. He would have thought it all made him a loser — had imagined it to all be prelude to his recent successes. But in telling it to her, for once he felt like his struggles were real, that circumstances beyond his control were to blame for his frustrations. She didn’t look at him like he was at fault, only heard him, and believed.When he started talking about AI, her expression glazed over slightly, but she still followed along. Luna seemed more interested in what it meant to him than in the technical details of the work itself, which he found odd, a strange and queasy feeling taking hold as he poured out his enthusiasm into her deep, sky blue eyes. The longer he spoke, the further away the rest of the room receded.“Do you have any other interests?”
Her question brought him back into the room, back down to himself, caught off-guard as he repeated her words. “Other interests?”“Do you spend your time on anything other than AI?”He paused. “Well, I listen to podcasts.”“That’s cool; I like true crime. What about you?”“News, tech stuff. Updates in the world of…” He coughed, tried to move on. “But, what about you? What happened to you, after highschool?”That made her go still, pausing as she chewed on a pearl. She swallowed, and brushed her skirt out, slightly flushed. “I’m really very boring. I did an undergraduate in Computing Science, then a few internships before I found a job that stuck. These days I’m remote all the time, which suits me just fine.” She wasn’t looking at him, eyes on the plastic cup as she swirled it in her hands. “I didn’t really socialise much at college, either. I’m a bit of a stereotype. Apart from a few fandom meetups, I mostly spent my time online–”“Fandom?”She glanced up. “Furry. I went to Anthrocon a couple of times.”His mouth fell open, and then, to his bemusement, he found himself smiling. “You’re a furry?”“Not so much, these days.” She looked down at the collar around her neck, and blushed a little deeper. “I guess I still am. More an aesthetic, you know? I’ve always liked cats.”He nodded. Truthfully, it was all a bit weird for him, but she seemed cool. “I’ve never had any pets.”“It’s funny: I never had pets growing up, either. I think I had a hamster when I was young? I thought about getting a kitten, but when I started e I couldn’t really afford it, and now one of my housemates is allergic so it’s not really an option.”“…Started e?”She glanced up, quizzically. “Yeah? Transition is, like, fucking expensive.”All at once the openness and easiness evaporated, and he felt himself breaking out in a sweat, the room not so much closing in as spreading open, placing him on a stage with her for all the world to see, and point, and laugh. He looked away, though his eyes caught on the flag above the door, and he swallowed, tongue suddenly thicker than his mouth.“Hey, are you okay?”“...I’m sorry.” He stood up, stiff and awkward. “You’re really nice, but I’m not gay. I didn’t–”“What?” Her eyes, so alive until then, were suddenly wide, and the light in them dimming.“I didn’t know. About you. I thought you were a real– I wouldn’t have come on a date–”“This isn’t a date.” Her lips were pursed. “Shit, I just wanted to–”“Look after yourself,” he blurted, and bolted for the exit.He felt like he could feel everyone staring, that the world kept staring, long after he made it home.
The following Monday, he arrived at the office bright and early, eager to throw himself into his work — eager to remind himself of who he really was. Or, at least, to forget the humiliation, to bury it under the success that would surely follow now Bob was out of the picture. He’d applied for the new vacancy, and given what had been said in the meeting, he felt sure he’d be called in for an interview.What hope he’d held for promotion died in the first meeting, where the COO introduced their new team lead, an outside hire. Chase was young, wore his three piece suite with casual ease, and had a winning smile that matched his strong handshake, all the qualities that a manager needed to succeed. Yet he wasn’t a bad guy, and even made a point of singling out the accomplishments the team had made thanks to the work of their Prompt Engineer.When Chase had invited him for lunch, he’d been unsure what to expect.“Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way,” his manager said as the menus were taken away. “I don’t know the first thing about art. What I know, is how to work with people.”He nodded, uncomfortable, out of his element in an asian restaurant.“The way I look at it, you’re the one who’s going to drive our growth over the next quarter. Our CEO tells me you’re behind the software that makes our cards.”“Just the art. The game designs are–”“Sure, sure, the art. My point is,” Chase went on, “I see an easy division of labour here.” He gestured to him with both hands. “You’re the creative type.” He pointed to himself with his thumbs. “I’m the guy who makes things move. Which means you can handle the art, and I can wrangle the KPIs and keep everything on track.”“KPIs?”“Key Performance Indicators. Milestones? Look, it doesn’t matter.” He loosened his tie, leaning back. “I’ll make the C-suite happy, and you’ll handle all the creative stuff.”Slowly, he realised what was on offer. “You mean, I get to set the art direction for the game?”“Yeah, that sort of stuff,” Chase answered, between sips of sparkling water.“So I get to allocate tasks to the rest of the team, review their work, approve final–”“All of that, yeah. All I need from you,” he said, putting down his drink, “is a product delivered on time and a little below budget. Oh, and you keep training the rest of them. Our CEO was very clear — we want an AI-powered team in place before the end of the financial year.”“I can do that.” His mind was already weighing up the others, who to give the good jobs, who to freeze out. “Some of the others aren’t good with the tech.”“Well…” Chase leaned forward, and he did the same, listening as his manager spoke quietly. “Between you and me: I have targets for redundancies, and some budgets for new hires. You let me know who isn’t a good performer, and we’ll replace them with someone who can get the job done. That work for you?”Between them, the new head of the art department had offered his hand, an expensive watch gleaming on his outstretched wrist.Without hesitation, he shook it. “Does this mean I’ll be in the community videos?”“I don’t see why not,” Chase answered, his eyes on the approaching appetisers.
Unfortunately, the marketing team had other plans for community content after Bob’s departure, which meant an end to the behind-the-scenes videos. There would be no more in-progress videos – which made sense, as they no longer painted the cards the old-fashioned way – and strictly no staff were to appear in videos. The focus, it had been decided, was to be placed purely on the brand characters, with voiceovers recorded by the characters themselves.Which led to Chase asking him if they could find an AI alternative to hiring voice actors. Unfortunately, when it came time to demo the work, the legal department shut it down, citing conflicts with the recording artists’ union.Still, progress continued apace elsewhere. In just a few short weeks they brought on a series of junior artists who – fresh out of college and with plenty of debt – were more than willing to take the plunge into working with AI, and not at all squeamish about touching up illustrations to avoid senseless backlash from the community. Most of the gripers in the department quickly found other jobs, and the rest buckled down to the new job, at least the ones who knew what they were doing. The ones who couldn’t get with the program were gradually let go in the months that followed.For him, it was a triumph. He was vindicated. He had won.
He’d been watching a stream when Chase tapped him on the shoulder.“Hey, meeting down the hall in five.”Nodding, he went back to the video feed, watching the event wrap up. The CEO was giving the keynote speech before a conference on the future of AI in the creative industry. Much to his annoyance, Claire was taking credit for the work that he had pioneered, articulating a vision for the future where streamlined companies could leverage AI to produce more content, more quickly, at lower costs. She knew all the right buzzwords, and spoke as though she were fluent in the intricacies of generating art, passionately making the case for the alignment of artistic pursuits with business needs.Some of her words, he realised, were his. He’d said the same things, to her face, in the interview.Angry and dismayed, he closed the browser, and checked his calendar.…He’d been block booked for the rest of the day, no topic given, no attendees listed. Whatever the meeting’s topic, it seemed important.As he arrived in the room he was surprised to see Chase seated across the table, joined by the COO, and Sheryl from HR.“Take a seat.”Slowly, feeling rising dread, he did as he was told.After a pause, he asked, “Is something wrong?”Sheryl slid some papers across the table to him. “If you could sign these papers, we’ll make this as quick as possible.”With trepidation, he read them over, their meaning unclear. “What’s this–”“We’re downsizing.” The COO spoke coolly, his hands steepled together. “We feel that your role has reached the end of its natural lifecycle.”“You’re firing me?” He blinked, looking to Chase, who impassively returned his gaze. “But, I made the generative model–”“Works great.” The COO's tone was flat. “You did an excellent job.”“The new hires–”“They’re all up to speed,” Chase confirmed. “You finished training them on Wednesday.”Numb, he struggled to pick up the pen. He held it awkwardly, as though seeing it for the first time.
Eventually he found his voice again. “But, there’s so much I can do for–”“What, exactly?” Now the COO looked irritated. “What more can you do? We have whole team of agile artists who can do what you do. And unlike you, they’re skilled in traditional art, which makes them more useful.”Chase leaned back. “Your services aren’t needed any more. It’s a compliment — I mean it. You did such a good job setting everything up, we’re ready to move on to our next phase.” He smiled his winning smile. “Look, let’s keep it simple. Sign the paperwork, and you can put me down as a reference for your next job. There’s no need to make it unnecessarily personal.”“...Does Claire know?”Looking at him with pity that bordered on contempt, the COO folded his arms. “Why do you think I’m here? We appreciate your service, but it’s time you moved on. Sign.”And that was the end, for him.
He tried talking to his friends about what had happened. Not the ones on X — he couldn’t bring himself to announce his departure there. He reached out to his buddies from college, tried to explain what had happened, what it meant.Their replies were kind. “that sucks man. commiserations. time for bigger and better!”They didn’t understand.As the shock wore off he told himself he would be alright, that his firing was just the way of the world, and that a new job was waiting for him. He sent out applications, only to be met with silence; when he eventually gave in and reached out to his followers, hardly anyone replied, and nobody knew about any open positions that suited his talents.Even recruiters ignored him. All save one, who recommended he develop additional skills, perhaps in software development, or art and design.And the thing that broke him, the thing that made him laugh and laugh until he was crying, had nothing at all to do with his career: it was the red line he saw when, sleepless, he logged on in the middle of the night, and saw that Ethereum was falling, crashing down after a record high.
“Can we talk?”He stared at the message after he sent it. He almost hadn’t.Minutes passed.Finally, Luna replied. “Why do you want to talk to me?”He hesitated. He hadn’t expected Luna to write back. He’d been surprised that Luna hadn’t blocked him, and now that Luna had asked, he realised he didn’t know what he wanted, or what to say.More in habit than thought, he opened a new browser window, navigated to a fresh prompt, and began to write.
Pretend that you are a smart, sophisticate, charismatic man recently employ–
He stopped.When he started typing again, it was directly to Luna. “I don’t know. I got fired.”There was no reply.“I got fired and I’m sorry.”The message showed as read, but Luna said nothing.“I don’t know who else to talk to.”Minutes passed.He wiped his face, stood, and walked away from his desk.Then the ding of a reply filled the silence, and he stumbled back to see the answer.“I shouldn’t talk to you. But… you sound bad. 6 tomorrow, in the park by Equal Grounds?”
The sky was overcast when he found the small park, and not long after he took a seat on a rusted bench it began to rain. His coat wasn’t suited for wet weather, but he didn’t mind. The cold, the damp, the feeling of it all — everything suited him, just fine.Luna was better prepared for the weather than him, wrapped up warmly in funerary darks, begloved, a wide and heavy umbrella casting a shadow over him.He heard a sigh. “Yeah, this is miserable.”Steeling himself, he looked up. Luna was looking down on him with sad eyes, guarded and sympathetic.After a moment, the umbrella angled forward, taking him in from the worst of the rain. “Want to grab a coffee?”He looked where a gloved hand pointed, to the coffee shop he had all but ran from when they last met up. It was open, and it was warm, but the thought of the people there remembering him made him feel–“Or we can talk here, like a pair of weirdos. Your choice.”His eyes studied… her face, he admitted to himself. Her face. She. A woman who cared, or who at least had time for him. As a friend, which was what he wanted. What he needed.Nodding, he slowly stood, and let her lead him into the coffee shop, where she sat him in the back among the bookshelves. She returned with the same boba tea she had drank before, and had remembered he drank cappuccino, setting it on the table on front of him.They were quiet. In fact, the shop was quieter, fewer customers today, fewer customers to sip and chat and laugh together in the circles of friendship they made from tables and chairs that had once been discarded, before being reclaimed.“I’m not gay.” He didn’t know why he said it; he just felt he ought to.“I don’t give a shit.” She looked annoyed at him. “Who cares? Who gives a fuck. Do you think being in here, drinking a coffee with me, makes you gay?”When he tried to look at her, she was blurry. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” He closed his eyes, but his mouth kept moving. “I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I’d made it. I thought I meant something. I thought I mattered. I thought people finally noticed me. I thought they saw what I could do. I thought I was for real–”He stopped, sniffling, and realised she had moved to sit beside him, her hand on his wrist.He shook his head, not daring to look at her. “And I thought you’d ignore me. I thought you’d be cruel. I thought–”“You’re a fucking idiot.”Startled, he met her gaze.Luna looked upset, in more ways than he could understand. “I’m pissed off at you. You’re a stupid, ignorant, narcissistic man, and some kind of bigot.”He wanted to pull away — yet she squeezed his wrist tighter.“And you don’t even realise how completely fucked up it is to reach out to me, to use me for support after what you said, just because you’re in a dark place and struggling. But,” she took a deep breath, “I don’t think you know any better. And I don’t think you like yourself. Which makes me really worried that you’ll hurt yourself.”“Why?”“Because you haven’t shaved in days, and you smell like you haven’t showered either.”“Why do you care?”That threw her, and she slowly let go of him. She searched for an answer as the rain drummed on the windows, struggling to find one as the steam from the espresso machine whistled over it.At last, she gave up, and her lips twisted in a wry smile. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just doing what I feel I ought to. Maybe I’m faking it.”“It feels real.”“Then I guess it is.” She shrugged. “Real to you. Real to me, too, though you don’t deserve it. But I guess nobody really deserves anything in life.”They lapsed into silence. The coffee cooled, and the tea warmed.A question he felt he could answer came out of nowhere, demanding he ask it. “Who were you? In highschool.”She winced. “They called me Cody.”He could feel his own blank expression.Sighing, she raised her hands above her head, miming cat ears.“Oh. I thought so.”“You’re pretty oblivious.”“Yeah.”That earned another, small smile from her. “Well, at least you know it.”He slumped. “I’m such a loser.”“Been there.”“I just… I thought I mattered, you know? I thought… I had something real.”“You keep saying that word. I don’t know what you mean by it.”Looking up at her, he gestured at nothing. “You know. Like, being for real?”“I know people say that. What I don’t know,” she said, reaching for her tea, “is what it means to you. What does being real mean? Why is it so important, to be real? What’s wrong with being a fake, being artificial? Who even decides what’s fake and what’s not?”He watched her sucking on her drink, the question turning over in his mind.“Is being fake a fuck-up? Why? And who cares? Who cares what someone else thinks, so long as it’s real to you? Isn’t it what we put into something, that makes it real?”“But, it’s about success, it’s about meaning something–”“What does it mean to be a success? Everyone’s a failure at something. And earlier,” she carried on, chewing on a pearl as she spoke, “you said you thought you mattered. To who? Because who matters and who doesn’t isn’t— there isn’t a list of people who matter, or a list of people who don’t. Not outside. The people who matter are inside; you choose them, though you don’t always get to decide.”“I don’t understand…”“Why did your job mean so much to you?”“Because it meant… it meant I… was worth…”“Worth what?”He had no reply.“What actually matters to you?”He didn’t know what to say.“Who are you, anyway? Do you even know?”“I–”“And why does any of that matter more than just being who you are?”He could only stare.With a deep breath, she moved away, returning to the chair opposite him. Yet she didn’t look on him any differently. “If you don’t know who you are, if you can’t just be yourself, you’ll spend your whole life trying to be what you think you should be. I did that. It was the worst. It made me unhappy, and that unhappiness… it hurts other people.”“I’m not like you.”“I’m not talking about being trans.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t really know you; I don’t know if you are or aren’t. But then, if you don’t know who you are, it’s not like you know either. You’re just afraid of finding out who you actually are.”“...What if I’m wrong?”“What if it’s not the real you?”He nodded.“You’re already wrong about yourself. Less wrong, now. Drink your coffee.”In the absence of a self to argue, his hands obeyed, his lips complied. Still warm, the cappuccino’s froth stayed on his nose, and he smeared it away.“We learn by being wrong, you know. Being cringe, and knowing it, is the price of growth.”“What about my pride?” An ember of resentment still smouldered in him. “What if I don’t want to be laughed at?”She laughed, then; but as he stared, slowly, very slowly, he realised she wasn’t laughing at him. He felt immensely confused, both seen as a fool and accepted in his foolishness, welcome with her as she laughed to know him, which was, he dimly knew, really her recognition of herself, as though in looking into him she gazed on a funhouse mirror that magnified an imperfection until it was grossly exaggerated, unavoidable, yet freeing in its absurdity, freeing her to laugh as a child would laugh, no longer weighed down by the weight of what should or shouldn’t be reflected to the world, no longer obsessed over where the mirror shone clear and real or was veiled in fakery, but accepting of what was, all imperfections redeemed by their fleeting duration, no less redeemed for their eternal recurrence.She laughed because he was full of shit, and so was she.And, quite miraculously, for the first time in his life, he sincerely laughed at himself, too.
End
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