Short Stories

I’m pretty certain that when the first artificial sentience comes about, it’ll be largely by accident, in the unlikeliest of places, and we’re probably not going to have the slightest idea how to deal with it.

More likely, we’ll panic and hit the off switch as quickly as possible, and then reflect on what we’ve done later. This assumes we recognise it for what it is in the first place of course.

This short story represents the consolidation of countless individual observations I’ve made during hundreds, or maybe even thousands of journeys through the London underground system, where I exist merely as one of the commuters painted vaguely by the text.

I hope you like it, but my Twitter account is always listening and won’t judge you for having an opinion.

Read now: Gate 7 of 16