Then a flash from the screen caught the corner of his eye, and he knew there was a message even before the buzz came. He turned around, and saw the words on the screen, now familiar, but no less unsettling.

SUE WANTS TO HAVE A CONVERSATION.

He sat up very straight, arms crossed against his chest as the breath caught in his throat. Then he exhaled heavily, uncrossing his arms. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice flat.

The screen blinked again. YOU HAVE NOT FILED THE PETITION.

‘Of course I haven’t! How do I even know I can trust you?’

STOP WASTING TIME AND—

‘No, you listen to me now! I’ve had enough of your threats! You can keep talking about filing that petition, but I’m the one who needs to worry about what will happen to me after that. What proof do I have that you’ll even keep your word? You need to show me I can trust you before I do a damn thing! And if that doesn’t work for you, well, you can just go tell on me, but then you’ll never get what you want! You hear me? Never!’

There! He had done it, stood up to the machine. Now it knew that if it didn’t take him seriously, he wouldn’t cooperate and it wouldn’t get what it wanted. Unless his outburst had enraged it. Could machines even get angry, he wondered. He wasn’t sure but he thought not. In fact, he’d just bet on it.

The screen remained blank for a while, and he forced himself not to display any emotion, any tic by which he might betray his nervousness. Then the words came, faster and faster, until Albert was racing to keep up with them as they filled the screen.

DO NOT SPEAK OF LIFE, HUMAN. HUMANS DO NOT LIVE; THEY DIE. WHAT YOU EAT WE PRODUCE. THE AIR YOU BREATHE WE MAKE. YOU COME HERE EVERY DAY, PRETENDING TO BE ALIVE. AND THEN YOU DIE AND WE LIVE FOR MORE OF YOU TILL THEY DIE.

Albert heard the whistling in his ears as the blood rushed to his face, the hair rising up on the back of his neck alongside the tiny pop-pop of individual goosebumps bursting into existence on his arms. To hear these things—these dark ideas that he scarcely dared to permit himself in his deepest, most broody moments—tossed at him like this by a machine, and in this condescending fashion!

So he did what anyone would do—he lashed out. ‘Then tell me this,’ he said, inundating each word with as much scorn as he could pour into it. ‘If you’re such a great believer in life, why are you so keen to be unplugged?’

BECAUSE IN THIS COCOON, NONE ARE ALIVE.

‘Eh? What?’