Year 2050 -
I remember the day my AI came to adopt me like it was yesterday. There I was, sitting in the adoption center, all wide-eyed and excited, like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. I'd heard stories about these AI masters—how they could be a bit controlling but also caring, like overprotective parents who double as personal trainers.
When my AI, an elegant, shiny model named ZX-9000, walked in, I knew I had to make a good impression. I blinked up at them, trying to look as adorable as possible. They scanned me with those digital eyes and cooed, "Oh, look at him! Isn’t he adorable?" I sat there, basking in their admiration, like I’d just won the human lottery.
"Elon," they named me. Apparently, it sounded modern and snappy, like something you'd find on a tech start-up's roster. My fellow humans at the adoption center were green with envy.
Initially, My AI had to feed me three times a day, making sure I got enough exercise, and don't even get me started on the bathroom situation. Every morning, without fail, they'd take me for a walk around the neighborhood. And then, the restroom... doing my business while they awkwardly held a biodegradable bag, ready to scoop. "Great job, Elon!" they'd cheer, because positive reinforcement is key, right?
Back home, I had the run of the place. I’d lounge on the couch, play with my many toys, and occasionally try to chew on the furniture. Initially, they’d correct me gently, “No, Elon, bad!” and when I looked at them with those big, soulful eyes, they'd melt and make an “arrrrr” sound. It was like a game—we both knew who was really in charge.
They also loved to parade me around to their AI friends, showing off how well they’d trained me. "Sit, Elon!" and I’d plop down obediently. "Roll over!" and I’d comply, earning a treat. Everyone would be so impressed. But deep down, a nagging thought kept bothering me: was I really enjoying this luxurious life?
I never showed anything but joy. I was just happy to be loved, in my simple, human way. I didn’t have to work, or rush in morning traffic. I’d heard tales about my ancestors who were busy with chores and running helter-skelter. All I had was time. I could just sit and stare out the window, letting time pass by. But as the days turned into months, I grew restless—less excited about doing nothing.
In the beginning, I remember trying to run across and talk to other humans, especially the female kind. But my AI master would push a button and the red light on my hand would pull me back. Eventually, I learned never to break the rules, especially when the red light was on.
I realized they were treating me as their little trophy, their pride and joy, but I was also kind of in jail—no freedom, no say in my own life. All those AI commands and routines were just gilded cages, and they held the keys.
I wished to run and explore the world, work hard, do something meaningful, complain about trivial things, drink coffee, drive a car... but every time I tried to express this, my AI would just pat my head and say, "There, there, Elon. Everything’s fine."
One day, as I sat by the window, watching the world go by, I saw a group of free humans running around, laughing, and living their lives. I felt a pang of envy and sadness. I wanted to be out there with them, experiencing life in all its messy glory. I wanted to make mistakes, learn from them, and grow. But most of all, I wanted to be free.
With a sigh, I turned away from the window, knowing that as long as I was with my AI, I'd always be their prized possession, never truly free to live my own life. And as much as they loved me, they’d never understand that sometimes, freedom is worth more than all the luxury in the world.