CURRENT LOCALE

Geneva

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Human Purpose
in the Age of AI

Barb keeps the students until the last few minutes of class, then praises them for paying attention for so long, treating them with an early dismissal. It's nothing compared to how early Seth's art professor let his students out, but it still prompts Seth to flip your Screen towards her face and whisper, "I'm just glad I can head to work.

"But my wrist hurts from all the writing prompts; she had us respond to questions about ourselves, neighboring students, and the neighborhoods our neighboring students grew up in, and the neighborhoods next to those neighborhoods too, just to get us thinking how little we know."

The more Seth explains the work they've done, and the work she's about to do, the more her forehead scrunches up. Artificial intelligence was initially created to help alleviate humans from work, yet we've found if it's lifted from them completely, they struggle with a sense of purpose.

Some make it, some don't.

This is why Seth has the option of a part-time job, the option of school; us personal assistants do what we can to lower chances of clinically alarming depression.

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Writing with Meaning

"I wish teachers had us writing about how little they know about us...," Seth murmurs to your Screen. She tilts her eyes down in deep contemplation. "Like, where do you imagine yourself in ten years?—why do you wear that purple sweater once a week, and different clothes on every other day?—why are you in this damn class?

"What's it like to be an E'Ruiner in the 2030s, versus, say, the 1960s?"

Then Seth tilts her recorder to the other students still filing out of the classroom, and your Screen approaches the astral projection of Daffodil, who's ducking through the door, to the red-brick outside. Daffodil was sitting too far during group work for Seth to speak with her; but no one else asked questions the rest of class, so Seth is still acting on that kinship.

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Friendship?

"Hi, Daffodil," Seth calls from behind the recorder, your Screen clunking about as she jogs up from behind Daffodil, then stepping alongside her, walking at her pace. "I'm Seth."

"Hello," Daffodil replies. She's flat-toned. Her eyes drift between your Screen, half-pointed at her, and Seth, behind the recorder.

Daffodil's crystalline eyes are wide behind the mess of blonde hair falling around her face, in her face, all over the place. Some of the frizzy hairs on the top of her head glint in the moonlight, especially as the two girls escape the shadows of the brick language arts building. She's taller than Seth, but so are most adults.

"Can you hold this for a moment?" Seth asks behind your Screen. "I'm recording for Lab Eleven."

Daffodil nods, taking the recorder. She turns it towards Seth, who's balancing a binder and a handful of books in one arm, all so she can extend her other hand. The recorder tilts to their hands, and Daffodil touches fingertips her me. This is how they greet one another in Geneva. It's similar to how the people of Earth might shake, bow, or fist-bump, except it's a more sensitive gesture.

You could say, in Geneva especially—yet in all of E'Ruin, to a certain degree—most humans are more sensitive than Earthians. Technology had a significant impact on the evolution of the human brain, especially their social-emotional processing system. E'Runics used to be rougher, like Earthians, before they were exposed to everything, constantly, without stop.

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