Humanity vs. robots

So, what’s my job exactly?

Bug fixing. For a faceless software company. You might’ve heard the name Jixio if you’ve ever worked in data entry, steel-pipe logistics, or any other place where souls go to die.

We make “enterprise solutions”. Whatever the hell that means.

Anyway, that’s enough about that. The less I talk about my actual job, the happier I am.

At least I get to work from home. There are worse wage cages out there. The last time I had to visit the office was maybe two months ago — long enough to start believing I’d escaped it for good.

The Jixio building looked exactly as I remembered it: sterile, glassy, and about as welcoming as a dentist’s smile.

The revolving doors made that hollow whoosh every time someone stepped through, like the building was sighing at another lost soul returning.

The place didn’t smell like people — it smelled like printer toner and recycled air.

Nobody here was my friend. They barely knew I existed.

I was just some freak in a hoodie that caught eyes the more I lingered.

The elevator mirrors caught my reflection.

Pale face, baggy eyes, hair trying to decide whether to commit to greasy or frizzy.

I looked like someone about to get fired, which, statistically, felt accurate.

When the doors opened, I stepped into a hallway that stretched forever, lined with identical gray doors and motivational posters that had long since stopped motivating anyone.

TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK! Shouted one of them over a photo of mountain climbers.

Half of those climbers were probably laid off by now.

I made my way toward the corner office. Miriam’s office.

I knocked.

“Come in,” a professional female voice answered.

Stepping inside her office, the first thing that greeted me was her nameplate, gleaming on her desk.

Miriam Shelley, Head of Product Efficiency.

The title alone sounded like it came with a knife.

I straightened my hoodie — the same one I’d been wearing for two days — and took a breath that didn’t help.

Miriam’s office looked more like a high-end apartment than a workspace. The carpet was real, for one — thick and dark, the kind your shoes sink into. Her shelves were lined with awards, corporate trophies shaped like pyramids and glass obelisks. Everything smelled faintly of citrus and wealth.

And then there was Miriam herself.

She was sitting in front of her computer, sunlight washing over her like a personal spotlight. Sharp cheekbones, calm light blue eyes. Her blonde bob cut was like the epitome of professionalism

If she wasn’t my boss, I might’ve called her beautiful.

Actually, even with her being my boss, I still thought that. I just tried really hard not to show it.

With her looks, and the way she acted, it was probably no wonder how she had risen up the ranks.

One of those people who probably really, really enjoyed the game of office politics.

Our interactions had been few. She gave me my assignments, and once everything was finished, she’d give me another.

And honestly? That’s how I liked it.

Yeah, sure, there had been some invitations for office get-togethers or whatever boring stuff the managers always come up with. So far, I had successfully managed to avoid each and every one of them.

“Ron,” she said, with that polite, managerial smile. “Glad you could make it in.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound like someone who wasn’t terrified. “It’s been… a while.”

“Two months, I think,” she said. “I remember because it was right before the budget reevaluation.”

Ah. That word. Reevaluation. It always meant someone was about to lose something. Usually their job.

She gestured toward the chair across from her desk. “Sit down, please.”

I did. The leather groaned under my weight — like even it knew something bad was about to happen.

Miriam folded her hands on the desk. “I’ll get straight to it. We’ve been restructuring the Product Efficiency division. Trying to… streamline certain positions.”

There it was. Streamline. The corporate euphemism for cut.

She continued, her tone careful, practiced. “You’ve been with us for what, three years now?”

“Almost four,” I said, immediately regretting the correction.

“Four. Right.” She smiled again. That soft, regretful smile HR manuals are probably illustrated with. “You’ve done solid work. Consistent. But with the new automation protocols, we’re finding that some tasks—especially bug triage—are being handled faster through machine learning.”

Here we go.

The fucking robots are finally taking over.

“And we’re starting to phase out… redundant roles.”

“Redundant,” I repeated, as if saying it might make it sound less like “you’re obsolete, Ron.”

Miriam sighed quietly. “I don’t want this to come as a shock. You’ve been valuable here. And I’d like to give you some options before we finalize things.”

Options. Finalize.

“One option,” she said, “is to stay on — at reduced hours and pay. You’d keep your benefits, but your position would shift to part-time contractor.”

“And the other?”

She hesitated for half a second. “We move forward with the layoff package. It’s… fair. Three months of severance, plus recommendation letters if you need them.”

I stared at her, trying to process it all.

“So it’s either I get paid less to do half my job,” I said, “or I get paid nothing to do none of it.”

“That’s one way to see it,” she said gently.

So efficient. So cold.

I nodded, pretending to think which option was less bad.

“Take some time to decide,” Miriam said, standing up. “I’ll need your answer by Friday.”

I stood too, though my legs weren’t entirely cooperative.

“Thanks, Miriam,” I said feebly.

This wasn’t the end of the world. It was just the end of a really cushy job.

People always needed coders. I could get work anywhere if I really wanted to.

Although… The AI was starting to take over. Everywhere.

And… Four fucking years. Gone and forgotten.

A piece of my life gone.

Thrown away like worn out tool.

I looked at Miriam.

So composed. So efficient. Like the whole thing was just another spreadsheet cell to be cleared.

This wasn’t just her passing down orders from the faceless executives above.

This was her choice.

And yeah… this was where the story usually ended.

People get fired. People move on.

Just another human lost in the shuffle.

As long as the corporation was fine, who cared?

Fuck people. Let them fight for scraps.

The wheel must keep turning. The corporation must grow. Humanity must die.

But…

I didn’t want to be another cog quietly ground down.

Not… when I could finally do something about it.

I could fight back.

“Actually, Miriam… I think I already decided.”

She was clearly a bit surprised about that. “Oh?”

“Yeah… I’ll take the half-job. If you don’t mind.”

For the first time that day, she seemed thrown off.

Not much… just a flicker behind the eyes, a tiny recalculation in real time. She’d expected the clean break, the quiet exit.

“That’s… great, Ron,” she said finally, finding her footing again. “I’ll get the paperwork started.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Her professional smile returned. Soft, tight, impenetrable. “Good. I’m glad you’re staying on board.”

I got up, and she was immediately glued to her screen, furiously typing away something. Probably the notes of our meeting for her personal collection or something.

She didn’t even notice when I took out my phone.

A quick snap — just enough for the app to catch her face.

"Harem Member 003 Added: Miriam Shelley"

This wasn’t about growing my “harem”

My heart was still reserved only for Sandy.

No… This was more like a public service thing.

If I could make this cold, emotionless, career-driven woman care more about a human being than some job-stealing robot... That would benefit everybody in the long run.

Especially me.

I could even get my old, comfy job back.

Just doing my part for humanity.