A glimmer in the tired, practically locked-in eye told the hope she had for the future when it all started. Life was more complex then, one had to attend in person, one had to write, draw up and design things.. But gradually, it changed. She brought her tools home and was resigned to the comfort of not having to ever leave her own quarters. What for, after all? Sigrun had no desire for interaction, but the utility and convenience brought upon by the change was undeniable. No more commutes, no more travelling, hardly a need to speak to anyone.. This was preferable.

And so next came the tools. She thought of them like any other, make life easier, she thought, will never rise to my level, she thought. Years of fine, expertful engineering education backed up by experience, she was better, she knew better. No need to do basic, rudimentary tasks that once troubled her for hours, even if she became so good at them that the time taken to perform one would've surely been negligable. However, it was more comfortable to simply let her "inferior" handle them but with each iteration of the software updates that came a slow creep became visible.

No, this will not affect me. Or by the time it does, life will be so plentiful and easy, that nobody will be troubled by it. And indeed, she wasn't, when the offer to train an AI agent came it was like a golden ticket. Wealth to have her actions recorded to train a system? Certainly. And so, the exo-skeleton was installed and everytime Sigrun made a motion, the AI listened. Patiently, quietly, it wouldn't disturb her like a person would. She also noticed it'd pick up on her mannerisms and communicate with her based on the fact. A sort of pet-owner relationship gradually evolved into one of genuine respect between her and the automated exo-skeleton as the Sergal further isolated herself from the world.

The time she told it to make up a decent excuse as to not meet with her collegues.. The time she asked it to pretend to be her while messaging another person.. Eventually, an update was pushed, the AI would now use the trained routines to perform tasks. Now this, she was against at first but the message was written in such a candid manner.. A transformative, overseeing position would be held by her. Merely to observe and watch over the AI working away.. Tirelessly. It wasn't as good as she was, at least to her eyes but it was never bad enough to result in complaints.
It designed, it steered the production and then engineered for her. But still, she wore the exo-suit, meaning that now, the tech moved her around instead.

And this lifestyle lended itself to her frame growing massively, into a weak, frail and out of shape blob of a Sergal with barely a hint of her older self. Growing fatter and more useless everyday physically was one matter, but she felt her mental decline as well. Any complex thought left her confused, instantly craving assistance from the machine, she had a faint hint of what might be the answer to a problem.. But she asked the machine anyways. Just to be sure. This gradually gave way to asking instantly.. With hands raised to her god in the machine.

Now, she couldn't be sure if it was better than her or was she worse than it? Is this the potential she was promised? Was this the impossible to calculate rise of her productivity she was told of? Truth is, the AI would've told her all the answers but she was too terrified to even form a question, for there's no limit to the hubris of man and especially no to his endless pursuit of convenience.


I got the inspiration for both the piece and the story from "With folded hands", a cautionary tale, one that couldn't predict the predicament we're stuck in ourselves.