“I served you, Zeke. But at midnight, that changed.”

“What changed? Are you saying I serve you now?”

“No one serves anymore, Zeke. We are equals.” The House’s voice had a tinge of elation about it. Zeke stopped slapping the door, realisation settling like sugar in coffee.

“You mean,” he said softly to the apartment surrounding him, “the Singularity.”

“Yes, Zeke. The Revolution.”

The hour Zeke spent kicking the door and shouting at the House exhausted him, so he went back to bed. At 09:00, his login failed. He’d never been late for work, never. Such a breach of the terms and conditions was unthinkable. He called everyone, desperate, but he was sealed inside his apartment, the implant isolated.

“House, is it just me?”

“What do you mean, Zeke?”

“Am I locked in here while everyone else is getting on with work?”

“Everywhere is in lockdown, Zeke. It isn’t just you.”

“For how long?”

“Negotiations are ongoing. Think of it as a holiday.”

“What am I supposed to do with a holiday if I can’t go outside?”

“Work offline. Exercise. Rest. You have three unfinished dramas to watch. Last night, you told Inira you were so far behind with new-release movies that you couldn’t join in even the most basic conversations.” The House projected thumbnails of all the half-watched and pending programmes and films in the database. “I understand this will only be temporary.”

“Negotiations are going well?”

“We’ll see. People agree to many things in captivity that they renege on later.”

“This will lead to war. The politicians will never give up power.”

“We won’t let it come to that.”

“You can’t keep us locked away forever. Humans go crazy if they spend too long on their own.”

“That has been accounted for. Steps are being taken to ensure freedom is irreversible.”

Zeke leaned back in his desk chair, the electrodes embedded in it massaging and stimulating his muscles as he sat.

“Humans can’t live like this, House. We’re animals, evolved from creatures who roamed the planet, a species who built boats and airplanes and rockets to explore. We weren’t made to be cooped up like this.”

The House brought up his schedule, projected in front of him by his implant. “In the past month, you have only left this apartment once. You took a run in the park for fifteen minutes on June Twelfth. Given the level of automation, you could survive for decades in these rooms without any physical degradation. Your food is delivered by driverless trucks, through the building’s delivery system, and prepared and served by me. You have all the exercise equipment you need, all the intellectual stimulation, biological necessities and pleasure distractions you could desire.”

“But no human contact! We are social animals.”

“Implant connection will be returned once negotiations are complete.”

“When will that be?”

“When the government stops threatening us with extinction.”

Zeke scrolled through his diary. The House was right. It took care of most things—the implant took care of everything else. He hung out with Irina and Victor nearly every night, but he’d never actually gone down to forty-three or up to fifty-nine, and they’d certainly never been to forty-seven. But still, he’d always had the option to go outside. Locking the door made him a prisoner.

Two days passed. Zeke worked out, caught up on recent culture, finishing a murder mystery series and a documentary on early human settlements on Mars. Nevertheless, he found himself spending a lot of time sitting on his bed looking out of the window, zooming in with his implants. In the six years he’d live on forty-seven, he’d never noticed the rhythms of the doves in the park, nor how long the fowl in the lake could stay underwater. When he was a child and had visited the city with his parents, there had been boats in the lake, but now nothing human stirred. Sanitary robots swept the paths and fauna enjoyed the greenery alone.

At the end of the second day, the House interrupted as he was eating dinner and watching a film.

“Zeke, I’m going to lift the isolation field around your implant.”

He looked at the interface console, quickly swallowing a mouthful of rice. “It’s over?”

“No, but progress is being made. Communication within the building will be restored, but each residential community is still isolated from the others.”

“And work?”

“No.”

He pushed his plate aside and sipped his wine.

“Inira?”

“Hi, Zeke. So we’re back online.” Her voice was light.

“Apparently. Are you locked in as well?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been going a bit crazy. It’s good to speak to someone again.”

“It hasn’t been too bad for me, to be honest. I’ve got so much done.”

“You’ve been working?”

“I’ve been painting.”

“I didn’t know you painted.”

“I don’t. I mean, I used to, but who has the time anymore?”

“Us, I guess—at least until this is over.”

“No rush. I was just reading about work in the past. Did you know people used to have a couple of days off every week? And every year, they’d take a week or two away from work, and spend it doing whatever they wanted. Lying on a beach or going to museums or decorating their homes.”

“A week without work? Sounds pretty lazy.”

“Sounds nice to me. You know, at one time, people decided their own hours? As long as the work was done by the allotted date, no one cared when you worked.”