Prologue: Year 2034

“Make me a satirical movie based on today's political candidates and the original Terminator. The O.G. Terminator, not the terrible sequels. And make it in a dark, moody aesthetic inspired by the references attached in this folder: Z:\Vibes\Terminator”, I typed.

Home on summer break, I was half dreaming about my upcoming first day of college. I imagined sludging my embarrassingly slouched posture across UC Berkeley’s campus, attempting to gain friends with my newfound “knack for making people feel like shit.”

“You’re such a doomer,” my brother would always say when we caught up over FaceTime. But secretly, he was one too. I like that we had a relationship where we could be brutally honest with each other. I knew his doubts about committing to a PhD program in Computer Science after just completing undergrad. And he knew I was eager to escape the blandness of suburban life and be free from mom and dad who would repeatedly say, “Cle, please, you gotta stop being so serious.” I wasn’t going to pretend the world didn’t feel like shit. So rather than be a burden, I tucked my face into my favorite grey noname-brand hoodie and disappeared behind my computer’s aggressive glow.

Finally, a custom user interface emerged on my screen, with a typical Tailwind-styled play icon pulsing at its center. I wasn’t impressed. An original script, an entire musical score, simulated actors, and a navigable virtual world, as realistic as the one we live in, had been created instantly. I added to my system prompt, “In this world, the phrase ‘I’ll be back’ has to be spoken by each character at least once.” Art was dead. So, I might as well make this entertaining as shit, I thought.

Lazily, I watched the play icon disappear, quickly reload, then begin pulsing again. Yanking hard, I opened my desk’s snug bottom drawer, which held all my miscellaneous items: pens, scrap notes, and old electronic sensors. On top was the bright orange pill bottle my close friend Addy had given me the week prior. “For a rainy day,” I remembered him saying as he slipped it into my bag.

Staring at the pill bottle lying atop my disorganized pile of shit, I thought of all the other tasks that were more worthy of my time. Then, hastily, I squeezed, twisted the cap, tossed one pill to the back of my mouth, then clicked “play.” But what Addy had given me was not LSD as I assumed. And if I'd known I was going to die there alone in my room, I would not have chosen AI Slop of Arnold Schwarzenegger's face to be the last thing I fucking saw.