The last paycheck Mara earned came folded in an envelope, although the money had already been transferred. Her supervisor had insisted on paper. He was a man who believed in marking an ending, even when no one agreed on what had ended.
The machines took over her shift in stages. First the inventory, then the repairs, then the decisions about which repairs mattered. Production rose. Prices fell. The city guaranteed housing and food from the new surplus. Mara had never been safer in her life, and had never felt less certain of where to stand.
At the community kitchen she met a young man called Ivo, who said safety was another word for control. She thought he was too young to know the difference. Then she watched a delivery robot wait in the rain so an elderly woman could cross the street, and wondered why kindness from a machine made her angry.