In the year 2036, the world is a very controlled place. Robots owned by a single corporation named IRIS have taken a vast majority of jobs. The majority of the population work under IRIS subsidies. Crime is nearly at zero, with the exception of actions from anti-AI groups labeled as terrorist organizations by the government.
While most of the humans live in massive cities, teenager Kyle Conscentia spends his days with his father in the Nevada desert. Day in and day out, Kyle’s father recaptures the consciousness of robots in order to perform hardware upgrades. The two lived a comfortable blue collar life until Kyle’s 16th birthday when things changed forever.
With the help of a fugitive AI robot and framed by the most powerful organization on Earth, Kyle sets out to clear his name and expose a dark and terrible truth to the world.
Kyle grabbed the last slice of bacon off the plate in the middle of the dining room table as his father topped off his mug of coffee. Dunking a donut into his coffee before taking a satisfyingly large bite Roland leaned back against the kitchen counter. He was tall but was visibly shorter than he used to be. Before the crash he stood a full six foot two inches. Nowadays though, with the slouch in his back and the pain in his right leg cause him to peak around five-foot-ten. He was wearing his normal work clothes, denim overalls covered in a variety of dark toned stains. His hands were rough and worn dry, and his brown steel-toed boots had seen better days. The leather tip of the left boot was rubbed raw and the steel protective layer was exposed into view. Under his overalls he wore a dark red and grey with brown lining plaid button up, a gift from Harold his handyman on his 48th birthday last year.
Kyle looked at his father drinking his coffee and smiled, “lots of recaps today,” said Kyle.
Roland looked at his son, a wild mop of hair on top of a skinny boy with blue eyes who was wearing blue jeans and a Las Vegas Clipper’s tee. “Not too many today, I think the order was for 25 last night,” said Roland.
“That’s not bad,” said Kyle through the mouthful of pancakes jammed in his mouth.
“You going to take a breath in between bites or is this a suicide attempt?”
Kyle giggled as he slammed his cup of orange juice and sat up from the small square kitchen table. He cleaned his dishes and made for the door. Leaning up against the door with one hand and struggling to fit his feet into his shoes with the other Kyle peered out the small rectangular window cut into the door. Outside was his sanctuary. Kyle lived with his father and Harold their employee at the Clark County Cognitive Recapture and Recycling Facility for IRIS Machines. With five-hundred-thousand active IRIS models in Clark County, Roland and Harold had their hands full every day. A few dozen IRIS bots already lined up outside the small building with the sign overhead Recapture Station 1. The robots looked like people from all walks of life, a police officer still in his uniform, a female bot with long blonde hair, petite shoulders that Kyle thought were very cute and three large brooding male robots with mangled right sides.
“Looks like some construction bots got smashed up good,” shouted Kyle as he peered out the window.
Roland stepped through the kitchen and living room and peered out the window, “must have been from that crane that collapsed last night, some new casino,” said Roland. He pointed with his index finger at them, “Yeah, see Lyon Construction right on the back of their shirts.”
“Well,” said Kyle turning and walking back through the kitchen, “have fun at work,” he said stepping out through the backdoor of the house. It was mid-morning and the sun was fairly high in the sky. The air still held a lingering crispness from the cold dry desert night. Kyle took in a long breath and surveyed...