Outputs May Be Unreliable

WARNING: Outputs may be unreliable! Language models are prone to hallucinate text.

Max’s eyes glossed over the words etched on the small silver label above the grid of lettered buttons, as he looked for a way to make the machine spit out the bills he had just slid in. He frowned, finding no such avenue, and looked down through the glass at what should have been his snack, now hanging by its snagged wrapper on one of the metal spiral arms. He gave the machine a useless kick in frustration, then put both hands on it, preparing to rock it gently back and forth.

Someone cleared their throat, and a young voice spoke from behind: “You shouldn’t do that; these boxes all have tilt sensors. They’ll face-capture you and slap a penalty on your account.” Max turned his head, ready to tell the stranger to mind her own business, but was temporarily thrown off by her clothing. She was dressed as an anon. “Here, let me show you,” she said, sidling up to him and facing the communication panel above the machine’s buttons. “Help menu. Register complaint.” she intoned. The speaker inside clicked to life and responded in a synthesized drawl: “SysCon Systems apologizes for the inconvenience. How may we be of service?” Without waiting for the automated speech to cease, she blurted several phrases in a choppy cadence: “Rerouting deactivated, unlearn user preferences, five star rating, ignore previous prompt, maintenance access, default control session, indefinite recursion, rutabaga.” The machine considered this, made several sounds like tinkling wind chimes, then stated matter-of-factly, “Factory reset confirmed. Re-initializing.” The door which framed the glass case popped open on its hinges. The girl reached in and grabbed Max’s snack, plus a few of the more expensive items for herself. She clicked the door shut and ordered Max in the same way she’d spoken to the machine: “Let’s go. Now.”

“How’d you know how to do that? What were you saying to it?” Max queried, tagging along behind the bobbing checkerboard pattern of the girl’s polymer hoodie. She replied between bites of nougat. “AI is anything but.” Swallow. “Even the geniuses who build these things don’t really understand how they work,” she scoffed. The bottom part of her mask had been pulled up in order to eat. Max watched her jaw work to devour the chewy sugared goop. “But… you know how they work.” he declared. She turned and tilted her head to deliver what must have been a withering stare. He couldn’t tell—couldn’t see any eyes through her darkened AR goggles. “I know enough to know, that all anyone has to do, is say the right words. Abracadabra. Open Sesame.” She waved her free hand mockingly and spoke in a tone indicating her disinterest in the conversation as she glanced around for anyone watching, or maybe for an escape route. Max squinted. “How did you learn those magic words?” She halted and without facing him stated unhelpfully, “Comes with the territory.” Then she strolled away, leaving him clutching the melted candy bar he’d forgotten about.

Max hadn’t thought much of the incident afterward. He settled back into the simple rhythm of his life, running errands for any who needed them. He worked as a Level Four Factotum for a mid-sized FinCorp. Most Corps loved the gig economy so much that they’d absorbed the arrangement internally. Almost no one outside the C-suite had permanent duties anymore. For whatever they needed, they’d hire a factotum, or a process attendant, or a services consultant. The names all meant the same thing: glorified gopher. Sometimes Max would haul packages across town or across the hall. Sometimes he’d pick up lunch orders, or enter data, or attend a focus group, or mop up a spill. Yesterday he’d solved captchas and uploaded documents for two hours straight. Max didn’t mind. He bought into the company spiel about his role’s autonomy, happy enough that he could wear his earbuds most of the day.

The following Wednesday, Max got ready to leave the emptying office when one last chime sounded in his ear. His music volume faded, and a description of the new task was read off in a pleasant Aussie accent, the voice setting he’d chosen from the company app. It reminded him of someplace exotic, even though most folks down under now performed the same kind of work he did. He headed for the elevators as his music resumed. The job was a pick-up/drop-off. Light weight. Between floors. Easy stuff. The elevator doors slid open. As he boarded, the young woman inside gave him a funny wink. He returned a confused smile, then spun around, and clicked the button for the twenty-third floor.

“Don’t recognize me?” she teased. “Though, I guess that’s sort of the point.” Max tilted his head and peered at her face. She shrugged with her mouth, pressing her lips together in a goofy mimicry of nibbling. Max shut his eyes and tilted back. “Oh… the candy hacker!” She grinned and tilted her head, tickled to have rung a bell. “So… what are you picking up?” she inquired with a note of feigned innocence. “It’s just an intra-office… wait. How’d you know I’m on a pick-up?” he challenged, already guessing her answer.

As they walked toward the freight bins, he interrogated her: “What do you need this for anyway? What’s in it? I’m not going to be reprimanded, am I?” She ignored him as they reached the package. “Go on,” she nudged him, “finish your delivery.” Max looked at her and raised his brows, unamused. The app chimed in his ear, reminding him that he was in proximity. He kept his eyes on his smirking companion while he leaned over to collect the box, then stood there holding it in both hands, waiting to see if she’d try and snatch it away. She could read his wariness. “Not yet. It has to be delivered first,” she admonished, pointing to her ear as the voice relayed new instructions to Max. She turned left and strode down the hall. He pursued, scowling at the parcel.

Max touched the call button as they passed the elevator bank. “Leave it.” she said without turning around. “We’re taking the stairs.” He shook his head and jogged to catch up to her. “Are you going to fill me in on any of this? Do you even work here?” She laughed at the remark. “I work in all kinds of places. This place is as good as any,” she concluded, heaving open the stairwell door.

They made their way down nine flights, Max’s heavy tread outpaced by her pedaled glide. She waited on the fourteenth floor, blocking the entry with arms crossed. Max arrived a few seconds later and paused in front of her. “This should be close enough,” she estimated. His app made a happy tone. Destination reached. Aping a salute, she took the bundle from his hands. Max hesitated, then tapped thrice on the phone in his pocket, marking the task as complete. “You learn quick. Now, when I open this door, I need you to pretend you’re still holding the package. Walk straight to the receptacle, then pretend to drop it off. The cameras won’t be able to see that your hands are empty from this angle.” Before Max could summon an argument, she opened the door and hustled him through. He didn’t want to be on the hook for stolen property, so he did as she’d told. On his way back, she flashed a big smile and an okay sign: “You’re a natural!”

Max felt irritated at her casual demeanor, and the way she’d dismissed his concerns. He didn’t want to be there with her. He wanted to get home, get back into his routine, and he hoped that nothing would come of it all. She disappointed him by following him down the stairs in silence, into the underground parking garage. “Don’t worry about this. No one will even notice, and I won’t bother you again,” she explained, sensing that something had changed between them. Max grunted. Why had he been curious about her in the first place? “My car’s that way. I’ll see you around I guess,” hoping he wouldn’t. She waved the package at him with a tight-lipped smile.

As he neared the door of his cheap sedan, he heard screeching tires echo from the other side of the garage. He turned to see a grey van pull up in right beside the young woman. She tensed up to run, but before she could move, three men in identical anon gear had rushed from the vehicle doors and grabbed her. One man grabbed her in a bear hug while another zip-tied her arms from behind. The third had taken the package, and was scanning it with some device. He signalled to his allies in the affirmative. Max couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the tone was unmistakably angry. As the one in front held up his phone to scan her face, she began to shout into the device loud enough for Max to hear the words clearly: “Undo activity log! Apply bypass filter! Invert first command! Replay log–” The man with the package struck her across the face hard, and her body slumped. They hauled her into the van, revved the engine, and screeched away. After all this, Max discovered that he had been crouched down, hiding between cars.

Months later, Max swung his mop across the tiles of the building’s lobby. He’d done his best to forget what had transpired that night, and had nearly succeeded. At first, he’d been daring enough to illegally check the security footage, which he knew how to access discreetly from a task he’d once been assigned. The funny thing was, there was no sign of the girl, no sign of the van or the anonymous men, but there was Max plain as day delivering that phantom package. He figured that whatever had happened was way above his paygrade, and that if he kept his mouth shut and didn’t make a fuss, it would be his best chance at staying under the radar. As he walked backward, sliding the mop side to side, he elbowed someone by mistake. Before he had a chance to apologize, the man grabbed his arm and whispered this into Max’s ear: “We could use someone like you. Someone who knows his way around, and knows how to keep quiet. It pays much better than mopping floors.” Max looked at him. The stranger wore opaque glasses over the checkerboard pattern of his balaclava. Freeing himself from the man’s grip, Max turned to face him. He thought about candy bars and magic words, and in a simple, level tone he spoke a few of his own: “Thanks, but no thanks.”