WEF's Vision 2048

My MedAlert blared through my brain and took me by surprise during breakfast so today I hardly even noticed the acrid taste of the mealworm paste on my toast. I felt something like shock that I’d forgotten my pills; I suppose this is why we need the alarm in the first place.
Reaching into my belt, I grabbed the three pills: blue for our blood, red for our head, and yellow so we won’t spread disease to our fellows, and swallowed them down with recycled sewage water. “Fast as a bolt or you’ll get the jolt,” running through my mind. The red pill hit me immediately.

My partner had already left, and I see that they just arrived at work and the car has moved on to drop off the next passenger. I shift through the news, through new messages, through my tasks for the day as I sit there, each briefly flashing through the neurolink before Xing out or moving to storage for later.

Another travel ban for the southern hemisphere. The West coast to stay home for 15 days to mitigate the carbon footprint. An infant production center burned to the ground in a brutal terror attack by an individual already neutralized.

I scanned messages from colleagues authorities and associates. More reports due. Food tubes and sanitary supplies on their way. Drone in transit to pick up the tools I’d rented. Rental period for the dictionary and manuals expires tomorrow. The person who’d reared me until I could do it myself had passed on.

I got to work on the reports right there at the table; polished them off along with the cricketmeal toast. My ride would be here any minute now so I’d better get down before the alarm went off. My head was still protesting the last one.

As I opened the door, the MaidBot rushed in, did a quick scan, disinfectant, and polish, and flew upstairs to check the rooms. Someone had booked a bed and bath at the property while I was out in order to maximize the space. They shuffled in as I exited. We averted our eyes and cut a berth. None too safe, none too sorry. The Tridemic of 2023 had taught us that.

I work with the worms. Algorithms had found that human hands were still better than AI's at growing food. There weren’t many such things, and I was lucky for that assignment. Some are stuck at home in VR cycling to generate power for the grid or caring for bots. Then there’s the ones assigned to the sewage plants to keep the purification equipment from getting gummy. That seems to leave its stamp on them. Worse of all, some are dedicated carers for the new infant and young humans. An infant grown at the plant is delivered and one is saddled with it until it can survive on its own.

I get to fatten our food and each day has its variables, and I like that.

Emperor Schwab cuts in to my thoughts and tells me to stop dilly dallying and get to work, lest I end up at WasteWaterInc, so back to the worms I go.

I grab a handful of the pale squirmy things. At times the sight of the squirming masses puts me off and dampens my appetite for our foodtubes, but the unceasing announcement from NeuroNanny to eat at the appointed hour when it detects noncompliance keeps me from starving.

“All hail Emperor Schwab,” I say, immediately feeling the rush of dopamine granted when we think correctly.

Life is good.