I sat in a small, dingy office at the regional employment center, waiting to hear my fate.

On the desk in front of me was an administrative bot. It resembled a mannequin with its bottom half missing. It was an old model, practically ancient, but it could still serve its purpose.

"I'm sorry, Helen," the bot said in a maddeningly pleasant tone. "Your skillset isn't sufficient to meet the requirements of any available positions at this time."

I'd heard this speech a dozen times before. Week after week, I made the hour-long trip here by train, only to be rejected. If I didn't find work soon, I'd be evicted from my apartment. 

I was reaching for my bag when the bot spoke again. 

"Normally, I would suggest that you enroll in further training to enhance your skills, but seeing as how you've just turned forty-two, I'm afraid you'd find it difficult to keep abreast of rapidly advancing technology."

I gripped the strap of my bag with such force that my knuckles turned white. Sitting up straight, I glowered at the figure perched on the desktop. Wouldn't take much effort at all to hurl it out the window.

If the windows actually opened. Which they didn't.

"I am curious as to why you declined previously offered training," the bot went on. "Studying your files, I see you had the opportunity to advance in your former career if you agreed to utilize the AI technology available, but you refused to do so."

The bot's eyes were lifeless, its lips upturned in a perpetual smile. I felt it was mocking me. 

Leaning forward, I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming. "The reason I refused," I said, "is because I knew that rapidly advancing technology would one day replace me." My own smile was bitter. "And so it has. It's also guzzled up all the clean water, and all the electricity to power thousands of data centers, so we obsolete humans are lucky to get a shower every other day. The planet's cooking, but we have no electricity to even run a fan after dark. Fresh produce to eat? That's a fucking pipe dream now. But you wouldn't understand any of that." I was on my feet, panting with the desire to inflict damage on the bot. "You know why?" My voice grew dangerously loud. "Because you're a goddamn machine!"

The office door opened, and a human security guard stepped inside. "Meeting's over," he told me. "Time for you to leave."

The man must have been used to these kinds of outbursts, for he appeared mildly exasperated, almost bored. Ducking my head, I followed him out of the office and down the hall. I normally saw myself out, but today, the guard made a point to escort me to the entrance.

"Better luck next time," he said once I stood on the sidewalk.

The November afternoon was roasting. My blouse grew damp with sweat and clung to my skin long before I reached the train station. Thank God I'd decided to pull my ash-blonde hair back so it was out of my face.

Around me, the city was filthy. The very air I drew into my lungs felt lined with grit. Down the street, a loud, rumbling machine swept up the carcasses of birds which had fallen from the sky since early morning. While most of us humans huddled in our shoebox apartments, sweltering for much of the year so as not to expose our skin, lungs, and brains to the many environmental toxins, the wildlife had nowhere to retreat. 

On the train, I breathed through my mouth to avoid smelling the unwashed bodies of those around me. By this point, I wasn't fresh as a daisy, either. Staring out the window, I wondered if my outburst at the employment center would prevent me from finding any kind of work.

Probably.

Almost every other passenger on the train, man and woman, young and old, appeared dazed, barely conscious. Each had a neural implant which delivered an endless stream of AI-generated content to their brains. A fresh wave of bile sloshed through my insides. These people had little access to electricity or clean water, and many were unemployed like me. Yet they couldn't give up their shiny distractions.

And could I blame them? Seeing what the world had become, I understood why the majority chose to escape. 

Only one other person besides me remained offline. An elderly woman with startlingly bright blue eyes and paper-thin skin sat in the seat across the aisle from me. When our eyes met, she smiled, and despite my dread of the coming days, weeks, months, years, I managed to smile back.

I reached my dilapidated apartment building a little after four. Micah was waiting for me on the steps. 

"How'd it go?" he asked.

Of course, he knew how it had gone. Still, I shook my head as I drew closer.

My neighbor climbed to his feet, then languidly stretched. Though he'd been out of work since February, he didn't share my anxiety about being unemployed. When I asked him what he'd do once the paltry government assistance ran out, he always shrugged and said, "I'll find a way."

His dark hair was shoulder-length, and he'd grown a full beard. His T-shirt and jeans bore stains no amount of washing would remove. And none of us had the opportunity to launder our clothes often.

Well, none except the billionaires and trillionaires. While the average human lifespan had plummeted, the ultrarich were exempt from such dire outcomes. They had ready access to untainted resources. Resources which were rationed out to the rest of us, or withheld altogether.

"It's hot as hell out here," Micah said. "We should go inside. The air quality is horrible today."

I was comforted by the way he draped an arm over my shoulders. At the front door of my apartment, I submitted to a retinal scan in order to gain access. Resources were scarce in the slums, but the powers that be still thought it worthwhile to surveil our comings and goings. And God forbid we formed a group of more than five. Heat mapping technology would alert security forces to an unauthorized gathering. Within minutes, we'd have the thugs banging on our doors.

The day's heat, which had been bottled up in my apartment for hours, now gushed forth to engulf me and Micah. Once we were inside, I closed the door and rushed to turn on all the fans. What I wouldn't give to soak in a cool bath.

"Make yourself comfortable, and I'll bring you a glass of water," I told Micah. 

The tiny kitchen wasn't set off from the living room, so Micah could see me as I turned on the tap. The filtration system was spotty at best, but today, the water came out mostly clear. 

I got my own glass, then went to sit on the loveseat beside my neighbor. The apartment was far too small for a couch, even a modest one. As a result, Micah's thigh was practically touching mine.

We both gulped down the water, making no effort to be proper. After wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I set the glass aside and leaned back.

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Micah. There's no way I'll be able to find another job." Turning my head, I gazed at him. "You know the first thing they do when I step into that employment center? They scan me to see if I've finally gotten a neural implant. And when they find I haven't..." I had to blink back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. "I'm so scared I'll be evicted soon."

"Hey." He placed a hand on my knee, just below the hem of my skirt. Despite the apartment's near unbearable warmth, I craved that touch, and the heat of his palm. "We'll come up with something, Helen. I won't let you live on the streets."

His hazel eyes were filled with something like hope. In that moment, I was reminded of the elderly lady on the train, who could muster up the strength to smile when the world was dying all around her.

"Worst-case scenario?" Micah couldn't suppress a grin. "You'll move in with me."

I let out an unflattering snort. "Your place barely has enough room for one person, let alone two."

"We'll make it work," he promised.

And Micah did have his ways. After all, he was the one who'd given me the tattered paperback novels that now took pride of place on the end table to my left. Those books could no longer be found online; all that remained of them now were physical copies. Contraband, of course. 

I looked over to study the spines of each book. 1984, Fahrenheit 451, A Brave New World. Even Silent Spring. I'd read all those in high school and failed to appreciate the message they conveyed. 

Micah had other books, too, ones his friends smuggled out from the underground. I guessed my neighbor knew many things I didn't. He could slip through the streets and alleyways unnoticed, meeting up with groups who managed to circumvent the heat mapping technology used by authorities.

Coward that I was, I figured the less I knew about that, the better.

Glancing down, I studied Micah's hand on my leg. I could tell he was watching me, but he didn't withdraw. So I placed my hand on top of his. Our skin instantly bonded via a layer of sweat.

"Thank you for caring about me," I said.

Before he could respond, my upstairs neighbor began blasting the latest album by the AI pop sensation Cordelia Jane. I'd heard that particular song dozens of times before, and I wanted to clap my hands over my ears to block it out.

"Christ almighty!" Micah shot a glare at my ceiling.

"The woman who lives up there plays that fucking album every day, nonstop, until the electricity's cut at eight," I said. "Despite it being AI bullshit, I didn't mind it so much at first. It reminded me of an eighties band my mom used to listen to."

"I know the one!" Micah cocked his head, paying closer attention to the lyrics. "It makes sense when you realize these so-called artists don't create anything. They merely steal from others. Same with the AI influencers. It's nothing new, nothing original. It's just theft."

I knew the topic was a sore one for Micah. Having been a literature major, he said the first warning sign our civilization was headed off a cliff was when most people stopped reading for pleasure.

Then they stopped reading at all. Now, they had AI-generated content spoonfed to them via their neural implants. Human writers, musicians, and artists couldn't fight back the tidal wave of AI sludge which rapidly engulfed the global population.

Even as my grasp on Micah's hand tightened, he continued raving about the death of critical thinking, and about how people were lemmings following the latest shiny object dangled in front of their faces.

I'd heard it all before. Hell, I agreed wholeheartedly. But today, I was too tired, too broken, to hear it again.

"Shh. Micah, someone might hear you."

We had no evidence that the interiors of our apartments were monitored. Still, one could never be too careful.

Micah's eyes locked with mine. Whatever he saw in my face made his own expression soften. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said. "I know I'm preaching to the choir."

I was surprised when he scooted even closer, then lowered his head so his lips were at my ear. "Come with me to the meeting tonight. There are more of us than you realize. We're making plans, preparing to fight, but we need all the help we can get."

I drew in a startled breath. "I can't. Micah, I can't risk it. I'm sorry." I looked away, ashamed of my fear.

Gently, he pressed his fingers against the line of my jaw and turned my face toward him again. "It's okay," he whispered, offering me a smile. "I understand."

"I wish I could..." Fresh tears threatened to close my throat, choking off any more words.

"Shh, none of that." Micah slipped his arms around me. Clinging to him, I buried my face in his neck. He stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth. "You were always a good girl, Helen."

I had to grin at that, for I was five years his senior. When my lips moved against his skin, I couldn't resist extending my tongue. I tasted salt. I smelled the ripe tang of sweat, both his and mine.

Now it was his turn to gasp. Though we'd been friends almost as long as we'd been neighbors, I'd never made an advance toward him. 

Micah's embrace tightened until my breasts were mashed against his chest. My mouth grew hungrier; soon, I was suckling at his neck, and he rewarded me with the sound of his quickened breathing. 

I pulled back only long enough to give him a questioning glance. In response, he pressed his lips to mine. Our kiss was hot, our tongues eager in meeting. I moaned into Micah's mouth, and when he slid a hand along my thigh, lifting my skirt, I spread my legs to grant him easier access.

My thigh-high stockings had been worn countless times, and the elastic was threatening to give way. My panties weren't sexy in the least. But I sensed Micah trembling as he grazed his fingertips over the fabric, feeling the dampness of my arousal.

We didn't make it to my bed on the other side of the room. Instead, I pulled Micah down onto the floor with me. Instantly, he settled his body upon mine. His mouth traveled along my neck, and then to my breasts. He suckled each mound through my blouse and bra. Weaving my fingers through his hair, I bucked my hips. Already, I ached to feel him inside me.

Rather than free his cock, he continued his journey downward. I grew anxious upon seeing him settle between my thighs. He was quick in lifting my skirt and pulling the crotch of my panties aside. Now, his mouth was just inches from my pussy.

"Wait, I..." My face flushed with mortification. "I haven't showered since yesterday morning. The water rations, you know."

Micah grinned up at me. "You think that's going to put me off? I'm dying to taste you, Helen."

Before I could try to dissuade him, he gave my folds a long, slow lick. The sensation sent a tremor through me, and I instinctively opened my legs even wider.

During my quick showers, I barely had time to shave my calves and armpits. Shaving my pussy was out of the question. Micah didn't seem to mind the hair covering my outer labia. He made a sound like a man enjoying a delectable feast while exploring me. Resting my hands on his head, I struggled with my self-consciousness.

But his talent and enthusiasm for giving oral soon had me moaning. At first, his skilled tongue teased with fleeting caresses against my clitoris. Only when I whimpered and tried to press my cunt more firmly against his face did he start licking me with utter abandon.

"Oh, fuck!" My voice was low, sounding as if it had emerged from the very bottom of my lungs. As soon as I wrenched my panties farther out of the way, Micah wrapped his lips around my clit and fiercely sucked. 

My hips moved as if we were already fucking. He held me fast, pinning me in place so I was at his mercy. My moans turned into cries, drowned out by the music upstairs. 

"Don't stop!" I begged. "I'm so close!"

I could feel the orgasm building within me, ready to reverberate through every muscle in my body. Micah's mouth never tired; if anything, his tongue worked at a more fervent pace.

Our eyes met, and he regarded me with such lust that I surrendered completely. It wasn't at all flattering, the way my face contorted and my body spasmed, but he stayed with me right through it. 

I had to cup my hand over my mouth to muffle a shout. Micah flicked his tongue tip against my swollen bud, coaxing forth a series of aftershocks. Finally, I wriggled in his grasp, too sensitive for more.

When he sat up, his lips and chin coated with my juice, I saw the outline of his erection through his threadbare jeans. One of my shoes had already fallen from my foot, and I quickly removed the other before tugging my panties all the way off.

With my skirt bunched around my waist, I got on my hands and knees. My ass was on full display to Micah. 

"Fuck me," I demanded. 

My tone left no room for doubt. I strained my ears, listening for the sound of his zipper lowering. While kneeling behind me, he caressed my buttocks, which weren't as round and firm as they used to be.

"You're beautiful, Helen."

I wasn't, but what woman didn't want to hear those words from the man she'd fallen in love with?

He was gentle in sliding his cockhead along my folds, gathering up my lubrication. And he was even more tender while easing inside me. The sensation of being penetrated and filled was so satisfying that it made my knees wobble.

As always, Micah was there to steady me. I was thankful for his strong hands on my hips. When he started to move, I met his rhythm. My jaw slackened, and I threw my head back. 

"You feel so fucking good!" Tears edged my voice, for I wanted to cry from the pleasure he gave.

"So do you, baby! Not sure how long I'm gonna last in your tight pussy." His thrusts grew more powerful, his body clapping against mine. 

It was dangerous, what we were doing. Just last month, I'd sworn an affidavit that I wasn't sexually active and thus could be exempt from mandatory birth control. At that time, it was the truth. But I'd suffer for an unauthorized pregnancy.

Still, it seemed worth it in that moment, with Micah buried inside my cunt. Worth the risk to both of us. I stopped trying to suppress my cries. If the music from upstairs suddenly fell silent, our neighbors would hear my wails and Micah's grunts. They might even hear him pumping into me. 

I came again, shaking uncontrollably. Micah groaned at the feel of my walls tightening around him. I wouldn't insist he pull out; as I quaked and sobbed, I grew desperate for his cum.

He was the one who decided to withdraw. I heard him stroking off. I felt his hand on my back, as if to soothe me.

Then he reached his own release, his semen painting my buttocks. He made a pitiful sound, almost wounded, while the spurts marked my skin.

Afterward, I looked over my shoulder at him. Both of us were still breathing hard. "Use my panties to wipe me clean," I said.

Micah readily did so, and once he was finished, he placed a kiss on my left buttock, then my right. The sweet gesture made me giggle in elation.

We stayed on the floor, with me nestled against his side. 

"It's little cooler down here, at least." As he held me to him, his eyelids grew heavy. He appeared ready to doze off. My scent still clung to his skin; I wondered how long he would smell me on his beard.

Lifting my head, I gave him a kiss. Though his eyes remained closed, he flashed a smile. 

"Micah," I whispered.

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I'll go with you tonight."

My words pulled him into full alertness. While he searched my face, his own expression revealed both worry for my safety and excitement for the cause.

Excitement won. Drawing me even closer, Micah lowered his lips to my hair. "If I'm ever caught, and the authorities question you about me, do not panic. Don't even flinch. Tell them you and I chat on occasion, but it doesn't go any deeper than that. Tell them you're glad I've been apprehended." He gave my hand a squeeze, then added, "I'll protect you, Helen, I swear." 

In his arms, I felt a strange sense of calm. Though I had every reason to dread the future, I resolved not to wait until my world entirely collapsed before I grew brave enough to act.

I couldn't guarantee I'd be any use to him. Despite my best efforts, I might be more hindrance than help.

But I would freely give my love. Of all the things Micah craved, he'd never hunger for that.

And by his side, I would never flinch.