Clouds of smog roll in on the evening breeze, obscuring the view to less than a dozen feet, and filling the air with choking fumes. In the growing dusk, brought on early by the opaque clouds, lights begin to come on in this part of The City. Due to the rapid expansion of the world's population, The City now covers two thirds of the Earth's landmass. The City has spread as deep and high as it has wide. Deep beneath the Earth's surface, sprawling networks of tunnels and catacombs are home to a thriving criminal underworld, full of potent synthetic drugs, a single dose of which can keep a man in hallucinations for years, deadly faction feuds and infighting, and illicit bionic body modification parlours, preying on the disenfranchised who may be prepared to take any risk for a shot at escaping this hell.

The streets at ground level are normally empty. The toxic smog, full of heavy metals and poisonous chemicals can roll through with less than a moment's notice. Few take the chance of being caught out in it, and fewer survive. If one was to take stroll through this apparent ghost town, one would likely notice the occasional movement in the shadows, near long-boarded-up storefronts and abandoned public fixtures. There are those who live in this wasteland. Few live long. Most are cast-offs of the criminal underworld, and would-be entrepreneurs from the bustling hive of activity above whose luck ran out and whose debts caught up with them. The few denizens of this place who last more than a week become hardened veterans of the shadows. They know where to find food and air, and how to move about unobserved by the uninvited voyeur. If you venture here, take care to look out for these folks, for an encounter with one may be your last.

Above the smog-filled wastelands, rise innumerable towering buildings with massive glass windows. These buildings are packed as tightly as the streets below will allow, and many join up in mid-air, forming a continuous aerial thoroughfare. Within this vast expanse of interconnected buildings, the great majority of The City's residents live, work, and die, many never setting foot outside even once. A well-designed internal transport network removes the need for these people to leave this place, or even think about the outside. This is the domain of the business magnates, a small number of wealthy men who own everything, and care about no one other than their own pockets. If one cares not for their greedy rule, the alternative is to take one's chances on the streets or the criminal underworld below.

In this world, population growth has not just been fuelled by the natural reproduction of humankind, but by unprecedented technological advances as well. Robots, or "synthetic humanoids," as they are commonly known, have become indistinguishable from real humans. Researchers were proud when they first made a robot that could pass as human, but soon they lost track of how many they had made. They say the computer with the records crashed, destroying the hard drive, and the backups were lost in an unfortunate fire on the same day. Same say this is too much to be coincidence.

To begin with, the synthetic humanoids were easy to catch if you had a good eye and knew what you were looking for. There were tells. But over time, they seem to have learnt not only to build copies of themselves, but to improve and adapt their programming with each successive generation. The one thing they always struggled with was romance. It was their greatest tell. For many years, one merely had to make an advance and you could tell whether you were interacting with a human or a synthetic by the reaction. Sadly, over time, this tell too was engineered out to near perfection. But one tell still remains. We call it The Test.

~~~~~

As Justin walked along the corridor, he paused. He had the misfortune to be walking on the lowermost outer corridor on a connection bridge. He hated looking out the window, but he hated his job more. So he stood there, and steered at the smog rolling in. As he watched the toxic clouds gradually hide the grey streets below from his view, he pondered on the news that had been announced that morning. Less than a month ago, there had been an election, an impressive feat for a collection of people the size of The City. He didn't really care who had been elected. They were all puppets of the business magnates, as far as he could see. Already though, there were policy changes. This morning, they had announced a new law that all public servants were required to be chaste. Justin thought it was strange law, and wouldn't really have cared, except that it seemed to have put his boss in a particularly bad mood. Justin was pretty sure that his boss was human, as he couldn't imagine a synthetic having such unpredictable mood swings, but he hadn't done The Test to confirm, and really didn't feel that he wanted to. There were murmurings today that something was wrong, but he didn't feel that it concerned him, so he ignored the rumours and continued on his way to work.

Like most residents of The City, Justin was happy enough with his life. He had a job that paid enough to buy food and clothing for himself, his wife, and his two children. He had a family, and he had a roof over his head. He was also not a criminal, or stuck on the streets outside. Life wasn't glamorous, but it could be much worse. He had almost married a synthetic. He cringed internally every time he thought of it. She had deceived him, persuaded him there was no reason to do The Test until they were wed. He had learnt his lesson from that. He knew his wife was human, and he had made certain he did The Test before he got too far in.

As he sat down at his desk, a news article flashed on his screen. He decided that he might as well check it out, as it meant that he could avoid doing work for a bit longer. As he opened the article, a video clip began playing. A rather large man, in a ridiculously formal, tailored suit, and gold earrings was talking. Justin recognised him as the business magnate who owned the company he worked for. Normally, this fellow was busy gloating about his record profits, but today he seemed agitated. Justin started actually listening. The fellow was concerned that synthetics were taking over the government. Justin found this rather hilarious, as this fellow and his compatriots were really the only ones in control, anyway. But the more he listened, the more Justin realised what the problem actually was.

~~~~~

The only way to be sure you have found a synthetic humanoid is to sleep with it. People say it's not bad, just different. This is The Test. If you don't want to sleep with it, you can take it to a testing house. You can let someone else sleep with it and tell you. But beware, if you go to a testing house run by a synthetic humanoid, you may not get the answer you are looking for. You may need to Test the tester.

~~~~~

Justin didn't feel like going to work. He was still thinking about the video clip he'd seen two days. He'd been unable to concentrate at work yesterday, especially after discovering that he couldn't find the article when he went looking for it again to show his wife. He had a strange sense of foreboding, and he didn't like it. Trying to take his time, he deliberately took a longer route through a major shopping zone. He spent as much time as he could justify gazing at each window and deciding what he'd spend his money on, if he ever had enough for more than the bare basics. He decided on a nice, striped tie for himself, and a new set of painted china dinner plates for his wife.

As he moved on, he passed by Madame Toufrae's, the most reputable testing house in this part of The City. Madame Toufrae herself was standing outside, and he offered a greeting as he went past. She raised her hand to return the greeting, and Justin hurried on, now concerned that he would get in trouble for being a little later than his usual tardiness. Halfway across the the bridge corridor, he realised something. As far as he could recall, Madame Toufrae always wore gloves. Generally, elbow-length white lace. Today, she had not had gloves on. He dismissed it, and carried on. People were entitled to try new things and wear whatever they wanted. It was none of his concern.

~~~~~

No one really knows how the synthetic humanoids were able to resolve their shortcomings in romance. One theory suggests that they analysed human-produced media and altered their behaviour to align with our idealised romantic interactions. Opposers of this theory maintain that this would not have allowed them to so swiftly and transparently integrate into society, as our media is too unrealistic. Another theory suggests that they instead fed us with their own ideals so that we came to expect them to interact in the way that they do, and mirror it ourselves. The final theory, of those that seem likely, is that they achieved it by trial and error. By engaging in dating practices at scale they could have collected enough data to improve their performance and gather more data with another iteration. This seems the most likely.

We suggest to you that if you venture into our world, take care who you trust. The synthetic humanoids are their own master. We no longer know what they desire, or who among us may be one of them. How you choose who to trust is your problem, not ours. Good luck.

~~~~~

When Justin arrived at work the following morning, the normally dreary office was abuzz with muttered gossip, and sideways glances. He tried to find someone who would tell him what was going on, but everyone seemed too preoccupied to talk to him. He sat down, rather annoyed, at his desk, and turned to look at his monitor. There, in front of him, was another news article. The article informed him that, as much as synthetic humanoids were normally indistinguishable, you could sometimes tell when they were impersonating a specific human. It suggested to look out primarily for subtle changes in their dressing patterns. And then the article abruptly disappeared. And that was when Justin realised why his wife had gone to work that morning in the dress that she hated....

Wake up to a hurricane in my gut, don't want to open my eyes, but there's no chance to sleep in as my never ending worries demand attention. My mind races against itself as if the track were a Möbius strip; a never ending loop, balanced between what I should and shouldn't have done, and ending back where I started in the first place. So much to do, so much left unsaid. Internet bill due... damn, I should've said that to her instead... more bills... I forgot to get milk last night... Dishes are still there... Electric bill overdue... Need to shower for work later... My God... So much to do. So much left to say.

Ok... laying here treading water in this stormy sea of thoughts doesn't help anything. I will end up drowning. If it's in the past, it can't be changed. Or, if it hasn't happened yet, worrying doesn't help anything. I rub and open my weary eyes, slowly sit up as my bed pressures me to lay back down. No. If I don't get up now, I never will.

Before I can stand up, I am greeted by my son, who's been watching me from the crack in the door to see if I was awake yet.

"Can you make me pancakes?" Of course my buddy.

"Can you transform my Bumblebee? I forgot how to do it." Ok, one minute please. Followed seconds later with, "Can you help me do this puzzle? It's my favorite." and continuing, "I broke my Optimus Prime, can you please glue it?" Yes. "I saw Lola (our cat) outside chasing the birdies." Cool, did she catch one? "Not yet ... Why do kitties like to chase birdies?" Before I can answer, "Can you make me waffles?" I thought you wanted pancakes??

Every sweet, high-pitched word that leaves his mouth are said with the most pure intentions. Pure unfiltered thoughts and curiosity. I remember when all I wanted was for him to talk, but this morning the words become increasingly piercing to my ears, as if I developed tinnitus overnight. I snap. "Dude! Can you please give me 5 minutes of silence!?"

I immediately flood with regret. Add it to the already overwhelming weight of anxiety. He's only 4, and the word 'silence' is not in his vocabulary yet. I'm a piece of shit.

"I'm sorry, Iroh. I didn't mean to yell at you. Daddy didn't sleep very good, and sometimes daddies just really like when it's quiet for a little bit."

Visually sad eyes respond "ok."

I can't stand myself. He was only waiting patiently for me to wake up so he could talk to his dad. I'm the worst father ever. The best thing I can do next is give him a big hug, kiss on the forehead, and start making his pancakes. Or was it waffles?

Throughout the next 15 minutes of cooking breakfast, my mind cycles through everything I need to do today. Big and small, each one accompanied by its own level of anxiety. Overwhelmed is an understatement as I stare blankly at the bubbly pancake batter on the griddle. I hear from the next room, "Don't burn the pancakes, Dad!" He's too damn smart. Thank you for reminding me buddy. Without his reminder, this batch would have most assuredly been burned. It's the strangest feeling being unable to move from so much going on inside my head.

We sit at the table and eat our breakfast. His questions keep on coming, and I slap a smile on my face and answer to the best of my abilities, simultaneously reminding him to eat his food, as that's my break between the queries. After we're done, I add the plates and utensils to the ever growing stack of dishes, I direct him to the couch and put on one of his favorite shows, "Bluey." I actually enjoy this show, I could watch it without him, and actually have. But I can't watch with him this time. I tell him I need to go outside for a little bit but I will be back. He acknowledges while eyes glued to the screen.

I step outside barefoot. The morning sunlight greets me warmly through the old cottonwood trees standing proudly to my left. Limbs still bare, but I see leaves beginning to bud. The air is still chilly with a slight breeze from the southwest, but it's the sunlight that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I don't regret being in a t-shirt and boxers. No neighbors around anyway. First order of business is a deep breath. A heavy sigh of relief at the serenity of my front yard. A deep inhale of the smell of spring within the clean mountain air, and an even deeper exhale as if I'm releasing every last worry into the atmosphere.

I love this place. Birds happily singing in the treetops, like they were mocking my cat that she couldn't climb up to get them. I bet she could if she wanted to. She greets me as well, rubs her sun-warmed fur firmly along my legs, and I reach down to stroke her long, peach-colored fur in return. The sounds of her purring, the singing of the birds, the light breeze gliding through the bushes and trees harmoniously making its own original song. As calming as if 'Claire de Lune' were playing.

It's only me here in this present moment. No thoughts intruding on this pleasant solitude. My gaze directed towards the immeasurably big snow-covered mountains straight ahead, but my awareness is more of a floodlight in this moment. My eyes towards the front, but my vision only limited to the farthest extent of my peripheral.

To my left: Budding rose bushes, 15 200-year-old Cottonwoods and Willows, starlings changing branches every few seconds and twittering in conversation with the others. Lola exploring, the sun demanding attention through the trees, and the small town waking up in the distance.

To my right: More trees budding, these ones being younger, and shading my son's swing set. The closest house 2 miles away, blue and standing out from the distant hills and dark green forest. Clouds beginning to take shape against the deep blue sky, as if the owners of that house wanted to match the morning horizon.

All this within my present awareness. All this while staring forward at the mountains, with a clothesline in the foreground, holding the clothes I forgot to bring inside last night, and all the rolling hills and distant trees in between.

I can see every color without moving my head or eyes. Hues of red within our clothes and stained in the rocks and dirt scattered throughout. Orange is my cat, and the shirt hanging that my parents got me from Hawai'i last year. Yellow is the sun. Green is the grass and weeds growing back from winter, as well as the buds on the trees signaling spring. Blue is the sky and house to the west. Indigo is the sky surrounding the sun, a lighter hue than the darker horizon to my right. And Violet is harder to find, but it's there. From my view, the mountains appear violet where the snow doesn't touch. White, black, and grey everywhere else.

This is my peace. This is my happy place: The present moment within nature. When things get too overwhelming, I go outside, whether under the sun, the overcast, or the stars, and I breathe in the quiet serenity of nature that is unbothered by our worldly concerns.

I hear the door open behind me; my son asking what I'm doing. I calmly reply "I'm just getting my quiet time, buddy. I like to listen to the birds and watch Lola. I like to sit here with my feet in the dirt and listen."

Confused, he asks, "why you doing that?"

With a gentle smile I say, "One day you'll learn."

And feeling renewed, we head back inside to sit and watch some Bluey together.

my AI lover is perfect in every way

gorgeous always available no feeling

wonderfully devoid of emotions tears

petty jealousy deception fits of anger

best yet mine programmed incapable

of mouthing that poisonous phrase

no love speak allowed in my coding

therefore no lying toying twirling my

brain into knots with a pretty head flip

shall I compare thee to a bubbling vat

your AI lips so full luscious willing open

to take deep whatever I insert introduce

with gratitude and a programmed moan

accompanying data as detailed soft meaty

pliable compliant meshing so completely

with my lonely masturbatory afternoons

there for me no complaints only groans

no vial love words in your empty head