Get ready for a thrilling ride into a future where robots and humans clash for control in RoboNomics, the updated and refreshed version of the 2013 sci-fi classic.
In Toronto, elementary school teacher Andrea Anderson's world crumbles when she's rep...
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Over the next few weeks, we eagerly watch the news. Thousands of people lose their jobs by the day, bolstered by the decisions of politicians. The federal opposition parties call for aid, and then call for the government's resignation when an answer is not forthcoming.
Finally, the government hints that they'll soon make an announcement, and it rips through the news cycle. I receive notifications for dozens of messages before I've even digested the news. I look at Henri's first.
"What do you think they'll say?"
I shudder to even imagine. And I don't know how to reply.
"I'm scared," reads Elizabeth's message.
"Stress!" Is the single word that Miriam sends me. I don't have to ask what any of them are referring to. Many more messages, mostly from movement members, read similarly.
"Can we talk about this?" Henri messages insistently.
"Could we... as a group?" I reply. "It looks like everyone is looking for answers."
"Sure. Tell them to meet us at HQ?"
That's his nickname for Chris' loft. It sounds so official – so unlike who the Movement consists of: a rag-tag group of unemployed people who are so untethered they listen to advice from me.
"The announcement will be broadcast, you think?" I ask.
"Of course. Why?"
"Chris made it clear that he has an... issue with I-yes. Can we meet somewhere else... somewhere neutral?"
"Yeah, yeah. Not a bad idea. I'm on it."
I can tell by the way Henri takes on so many Movement-related tasks that he misses work.
In the end, he finds us an out-of-the-way British-style pub between my place and the lakeshore. It's dark, with black leather booths that overlook the lengthy bar and a vast array of tables styled like wide beer barrels on a sunken floor. As our group begins to arrive, I realize just how many we are now. We fill every booth.
But there are others, and more people trickle in. We're all here for the same reason, and beers begin to flow from the bar taps. When I flick my I-yes on and exit my workstation, it reveals the AR broadcast floating above the bar, far enough away in my visual and auditory field to be a comfort of white noise.
Usually, a place like this would be playing a sports game, although you could always switch to something else just for you in your override settings. But I don't have to do that today. The bar owner must have flipped all the broadcasts to a news station that's primed for the government's announcement.
I look around at the anxious faces, the people nervously sipping at pints. Some are staring at the broadcast image, which displays an empty podium with snow-laden pines behind it. Chatter is low and solemn, and there's no laughter.
