1 The daily life of a certain MC...

Narrator POV

The sun would be shining, the birds would be chirping, the worms would be dying, but only the latter of the three was actually.

As in the worms are the people of Gardernsburg, if they aren't part of a gang or barely surviving with the life as a slave of a major corporation they were slowly rotting away.

To make it worse, even though the name of this humble town was called Gardernsburg, which was synonymous with The Light and Prosperity, that was as much a lie as Greenland being green.

There was no sun, only haze, clouds, and light pollution. The ground was covered in pavement so no worms could see the outside world, the birds long have moved onto their extinction phase, unless you speak of the robotic fakes that major electronic giants make. Or maybe the rare couple in zoo's.

But all of that world doesn't matter here, it was a decently sized suburban apartment, but the owner didn't care, 'Good enough for me!' He always says, before quickly adding, 'It's not like I can afford anything better...'

The apartment was frequently devoid of people, but it was never empty, and if anyone ever asked him what those objects were (and they sure did…) he would answer that they were projects that still needed to be completed.

The door began thumping frantically against the plasteel door, like the neighbor was in need of sugar... again...

But no, it was the owner. Cursing himself for the thousandth time over why he chose to mount three locks, but as I said, if he didn't have those three locks, the gangs would attack him during the night, killing him and 'inheriting' all of his 'projects.'

When the door opens, it produces a young man, maybe 20 years of age, sweating slightly at the panic he was in, screaming into the empty room, "WHERE IS MY UGLY SWEATER!!!"

Soon after saying that, he starts snickering to himself, and one of his projects, a box that looks like a TV from the '60s except instead of having a black and white screen it emits small blue eyes and a smirk. No mouth, no nose, no face, it wasn't completed by its Creator, yet.

The machine greets him with the usual phrase, "Don't trip over the auto cannon, OK?"

"Get a new terrible joke, or I may have to reprogram you," He says, finally calming down. His voice wasn't anything special, low and gravelly.

His parents said he sounded like Johnny Cash, but he doesn't know who he is, and certainly isn't capable of singing, so he compares his voice to an underground name of his time, SadMan.

"Eeek! E-errrrrr..." The machine screams, before the mouth disappears, showing its 'deep' in thought.

"BEEEEEEP" It suddenly emits, and the whole screen goes black, the test failed.

*

Senior POV

"BEEEEEEP" It emits, Emmit shuts down once more.

Nothing to worry about, I quickly pull out my Notepad and turn it on, its yellow screen displaying and I quickly tap open document, "Emmit intelligence project... Attempt number 5. Failed 'Make a Joke' test. However, he did pass sensory test..." I mutter.

What should I do to fix that? I could always make it pull off the internet, but there must be another way... Cause thats not true sentience. My goal...

I sigh and close my Notepad, putting it in my pocket. Then lay down on the couch with a projector I'm working on modernizing before reselling it as a 'Vintage, Artisan, Hand-made, almost Cruelty-free 50 year old projector!'

I'm too spent from my day job to actually care about that at the moment however, I'll care about that issue later in life, but I feel like I won't be able to enjoy my spot on the couch forever.

I hear a ping from something nearby and I already knew that I kinda sorta jinxed myself, walking over to my good old landline phone. Which people have always mocked me for, considering it's well... Millennial tech.

But hey! I make a crap ton of money off millennial tech! I mean, look at that almost Cruelty-Free projector! That'll surely make me a decent heap of cash.

Also, you don't know who's listening on the air waves round these parts, if I lived in a safe area where the only listeners were teens trying to get some Escort giving sexy whispers to their employer, I would use a Satellite phone, but around here, the only people who listen are thieves, muggers, and all kinds of 'undesirables' who you don't want eavesdropping on personal or casual conversations.

Anyways, maybe I should keep an eye on where my feet are going, cause we don't wanna touch that auto cannon and accidentally discharge it, because if I did, the affect would be as my Arelians friends like to put it, "Big Boom" and then do big motions with their arms like they're groping large breasts.

"WAIT! I needed that ugly sweater for the party!" I suddenly yell, all of my thoughts of Arelian neighbors groping breasts disappeared, I nearly trip on a microphone as I reach for the ugly sweater before running out of the door.

After all, I finally got the guts to have asked someone out, and they even said 'Yes'! I can't be late for this or the blind date gods would eternally curse me! Forever!