![]() It has a touchscreen display to order from, you must pay with a card or ApplePay. You go into a small cafe for some splice. It exists for the avatar to make your life better, not for you, it robs you of choice and agency it does not agree with. As you exit the car going into the supermarket, the supermarket is now a construct of the avatar not the bricks and mortar building it was when you were growing up. It then morphs into a dancing dashboard mannequin, a personal avatar, spouting nonsense, getting on your nerves, while its technoneurons spread, root-like, tapped into you. And your sleep habits, where you live, random visual memories it may find useful anytime in the future, has a guess at how much you'd like to spend using personal records, what pets you have or would like, family, a bunch more. While it's there it takes note of any deep concerns you may not know you have. ![]() ![]() Imagine a world where the advertising billboard you walk past reaches into your head and takes a photo of your shopping list.
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