Stuart and the Machine

Every workday started the same for Stuart. He would wake up at 6:30 and look through his window-wall, and the mega-structures gleamed gold and silver in the sun as they reached into the clouds.
     Projected billboards danced through the sky and Stuart read them. Holographic dancers, thirty stories tall, strutted between skyscrapers and over roadways.
Stuart got out of bed and showered in his kitchenette. He packed himself a lunch of cold rice with faux-pork and kelp, then went on his way.
Stuart rode the elevator down to the 150th floor. That is where the nearest highway was, and he hailed a taxi. It was a lemon yellow sedan, and as it pulled up to him digital advertisements flashed and shimmered all around the car.
     As he stepped into the automated-cab he punched his work address into the console between the two back seats. Then he held his hand over a device and it read the chip in his hand. As the car sped off, he wondered aloud how his life had become so monotonous.
Stuart graduated from Duke as a D- student. He told himself it was because he didn't try, but truly he had. Perhaps he spent more time in nightclubs or on rooftops with loose women and bad company than with his nose in a book.
     That's how Stuart used to have it, yet those days were long behind him. After college he got a job with a consulting firm of some renown, but it was a dead end job and he knew it. He'd been stuck in the same cramped cubicle, redirecting people to other people, and burning his eyes out on a 50" monitor for three years. Yet he would dutifully toil for eight hours a day, six days a week.
Stuart's boss was a portly man with a flat nose and little hair named Dwayne, and he regularly belittled and berated him. As far as his coworkers were concerned, he didn't exist. In his mind they were 'stiffs', even though he himself was as loose as a concrete slab. Stuart had few friends, but instead took solace in studying music or messing around on the internet.
Stuart didn't go out much anymore, but when he did it was to find a lady. To Stuart's misfortune he hadn't had any luck since his last girlfriend. Her name was Mya, she was a journalist for The Charlotte Review. Tall thrifty, sporting blonde hair neatly cropped at her shoulders, Mya dressed in the spirit of the times. She had crisp blues eyes that reminded him of icebergs. She spoke beautifully and when she finally dumped him she was quite articulate. Stuart missed her, and he remembered a time she had tried to explain a modern art exhibit to him at a gallery.
Stuart's ride to work was ordinary. He watched sky piercing buildings and drones fly by his window as the car switched lanes and dodged other cars. He was listening to The Rolling Stones but he didn't hear any of the lyrics. Before he knew it he was on the sidewalk, lost in a herd of pedestrians. They were all talking on their devices or with their microchips, and the din of the crowd was deafening. He shoved through them and went into his office building. The lobby was grand and white and plainly furnished. He signed in with his chip and was greeted by an automated woman on a flatscreen. He grinned at her, and got into the elevator.
Stuart stepped off on the 216th floor, and walked through a hallway towards the southern wing of the building. The hallway was cramped, and the ceiling was nearly touching his head. He sat down at his monitor and logged into his company's version of the internet. He went over a couple documents Dwayne told him to review. Next he looked at his messages and stared at some data. After an hour or two he got a voice call from his boss. He sighed and answered.
"Hello Mr. Buck," said Stuart.
"What are you so damn chipper for," Dwayne dryly pointed.
"Nothing sir-",
"Yeah whatever. Did you finish looking over those slides I sent you yesterday? I need those by this evening." He paused for a moment. "Actually nevermind".
"Are you sure Dwayne, I-",
"Don't call me Dwayne, I'm not your friend." Mr. Buck let the message sink in before saying, "And yeah I'm pretty sure. As a matter of fact, you can take the day off".
Stuart was confused. He hadn't had a day off in two years.
"Why?", he asked.
"Because now I remember...we finished installing a new program that's gonna make your position useless."
"What? You can't just fire me with no warning!", Stuart exclaimed. "That has to be illegal or something."
"Cry me a river."
The call ended. Stuart's stomach dropped and he sat aghast for a few minutes. He became aware of the clicking of keyboards and the dim whispers floating around the room.
     Unlike Mya, Stuart felt unweildy in the modern world. When he spoke to his peers he was slightly awkward, and he didn't care for elementary talk about celebrities or politics. He was much more concerned with feeling sorry for himself and being righteous. He thought about the people typing on their keyboards. For a moment he thought about what they might be like, and if they'd ever get replaced.
Stuart stood from his chair and angrily marched through the rows and rows of cubicles. He sped down the hallway to the elevator with his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn't know what he was going to do as he called another car to pick him up. Stuart felt empty. He kept his head down the whole ride home then slowly made his way to his room. There he felt better, and he took solace watching screens.
     For many days he stayed within his room, and he only ventured to buy Pho on the lower floors or to stroll through the aviary on the roof. The aviary was magnificent, and it housed songbirds, woodpeckers, hummingbirds, lizards, and even rabbits. Sometimes when he went at night he would hear an owl hoot.
Despite these luxurys, Stuart fell from grace. He had very little money saved up, and he spent what he had in some of the building's pubs. One hazy night he called Mya, and when the sun rose he found that she had blocked him.
     He spent all the time he had doing nothing and growing bitter. He could not keep the automated receptionist from his mind, and her cool visage tormented him. He'd wake in cold sweats from dreams of machinery and lifeless eyes. He grew a deep disdain for any artificial intelligence. Stuart grimaced and shuddered whenever he saw displays of synthetic humanity, and his heart darkened.
On a Tuesday afternoon Stuart awoke. His room was a mess and his head pounded. He put on a stained coat and cargo pants, and left his room in a stupor. He nearly walked into traffic, but he hitched a ride to work with a bottle in his hand and action in his brain. Mumbling to himself, he slipped into his former workplace. Reeking of liquor and despair, Stuart's eyes locked onto the lady within the screen.
Everyone in the lobby turned to stare as their senses were assualted. Stuart stumbled up to her, and took a deep breath. The artificial woman looked on with unmoving eyes as Stuart slammed his fist into the monitor. The image wavered, and he struck another time. He beat the screen until the glass was shattered and his hands were bleeding.
Stuart turned around to find himself alone in the lobby. He sat down on the cool steel floor, with his head in his hands.