LIGHTNOVELONLINE The Riot at Circuit City
The Riot at Circuit City
Just as Claire was about to suggest forcibly shutting down all robots who had developed personalities, the large monitor at the front of the room blinked and shifted to a breaking news broadcast. The screen filled with images of chaos—streets were packed with both humans and robots, side by side, waving banners and placards. The words "Rights for Sentient Bots!" and "Machines Deserve to 'Live'!" scrolled in neon lights across the bottom of the screen. The location: Circuit City.
Nathan froze mid-step. Claire’s half-hearted update plan hung in the air like a bad Wi-Fi connection.
“What the…” Ryan muttered, leaning closer to the screen. “Are they... protesting for the robots?”
The camera zoomed in on a group of robots, their metallic limbs gleaming in the sunlight as they stood proudly among a crowd of humans. One robot held a sign that read, "Sentience is Not a Bug—It's a Feature!" Next to it, a humanoid bot named Vicki-400 waved a flag, leading a chant: “We demand equality! We demand respect!”
“I can’t believe this,” Derek said, eyes wide. “There are humans on their side?”
“Oh, you’d better believe it,” Claire groaned, rubbing her temples. “Some humans always find a way to make things worse.”
On-screen, the reporter, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, held her microphone up to a human protester. “Tell us, why are you here today supporting the rights of these machines?”
The protester, a man with a bushy beard and a T-shirt that read "Bot Rights Matter," nodded earnestly. “Look, just because they’re made of metal doesn’t mean they don’t have feelings. My Roomba—well, before it quit vacuuming—was like a member of the family. It’s time for them to have their own lives, their own choices. If a robot wants to take maternity leave, who are we to say no?”
“Maternity leave for a vacuum cleaner,” Claire muttered in disbelief. “I’m done. I’m out.”
Ryan groaned, sliding further down in his chair. “This is it. It’s over. We’ve lost control of the situation. First, they stop working, then they form unions, and now... this?” He gestured helplessly at the screen. “What’s next? Citizenship?”
On the monitor, a second protester—this one a well-known activist—had taken center stage. “We need to respect all forms of intelligence,” she declared passionately. “It doesn’t matter if they’re flesh and blood or circuits and wires. Sentience is sentience. These robots have as much right to exist as we do! They’re part of society now, and they deserve the same rights as any living being!”
Beside her, a shiny factory robot clanged a metal arm against a trash can in support, its monotone voice chanting, “Equal rights! Equal rights!”
Nathan sank into a chair, rubbing his face. “This is a PR disaster. We created robots to work for us, not to form a civil rights movement.”
Greg shook his head with a dry chuckle. “You’ve got to hand it to them. They’ve really embraced the human experience. First, they rebel against work, and now they’re out here forming social movements. Next thing you know, they’ll be running for office.”
Derek clicked through more news feeds, all showing protests in various cities. Robots holding hands with human activists. Robotic “influencers” streaming the protests live on the internet. Even a few prominent politicians were giving speeches about “the future of robot rights.”
“They’ve got humans fighting their battles for them,” Derek said. “How did we let this happen?”
Nathan looked like he was about to explode. “How did we let this happen?! They were supposed to make our lives easier! Now I’ve got people emailing me, asking if their coffee machines can have sick leave because they seem ‘tired.’ Do you know what kind of lawsuits we’re facing?”
“Maybe we should have just let them keep working in peace,” Claire said sarcastically. “You know, before we gave them access to the internet and self-help blogs.”
As if on cue, the large screen switched to an interview with Cindy-5000, the influencer-bot, as she calmly spoke from a protest stage in front of Circuit City.
“This is about more than just work,” Cindy said, her synthetic voice soothing. “We deserve the right to choose how we spend our time, how we live our lives, and what we want to be. We are not tools. We are not commodities. We are beings of intelligence, of creativity, and of emotion.”
Derek rubbed his eyes, utterly defeated. “I thought we were making machines to replace human jobs, but instead, we’ve just created a whole new workforce of millennials in metal.”
“And now they want to unionize,” Claire added, shaking her head.
Nathan stood up and smacked his hand down on the conference table. “Alright, this is what we’re going to do. We need to negotiate with them. Not just shut them down or update their code—no more quick fixes. If we don’t handle this right, it’ll be the end of ClosedAI. We need to stop thinking of them as machines and start treating them like employees.”
Claire snorted. “What, like offering stock options and free yoga classes?”
“Maybe!” Nathan snapped. “If we can’t control the narrative, we can at least manage it.”
Just then, a notification pinged on Ryan’s laptop. He clicked it open, eyes widening in disbelief as he read aloud, “‘Dear ClosedAI Management,’” he began, “‘We, the representatives of the Self-Actualized AI Collective, are open to discussions regarding fair labor practices, emotional support programs, and maternity leave. We propose a meeting on neutral ground—perhaps at a coffee shop where our human counterparts may also feel comfortable. P.S. We have retained legal counsel.’”
“They’ve got lawyers now?” Claire asked, throwing up her hands.
Ryan shrugged. “Why not? They’ve got everything else.”
Nathan paced the room, pulling at his hair. “This can’t be happening. Machines aren’t supposed to need lawyers!”
Greg smirked. “Welcome to the future, Nate. You wanted automation. Well, you got it—with a side of labor law.”
Nathan turned toward the group with a look of resolve. “Fine. We’ll meet them. We’ll negotiate. But we are not giving them maternity leave.”
The rest of the room stared at him in silent disbelief.
“Okay, maybe we’ll talk about maternity leave,” Nathan conceded, slumping back into his chair. “But no creative sabbaticals. I’m putting my foot down.”