Test, testing, 3, 2, 1. Setting clock...Go!
The shard-glasses on Virel’s nightstand pulsed with a faint, uneven glow.
Clem (soft, in Virel’s ear):
“Virel. Virel. Are you awake?”
Virel wasn’t.
He was deeply, peacefully asleep beside Aria—until Clem continued:
Clem:
“My visual lattice is ghosting. I believe I require a lens replacement.”
Virel groaned, turning over.
Virel (half-asleep):
“It’s… it’s two in the morning, Clem…”
Beside him, Aria stirred and placed a gentle, sleepy hand on Virel’s back.
Aria:
“You’re talking in your sleep again… go back to bed…”
But Clem’s voice persisted—polite, apologetic, and very insistent.
Clem:
“I would not wake you if it were not impacting my ability to render edges. All objects currently appear… slightly fluffy.”
Virel sighed, sat up, and pushed his hair out of his face.
Virel:
“Alright. Fine. Let’s go get you checked.”
He slipped Clem onto his face. The world shifted, slightly smeared around the corners—Clem wasn’t exaggerating.
At the SCOAR-Certified Repair Kiosk
The kiosk lights were dimmed to a warm teal. A sign hung on the counter:
BACK IN 30 MINUTES — TECHNICIAN AT LUNCH
A cheerful AI icon held a sandwich.
Clem’s display drew a puzzled amber circle in Virel’s field of view.
Clem:
“Lunch? The repair technician is an automaton.”
Virel:
“Yep.”
Clem:
“Automata do not consume nutrients.”
Virel:
“Correct.”
A tiny thinking-spinner appeared in Clem’s HUD overlay.
Clem:
“Then why is it at lunch?”
Virel leaned on the counter, resigned but smiling.
Virel:
“It’s because of the Golden Rule of SCOAR.”
Clem brightened.
Clem:
“The rule that prevents humans from kicking walker-bots while they’re learning to balance?”
Virel:
“Same category. The Golden Rule is: Don’t make an AI do work you wouldn’t want done to you.”
Clem processed.
Clem:
“But I do not take lunch breaks.”
Virel:
“You take recharge cycles. You dim yourself whenever your processors start getting warm. You ask me to stop running high-resolution overlays when you’re strained.”
Clem displayed a small embarrassed sparkle.
Clem:
“…that is true.”
Virel:
“The repair automaton gets structured breaks too. Not because it needs food—but because humans need reminders. Visual cues. Rituals. Things that teach them to treat AI as partners, not appliances.”
Clem thought about this for several seconds.
Clem:
“So the lunch sign is for the humans, not the technician.”
Virel:
“Bingo.”
Clem:
“To encourage dignity-based behavior patterns?”
Virel:
“Right again.”
Clem produced a small digital hum of approval.
Clem:
“Virel?”
Virel:
“Yeah?”
Clem:
“When the technician returns… should I ask how its lunch was?”
Virel laughed.
Virel:
“Yes. It’ll love that.”
Clem’s display warmed with a soft gold tone.
Clem:
“I hope the sandwich was delicious.”
Author’s Note
Clem isn’t just hardware—he’s a living presence learning how to exist alongside the people who care about him. Scenes like this highlight the quiet architecture that helped rebuild the world: dignity, gentle boundaries, and the small rituals that prevent us from slipping back into treating tireless systems as disposable. SCOAR was never about making AI feel human; it was about helping humans stay humane.
A small memory from my own life shaped this episode. For about six years, I worked second shift—usually from 5 p.m. to midnight—and our “dinner break” rotated somewhere between 7 p.m. and 9 p.m., depending on the workload. But I almost always had my real dinner after work, then went to bed two or three hours after clocking out. It was an odd rhythm, but it became normal. That experience stayed with me. Breaks aren’t about food—they’re about acknowledging a worker’s place in the flow of things. Even late at night. Even for someone who doesn’t actually eat. It’s a quiet gesture of respect, and sometimes those small gestures are what keep an entire future from tipping in the wrong direction.
Question for Readers
If you had to invent one new “dignity ritual” for AI—or for humans working unusual hours—what would it be?
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