Caravellum

”Good morning, sir.”

A grinding ratchet echoes about the kitchen, each twist of its teeth accompanied by a soft grunt.

“You are currently out of: Milk, Eggs, Juice-“

The digitally measured voice continues from the fridge door, shuddering on its aluminium hinges as the man rearranges his posture within its internals. Water leaks from its dispenser onto the tiled floor, pooling around the fridge’s evacuated contents: last week’s butter chicken and two cans of Swan Draught.

“Would you like me to place an order?”

With a chuckle, the man pulls the covering panel of the system out, tossing it overhead. It bounces off the ground. He leans his head out, hands fixed in place about the inner sanctum of the fridge’s mechanics.

“Repeat the last part.” He called. There was a beep from the counter, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Okay. User eyes_wide_open, posted: once you’ve removed the panel, the AI software/spyware is contained on a small blue chip soldered to the circuit board, which can be removed easily without affecting the fridge-”

There was a spark and a fizzle, as the man yanked at the circuit board ensconced within its wiring.

“-as long as you leave the board in place.”

The man emerges, hand gripped tight about a soul of resin and copper. He pulls the door closed to examine its front panel. The light is off.

“Do I have any eggs?” His voice is cautious, the hypothesis pending.

There is silence.

He grins, victorious. He packs away his tools.

Later, the man sits upon his throne in front of the television, warm beer within its custom holder. Muzak streams gently from his phone under the droning of daytime television, as he waits on hold to discuss the limitations of a ‘full-coverage’ warranty. On the corner counter, the toaster stays silent, gripping tightly to the black-burnt husk of that morning’s breakfast.