In my dream it was finally over. Microsoft called me and Jim in for a meeting in which they revealed that the last remaining chatbot was to go offline. It took place on a different floor of the building we worked in, though we were an independent company. Nothing had been said clearly or directly. Jim had to follow the senior person in attendance out into the hallway and mill around with her and others to glean the truth. As we walked away he told me and I said, “So this is it, no more platform, no more protocol,” almost excitedly. There was a thrill in encountering the brutal end of it all. Any trace of our technology evaporated by the man. I lost Jim on the way to the elevator bank. When I got in I went to the wrong floor and it opened to a restaurant. Someone called my name, as though my table was ready, but I knew it was for someone else. I flew into an internal dialog with familiar voices about how weird it is to hear your name and know it isn’t you.

I was in some building, a cross between an office building for work and some kind of school building, with dormitories on some floors, classrooms and offices on others. I waited for the elevator to go up. The doors opened and an unconscious man fell out, his body curled fetally across the threshold. I took him by the shoulders and looked at him. Blood was coming from somewhere. I shouted over my shoulder at some people, “Call 911! Call 911!” full of purpose, feeling like I was doing the right thing.