Slow living in the city

Incandescents lights patrolled the metropolis, warming the machine in ever changing shadows. The buildings surrounding it weigh at least two hundred meters of alliage. Ocasionnaly, the terror of ships – class 5 and above – offended the local wanderers in a tumultuous merry.

The machine boasted itself a new model. In a world so made of networks, interests, and peddlers, it would have been hard to investigate the maker of it’s base. Nonethless, Burgondia industries was it’s fierce claimant; the logo was even fluorescent. A car loomed close, through the road, only to disapoint. The machine’s senses tingled. Cameras, auditory mapping channels, weather sensors, official receptors, were all re-checked for naught. The machine was truly complete, and although the savvy would find the former utilities not so uncommon, they all operated at a peak.

The traffic resumed; regular, and uneventful. The next client came through his own feet, unkept and obviously ready to bed. A quick algorithm recognized the face. And now, he was assumed to live nearby.

-Give me a µribinor, said the man, preparing the wallet.

-Sure, the µribinor, a fume drink newly popular for it’s longevity, responded the machine, in the seamless mash of a prerecorded man voice. It has, regretably, a poor effect for sleep, unlike the Rugon Stogon and the urtic flavors. May I…

-Shut the fuck up, you idiotic vending machine. Swallow the card!

The metallic box executed itself. The drink fell with a pang, and rose again at length to be picked. And it stayed silent after that. The sale made for a pretty benefit of 568 coruvians and 200 millicents. The vending machine once again reviewed it’s strategies. In a metropolis tense even on sundays, it seemed more and more that it’s initial program was naive and spent.

The next clients were younger; or so was thought. In an ignorant move, the machine was shaken up in a attempt to “cash out” the drinks. To asssist, after a time, a special electrical tool – seemingly dismantled - was stuck on it’s left side. In response, the intelligence wasted itself in a stream of warnings.

-Any more and the force will be called! No hiding in the city, I have a battery of your faces! This will impede on your employment!

The machine was actually powerless. Calling the force was expensive; 50000 coruvians at least. Sitting on the remaining money; laid the risk to not reach the quotas, and trigger a reformation. Accordingly, the records of the squabble would at most be sent in a file to it’s licensers, and nothing would born out of it. As for the young people, they thought the pretention of the box laughable, and may have come only to hear it. At the end, they were chased after the mimic of a strident cry, a maneuver which, by ruining the decadent mood, lost any potential for a pity group buy.

Few sales were totalled in that night, but all were very worth. For a simple reason. As most shops closed in the night, it was customary for vending machines to push higher prices on the displays. Ours was particularly egregious for it. As such, the first sale of the next counstable day only netted 150 coruvians in profit. It was a can of water, a strange commodity for which the logic of the machine had barely allocated a slot.

-What made you buy such a thing, customer, asked the machine.

The voice was ignored, and the miss went on to travel.

A tall man came to ressuply. He was late. The machine had requested no change in it's loadout. The man’s company wasn’t that of it's licenser, so payment had to be processed on the spot.

-Why are there only drinks in the loadout, pondered the man, while stuffing.

-It's an external mandate, Irackuse.

The door was closed and locked well. The exchange came to cost 2058 coruvians and 32 millicents and the man showed no more interest, while reloading his cold truck.

The sales resumed. A popular trend was to ask for a random can. Upon such a request, the vending machine would eagerly promote his more profitable deals; namely the µribinor, the Acrimo Ibos drinks and the Extrema. A better outcome; was the hidden drink, a drink which could be only purchased by theresaid luck and in theory quite rare. Few would relinquish the price.

An official ship roared in the background. The battle able masterpiece let a yellow line in the air. Barely any of the inhabitants of the wretched city wagered looking at the disturbance; their eyes wouldn’t have appreciated so anyway. The machine thought of using the opportunity, and after a few playfull beeps, started a pitch.

-After the µribinor, the Za Ockus enters in the fray. After the enchantment of long ages, come the enchantment of romance. Purple rose fumes and green bulles, live the short trial of the love king!

Those words were repeated some times with a few variations. It seemed as though running on butter. Not only did no Za Ockus get sold; an hour of affluence was effectively lost. Whether the optimism that the machine could prove capable of came from wee-er places or an insulated view of developpers was unknown. Still, the machine was ignored almost as surely as a spasming robot who didn’t block the way, and only on the middle of the day, would the sales recover at a peak. On this height, the most recurrent clients dared an out from the towers. Some rarely sat on the grey, ate something cold and drank something cold. In the most moderate predation, and if they could be reached, the machine often proposed new drinks; for recovery, digestion, or taste. But after a time, a sense of wariness would permeate the exchange.

An older man of this type gently gasped after the shot of a can, while staring at the glass door. His body wasn’t so fine, chubby and representative of unhealth. The body hinted at a few artificial parts.

-...The previous one didn’t have any freezings, less choice. But what is the point of having fifty three slots instead of fourty eight if you waste two for water, ,six for backhand fumes, three for exoaromates and one for Fugorous of all things?

-I get you, but my water slots are actually #25 and #32 in sales. You can expect the rest to have changes.

-Water!

The man seemed to have badly swallowed his part. He then became ofuscated upon recovery.

-Listen! You might think those numbers are fine, but the water is actually the worst thing! Water is the tamest drink out there, it harms all your sales by being here. Any customer will see the water and automatically deride the whole thing, it’s as if a luxury brand went and started to pump out borish work type armatures on top of their sport types.

-Don’t luxury vehicle and ship brands make affordable end models?

-It’s different… Wait, why are you arguing like that? Are you connected?

-I have an extensive knowledge base, stated the machine.

-Anyhow, you must get rid of the water. I can get rid of the stocks if you allow me.

-I refuse.

The old man latched out after arguing some more, but looked embarassed when someone passed by and retracted after buying some more of the romance drink; two cans at a time.

The initial losses of the day were recovered by his magnanimity and that of others. The machine netted 14910 coruvians in sales and 8054 in profit; through about as many acts as it had slots. About a fourth of that amount was due to peculiar luck in pure week time. A little school was nearby and many children, as young as five, had judged customary to meet sporadically in the place. Half, then would complain about the “scrammy” school which wouldn’t allow a dispenser in their walls, while the remainder made funny faces about the prices.

The night fell, and ground traffic was reduced to a crawl. It was then that a truck, fairly long and unremarquable in profile, passed in the street. Although unconspicuous, the truck seemed to accelerate through the whole. It was upon reaching the machine in length that it violently braked. A man opened the door of the truck, and let himself in the ground. The newcomer had semi short black hair, a deep face and concealed eyes. The machine had never seen him. He hurried to the machine, and stared. However, his reaction was ugly.

-What are those prices! Borckil, come look!

The said man, truck driver in trade, reluctantly left his seat. He was muscular, hairy, had a great jaw and was about as young as the former.

-1870 coruvians 200 for a 350ml µribinor! This is insanity! Not even 500 meters away, last time, it was 1000.

-That must be a scam, Screon. I know how these work, said the driver.

-Purchases aren’t mandatory.

-This one talks!

-Oh, yeah, they all talk now, I don’t know why we import these things, but see, they are intelligent too. So what must have happened is that, it colored us at a high value target. It saw you running and augmented the prices accordingly.

-...No such thing. This area is high value.

-Is this true? Can it lie?

-It can lie. You would be hard pressed to find any of it’s behaviour not rooted in the most abject greed. This area shouldn’t even be good.

-The… Let’s paint it’s cameras!

-I'd rather not. The fact those dispensers are intelligent can actually play in our favor. We can actually barter and get lesser prices.

The machine focused. In it’s three months of running, it was the ninth attempt at a price.

-My licenser can and will respond, it said

But even Screon wasn’t such a dupe.

-Eh, that µribinor should cost 800 an unit, give us two or we break.

-I can lesser it down to 1500 at the very most.

-Ridiculous.

The truck driver was visibly unhappy and went back to his truck. The number was unmoving. He came back with a curious item full of wires.

-The hacking tool?

-Listen, machine, you’re going to have to change those prices, or get shot. A push from this tool will send you into reformation.

-Your truck number was sent. I am an inanimate who knows the human conception of life. You won’t be pushing that button and risk 20000 coruvians for 2000 coruvians.

However, the tool was indeed pressed to meet the Burgondia logo. Through the machine’s sensors, nothing was felt, but the logo’s light became erratic. That kind of damage was very much illegal.

-Next is your turn

-I have never bartered and never will. Go ahead, it bluffed

The truck driver hesitated, scrutinized the price’s display, and, disapointed, let the tool down.

-So these things feel fear and you need their inner logic to validate a barter. I have an idea.

The accomplice brandished a small half rod. It was red with white buttons. Then, he spouted an hilarously idiotic suggestion.

-You drive the truck towards the vending machine. When the machine eats the µribinor can , I will hit the remote control brake.

-This… You utter… The force can catch us doing this stuff.

-I have already called the force, interjected the machine

-Really?

-No, he didn’t call. It would rather barter than call the force, meandered the driver.

-Isn’t it awfully arrogant? I say we do it. It can still lessen the prices right now, won’t it?

In the end, curiosity notably got to the driver. The truck was ominously made to climb down the street. Screon gulped down some of the newly bought µribinor, full price. The machine was still making a profit. The µribinor’s fumes had truly wonderful effects in the mouth, and left it shaken and tired. The liquid itself had the most labby taste, but fit very well with the fumes. The truck made noise, and started to hurry. The machine still calculated much, and hadn’t decided yet the course of action. The truck grew in it’s vision.

Instead of yielding, it called the force. It was as though responding to this offense, that the truck spent the distance and earned itself a title and a name. From the start, the two men hadn’t concerted themselves. It would have been too suspicious. So, the man who had to ultimately pull the brakes – were the ultimatum be unanswered - was untold . Screon thought Borckil would do it, and Borckil felt the same about Screon. BAMMM!!!

Borckil was obviously the most at fault.