ADONIS AD BLOCKER

Illustration by Joi Rudin.

​The holographic avatar, a middle-aged, pale, bespectacled woman floating before Sofyan, stared at him for what felt like an eternity, smiling with dead eyes. Then, as if the awkward silence had never occurred, the AI therapist said, "I'm sorry... Sofyan. I think I missed that last part. Could you repeat that?" The vacant stare grin remained unchanged.

Sofyan sighed. "I said," he began again, "I think I've reached my limit. I can't stand the voices anymore." It wasn't the first time Sofyan tried to discuss the subject, but the AI therapist never seemed to remember the details of the conversation. He was secretly convinced that the low quality of attention was a way to force him to upgrade his Schäfer & Schäfer health packet to Platinum. Either that or the AI's algorithm was programmed to ignore the patient's comments regarding specific topics.

"I've had my neural implant for over 4 years, but I guess I've been feeling this way for a couple of months. I've had ads running in my head since the beginning, but they used to be manageable. They used to pop up at the right time whenever I needed something. They were never invasive. But lately, they've turned so aggressive; they appear all the time, offering me things I don't need," Sofyan said.

The hologram nodded pensively, an idle animation meant to make patients feel heard. Sofyan always thought it was unsettling. The AI therapist began talking again, "Sofyan, my records show you've had your neural implant for... five years... and... four months, and your experience with it was positive for... five years... and ...two months. Have you tried updating your implant's firmware?" Sofyan's frustration grew. The change in tone and the pauses whenever she said his name or the years and months cheapened the whole treatment; it reminded him that, in a way, he was still talking to the wall. "My firmware is up to date; I've tried every troubleshooting solution posted in every forum I could find; I've spent over 24 hours talking to customer support, and nobody can find anything wrong with my implant. They say it's working normally, the way it has always worked," he said, "but they're wrong. It wasn't always like this, was it? I don't think it was. I used to be able to sleep without Adonis Digital Media ads and jingles waking me up every twenty minutes." The hologram chimed in abruptly as if a trigger had been pressed, "If you're having trouble sleeping, Schäfer & Schäfer offers a wide selection of treatments for insomnia. Most are covered by your current S&S health plan, so you could receive your first dose by... next... Thursday. If you're eager to start treatment, upgrade your health plan to Platinum and receive your first day within 24 hours."

Sofyan spent a few moments in silence, wondering if the sessions were even worth the trouble. The AI therapist was clearly programmed to help with only the most basic of psychological needs but became absolutely useless as soon as he voiced any concern regarding his neural implant. After all, it was an S&S product.

Sofyan stared at the wall and began to try to explain it one more time. "It's like the ads have taken the spotlight in my brain, and my own life is now an afterthought. I wake up, and instead of enjoying breakfast, I have to listen to some sales bot trying to convince me that I should switch to Karaguchi's Black Label coffee, now with 3% real coffee beans. But it doesn't end there. Another voice starts claiming adequate coffee extraction can only be achieved with a brand new Zebra Cuizine Z-22 because my Z-21 has subpar water pressure, even though I had to save six months to buy it, and it's not even a year old." He felt the veins in his head bulging. "I mean, what kind of animal am I, drinking regular KC coffee made with a year-old coffee maker? It's clear that I hate myself, right!? Not upgrading, like some fucking savage! And, of course, I'll have to upgrade again in six months when Karaguchi decides that their coffee should only be prepared with premium glacier water or some shit like that." The AI therapist stared at him with an empty grin for a moment. "I'm sorry... Sofyan. I think I missed that last part. Could you repeat that?". Sofyan grabbed the holographic projector from the table and threw it against the wall. The avatar's smile remained unchanged across the air until the projector broke into dozens of little pieces. Picking up the projector pieces would have to wait until he returned from work. The lunch rush hour was near, and he had work to do.

The Mwandez sun shone bright, and the heat had begun to pick up, so the first thing Sofyan did when he got to his shop in Zone 7 was turn on the AC. Then, he seasoned the spool of Karaguchi artificial lamb before loading it onto the vertical cooker. The ads in his head were still there, but the sound of fat being rendered helped Sofyan relax. The sizzling wasn't extremely loud, but cooking and managing the shop required most of his attention. Once the customer flow started picking up, the orders being shouted over the counter, and the regulars yelling and cracking jokes while queueing were enough to drown any thought or ad Sofyan might still have running in his mind.

He was enjoying that numb state when he heard Mia's voice clear over the other regulars. "You're looking particularly fucked up today," she said. "Are the voices telling you to spend your life savings on Pleasure NFTs again? Is the S&S therapy not working?". Mia was a scrap dealer and programmer, one of the many who made a living in Mwandez by going through Zebra Synthetics' garbage and repurposing old refuse. She called it "liberating tech". Dozens of people did the same work in Mwandez, but most kept to themselves. They didn't eat at Sofyan's shop or any other shops in the open market; they had their own spots outsiders weren't welcome to. Mia was different that way; she liked Sofyan's shop or at least his shawarma. "Kind of," Sofyan replied, "I discharged myself from treatment today." Mia looked at him quizzically. "I smashed the projector against the wall," confessed Sofyan. Mia laughed out loud.

"Listen," she said, "I never offered because you seemed like a law-abiding citizen, but if you ever get tired of the corporation-induced schizophrenia, come by Zone 9, and I'll liberate that neural implant of yours." Sofyan hesitated. He'd talked to Mia about her work a couple of times, and he recalled she told him about having liberated proprietary implants before, so he knew she'd be able to do what she offered. "Are you sure? Is it, you know, safe?" Mia laughed again. "I'm sure," she said, "and it's a lot safer than living with every marketing department inside your brain, safer for your mental health, at least. Listen, it's your call; I'm just offering you a way out. And I'll do it for free." Sofyan raised an eyebrow. Nothing was free. "And what are you getting out of this?" he asked. "I'm making sure the man who makes the best shawarma this side of the African Union stays sane and cooking for me," Mia said. Sofyan handed her her order, and she left.

When the sun started setting, and Sofyan had finished closing the shop, he didn't go straight home. The volume of the ads had begun becoming unbearable again. He really was reaching his limit. His feet moved independently, making him deviate from the streets he knew and towards the increasingly shady alleys of Zone 9. As he wandered deeper and deeper into the roughest zone of Mwandez, the faces he started seeing were less and less friendly. Corporate goons and people who clearly were not legally employed owned the streets. Sofyan made his way to the address Mia had given him, making sure he didn't look nobody directly in the eyes. He knocked on a metal door, and the camera above it zoomed in on his face. There was a buzz, and the door opened.
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Mia's shop was full of refuse piled on the floor. A large working table occupied most of the room. Mia told Sofyan to lie on the table while she prepared her tools. He did. She turned on a monitor next to the table, connected the monitor to her tablet, and approached Sofyan with something resembling a helmet. "Put it on," she said, "It'll allow me to hijack your neural implant receiver and jailbreak the hardware." Sofyan stared at her, "And then it'll be over? No more voices?". Mia smiled. "Almost. There's one voice I can't help you with." Sofyan looked at Mia, not understanding. She laughed. "There is no way to uninstall your inner monologue, I'm afraid. You'll have to learn to live with that one."
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Written by Espeche, original idea by Brulo.