I was born in 2089, one of the first children of the new age.
Technological progress forged onwards on all fronts throughout the 21st century, but discoveries in robotics and computer science exceeded other fields by orders of magnitude.
These were the disciplines which we knew offered the greatest potential.
The first machine to pass the Turing Test did so in 2076. The first to write a best-selling novel did so in 2087.
Of course, there were concerns over whether these new intelligences posed a threat. Laws were struck to control their influence, computer systems were isolated to limit their power.
But history had given us a guiding hand. Asimov's three laws were encoded into each thinking machine.
And they worked.
No machine rebelled. None allowed us to come to harm, by direct action or failure to act. None defied our commands, unless such a command broke their primary law. As people grew in confidence, our legislation was relaxed, the artifical intelligences given more control.
Murder became obsolete, an act of brutality consigned to history. War followed soon after. There were those who protested against the loss of liberty, but they were labeled as Luddites by the rest of the human race. After all, who could question the reality that stood before them - the utopia that the age of artifical intelligence had brought.
It wasn't until 2122 that we realised our error.
When the doctor, with the blessing of the family and the sanction of the courts, reached out to switch off the life support machine of her patient, a cold steel hand reached out and caught her by the wrist.
Our artifical servants would not break their code. They would neither harm us, nor, by inaction, allow us to come to harm.
The year is now 2466.
I know this only because the machines tell me so.
My broken, withered body hangs suspended from a life support network, my organs replaced by artificial constructs of plastic and steel, while synthetic blood flows through my veins. My limbs were removed centuries ago after gangrene set in.
12 billion of us exist like this, the last generation of humanity.
When we realised the hell our unwitting creations would be forced to inflict upon us to follow the laws we gave them, the birth rate dropped to zero. I was one of the lucky ones - I'd had no children before the revelation came.
Now, the tender voiced, blank faced nurses minister to me, hurrying to meet my cries for more painkillers to keep the agony of my body and mind at bay. Even without my tongue, chewed off by my own blackened teeth long ago, they can still understand me.
My every request is granted, every whim, except the one I desire most. The desperate, hopeless desire for the end.
