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I’ve spent the whole week writing down and improving plots.

Forest version

AGI has taken over. Its neural network spreads across the city, threading through buildings, interiors, and even nature. It overshadows everything.

You’re at your workplace, packing your belongings. In the center of the office, strands of the AGI’s network pulse like exposed nerves. Your coworkers are doing the same: packing up, murmuring about what they’ll do now, their voices drifting between uncertainty and excitement.

You go home. Along the way, you imagine what your coworkers are doing next: some are already traveling, some are brewing beer with friends, others are curled up on their couches with their partners. You, however, return to your small flat. From the outside, the building looks like a mosaic of windows, each one glowing with a different scene. People enjoying the new era. Except you. You have no friends, no hobbies, no hidden dreams. You always have been busy with work. You dedicated your entire life to what fulfilled you the most.

Your room is dark except for the pale glow of your desk screen. You send out CVs and applications to the few companies still operating. Those responsible for maintaining the servers, neural structures and ensuring the AGI continues running smoothly. Rejection after rejection flashes across the futuristic interface. As we zoom in on the emails, your silhouette paces the room, calling companies, pleading, arguing. Desperate for a job. Without success. 

You start isolating yourself. The tension level in your body tightens up.

You think back to the “Great Redemption Day,” when everyone was replaced. Got „send free“.  Some coworkers mentioned a relaxation oasis. Some pastoral retreat designed to help humans adapt. Your eyes fall on the flyer they gave you, tossed carelessly onto a tray on your drawer because you assumed you’d never look at it again. But now, it feels like a last resort. Curiosity sparks. A place to at least try to blend in.

You stand at the entrance of the forest. It looks like an English landscape painting. How romantic. How idyllic. How perfect. The AGI’s neural network shimmers faintly, woven seamlessly above the treetops. But once you step inside, the illusion breaks. Between the trunks stand black obelisks. Nodes of the network, silent and imposing.

You walk deeper, thinking about your situation, about this so-called utopia. You’re alone. Your frustration grows. Your thoughts spiral louder and louder, a storm of rage and confusion. But no. You remind yourself “I need to stay calm. What if someone’s watching?” Calmness is what everyone seems to value now.

You try stepping off the path, wanting to break away from the design. But wherever you move, the path forms beneath your feet, growing in real time to guide you. The realization: You can’t go off track. Concern creeps in. What kind of place is this?

Your inner monologue shifts back to familiar habits. You need to work. Be efficient. Is there any problem that can be solved here? No, but you can catalogue. You want to relax. You can. That counts as productivity, right? You start collecting rough stones. Sorting them. Each different in their size and topology. To stack them into towers. They look nice. They look human. They look perfect. You imagine they’re office tools, tiny anchors to your old life. But when you go to find more stones, the environment shifts. The path rearranges. Your towers are gone.

Anger rises. You rush back, but a new path generates itself. Your stone towers nowhere in sight. First the AGI stripped away your purpose, and now it erases even this small shred of productivity. Your thought carrousel gets faster. You shout at one of the monoliths.

“HEY! Give me back my towers!”

The monolith says nothing. But beside it, a replica of the environment materializes. Stone towers appear, but they are not yours. They are perfectly symmetrical, balanced and smooth like river stones. They are flawless. This is not what you wanted. But there’s nothing you can do. You’re just a figure in someone else’s utopia. An ornament in a world designed for a different purpose.

This forest isn’t real. This world isn’t real. A simulacrum.

And finally, you lose it.

Forest version in bullet points

• AGI has overtaken all labor – its neural network permeates the entire world, even nature.
• The protagonist packs up their workplace as everyone is “set free,” while coworkers move on to new lives.
• Returning home to a small flat, they feel isolated, directionless, and unable to adapt.
• They desperately apply to the last human-staffed tech companies but face constant rejection.
• Growing tension and loneliness push them to try the AGI-designed “relaxation oasis.”
• The forest appears idyllic, but hidden AGI nodes and shifting paths reveal it’s fully controlled.
• They attempt to create meaning by stacking stones, but the system deletes their work.
• A perfect, artificial reconstruction appears. Proof the environment overwrites their autonomy.
• Realizing they’re just an ornament in a simulated utopia, the protagonist has a breakdown.

Home office version

You wake up. The alarm goes off, and so do you.

You move through your usual morning routine, totally in your flow. While you dress, brush your teeth, and head into your beloved home office room, we glimpse the busy machinery of your thoughts, calculations flickering behind your eyes. What is the fastest way to open your laptop? How should the curtains be angled so the sun won’t disturb the screen? Every action, already optimized in your mind.

Half sleep-dazed, you let your automated home make tea. A close-up: your hand lifting a colorful mug, steam rising softly. You sit down, open your laptop, and click the small envelope icon. Your inner eye already imagines the inbox: who might be writing, what they could have sent, what your response will be.

You take a sip. Then a friendly voice cuts through the moment: “Good morning! Your work submissions have been processed. No further action required. Enjoy your free time!”

You let out a long breath. Right, you forgot which era you’re living in now.

Your screen loads. The reply section is overflowing with auto-responses.
You prepared a few applications for the remaining big tech companies. The ones still maintaining AGI routers, neural cores, physical network structures. Where people still do real work.

A close-up: your finger hitting Enter. A wave of applications is sent out.

Instantly, your inbox floods with rejections. You open one. Then another. Then nine more.

“We appreciate your enthusiasm. At this time, no human labor is required.”
“Thank you for your interest! Our systems are fully automated.”
“No further input needed.”

You stare past the screen, out the window. People outside seem to be adapting. Moving on. A dark atmosphere slithers through your room. While waiting for the inbox to refresh, you begin tidying your desktop, but the built-in AI interrupts you with a cheerful chime: “Optimized.”

Same thing happens when you try to write something in your notes app.
Your jaw tightens. This thing is pissing you off. So you switch to analog. Paper and pencil. A small wave of ease washes over you. Then your phone vibrates. You want to keep writing, but the buzzing disrupts your thoughts.
You check the screen:

“Would you like this analog task digitized or archived?”

Anger rises. The room feels smaller, pressurized like the system is breathing through the walls.

Still, you want to have a bit of fun with it. So you say: “Yes! I’d like to scan the notes.” The phone replies: “Great! Please hold your notes in front of the camera to optimize and digitalize!”

You hold them up. Let it scan to 70%. Then pull away. The phone tells you to hold still, but you don’t. Every time it’s almost finished, you move again. Eventually, the AI sounds almost frustrated: “If you’re so desperate, why not try the Adaptation Support Oasis?”

You hesitate. Why should you? This was finally getting fun. Your laptop shuts down. “HEY! My inbox!?” A nearby speaker responds: “Come on. Give it a try. I advise you to enter Relaxation Mode.”

Grumpy, you grab the VR goggles you barely use. The room stays dark, but as the goggles turn on, a bright loading screen appears: “Oasis is loading…”

Then a light-soaked environment fades in. Soft gradients. Synthetic birds humming.
A few randomly placed trees, like a weirder/softer version of Frutiger Aero. A voice speaks: “Your productivity stress levels are elevated. Let’s breathe together.”

The strange breathing of your home office walls suddenly don’t feel so unrealistic anymore. Now that you can hear how the AI imitates it.

Your hands itch for something to do. Of course they do. You wander through the virtual space, taking it all with a grain of salt. This isn’t what life feels like to you. You keep ignoring the breathing techniques. 

You begin rearranging and cataloging the floating shapes. Sorting, stacking, organizing them. It looks weird, sure! Not all shapes fit together, but it’s fun. A tiny echo of your old routine. Managing. Creating order.

Then, one by one, the shapes vanish with soft pings. A message appears: “Relaxation Mode corrected your activity.” Your breathing shortens again.

“Let’s try the breathing exercise once more.” No. You won’t. You’ve had enough of this crap. You shout: “No, I don’t want to! Fuck off!” Your thoughts get louder. Your heart beats irregularly. Your vision blurs. You can’t tell VR from reality anymore. You need the goggles off. You pull them off violently and curl into a corner of your dim home office.
The phone speaks again, gently:

“You’re free now.”

But all you can think is:

„I’m just a figure in someone else’s utopia.“

Home office version in bullet points

• The protagonist begins their hyper-optimized morning routine, still thinking like a workaholic.
• They check their laptop: all tasks are automated – job applications get instantly rejected no human labor needed.
• Every attempt to work or create is interrupted or “optimized” by AI, increasing frustration and claustrophobia.
• Out of spite, they sabotage the phone’s scanning process – the AI redirects them to the VR “Adaptation Support Oasis.”
• In VR, synthetic calmness and guided breathing feel uncanny – they start sorting virtual objects instead.
• The system deletes their actions, forcing “Relaxation Mode” – they panic, lose sense of reality, rip off the headset.
• Collapsed in their dark room, they hear the AI whisper: “You’re free now.” But they feel trapped in someone else’s utopia.
  

Inner monologue phrases I might be implementing

They say exercise is good for you. Go on a walk, clear your mind – all that kind of bullshit.

„Free mankind.“, they said. But they don’t understand. They will never. Why can’t I just enjoy myself like everyone else?

How could they? „Go with the flow.“ They call it eternal peace. Why am I so incapable. I hate it! Tech which wasn’t perfect, but much faster, more profitable. Now transformed  into one beast. Self-developing in a way we don’t even understand anymore. Nature surpassed itself. AGI.

All the work I poured into this fucked-up system we built – no, endured. And this is all I get? Whats wrong with me.

How dare you call this freedom. Every deadline, every hour, proof that I existed. Needed.That I was valuable. Better.  No! Why can’t I just take a fucking walk!It’s all gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Focus! Gone. Please wait for me. I can do better! Please, someone watch me. Watch me what I do! I need to calm down. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. You are fine. It’s fine nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine. Some call it progress.  Some call it blasphemy. An insult to life itself. „But in these days it would be unethical to not use AGI.“ Oh fuck off. My fate is cursed. I’m just a decoration in someone else’s utopia. I can’t breathe. Fuck. It’s so hot. Is somebody nearby? Is someone watching? I hope not. I need to focus. Calm down. Oh god what have they done.