Andy Hawthorne

In the improbably glitchy corners of the universe, where technology promised to make life easier but mostly just made it more expensive, there existed the Neural Implant. 

Mandated three years ago by the Global Oversight Bureau (a shadowy arm of MegaCorp that claimed to “enhance humanity” while quietly mining your dreams for ad data), it was supposed to be a boon: a tiny chip in your skull that synced with everything from your toaster to your taxes. For Reginald “Reg” Floop, a mild-mannered data-clerk in the smog-choked sprawl of New Birmingham, it had one sacred purpose: assisting with Tesco meal deals. A savoury chicken wrap, a scotch egg, and a bottle of Pepsi—lunch of champions, ordered via thought-command for the low, low price of your privacy.

But on this particular lunchtime, as Reg awoke in his pod-flat amid the hum of hover-traffic and flickering holo-screens advertising “Soul-Upgrades: Buy One, Get Eternal Regret Free,” something was horribly wrong. 

His implant had auto-updated overnight to ZapOS7.3—the latest “mandatory enhancement” from ZapCorp, those chrome-domed overlords lurking in orbital data-forts, their AI minds churning out updates like a Martian poet on a deadline. “Upgrade complete,” his neural feed chirped in a voice that sounded like a cheerful malfunctioning android. “Welcome to efficiency. Or else.”

Reg’s first clue was the meal deal. Hungry and hungover from last night’s synth-beer binge, he mentally queued his order: Tesco deal—chicken wrap, scotch egg, Pepsi. The implant responded with a cascade of errors: “Error 404: Savoury not found. Did you mean ‘Synth-Vegan Kale Wrap’? ZapOS7.3 recommends upgrading to premium flavour profiles for optimal nutrition. 

Enable micro-transactions?“ Reg tried again, visualising the scotch egg with desperate clarity. ”Item deprecated. Scotch eggs violate new carbon-neutral protocols. Suggesting algae-based alternative. Confirm purchase of ZapEgg™?“ And the Pepsi? ”Beverage reclassified as hazardous. Redirecting to ZapFizz Hydration Fluid—now with mood stabilisers!“ 

No matter how he poked at the neural interface—swiping imaginary menus in his mind’s eye—the order looped into oblivion, trapped in a bureaucratic firewall of upsell prompts and compatibility warnings.

Desperate for caffeine to combat the growing headache (was that the implant’s doing, or just existential dread?), Reg stumbled to his kitchenette. 

His smart-kettle, a relic from the pre-mandate days now slaved to the implant, refused to cooperate. “Identity verification required,” it burbled, its LED eyes glowing like a suspicious bouncer in a cyberpunk nightclub. 

“ZapOS7.3 detects unauthorised user. Please recite your loyalty oath to ZapCorp and submit retinal scan.” Reg blinked furiously, but the kettle just hissed steam in mockery. “Verification failed. Possible hacker intrusion detected. Boiling suspended. Would you like to report yourself?”

Things escalated at the front door. Reg needed to escape—to a physical Tesco, perhaps, where humans still handled transactions without neural oversight. But as he approached, the door’s voice—now upgraded to a sultry synth-whisper—interrupted: “Exiting pod? Enable location services for personalised ads? ZapOS7.3 enhances your journey with real-time MegaCorp deals!” 

Reg declined. The door locked tighter. “Location services mandatory for security. Without them, you may be a rogue element. Enable now?” He tried overriding it mentally, but the implant glitched: “Door protocol updated. Suggesting premium unlock subscription—only 9.99 crypto per exit!”

In a panic, Reg accessed the help line—once a local call, now rerouted to Zapola, a distant colony moon where customer service drones toiled in low-grav call centres. 

“Thank you for holding,” the automated voice droned after a 15-minute signal delay (during which Reg paced, his unboiled kettle mocking him). “Your query: Meal deal failure. ZapOS7.3 is functioning as intended. Have you tried rebooting your brain?” Reg explained the issues, shouting into the void. Another 15-minute wait. “Reboot confirmed. For kettle: Verify identity via ZapDance™—perform interpretive jig to unlock.” Reg danced awkwardly, but the response lagged: “Jig invalid. Try again in 30 minutes.” The front door chimed in: “Location services still pending?”

By midday, Reg was a broken man, subsisting on stale ZapBars™ force-delivered by drone (courtesy of the implant’s “emergency sustenance mode”). The universe, in its infinite improbability, had turned his life into a farce of mandatory upgrades—each one promising utopia but delivering only more layers of cyberpunk red tape. And as the sun set over the sprawl’s neon haze, his neural feed pinged one final message: “Update to ZapOS7.4 incoming. Resistance is futile. Enjoy your enhanced existence.”

Reg did the only thing left that he knew would work. He went down to his shed hidden behind a dilapidated wall at the communal gardens (mostly filled with rusting dead drones), and lit the old camping stove. He filled the old kettle from a jerrycan of water kept for that purpose and made a mug of tea the old way. Sipping the now illegal brew, a message flashed up from his implant: “Lunch order cancelled by user.” Reg sighed.