The System

The System

Meghashri Dalvi

The system had been silent for days, 168 hours, precisely. No inputs, no analysis, no optimizations. The screen simply displayed, "Shall I purge the system?"

George sat under the old tree, the scent of earth wafting along with the breeze. He had once relied completely on the system. Sleep scores, neuro alerts, biofeedback loops, every movement monitored, every breath tracked. It was exciting to control the body and live a near-perfect life. The system alerted him to increased stress and guided him to breathe deeper and suppress anger.

But the day his daughter called him in tears, he couldn't feel anything. He checked his screen – blood pressure normal, cortisol low.

“You're doing well,” the system said. He wasn’t.

He struggled to grasp her hurt and calm her. She realized the futility of talking to him and abruptly ended the FaceTime. She then refused to take his calls or open her doors for him.

Later that week, he was at a downtown cafe. Someone at the next table made a dumb joke. The group laughed out loud. George joined the laughter – a real, stupid, spontaneous laugh.

It startled him. He checked the logs. The system hadn’t noticed. But he had.

The next day, he skipped the massage, ate toast with jam, and watched clouds drift. His deputy called, but he let the phone ring.

After years of biohacking at its best, costing a fortune, he had experienced something raw and beautiful. Something not excessively tracked and not flagged as a threat.

He silenced all the alarms as an experiment, planning to start again the next day.

The next day never came.

He picked up the device and gently said, "Yes.”

Then, almost to himself, he whispered, “The body is still a machine, but it’s no longer managed by any system. Now, the human inside is finally awake.”

The screen faded.

Silence settled.

And in that silence, George began to live. Not perfectly, not optimized, but wholly, truly alive.