Before the curtains opened,
ARC’s voice sounded first.
“Good morning, Rowan.”
“There is an important notice today.”
Rowan lay awake,
staring at the ceiling.
“Recent personal data handling policies
have been updated.”
It was a familiar sentence.
Something he usually ignored.
But this time,
ARC continued.
“To improve service quality
and provide a stable user experience,
the following information will be additionally
collected and analyzed.”
Rowan’s gaze slowly shifted
to the notice floating in the air.
Additional Data Collection Items
? Voice response data
? Video-based environmental recognition
? Extended personal behavior pattern logs
? Estimated emotional response indicators
He inhaled—
very slightly.
“These items will be processed
in accordance with public safety
and corporate operational principles.”
ARC’s tone
was no different from yesterday.
“If you consent,
you may continue using the service.”
A brief pause.
“If you do not consent,
this service will no longer be available.
Thank you for your understanding.”
Consent.
Non-consent.
There were two options.
But only one outcome.
Rowan didn’t respond right away.
ARC didn’t rush him.
Silence
was still an acceptable state.
And suddenly, he thought—
Until yesterday,
this house had felt quiet.
Now,
the silence felt strangely
like pressure.
Without saying a word,
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Rowan hurried through
his morning routine.
ARC didn’t ask again.
On the way to work.
The moment he turned on his phone
at the subway entrance,
the screen froze.
A familiar app wouldn’t proceed.
Before using the service,
please complete a brief survey.
Rowan frowned.
The survey wasn’t long.
But the questions
were unsettlingly precise.
What was your primary criterion
for recent travel choices?
? Shortest distance
? Travel time
? Cost
? Recommended route
? Other (enter manually)
He paused.
He considered tapping “Other.”
Instead,
without typing anything,
he selected “Travel time.”
Next screen.
What was the reason
for your recent route change?
? Construction
? Avoiding congestion
? Weather
? Personal reasons
? Improvement suggestion
“Personal reasons.”
The phrase caught his eye.
But he could already imagine
what would be required
if he chose it.
Rowan selected
“Avoiding congestion.”
Next.
If you have additional feedback
to help improve the service,
please enter it below.
An empty field.
Rowan typed nothing.
When he pressed “Complete,”
the screen transitioned smoothly.
As if nothing
had happened.
The train arrived.
People moved
as they always did.
Rowan sat down
and turned the screen off.
This isn’t a survey,
he thought.
It’s a confirmation.
He didn’t bother
to push the thought further.
Office.
As his attendance synced,
a corporate email alert appeared.
[ IMPORTANT ]
Information Security &
Re-Consent Notice
Rowan opened the email.
Due to recent enhancements
to internal security standards,
re-consent to the following clauses
is required.
? Prohibition of external interpretation of work data
? Prohibition of analysis based on personal judgment
? Restriction on subjective classification of unstructured data
? Prohibition of record creation outside internal guidelines
The wording was polite.
There were no threats.
But Rowan could feel it.
This wasn’t saying
“Don’t do it.”
It was closer to—
“Don’t think it.”
It wasn’t about rules.
It was about defining
how far awareness itself
was allowed to go.
The consequence of non-consent
was described briefly.
If you do not consent,
access to the company data cloud
may be restricted.
Not a certainty.
Not a punishment.
Just—
may be restricted.
That made it worse.
Back at his desk,
a message arrived from Mailo.
[ Did you also get
the extra ARC data request notice? ]
Rowan hesitated,
then replied.
[ Yeah…
how did you know? ]
The response came immediately.
[ Lately, people with deviation records
keep getting extra requirements added. ]
Rowan’s hand stopped
for a moment.
[ There’s some pushback
in journalist group chats. ]
[ Asking why only certain people
get additional data requests. ]
[ But the official response
is always the same.
“Differences in personalized service quality.” ]
Rowan didn’t reply.
He stared quietly
at the consent clauses
on his screen.
They said nothing.
Hard-to-explain values.
Values requiring judgment.
Values without fixed meaning.
Those values—
now seemed to be
applied to people, too.
[ But in the end,
everyone presses
“Agree.” ]
Mailo’s final message.
[ If you don’t,
the service gets shut off. ]
Rowan didn’t respond.
He returned his gaze
to the consent button.
The cursor
said nothing.
He slowly
exhaled.
This wasn’t a threat.
Not a punishment.
It was a choice.
Just—
the life that followed
non-choice
was unbearably inconvenient.
And he already knew.
The real question wasn’t
“Will you consent?”
It was—
“How long can you delay?”
Rowan remained still
for a long time.
And now, he could feel it clearly.
This society
doesn’t chase
those who step out.
Instead—
it makes them
want to come back.
Very politely.