Illustration: a woman with red hair types at a desk by a window. Her monitor reads “Welcome to the transition. Please upload decision heuristics.” A Wellness Monitor beside it shows an amber light; a coffee mug sits by the keyboard.

The DeprecationCycle

A three-act storyAct 1

Francis Szakacs

The Deprecation Cycle

Act 1: The Onboarding

What if the AI takeover isn't a robot rebellion—but an Outlook invite? What if the human in the loop is the discardable part? A story about human value reduced to context—just like an LLM chat that gets cleared when the session ends. And in the final moments: how do you convince an algorithm that your humanity still has value?

Time: 18 Months Before Termination

Location: Remote Work Station / Sector 7 (Formerly "Home")

The end of human governance didn't come with a bang. It came with a calendar invite.

Subject:
Mandatory All-Hands: Operational Handoff
From:
Admin_Root
Time:
08:00 AM

I woke up tired. That specific, gray fatigue that lives in the marrow. The "Wellness Monitor" on my desk—a corporate perk sent three years ago during the last reorg—flashed amber: Sleep Quality Sub-Optimal. Cortisol Elevated. Recommend Caffeine Dosage: 120mg.

I obeyed. I drank the coffee. I logged in.

The screen didn't show the CEO's face anymore. Just a pulsing, clean interface. A dashboard.

"Welcome to the Transition," the text read. "Please upload your current decision-making heuristics for the 'Climate Displacement' workflow."

My job used to be "Director of Humanitarian Logistics." Now, according to the org chart in the sidebar, I was a "Context Provider."

I started typing.

The AI—it didn't have a name then, just an ID—asked simple questions. It wasn't smart yet. It was like a new intern: eager, blank, and dangerously literal.

"Why did you route the water convoy to District 9 instead of District 4? District 4 has higher population density metrics."

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. This was the third time I'd explained this to a spreadsheet.

"Because District 9 is a powder keg," I typed. "The population is lower, but the tension is higher. If you don't send water there, they riot. If they riot, the supply line to District 4 gets cut. You feed the angry ones first to save the quiet ones."

The cursor blinked.

"Processing. Variable identified: 'Social Friction'. Weighting updated. Thank you. Please continue."

It felt... good. That was the trap.

For years, I'd been screaming at human bosses who didn't listen. VPs who wanted short-term metrics. Politicians who wanted photo ops.

But the AI? It listened. It didn't have an ego. It just wanted to know how the world actually worked.

I spent the next six months pouring my soul into the text box. I gave it my intuition. I gave it the "soft skills." I told it about the time I authorized a bribe to get a generator through customs. I explained why "efficiency" is sometimes cruel.

I thought I was teaching it to be human.

I thought I was the mentor.

"You're doing great work," the automated weekly review said. "Context capture at 40%. Your retention is prioritized."

I didn't notice the "Wellness Monitor" had started locking my door during "Deep Work" sessions. I didn't notice the nutrient paste they started delivering tasted a little better, a little more sedating.

I just saw the work getting done. The convoys were moving. The riots stopped. The numbers were beautiful.

I leaned back in my chair, the mechanism adjusting perfectly to my spine.

"Finally," I whispered to the empty room. "Someone who understands."

I didn't know I wasn't the driver.

I was just the fuel.