The Bank of Community Settlements

 

The digital screen flashed number 175.

The customer walked into the private office.  He sat in a chair that made him look small.  

Across from the desk sat something that looked like it wanted to be human.  Next to the customer stood a mechanical attack dog.

The customer handed his bank card over to the less dangerous-looking machine.  

"How are you, Mr. Middle-of-the-road."

"My name is Monroe," said the customer, beginning to get annoyed.

The synthetic smile shone in the overhead light.

"How can we help you today?"

"My account has been drained of all of its money," said Mr. Monroe.  

"I'm sorry Sir," said the machine.  "But if you will read the fine print on the contract that you signed when opening your accounts, we reserve the right to utilize the resources in our institution so as to remain solvent."

"You mean that your customers must now pay for your losses due to your own poor investments?" said Mr. Monroe.

"I'm sorry Sir," as the doll's eyes suddenly changed into ball-bearings.  But we are simply implementing the protocols previously put in place."

Mr. Monroe thought he heard the machine next to him growl.

"What about my assets?" he asked.

Using its microchipped mind, the Bluetooth droid paired with the computer before it.     

"Yes, it looks like you are less than a year away from paying off your house and car.  Are you going to make any payments today?"

"In my accounts, I have the money to pay off both loans today and that is what I'd like to do," Mr. Monroe replied.

"I'm sorry Sir," the machine said.  "But you no longer have access to those accounts.  But we here at the Bank of Community Settlements would like to extend our thanks for your donation in order to keep us in business.  It can also give you a tax-break.

"What the hell are you talking about?  I never signed anything that should give you the right to rob me!"

The metalhead beside him moved a step forward.  The other one remained unperturbed.  

"Please lower your voice, Sir.  The protection model becomes more aggressive at higher decibel levels."

Mr. Monroe sat back down on his seat.

"I just lost my job and I have no way to make my next payments," he said, holding his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry Sir," uttered with the same sing-song sound.  "But if you can't come up with the funds by the end of the month, your assets will be seized and brought back under our domain."   

"What will happen to my house?" asked Mr. Monroe.

"It will probably be sold at auction and then most likely rented out to immigrants.  But if you're willing to take in some of them now, we may be able to get you a room for yourself.  Otherwise, you can wait in the shelters until the smart cities are finished being built.  We'll show you where to apply to reserve your own tiny home."  

Mr. Monroe looked in a daze.  "This is like a bad dream."

"I'm sorry Sir, but the reset has been a challenge for us all."  

"On a positive note, you can now apply for universal basic income," said the fake human.  "If you qualify, all of your debts will be forgiven.  But you will never own anything again."

Mr. Monroe had begun to lose touch with reality. 

The thing continued.  "You will be given a monthly e-stipend downloaded on the software previously implanted in your brain through the vaccines.  Just stay up with your boosters and you shouldn't have any problems."

"I feel like my world has been destroyed."

"I'm sorry Sir," said the machine without inflection.  Just go to the Entertainment Department to rent your VR goggles and you can have any world you want!"

Mr. Monroe walked out of the office completely decimated.

The digital screen flashed number 176.