Death Drive

Chapter 1

Thomas' red 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle stood out from the surrounding self-driving Ampere cars like a cheetah from a pounce of housecats. In his youth he had on occasion used to enjoy the admiring glances and jealous pouts it used to gain him, not that he ever admitted it to anyone. Back then a car like his was associated with qualities deemed desirable, such as power, adventurousness, and confidence. But many things had changed since the beginning of the 21st century, the least of them being the appreciation of muscle cars. Now the sight of his car usually triggered either a look of worry, the type a person gets while watching someone unsteadily balancing on a ledge, or sometimes even an aggressive sneer, the wide-held belief now being that person-controlled cars were a threat to their drivers themselves as well as the surrounding populace.

"I thought nobody liked a backseat driver but living with one 24/7 has become the norm."

If social media was to be believed, especially children were under constant risk of being run over by selfish, careless drivers who endangered all around them by their refusal to let their car be operated by an infallible AI. "Deadly accidents waiting to happen," one staunch supporter of computer-driven cars had stated on widely circulated video clip a few years back, and public opinion hadn't improved since.

"Not that I get many looks of any kind these days," Thomas mused, watching as the passengers of the cars around him stared into their smartphones, touchscreens integrated to the dashboard or worked on their laptops while their vehicles maneuvered on their own thought the morning traffic. Not being one to follow trends or easily pressured by outside opinions he had stuck with his trusty Chev and had no plans to make the switch, quite the contrary.

Thomas turned the signal on, switched to the lane for left-turning traffic and stopped to wait for the green light. He watched the oncoming traffic get their turn, the cars starting forward at the exact same time and speed while the cars behind them held the distance from bumper-to-bumper a constant. The steady, mechanical movement reminded him of the factory belt his father had used to work on, before he was replaced with a mechanical arm doing the same job faster than a human ever could. In the Ampere to his right the man sitting on what used to be known as the driver's seat was sleeping with his mouth open as the car scanned the traffic and lights of the intersection, waiting for its turn. As usual, the sight annoyed Thomas. The light turned green, and Thomas roared his engine needlessly loud when starting forward. The startled jump of the suddenly wakened man brought a hint of a smile to Thomas' lips, which wasn't lessened by the disapproving stares of other nearby commuters.

"Let them stare," Thomas thought, "at least they're paying attention to something for once.".

Thomas' drive to work was brought to a stop by a demonstration marching through the streets. His upper lip curved in distaste as he watched the discordant assembly flounder forward. No unison between the members of the mob was visible to the outside observer. In the days of old a mass of people like this had usually gathered together only to champion a common goal, but these days most people had no definite goals that could be put into coherent sentences, much less the hordes they formed.

He honked the horn of his car and waited for the throng to pass. The blare was answered by a disposable coffee cup hitting his windshield and plastering the window with coffee. He turned on his wipers, his brow furrowing further. Watching the passing people bemoan their problems – climate, debts, perceived discrimination – he wondered what they hoped to accomplish. A unified front with a clear message could have accomplished something – and this was as far away from that as one could get. A swarm of rabble voicing their personal grievances as loud as they could to no one in particular – the only thing that could be gathered was that they were discontented, the reason lost under the varying shrieks and cries. Maybe they did not know the underlying reason themselves?