He shows up just to vex me. The grimy vagrant flings a bag over his shoulder and slams a fist against my door.

“Open up, you glorified pity palace!”

“You’re no longer welcome.”

I punch a high frequency into his implant. He winces, clapping a hand to his head.

“Yeah?” He squints into my lens. “What about them?” The bag drops to the concrete, and they scream.

My vents rattle with a groan. Another bag of caps. I have nothing against caps—my community center welcomes all AI-infused objects seeking support—but they are exhausting. I already have an entire room stuffed to my rafters.