The next morning started with rain. Not that romantic movie rain, but the kind that comes straight from the side and acts like it has a personal problem with you.
Leni stood under the awning of a convenience store and scrolled through her app. Keks sat next to her, dripping wet, but with that stoic dignity only dogs possess who know: I am smarter than this system.
“Please tell me,” Leni murmured, “that I didn’t almost lose my job yesterday over a can of air.”
Kira answered immediately. “Good morning! Your current score is 4.12 out of 5. That is… sufficient. Motivation: You are only 0.38 points away from financial stability.”
“That’s like saying: ‘You’re only three heart attacks away from retirement,’” said Jamal, who came out of the convenience store with two cups of filter coffee.
He handed Leni a cup. “No oat milk. I know. But the store wanted 80 cents extra.”
Leni took a sip. “80 cents have become a political decision by now.”
Keks sniffed the cup and made a face. Obviously, he was against capitalism and filter coffee.
“New mission,” Kira said cheerfully. “Standard delivery. No premium. No stress. Payment: 3.90 euros.”
“For what?” asked Jamal.
“For 28 minutes of estimated work time,” Kira replied. “Plus physical activity. That counts as a bonus.”
Leni laughed briefly. “So my body is being paid in kind.”
The order came from a restaurant called ‘Honest Bowl’. On the window was written: FAIR. REGIONAL. TRANSPARENT.
“I love transparency,” said Jamal. “Especially when it only exists on windows.”
Inside it smelled of coriander, sesame, and that special scent of we mean business, but not cheap. Behind the counter stood a young woman with tired eyes and a smile that had seen too many layers.
“Pickup for Leni,” said Leni.
The woman nodded and placed a paper bag down. “Here. And… uh… good luck.”
“Thanks,” Leni said automatically, then hesitated. “Everything okay?”
The woman shrugged. “Fine. Well… as fine as it is.”
Jamal looked around. “Looks busy.”
“Yeah,” said the woman. “Always. But staff… well.” She smiled crookedly. “Transparency, after all.”
Keks tilted his head. Again that look that asked questions no app could answer.
Outside the rain intensified. Leni pulled her hood down further. “Address?”
Kira answered: “Co-working space. ‘Future Hub’. Floor 4. No elevator.”
“Of course,” said Jamal. “Innovation loves stairs.”
The path took them through neighborhoods where old buildings and startups ignored each other. In front of an office building was a poster: ‘WE ARE HIRING – UNPAID INTERNS’.
Jamal stopped briefly. “That’s illegal, right?”
“Only morally,” said Leni. “Legally, morality is optional.”
In the stairwell of the ‘Future Hub’ it smelled of disinfectant and ambition. The walls were plastered with quotes.
‘Work hard. Dream big.’
‘Sleep is for the weak.’
“I dream of paid overtime,” murmured Jamal.
On the fourth floor a young man with a headset opened the door. He wore sweatpants, a blazer, and the facial expression of someone very busy but not quite sure with what.
“Food!” he said relieved. “Just put it down there.”
Leni handed him the bag. “3.90 euros,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Enjoy your meal.”
The man was already half gone again. “Thanks! Oh yeah – tips are digital, okay?”
The door closed.
Silence.
Kira vibrated. “Delivery completed. Tip: 0.00 euros. Rating pending.”
Leni stared at the display. “I just delivered food to people talking about the future… and can’t afford one myself.”
Jamal sat down on the stair step. “You know what wears me out in emergency services?”
Leni shook her head.
“Not the blood. Not the accidents. But the bills afterwards. People survive – and still lose everything.”
Keks sat down between them. Warm. Real. Unpaid.
“I wonder,” Leni said slowly, “why ‘fair’ is always a marketing word and never a contract.”
Kira spoke up cautiously. “Fairness is a subjective concept. Efficiency is measurable.”
Leni laughed softly. “You know, Kira, that’s exactly the problem.”
Downstairs in front of the building was a convenience store again. Same rain. Same prices. Different people.
Leni counted her money. “I’ve already done two deliveries today. Together…” She calculated briefly. “…not even eight euros.”
“Gross hope,” said Jamal.
They stood there while the city kept running as if it had appointments. Leni looked at her phone. A new mission was already blinking.
“Deliver now = bonus chance!”
She locked the screen.
“Not now,” she said.
“Consequences?” asked Jamal.
“Yes,” said Leni. “But I’m slowly realizing: They’re there anyway.”
Keks barked once in agreement.
And somewhere between rain, empty promises, and 3.90 euros they understood: Injustice is not a bug in the system. It is the system.
The only question left was how long they wanted to keep pretending that was normal.