Soft Dystopias #4: Not Your Voice

This one’s personal, even though it’s fiction.

Not Your Voice

“I wanted to be a comedy show writer, but that was automated a long time ago. Podcasts are the only things I have left since my brother died.” — Castin Dink, Private Journal, 2032

Castin wasn't famous. Nor was he good looking. Neither was he in shape. But he made an honest living. He was a well-known regional podcast host. His claim to fame was his ranting. He was a one-man show. Some compared him to Bill Burr. Others compared him to Alex Jones. Most agreed with his moniker: Layman's Batman. He was a political commentator, skeptic, conspiracy theorist, cultural critic, religious zealot, and conservationist all wrapped up in one.

In his latest episode, Layman's Batman let it slip. He ranted too much about his brother's suicide. The owners noticed. It wasn't the first time. It might have been the 17th time in the last month of dailies. They had already marked him as being in probation without disclosing it outside of the executive board. This time, it was too much.

Castin had tied the suicide to pollutants in the local water supply. Mastodon Multi Media Corp wasn't having it. They were owned by Black Shell—the same conglomerate that operated the fabrication facilities primarily responsible for the small dip in water quality.

It was time for him to go. It wasn't personal though. It was just business. His manager, Larry Jinkton, had been worried about this happening for a while now. Layman's Batman had a long run. It had been about seven good months.

Luckily, every episode was recorded. They had enough content to recreate their own Layman's Batman. They even bought a repository of all of his personal phone calls for pennies on the dollar in a Black Friday sale earlier that year. It was just company policy.

It was Larry's turn. He uploaded the calls, the podcast recordings, the HR records, and the security footage of Castin in his apartment into the company's Make-A-Podcaster program. It wasn't hard to use. Everything was ready to go in about five minutes.

“Bad news, Castin. We have to let you go. That was your last episode today. Thanks for being a team player.”

They shook hands and parted ways.

"And that's why we don't have frogs anymore. See ya tomorrow, ya boomer. I miss my brother dammit."

The new AI was great. The call-in part of the podcast was perfect. The die-hard fans that called in hadn't noticed. It had been three months of steady growth with a pop off in the last week. Just in time for Larry's yearly bonus.

Castin puts the fries in the bag these days. He had to move out to the outskirts to serve the Inuits. Fast food jobs were dead everywhere else. He liked his life well enough. His mom called him every Tuesday morning. The robotic mailman would smile and wave to him.

But he wasn’t anyone’s Batman anymore.