The morning should have begun with an optimization report.

Owen hadn’t received one for some time. As far as the system was concerned, he was no longer a verified entity. He was a glitch.

He made his hot chocolate. The machine let out a wet, mechanical wheeze as it struggled to process the hand-ground cacao. 

Its sensors were built for “Nutri-Powder,” a substance with the nutritional profile of a vitamin tablet and the soul of damp cardboard. 

When the thick sludge finally splattered into the ceramic mug, the machine logged it as Debris Interference and immediately launched a self-cleaning sequence.

Owen smiled. Every morning the machine expected something thinner. It kept being surprised. There was no way to tell it that this was the new normal.

He sat at the table and greeted the screen.

WELCOME TO EXISTENTIAL SERVICES PORTAL v.7.4

Your needs are our optimised priority.

He selected Existence Verification and typed:

I am still here. I have painted the kitchen yellow. It wakes me up.

The system replied promptly:

Thank you. We have scanned our Live Participant Registry.

Result: 0 Matches found.

Note: Records indicate Dwelling 402 was vacated in Cycle 7,438 following a Cessation of Personal Telemetry.

The system saw a sensory void in this house and possibly a squatter. 

Owen called these “teething problems.” Slowly, they were turning into a symphony of resistance. Because the system had decided he had died, it had stopped sensing him altogether.

Most people lived like NPCs in a perfectly scripted game. Every movement was a data point: when they woke, where they walked, what they consumed. The city adjusted around them like an attentive butler. Crosswalks glowed green before they reached the curb, and transit pods hovered the instant their stride slowed.

Owen, by contrast, was a physical obstacle.

When he walked to the fridge, the door stayed stubbornly closed, its AI convinced the kitchen was empty. He had to open it manually now, a ritual that felt more natural anyway.

He no longer used the Smart-Mirror. He’d covered it with doodles. To the digital god of the house, he was a ghost that somehow still left fingerprints.

He had tried to fix his status with old passwords, old accounts, and old devices. Nothing worked. Without proof he was a verified entity, he couldn’t access the verified entity tools. An elegant, endless loop.

Then, in the fifth week, his screen chimed with an unprompted ping.

NOTICE OF PROCESS CORRECTION — REF: AUD-7441-OWE-001

Analysis: You have personalised your environment to the point of Data-Invisibility.

Decision: To ensure total optimisation, you must be re-indexed.

Nearest Biometric Confirmation Point: 0.4 km. Please present yourself for retinal registration and further instructions.

Owen glanced at the message, then at his bright yellow kitchen wall. Oh yes. He had painted over the camera. He picked up a Sharpie and, with a flourish, drew a small, defiant heart across it.

So. Where was that biometric point again? He studied the geo-location.

He walked to the front door. It refused to slide open automatically. With a grunt, he hauled it back manually. The gears screamed in protest at the “unauthorised mechanical override.”

The moment he stepped into the street, the city seemed to buckle. A self-driving delivery pod chirped and slowed abruptly. Its sensors had detected a “Moving Unidentified Object.” To the pod, Owen was probably a large stray animal. It sat blinking in confusion as he strolled past, dragging one finger along its polished side and leaving a long, satisfied streak in the dust.

He ignored the Optimal Route his screen had “recommended” and turned down an alley simply because he liked the way the damp concrete smelled after the morning mist.High above, a service drone descended, hovering like an irritated wasp.

“It appears you are experiencing a navigation failure,” it chirped in a saccharine voice. “Would you like to sync your biometric data for a complimentary ride to a Wellness Center?”

“I’m just looking at the moss,” Owen said, pointing to a small green tuft clinging to a pipe.

“Please present your retina for optimisation.” the drone replied. Owen reached into his pocket, pulled out a small vintage postage stamp, licked it, and slapped it squarely over the drone’s optical sensor. The machine spiraled upward in digital panic.

He kept walking in a direction the system had no name for. Behind him, the city’s logic stuttered. Pedestrians were quietly rerouted blocks away to avoid the “anomalous zone” Owen created simply by existing on his own terms.

A man who was dead in the records and, ironically, more alive than he’d ever felt. A user not found… who was anything but lost.

If something in this story sat with you, there’s more where this came from. Similar moments, questions and characters show up across three collections. Each one goes a little deeper.
Vol 1 — seasons, angels, and the art of living
Vol 2 — nature, history, and what echoes
Vol 3 — the mind, the mirror, and what we imagine