Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I hear a chuckle from beside me, and I pull my gaze away, realizing he is staring at me.
“This is spectacular,” I say in awe.
As soon as the car rolls into park, I jump out.
He’s right beside me a moment later.
With my mouth still open—at this point, it’s a miracle I haven’t swallowed a fly—I move closer. “Are we going in?” I sound like an idiot, but my brain isn’t functioning properly right now.
“That’s the plan.”
“Cain?” I turn toward him. He’s standing beside me but not facing the home. Nope, he’s watching me intently. Normally, I would feel like I’m a speck on a microscope, but I don’t. Not with the way he stares at me. Instead, my heart starts to pump harder. My earlier assessment of him needing to see my reaction, of experiencing joy, is confirmed by the soft look in his eyes as he stares.
“Yeah.”
“This is—” I stop because I don’t know what else to say. There are no words to say. In the car, it was amazing, but outside, standing in front of it, I just couldn’t come up with words. For someone who writes for a living, it’s crazy that I’m at a loss.
“Come on.”
Cain starts to walk, and as my eyes adjust to the décor, I can see we are making our way up a pathway. Before, it just looked like rocks. He stops eventually and lifts his hand, and as if by magic, the mirrored door opens.
“Welcome home, Mr. Archer,” a voice says as we walk into the house.
“Is that the house?” I whisper as if the house can hear me.
“Yes,” he answers.
“Is it like Jarvis from Iron Man?”
He chuckles. “That is exactly what it’s like.”
“Wow. Are you like Tony Stark?”
He shakes his head at me. “I sure fucking hope not.”
“Why not? This is a talking house. Crazy tech all around you . . .”
“I’m no superhero, Layla.” His eyes look darker, and I’m not sure why, but I shrug it off. “This is more like Alexa on crack. Play music.”
A sad, peaceful song comes on. “Do you have a playlist?”
“I do, actually. It’s part of the opening paperwork. Different songs have different meanings. Eventually, the house learns your biometrics, which will make it anticipate and learn your moods, and when it figures it out, it plays songs that fit your mood.”
“How does it know?”
“It can hear the way you speak, and it learns your moods from that. When you speak, the pitch and cadence change. When you talk, whether you’re angry, sad, or happy, it will analyze it, and it plays the music based upon how you feel.”
“What do you do with this information?”
“If you’re asking if we are selling it, we aren’t. This is just part of the experience in order for this to be the most self-sufficient, fully running AI in the country. We need this data; we don’t sell it. We don’t give it to anyone. This data is yours and yours alone.”
“I sure hope so. That would be creepy.”
“Come on. Let me show you the rest of the house, and you will see that although it’s a little larger than the one you’re staying in, it’s basically the same concept. The only difference is everything is catered to the main homeowner.”
He leads me through the house with the same floor-to-ceiling windows, the same modern technology, the same modern furniture, the same all-white canvas. He takes me into the bathroom, and it replicates mine, the only difference being the panel on the wall.
He points at it. “Same as yours. The difference is when I tell the house that I’m ready to take a shower, it will ask me questions in the beginning. Once it gets to know me, it will just settle on what it knows I like.”
I take a step forward, looking over the space as I do. “The whole entire house is virtually hands-free?”
“Yes and no.”
“Examples?” Pivoting my feet, I glance back in his direction.
Cain lifts his hand, a finger pointing up. “It won’t cook your food.”
“That’s a letdown for those of us without culinary skills.”
“Actually, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Let me show you.” His words are abrupt as he breaks our connection and heads across the living room.
I follow Cain into the kitchen, and when we get there, he opens the fridge. “When I say it won’t cook your own food, it will, in fact, cook your food for you. The difference is that it can’t food prep. Nor can it do a fancy sauté, braise, or flip your food, etc. But what it can do is you can tell it the time, the temperature you want, and it will alert you when it’s done and turn off the stove.”
“That’s still pretty badass.”
“Thank you,” he says proudly.
We continue to walk around. He points at each device, explaining how it works. By the time we step out, my head is spinning. There is so much to write down.