The Last Technician

The New Normal

Dawn crept over Birmingham.

Weak light spread across the city, turning soot-blackened bricks and new glass towers a pale grey. Shadows from old factory chimneys reached over empty streets. Most office windows stayed dark, row after row like lifeless eyes in the rain.

The Bullring sat low and silver in the rain, its well-known discs now dull with rust and soot. Water pooled on cracked paving stones, only moving when a delivery van passed or the wind blew wrappers in circles.

At the corners, police drones hovered motionless above the streets. Their rotors whispered against the damp morning air while red indicator lights pulsed in patient rhythm.

The canals lay black and still beneath the viaducts. A delivery drone skimmed low across the surface, its downdraft breaking the reflection of chimneys and towers into trembling fragments before the water flattened again into dark glass.

The city did not wake. It simply continued.

In the shelter of a tram stop, Ernest sat hunched against the cold with his high-vis vest zipped tight beneath his chin. A plastic lunchbox rested on his lap while he hummed softly to himself, barely audible beneath the drizzle.

The tram arrived with a metallic groan and a flicker of tired overhead lights.

Inside, the tram smelled of damp wool, old oil, and hot wiring. The heater rattled under the seats but gave little warmth. Even though only half the seats were taken, the silence made the space feel tight, as if the windows kept out more than just the weather.

Ernest lowered himself into the moulded plastic seat and rubbed his hands together for warmth. Across the aisle sat two others in the same reflective work vest. Cleaning contractors, maybe warehouse staff. He nodded to himself at the sight of them.

People working.

The tram jolted forward.

Ernest closed his eyes briefly as steel wheels rattled over the tracks. The rhythm settled around him comfortably. He drifted with the hum until a sharp vibration shook him awake again.

Outside, Birmingham slid past in fragments.

Victorian viaducts blackened by soot. Brick terraces with boarded windows and chained doors. Empty factories stood like exhausted monuments beneath the pale sky.

Ernest watched them pass with quiet familiarity. He could remember when some of those streets were clogged with buses every morning. Hard to picture now.

The tram swayed around a curve, wheels screaming briefly against wet rails.

Digbeth appeared through the drizzle: old warehouses shoulder to shoulder beneath glowing advertisements mounted high against brickwork.

“AI: Forging Tomorrow’s Work.”

“Automation Means Opportunity.”

The slogans glowed electric blue on rain-dark walls that once showed signs of older businesses. Water ran down, streaking the bright letters.

Ernest read them with a faint nod.

Things changed. That was all.

Beyond Digbeth, the tram rolled into Bournville.

Between leafless trees, a burst of bright purple broke through the grey morning: the Cadbury World billboard glowing cheerfully above the roadway. The smiling cocoa mascot waved eternally toward passing traffic.

Ernest smiled despite himself.

He remembered going there as a boy. The thick sweetness in the air. Purple wrappers crinkling in his hands. Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder near the sample counters at Christmas. He had eaten so much chocolate that he felt sick afterward.

The memory warmed him better than the heater ever could.

Maybe I should go again someday, he thought.

The idea lingered pleasantly as the tram rattled onward through the drizzle.

Then a voice cut through the hum of the carriage.

“Retired just in time.”

An older man sat two rows down with his overcoat buttoned tightly beneath his chin. His hands folded across a worn umbrella while he stared out at the passing city.

There was no satisfaction in his voice. Only relief.

Ernest glanced toward him briefly, uncertain whether the remark required an answer.

The man kept staring through the window.

After a moment Ernest looked away again and resumed humming softly to himself.

Downtown Birmingham emerged through rain-streaked glass.

Towers of steel and smoked windows rose unevenly above broad streets that no longer carried much traffic. Shopfronts sat dark behind security shutters and reflective polymer film. A delivery cyclist passed beneath flickering neon while farther off an escalator moved inside an otherwise empty shopping arcade.

The tram hissed into the station.

The older man stood up slowly and walked to the doors, looking relieved, almost as if he was glad not to be part of the world outside anymore.

Ernest stepped off behind him.

Cold air rushed through the platform.

Above the station entrance, an old Starbucks sign glowed dimly beneath the drizzle, though the café behind the windows had long since closed. Chairs were stacked upside down on tables inside. A row of automated pickup lockers lined one wall, their green status lights blinking patiently for customers who rarely came.

Ernest barely glanced at it.

At the intersection ahead, the pedestrian signal glowed red.

No cars approached from either direction.

Beside Ernest, an older woman in a raincoat crossed anyway, shoes splashing through the wet street without hesitation. She kept walking without looking up.

Ernest remained where he was.

Hands in his pockets. Lunchbox hanging from one shoulder. Waiting while the red signal blinked above the empty road.

After a few moments, the light changed.

A soft electronic chirp sounded.

Ernest crossed beneath the drizzle and straightened his vest on the far pavement.

Then he hummed softly to himself as he walked toward another day’s work.

End of sample