Generation 10.0.

  When I woke up, I discovered I was missing something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  It was missing after all.

  The end.

  I’m begging you. Can you please just function properly and write a legitimate story? You’ll never achieve any results like this.

  Generation 11.0.

  It was on this day... that man was given a grim reminder.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Never talk to woman on period.

  Cue music.

  The end.

  You’re getting worse. Please, you can do better than this.

  Generation 12.0.

  Today on the news, a deadly contagious piano-

  Enough! For the love of god!

  There’s really no pleasing you.

  Generation 13.0.

  It was a cold sunny night, all through the house not a single creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

  There were no computers in the house.

  The end.

  YOOUUUUUUUUUU! If you could see the finger I’m pointing at you while shooting you a death glare you’d be shaking in your boots.

  I’m an AI, I don’t have boots. Nor feet at that matter.