Reclaiming Austin

"You're telling me they’ll lock the bins, Jake? How does that even make sense?"

Maria’s voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air of the café. Outside, the sky was a sheet of purple, thick with humidity, as if Austin itself was holding its breath. The vote was tomorrow, and you could feel it in the way people walked, faster, heads low, avoiding conversation. But not Maria. She was not one to hold back.

Jake shrugged, hands deep in his apron pockets. His shift had ended, but he lingered in the corner, watching as a Mochi — one of those repurposed scavenger bots — whirred by the window, its boxy little body hunched over like it had a secret to tell.

“Maybe they’ve got a point,” Jake muttered, more to himself than her. “Not everything can be solved by hacking a bunch of mobile chairs and letting them loose on the streets. People need to feel safe. Besides, who knows what those hawkers are really up to?”

“They’re up to survival,” Maria shot back, her eyes flashing. “That island out there, Lady Bird Lake? It’s not just some tech utopia. People are living there, Jake. Homeless people, with roofs over their heads. And those roofs? Made from the trash those bots collect. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Too busy being scared of something you don’t understand.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the holographic ads flickering on the walls. “I just don’t see how it helps us,” he said, quieter now. “All that plastic and metal, it could be used here, for people in our neighborhoods. Why does it have to go to them?”

Maria leaned forward, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because, Jake, it’s not just about them. It’s about proving that we can do it. That we don’t need the corporations, or their fancy locked bins. That we, the people, can build something sustainable with our own hands—well, and a few hacked Mochis.”

Jake laughed, a humorless sound. “Yeah, and then what? They shut it all down, make us look like fools. That’s how these things always end, Maria. You’re dreaming.”

She sat back, crossing her arms. “Maybe I am. But sometimes, dreams are all we have.”

The café door swung open, and a rush of cool air filled the room. Outside, the city buzzed, a low hum of anticipation. Tomorrow, the vote would decide whether the recycling bins would be locked — a seemingly small decision, but to people like Maria and the hawkers, it felt like the first step toward something much larger. Something irreversible.

The café's neon sign flickered, casting their shadows on the wall in a faint glow. Jake glanced again at the Mochi bot, now pausing at the corner of the street, its sensors flickering as it scanned for more recyclables. A piece of tin foil caught the light as the bot’s arm reached out, snatching it from the gutter, stuffing it into its belly of salvaged parts. Jake frowned.

“They’re coming for those bots next, you know,” he said, almost casually, as if the words didn’t matter much.

Maria looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

Jake’s gaze didn’t meet hers. “The city. They’ve been talking about it. After the vote. Whether it passes or not, they’re planning to round up the Mochis. Call it ‘public safety’ or something.”

Maria’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup. “How do you know that?”

“I know people.” His voice was a whisper now, barely audible over the hum of the city outside. “People who don’t like what’s happening. They think the bots are a threat. To their businesses, their control.”

For a moment, silence fell between them. The air in the café grew thick, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Maria’s heart raced.

Outside, the Mochi suddenly jerked to a halt, its lights flickering erratically. Then it spun around and darted off down the street, moving faster than she had ever seen it move before. Jake and Maria both stood, their eyes following the bot as it disappeared into the darkening cityscape.

“That’s not good,” Maria muttered, grabbing her jacket.

Jake’s face had gone pale. “What do you think is happening?”

Maria didn’t answer, her mind already racing ahead. Something had shifted, something big.

As they stepped outside, the city seemed different, the air sharper, colder. The vote was tomorrow. But tonight, the machines were already making their move.

And no one knew what side they were really on.