He should have kept his distance. Objectivity was vital and here he was crying like a fool.
It had started so well. Joe was certain they’d realise what was happening and self-correct; surely the survival instinct was enough. He’d based the whole project on that one assumption.
“It’ll never work,” the naysayers predicted. “Trust us; we’ve been there.”
Joe took a moment to absorb the colours, the textures, the surge of the waves, the birdcalls, then tapped a code onto his screen.
24 hours to vacate. Then start again. Next time he’d intervene before they stood on two legs.
This is my story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.