In 2090, the authorities finally achieved its greatest administrative dream: Everything was connected.
Every citizen possessed a unique National Identity Number (NIN), which was basically a mandatory, unique 12-digit biometric and demographic identifier issued by the central authority to every resident. The NIN was attached to a unified digital ecosystem called the Sovereign Firewall Grid (SFG). The SFG was one enormous invisible bloodstream of data that tracked every individual’s banking, healthcare, transport, education, taxes, dating profiles, oxygen quotas, sleep analytics and also generated emotional stability ratings based on the scores. Nothing existed outside the Grid anymore.
Technology had reached every aspect of daily life. The apartment door would not unlock without 2 factor authentication, the refrigerator monitored cholesterol levels and also reported dietary irresponsibility. Even public benches would charge sitting fees automatically.
At some point of time, even grief had become subscription based and naturally, death was integrated too. The old funeral grounds and memorial sites had long vanished as the authorities considered them inefficient, unhygienic and “emotionally disorganised”. In their place stood polished automated complexes called “Farewell Processing Centres”.
The corridor is lined with chrome-plated smart panels with mirror-finished smart glass, climate- controlled sorrow and touchscreen condolences.
The largest company in the business was an app called “Book My Funeral”. Its slogan glowed across every city billboard:
‘BECAUSE CLOSURE SHOULD BE SEAMLESS‘.
This app allowed users to customize their farewell decades before dying. One could select preferred background music, fragrance, ceremonial aesthetics and livestream privacy settings. Accordingly, several plans were available: Basic Departure, Premium Legacy, Soul Sync Platinum, and the extremely popular star product, the ‘Traditional Authentic Experience’ which simulated old-world funerals complete with ambient crying and awkward relatives asking inappropriate questions.
In 2090, nobody actually had any relatives living nearby anymore. Society had reached the peak of perfect isolation as families existed mostly as archived chat groups muted for years. Children lived in vertical studio capsules hundreds of floors away from their parents. Human interactions had become energy consuming and people preferred AI companions because algorithms require less emotional maintenance.
Accordingly, the funerals suffered and nobody wanted to attend them. So, Book My Funeral introduced “Companions Units”. These were rentable humanoid mourners programmed to imitate emotional participation. They could carry the body, chant generic farewells, produce hyper-realistic tears or stare silently into the distance with poignant sorrow. For additional charges, they could also faint dramatically, initiate inheritance arguments or whisper “He was a good man.” The customers truly loved the realism.
On a humid August evening the Aeliron family arrived at the Farewell Processing Centre 11B, carrying the body of seventy-nine-year-old Leonard Aeliron. Three humans attended; his son, his daughter-in-law and a grandson wearing augmented reality lenses during the entire journey.
Six rented Companion Units followed behind them in synchronised mourning mode. One sniffled every thirty-five seconds, another occasionally murmured “What a remarkable human being!”, though none of them actually knew who Leonard Aeliron was. Even the grandson barely knew the grandfather beyond a few birthday holograms and forwarded festival greetings.
At the entrance terminal, the son opened the Book My Funeral app. A soft AI generated voice welcomed him. “Good evening, Ethan Aeliron. We are deeply synchronised with your loss.”
“Please proceed to Farewell Chamber 6.”
The body was transferred onto an automated ceremonial platform where robotic arms arranged synthetic ceremonial panels around it with delicate precision. Massive digital screens projected peaceful rivers while advertisements floated quietly in the corner:
PRE-BOOK YOUR OWN FAREWELL AND RECEIVE 10% CASHBACK
Ethan covered his face with his palms and cried awkwardly. Even in 2090, death still had the strange ability to make technology feel embarrassing.
The holographic officiator materialized above the chamber.
“Would you prefer Traditional Minimalist, or Emotionally Enhanced mode?”
“Traditional,” Ethan replied softly.
“Traditional Minimalist exceeds your current membership tier.”
After a pause, the voice said, “Continue with Basic Grief?”
“…Yes.”
The mechanical systems in the ceremonial chamber adjusted airflow and atmospheric fragrance as ambient sorrow music started playing through hidden speakers.”
The AI voice returned.
“Please provide final voice authorization.”
Ethan swallowed. “BEGIN CEREMONY.”
Nothing happened! A loading symbol appeared in the air and then another. Suddenly the chamber lights turned red.
ERROR 005474: NATIONAL IDENTITY NUMBER NOT CONNECTED
Ethan frowned and blurted, “What does that even mean?”
The AI responded calmly, “The deceased citizen’s Identity number is not linked to the Book My Funeral ecosystem.”
“That’s ridiculous,” his wife snapped while cross-checking records.
“Electricity account, medical insurance, retirement benefits, travel history, nutritional consumption, streaming subscriptions, smart home devices, citizen surveillance profile, everything is linked.”
After a pause, the AI voice responded, “But the funeral authorization remains incomplete.”
The grandson finally removed his visor and asked, “So he can’t be processed for after life?”
One of the Companion Units continued sobbing mechanically in the background.
Another AI suddenly added,” Would anyone like to upgrade to Premium Mourning for more realistic tears?”
Ethan ignored it and frantically opened the customer support. A chatbot appeared instantly.
“Thank you for contacting National Farewell Services.”
“Your loved one is important to us.”
“Current waiting period for identity verification: 7 to 10 working days.”
The wife exploded.
“7 days? What are we supposed to do with the body till then?”
The holographic officiator smiled warmly.
“For your convenience, we offer refrigerated storage at only 299 credits per hour.”
A payment QR code appeared immediately beside the corpse, while silence spread across the chamber. Meanwhile the robots kept mourning and the advertisements kept glowing.
And Leonard Aelironlay there perfectly dead, but temporarily unavailable due to technical issues.
The screen then flashed one final notification:
“REMINDER: FAILURE TO UPDATE FUNERAL KYC MAY RESULT IN SUSPENSION OF AFTERLIFE SERVICES.”
By Bahnika Sen
Bahnika Sen is a trader, fitness expert, and writer. She can be contacted at: bahnika23@gmail.com
