By Futurist Thomas Frey
Marcus sits on his usual corner, back against the weathered brick of a closed storefront, when the robot rounds the corner at exactly 7:42 AM. It’s a humanoid model, scratched and dented—clearly refurbished, not new. It stops three feet away, maintaining respectful distance.
“Good morning, Marcus. My name is HAVEN-247. The city’s housing services program assigned me to assist you. I’m not here to judge, arrest, or relocate you. I’m here to help if you want help, and to leave you alone if you don’t.”
Marcus stares. Another goddamn program. Another social worker, except this one’s made of metal and doesn’t even pretend to care. He’s seen a thousand well-meaning interventions come and go. Why would a robot be any different?
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