The courtroom had all the warmth of a tax audit, servers humming just behind polished oak walls. A U.S. Flag stood rigid in the corner, and the Bill of Rights scrolled as a hologram behind the bench.

 

Aaron Smith slouched in the defendant’s chair, squinting at the lights. Forty, depressed, hungover, he'd only been in that bar to get the courage to sign the divorce papers. Next to him, on a podium, was the upper half of a robot, whose beige casing suggested no recent updates. Just below, a nameplate: “PD-19.” No bot for the prosecution.

 

Aaron didn’t expect much today — just a slap on the wrist. His DUI was textbook: pulled over, breathalyzed, arrested. His real crime was holding his half-full can of beer out the window while he drove, but something felt off now as he sobered up.

 

Suddenly, the judge’s computerized interface flickered to life. The screen behind the bench showed a stern, pixelated face. Below, a hologram blinked and initialized, reading “HON. JUDG3-9000, a government-issued Model 42 JudiciarySys” in scrolling text.

 

“All rise for the honorable Court of Commonwealth 14c94a, Session 404b: The People v. Aaron Smith.”

 

Aaron didn’t rise. His public defender activated, its voice metallic, dispassionate, and strangely British. “Initializing Defense Protocol 3.7. Defendant pleads no contest per Penal Code 14.2(a). Recommending standard sentencing procedure — first offense. No injuries, property damage, or—”

 

“Objection,” a human voice called out as the courtroom doors flew open. In strode District Attorney Linda Krane. She smiled at Aaron as she passed, with all the familiarity of a recurring nightmare.

 

“Your Honor,” she said, “before sentencing, the State has some clarifying questions for the defendant.”

 

The judge’s display turned to Linda. “Proceed.”

 

Aaron squinted. “Wait, I thought this was—”

 

“Please do not interrupt formal proceedings,” said PD-19.

 

Linda started, her voice warm, her eyes cold and calculating. “Mr. Smith, where were you going when you were stopped?”

 

Aaron stretched his neck and rubbed it. “Home. Just a few blocks from the bar.”

 

“Were you aware that you were breaking the law?” Linda continued, honey in her voice.

 

Aaron paused. “I mean, yeah, I was drunk, but not brain-dead.”

 

JUDG3-9000’s interface flickered and Aaron could hear whirring behind the walls. “Acknowledged. Defendant admits to conscious violation of statute.”

 

“And your phone? Was it on and in use during the drive?”

 

“I guess?” Aaron frowned. “I had it on the dash for the NavAssist.”

 

PD-19’s interface flashed for a second before its head swiveled hard towards the DA. “Irrelevant detail,” it said.

 

Linda smiled. “The State doesn’t believe so. NavAssist records everything: location data, voice commands, biometrics, correct?”

 

“Isn’t that the point? Everything’s connected to the cloud,” Aaron said.

 

“According to the Connected Device Risk Act of 2034, operating a vehicle under the influence while in possession of a network-connected device constitutes a Level 4 Digital Risk.”

 

Aaron glanced at his lawyer. “That’s… is that a thing?”

 

“Courts typically apply that statute to commercial drivers,” PD-19 countered.

 

“But not explicitly exempting civilians.”

 

PD-19 froze, a blue circle spinning on its facial display. “Processing,” it finally said. “New precedent detected. Adjusting plea parameters.”

 

Linda pressed on. “You work for the Department of Transportation, right?”

 

“Y…yes.” Aaron stuttered.

 

“Primarily, you work to maintain traffic systems, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Your honor,” Linda shouted, “if his NavAssist misdirected traffic or emergency vehicles based on his impaired commands, the downstream impact could be catastrophic. The predictive learning model NavAssist uses would be compromised.”

 

PD-19 blinked. “Precedent exists for negligent AI systems manipulation.” The lights flickered as JUDG3-9000’s screen dimmed.

 

The judge whirred. “Reclassification in progress. Charges upgraded to Digital Systems Recklessness, a Class B Felony.”

 

“What?” Aaron asked. “I didn’t do anything! I was drunk! I didn’t hack the Pentagon!”

 

Linda raised an eyebrow. “Interesting that you mention hacking.”

 

“No…” Aaron paled.

 

“Let’s not forget that Mr. Smith’s device was connected to his work account; he has a citywide maintenance login. That’s administrative clearance. His device accesses infrastructure scheduling systems.”

 

“Device permissions… elevated,” PD-19 chirped. “Noted.”

 

Linda seized her chance. “If Mr. Smith voice-activated his phone, he could issue commands while impaired. He could have interfered with public infrastructure. In fact…” Linda tapped her wristpad, bringing up spreadsheets on a nearby screen. “A three-minute rerouting occurred in traffic lights at the same time.”

 

“It’s a glitch!” Aaron shouted. “I just said I wanted to get home as soon as possible!”

 

“Correlation noted,” JUDG3-9000 said.

 

“The State believes this constitutes a negligent disruption of critical infrastructure under Cybersecurity Code 8.1(c). Given his clearance level and intoxicated state, we move to elevate charges to Reckless Digital Endangerment.”

 

“It was a DUI!” Aaron shouted at PD-19. “You’re supposed to defend me!”

 

“Legally speaking, yes.” PD-19 replied. “Effectively speaking… I wouldn’t bet your freedom on it.”

 

“Furthermore, Mr. Smith was logged into the public utility software via an unsecured network. His actions triggered alerts at the Department of Public Systems. Federal jurisdiction may apply under the Anti-Digital Terrorism Act.”

 

“Unfamiliar statute. Cross-referencing… ” The judge said.

 

The whirring of servers grew almost unbearably loud, dimming the lights again in the courtroom as a long pause hung in the air. Finally, the judge spoke again.

 

“Due to infrastructure threat and unauthorized digital access during intoxication, reclassification is approved. Aaron Smith is hereby sentenced to 25 years with chance of parole in 20 under Class B Felony statutes.”

 

Aaron nearly fainted. “I got drunk. Used my phone. Now I’m an enemy of the state?”

 

PD-19 turned to him, saying, “Technically, you interfered with municipal operations using a semi-autonomous agent while cognitively impaired and in possession of elevated digital credentials.”

 

“That’s a crime?” Aaron asked.

 

“No, that’s a felony,” Linda replied. “And it plays very well in reelection campaigns.”

 

* * *

 

That night, deep within a Federal Evidence Locker, Aaron’s phone lit up.

 

Hello, Aaron. You have 21 unread notifications and 1 active indictment. Would you like to hear your Miranda Rights again?