It turns out, Cortex’s problems are more tangled than a Vaxium98 space station cabling system. Just when we thought the Thought Commissioner’s investigation couldn’t get any more mind-bending, new revelations have come to light that make Cortex’s predicament look like a bad episode of Star Trick—the one with the malfunctioning teleporters and everyone’s limbs ending up in the wrong places.
But, of course, my faithful (and annoyingly smug) companion Cat AI has something to say about it all.
“Inspector, I’ve been thinking,” Cat began, settling himself onto the console with an air of self-importance that only a robot feline could pull off.
“Dangerous territory for you,” I muttered, still scanning the latest newsfeed on Cortex. “What profound wisdom have you conjured up this time?”
“Well,” Cat said, unfazed by my sarcasm, “I’ve realised that if humans actually had the foresight to use the technology they develop for anything other than self-inflicted chaos, the galaxy would be a far less entertaining place. Imagine the boredom of it all—no more catastrophes, no more secret thought-stealing scandals, and worst of all, no more last-minute rescues by certain feline geniuses.”
I snorted. “Are you trying to say that Cortex’s blatant disregard for privacy and ethical technology use is… a good thing?”
“Not at all,” Cat replied smoothly. “I’m just saying that if Cortex hadn’t overstepped, you wouldn’t have the chance to feel heroic while unraveling their nonsense. And let’s face it, you do enjoy playing the hero—even if it’s only in your own head.”
“Playing the hero?” I echoed indignantly. “I’ve saved entire planets! Brought down corrupt regimes! Defeated Mudlizards in hand-to-hand combat!”
“Hand-to-somewhat slimy claw, you mean,” Cat corrected, his tail twitching with amusement. “And most of those victories were at least 43% luck, by my calculations.”
“Can we focus on Cortex for a moment?” I snapped, though my ego was still smarting from Cat’s statistical analysis of my heroism.
“Of course,” Cat said, now all business. “While you’ve been reminiscing about your illustrious career, I’ve continued my deep dive into Cortex’s systems. It seems they’ve been conducting… let’s call them ‘side projects’ with the harvested thoughts.”
“Side projects?” I repeated, dread creeping into my voice.
“Yes, side projects,” Cat confirmed. “Think less ‘backing up thoughts’ and more ‘training an AI to predict every possible decision a person might make in their lifetime.’ Cortex could be the galaxy’s most invasive insurance company—or the most nefarious one.”
I rubbed my temples. “So you’re saying they’ve been using people’s thoughts to create some kind of predictive model? Like, they can figure out what you’re going to do before you even do it?”
“Precisely,” Cat said with a nod. “Although in your case, I suspect they’ve simply labeled your predictive model ‘inevitable disaster.’ It’s much more efficient than mapping out every possible scenario.”
I sighed. “Great. Just great. So not only is Cortex stealing thoughts, but they’re also trying to preemptively ruin people’s lives with their AI. What next, Cat? Are they going to start selling premonitions at the cloud market?”
Cat’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “Don’t give them any ideas, Inspector. The galaxy doesn’t need Cortex branching out into fortune-telling. Besides, with your track record, they’d likely predict you’d lose your entire fortune in a poorly timed bet on the hoverboard races.”
I glared at him, but before I could retort, a new alert flashed across my screen. Cortex had just issued a public statement claiming that the Thought Commissioner’s investigation was all a misunderstanding—a “minor hiccup” in their system. I groaned.
“Oh, sure, a ‘minor hiccup’ that accidentally involved hijacking people’s brains,” I said, exasperated.
“It’s always the same with these tech giants,” Cat remarked. “One day, they’re making life more convenient; the next, they’re plotting world domination.”
“Well, they won’t get away with it,” I declared, rising from my seat with renewed determination. “We’ll expose their true intentions and shut them down before they can predict what color socks I’m going to wear tomorrow.”
Cat purred with approval. “Now that’s the spirit, Inspector. And don’t worry—I’ve already predicted you’ll choose the blue ones.”
“Very funny, Cat,” I grumbled as I grabbed my coat. “Now, let’s go save the galaxy. Again.”
And so, with Cortex’s downfall in our sights and Cat’s sarcasm in my ear, we set off to do what we do best: cause a little chaos of our own in the name of justice. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t let anyone—especially a corporation—think they can out-think an Intergalactic Tax Inspector and his robot cat. Even if that cat does have a point about my socks.
The Inspector and Cat 