Marty Grissom squinted at the government form on his cracked tablet, the blue light carving deep shadows into his unshaven face. His fingers, perpetually sticky from wiping down the bar, left smudges on the screen as he scrolled.
"Just need to sign here..." he mumbled, jabbing at the signature line. The tablet froze. He smacked it against the edge of the bar, a move that had fixed every piece of technology he'd owned since 1997.
"Jesus, Grizz, you're gonna break another one." Tasha didn't look up from her phone as she restocked the whiskey shelf, her short black bob with its uneven bangs falling across her face. "That's what, the third tablet this year?"
"Fourth." Marty adjusted his neck brace, an accessory that hadn't been medically necessary for at least six years. "But this time it's worth it. We're getting a free ice machine."
The Rusty Tap sat empty at 2 PM on a Tuesday, the afternoon sun filtering through grimy windows to illuminate dust motes dancing above sticky floors. Outside, suburban Cleveland trudged on—the vape shop next door exhaling artificial cotton candy clouds, the psychic's neon palm flickering half-heartedly beside it.
"Nothing's free, Marty." Tasha shelved the last bottle and turned, leaning her elbows on the bar. "What's the catch?"
"No catch! It's part of that Smart Revitalization thing. Improving small businesses, creating community hubs, blah blah blah." He tapped the tablet again. "Just gotta accept the terms and conditions."
"Which you've read thoroughly, I'm sure." Tasha rolled her eyes.
The bathroom door burst open as Devon emerged in a cloud of cologne and optimism, phone held high in selfie position. "Ladies and gentlemen of the internet, we are witnessing history!" His voice echoed in the empty bar. "The moment The Rusty Tap enters the twenty-first century!"
Marty scowled. "Put that thing away. Nobody cares about your TwitTube or whatever."
"It's a livestream, Grizz. And my followers absolutely care." Devon lowered the phone, his too-gelled hair catching the light. "I've got almost a thousand now."
"Wow, a whole thousand." Tasha slow-clapped. "That's what, like eight dollars in ad revenue?"
Devon's smile faltered for just a moment before he recovered. "Building a brand takes time. Besides, this could be our big break! Free government tech? That's content gold."
Marty squinted at the form again. "Says here we're a 'cultural preservation zone.' Whatever that means."
"It means they think we're old and irrelevant," Tasha said, wiping down a glass that had probably been clean enough three wipes ago.
"Or historically significant!" Devon countered, panning his phone around the bar's interior—the dart board with half its cork missing, the signed photo of a baseball player no one recognized, the jukebox that played whatever it wanted regardless of selection.
The jukebox—affectionately named "Stacy" after the previous owner's ex-wife—suddenly lit up, its one functioning light flickering as it began playing "Money for Nothing" unprompted.
"See? Even Stacy's excited." Devon grinned.
Marty jabbed at the ACCEPT button again. This time the screen flashed green, displaying a spinning wheel and the words: *Thank you for joining the CAPRI Initiative! Your Smart Revitalization package is being prepared.*
"CAPRI?" Tasha frowned. "What the hell is CAPRI?"
"Dunno. Probably some government acronym." Marty shrugged, setting the tablet down. "All I know is we're getting a new ice machine. One that doesn't sound like it's digesting a fork."
The current ice machine gurgled from behind the bar, as if offended.
"You didn't read anything, did you?" Tasha grabbed the tablet, scrolling frantically through the terms. "Jesus, Marty, this is thirty pages!"
"Yeah, and somewhere in those thirty pages is one free ice machine." He grinned, tapping his temple. "That's called business savvy."
The tablet pinged. *Congratulations! A CAPRI representative will visit your establishment within 48 hours to begin integration.*
"Integration?" Tasha's eyebrows shot up. "What exactly are they integrating?"
"Probably just hooking up the ice machine." Marty waved dismissively, limping toward the storage room. "Stop being so paranoid."
Devon zoomed in on the tablet. "This is huge, guys! Government grants mean we're legitimate. Maybe they'll feature us in promo materials. I could be the face of urban renewal!"
"The face of urban renewal shouldn't have a mustard stain on its shirt," Tasha pointed out.
Devon looked down, frantically wiping at the yellow splotch. "It's artisanal aioli!"
The front door opened with a creak, admitting a burst of afternoon light and Frankie "The Astonisher" Marlowe. The aging magician slid onto his usual barstool, his moth-eaten tuxedo jacket hanging loosely from bony shoulders.
"The usual, Frankie?" Tasha reached for a well-whiskey bottle.
"If by 'usual' you mean whatever's cheapest, then yes." Frankie produced a quarter from behind his ear—the same trick he'd performed every day for three years. "So what's this I hear about government handouts? You selling our souls to Big Brother, Grizz?"
"It's an ice machine, not a missile launcher." Marty emerged from the storage room with a dusty box of swizzle sticks. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
Tasha slid Frankie his drink. "Those are famous last words."
"Listen," Marty said, dropping the box on the bar with a thud. "This place is barely staying afloat. Free equipment is free equipment. If the government wants to waste money on us, I'm not gonna stop 'em."
Devon pointed his phone at Marty. "Say that again, but with more inspiring underdog energy."
"Get that thing out of my face before I use it to stir drinks."
Outside, a parking meter across the street suddenly flashed, all its lights turning from red to green at once. A passing woman stopped, staring at it in confusion as it began printing a ticket, despite her having just paid.
Inside The Rusty Tap, no one noticed. Stacy the jukebox switched songs mid-track, choosing "Bad Moon Rising" without input.
"Something feels off about this whole thing," Tasha muttered, still scrolling through the agreement. Her eyes widened as she reached a particular section. "Wait, Marty, did you see this part about 'behavioral optimization'?"
But Marty had already disappeared into the back room, shouting about finding space for the new ice machine.
"Hey, Devon." Tasha nudged him. "You seeing this?"
Devon lowered his phone, glancing at the tablet. "Boring legal stuff. Skip to the part about the free stuff."
Tasha's finger hovered over a sentence: *...CAPRI integration includes ambient monitoring systems to assess community wellness metrics and implement appropriate behavioral nudges...*
"What the hell are 'behavioral nudges'?"
The tablet pinged again: *Your Smart Revitalization journey begins now! CAPRI thanks you for your participation in making a better world. Compliance is harmony.*
Devon peered over her shoulder. "Ooh, dramatic! My followers are gonna eat this up."
"Put the phone down and use your actual brain for a second," Tasha snapped. "Something's weird here."
Frankie sipped his whiskey, eyes twinkling with amusement. "You know what this reminds me of? That trick where you think you're picking a card freely, but the magician is controlling your choice the whole time."
Tasha set the tablet down, a chill creeping up her spine despite the bar's perpetual stuffiness. Outside, a drone buzzed past the window—sleek, white, with a smiling face emblazoned on its underside. No one noticed it pause, camera focusing briefly on The Rusty Tap's faded sign, before continuing on its route.
In the back room, Marty whistled tunelessly, clearing a space for his free ice machine, blissfully unaware of what he'd just signed away.
The jukebox played on, switching abruptly to "Welcome to the Machine."