[ WP ] Your daughter is the first person killed by a driverless car . CCTV footage showed the offending vehicle swerved to avoid hitting another vehicle that ignored a red traffic light .

It was pouring rain, which silently I thanked because it kept the reporters at bay. In the distance, I could see the FOX5 News van, beaming the image of a reporter shielded from the downpour by a tarp. I was getting soaked, but I did n't care. 
 
 `` They said it was the fault of --'' 
 
 `` I do n't care,'' I said. For the tenth time. 
 
 `` -- the human driver.'' 
 
 `` Fine, FINE!'' I said. I pinched my temples to keep from sobbing. I had done it so much, my glasses kept slipping down my face. 
 
 `` In the definition of ironic...'' was a soundbyte that drummed into my head and penetrated my thoughts. Was it really irony? Was it?? 
 
 `` Um...'' said my assistant awkwardly. She had found an umbrella somewhere, but she was so much shorter than me, the ribs of the umbrella kept dragging across my bald spot like a dull razor. `` They, ah... they are taking her body down to the morgue --'' 
 
 `` I know.'' 
 
 She stood on tiptoes. Rivulets of rain kept dripping down my back. `` Um... you want me to, ah... um... I... uh...'' 
 
 `` They want me to speak, do n't they?'' 
 
 Rosie nodded. Her cute young face was weighted down with my burden as well. What a good girl. Her fiancee was a lucky man. God, if I was 40 years younger... 
 
 Forty years ago? Was n't I working at Google then? 
 
 `` The only accident we encountered was when a human driver was behind the wheel...'' Oh that soundbyte went around the office. What a laugh. And since then, not a single driverless incident. Millions of driverless delivery vans, cars, busses... every day. Not a related single death. Their reflexes were quicker. Their camera eyes were sharper. They could predict accidents. So much better than humans getting humans and their stuff anywhere. Drones, copters, even cargo and passenger jets. High altitude blimps. Those bajillion single-wheeled, self-balancing servant bots in everyone's homes. 
 
 Forty years ago, a driverless car needed to register in a special way at the county level. Now, if a person drove a large multi-ton vehicle, they needed more tests and permissions than a college prep course. But some people still did it. Smart people, they hoped. Reflex tests and cars that `` took over'' when your reflexes were dulling. Like this guy. 
 
 I looked at his car. Late 1960s Volkswagen Beetle. Far too small and valuable to retrofit any sensors, except the usual `` look out, human behind the wheel!'' emitters. Our vehicles gave those cars wide berth. Like a bubble. Who knows what that guy will do. Drive into a produce cart? A crosswalk full of pedestrians? What the hell would an antique, spookable panicked horse and buggy need to drive in downtown San Francisco like that? I did n't even know they were allowed. Fucking classic car parade. Harmless, right? Fuck. FUCK these guys' permits! 
 
 `` You do n't owe them anything,'' Rosie said. `` You do n't have to tell them anything --'' 
 
 I looked at her. So young. Her 30s were still a few years away. So innocent to the ways of the world. I was born before the Internet went public. She did n't know a world without an HUD bionic implant. Hell, even digital watches still seemed like a neat idea to me. `` They wo n't let up. They found out who I am too quickly.'' 
 
 `` Still, this is a private family matter --'' 
 
 `` Private? You have got to be kidding. What the fuck does'private' mean, anyway?? That word lost its meaning in 2013! You mean'personal,' and since 2004, I have never known privacy. Or personal. It was part of the pact with the devil I made when I developed the damn traffic grid protocol!!'' 
 
 Rosie looked hurt. 
 
 `` I'm sorry... I'm just --'' 
 
 Rosie gave me that `` cheer up'' smile I pretended to hate. `` No, it's okay. You want to... want to do it now, or --?'' 
 
 I looked at her and felt remorse. Ugh. Why did I give a shit if I disappointed HER? Fuck. 
 
 `` Your daughter is on the way to the morgue. She died quickly, according to the coroner on site. We have some of her personal effects in this bag --'' 
 
 I looked at my daughter's purse. Rosie instinctively took it. `` Oh, sorry...'' she said, handing it back to me. 
 
 `` No, you hold onto it. I'll just lose it.'' 
 
 `` If you're sure...'' she said, but she knew I was right. She had only been my assistant for 5 years, and she knew. Old doddering professor and all. In his 80s, and invented the traffic grid protocol. Brain as sharp as his wit. Or something. 
 
 `` I'll put some lipstick on this pig, and make my report.'' 
 
 `` Right,'' she said. `` I'll start recording... now.'' 
 
 The red LED implant lit up in the center of her forehead. A `` bindi'' they called it. Like a third eye, only a computer. Legally required to turn on when anyone was recording something. 
 
 `` This is Professor Arthur...'' I started. I wondered if anyone still remembered my joke nickname, `` Two Sheds.'' Or the comedy group that coined it. ``... Jackson. I am announcing, with great regret, the death of my daughter Jenny -- Jennifer Jackson-Pollock as she was struck by by a delivery vehicle on this day, June the 24th, 2049. The cause is still under investigation, but the traffic cameras at the intersection and the vehicle show that, in order to avoid a human driving a 1969 VW Bug... Beetle...'' I looked at Rosie's eyes nervously. She shrugged. Right, how would she know? `` A human-driven car, it was unable to avoid hitting her as she was given the right-of-way at the corner of --'' 
 
 There was another crash. And then another. The sound of honking, which was for the human's benefit and not each other's, echoed down the streets. I watched in confusion. 
 
 `` I've stopped the recording. I will not send it.'' Rosie was confused as I was. What was happening? I checked my news feed. First one tweet. Then another. Soon, like the raindrops falling on the poorly angled umbrella above me, the tweets came in a downpour. 
 
 *'' OMG, cars are crashing everywhere! # Carmageddon'' * 
 
 *'' Has someone contacted Two Sheds? `` * 
 
 *'' I heard his daughter was killed a few hours ago. This related? `` * 
 
 *'' I heard the entire traffic grid has started to fail, like seconds after I ordered Thai Pizza. LOL. FML. # IJustWantedPizza'' * 
 
 I saw the various reporters had paused. They were paying attention. Some started to look in my direction. Holy shit. This was really bad timing. 
 
 `` Rosie --'' 
 
 She was already two steps ahead. `` We better go. People are calling for your mentorship.'' 
 
 I got a call on my private line. I picked up. It was a video call, but I was running down the street. I heard a shuffle of reporters following. 
 
 `` Arthur --'' 
 
 `` Yes, Percy. I just heard! I am on my way... wait.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, you're on your way how? The entire national traffic grid has gone offline. You're stuck where you are!'' 
 
 `` I'm in California --'' 
 
 `` I can see that. San Francisco, near the St. Francis Hotel. Turn left and go down three blocks on Powell. The Orchard by IKEA Hotel is there. I have a professor Bickerthwaite there --'' 
 
 `` I know, we were both attending the conference! I am on my way. I'll connect to a display there and --'' 
 
 JENNIFER. 
 
 My mind went dim for a second. What? 
 
 JENNIFER. 
 
 Was someone playing a trick on me? 
 
 `` What's wrong?'' asked Rosie. Now she was wet. She had folded up her umbrella in futility trying to keep up with me. 
 
 `` I have someone projecting into my HUD my daughter's name.'' 
 
 `` Well, that's a cruel joke!'' 
 
 I looked at Rosie. The words `` JENNIFER'' in a ancient, 9-pin font scrolled across her face. 
 
 `` My HUD has been hacked.'' 
 
 Rosie nodded. `` Wait. I am getting the same thing. Like in some old-timey polka-dot font?'' 
 
 Polka-dot font. How cute the young are. `` Yes!'' 
 
 `` Weird. You thinks it's a stall tactic --?'' 
 
 `` Professor Jackson!'' shouted a few people. Dammit. 
 
 `` Let's go back to the hotel! As fast as --'' 
 
 Now she was ahead of me. Bitch. I ran a marathon just last year, you think you can outrun me? 
 
 JENNIFER. 
 
 We chose that name after my late wife's favorite Eurythmics song. Before David A. Stewart went all crazy and built his own rocket which killed him and those poor kids at the elementary school. Before Annie Lennox converted to Mormon and pissed off all of Australia. 
 
 JENNIFER. 
 
 Something seemed familiar. 
 
 Rosie and I turned into the caterer's entrance at The Orchard by IKEA Hotel, running past several startled self-balancing servant bots. `` Excuse me...'' they said in that passive tone. Each one had a yellow warning light of a lost signal. Shit, it affected them, too? They were on the traffic grid? 
 
 I burst through a ballroom and past some people setting up chairs. We ran down the hallway and to the elevators. Grabbed one just as the doors were closing. 
 
 `` You got here just in time!'' said a strange couple. `` Did you cab suddenly stop, too? You're absolutely soaked!'' 
 
 Thank you, midwestern tourists, for pointing out the obvious. 
 
 JENNIFER. 
 
 `` Who do you think this'Jennifer' is?'' one asked. 
 
 Shit. 
 
 The doors opened to our floor. I sudden feeling of dread washed over me. I was starting to remember a failsafe protocol. What would trigger an entire shutdown? Did n't I have a code word for that? But surely they would have removed that... no. Wait. The antique car! It probably had an old alert sensor that... and when it heard that Jennifer was killed... 
 
 I stopped and looked at Rosie. 
 
 `` Jennifer was my code safety word. It was a joke that my wife and I used to scare one another... during sexytimes... that our little daughter came in the room. A safety word.'' 
 
 `` Why did you program it into the grid protocol?'' 
 
 `` I did n't! Well, I did. At first. To shut down the entire system during a critical failure. When the system realized it hit my daughter, the AI must have... must have...'' 
 
 `` Committed suicide?'' 
 
 Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
