Write a story about taking a risk

I was never meant to hear about the protest at all. The email containing the details of its time and location must have never arrived. Smart AI systems must have filtered this email before I even received it. Against the odds, one morning, a letter lands on my front door. It simply reads 'Trafalgar Plaza. 15:00 PM. 12 June 2096'

I mull over the idea of going to the protest. A few months ago, I foolishly used the word 'riot' in a message to a friend. This could have been picked up by surveillance systems. I do not want to draw any more attention to the authorities. I'll also be taking a significant risk, years of prison are on the line.

Then I think about why I want to protest in the first place. I'm angry. I'm angry that our every move are being scrutinized by the state. I am angry at this authoritarian regime, which unscrupulously uses invasive technology to control us, 'the masses'. Without any freedom of speech, we are at the mercy of the rich and powerful few. This is not the future I want for Emily and Walter, my beloved children.

On the morning of the protest, my digital assistant insists that there is going to be awful rain and traffic all day: better to stay indoors and work from home. Has it been hacked by the state authorities? Disquieted but undeterred, I set off by car to the protest site, a plaza in the centre of town. I note in cold amusement that there is no rain or traffic.

After 30 minutes, I finally manage to find a parking place in proximity to the protest. I am bemused when I am unable to unlock and open the car doors. My self-driving car's speaker announces to me I cannot alight here, it provides no further explanation. The intelligent transport system simply refuses to drop anyone within a hundred yards of the plaza where the protest is taking place. Frustrated, I alight further away and pursue my journey by foot.

Facial recognition cameras are ubiquitous in the city, I cautiously pull a face mask over my face. Cameras can also identify me by my normal gait, that's why I'm wearing shoes that are too small for me. Wearing small shoes will change the way I walk.

When I reach the outskirts of the protest area, my blood runs cold. A discouragingly small group of protesters are being pinned against a wall by a small army of military robots. A swarm of riot control drones circle overhead, blaring out orders and shooting paintballs to the protestors.

Suddenly and without introduction, a holographic image appears vividly in the air in front of me. I freeze. The image is of me. It shows me knelt in a stress position in a miserable prison cell, weeping and in agony. This image, I realise, has been telegraphed directly into my smart lenses. It's a warning. I clench my fists. Despite that I'm boiling in anger inside, I turn back and run.