Kevin didn't really like his life. In fact, he detested it. He often passed the time in his office by thinking of ways to kill himself. Hanging himself, for example. But Kevin didn't have any rope. Nor, he noted miserably, did he have an office. He lived in a toll booth.
It was 7 o'clock in the evening, and it was raining. Kevin finished his monster munch and thought about robots. Robots, Kevin felt, were the worst invention in the history of mankind. The inventor of robots should be thought of as the greatest villain ever to grace the planet. For it was robots, and therefore by extension the inventor of robots, that had cost Kevin his job working as a teleprompter for BBC News, and begun to sad spiral of despair that had let Kevin, at 34 years old, to live and work in a toll booth.
Most toll booths were robots now. It made staff meetings quite dull. Kevin had watched a perfectly good row of toll booths gradually disappear as one by one each friendly and overweight man named Simon was replaced by a cold and impersonal toll machine named SH-73/01. SH 73/01 was Kevin's least favourite toll machine because it was directly opposite his booth which meant that Kevin had to spend his entire working day watching it allow cars passage through its gate with brutal efficiency. Kevin, nor any human, would ever be able to process humans with the speed of such a machine. The machine, also, did not have to wear a uniform while Kevin spent half his wages getting his dry-cleaned every time he spilled cup-a-soup on it.
There was a radio in the toll booth but Kevin didn't like using it because it was electronic which meant that it was a robot. The fact that the radio wasn't on meant that Kevin was really rather surprised when he saw an army of killer robots marching down the M6 towards him.
When Kevin had first started, Diana from headquarters told him that if he had any issues, he should consult the employee manual. Kevin wondered if there was anything about invading robot armies in there.