The Stig sat motionless in the driver’s seat of the new electric hyper-GT, its dashboard glowing like a spaceship’s night shift. In the studio, Jeremy Clarkson squinted at a small, new dial positioned just to the left of the speedometer.
“Right,” Jeremy began, his voice echoing off the hangar walls. “James, Richard. Look at this. I thought I’d seen everything. A tyre pressure gauge that tells you the weather. A sat-nav that judges your parking. But this…” top gear cockometer
The producer held up a printout. The AI had flagged James for the following: driving 4 mph under the limit in a national speed zone (passive aggression), using “sorry” hand gestures that were mathematically insincere, and—the killer—adjusting his sunglasses in a way that suggested he knew better than everyone else on the road. The Stig sat motionless in the driver’s seat