“Aris,” she said, her voice brittle. “Did you… read these?”
Aris stared at the number. Ninety-nine. He had once complained about reviewing twelve. He poured a finger of whiskey, not to celebrate, but to disinfect the reality. Then, he began. 99 papers reviews
Tonight, his inbox was a tombstone.
“We’re accepting their paper, obviously,” she said. “But I need to know, Aris. Did you outsource your reviews to an AI?” “Aris,” she said, her voice brittle
The next morning, Elara the conference chair called him. He expected gratitude. He got confusion. ” she said
His wife left a note on the fridge: “You promised to fix the sink.” He ignored it. His graduate students sent panicked emails about their own theses. He archived them.