A 40-something professional, impeccably dressed, resume gleaming like a fresh soles, walks into what they think is a job interview. Except there's no one there. Just a screen. A very judgmental screen that's about to ghost them harder than your ex after seeing your Instagram story.

Welcome to 2025, where getting hired has become more Black Mirror meets a dash of The Circle thrown in for good measure. The recruitment process now resembles a high-stakes reality show where contestants are eliminated not by public vote but by algorithms fed a steady diet of historical hiring data, unconscious bias, and whatever passes for "cultural fit" in Silicon Valley boardrooms.

Most of us have been thinking about accessibility all wrong. We've treated it like a regulatory afterthought, something we bolt on after the "real" design is done. But what if accessibility is viewed through the lens of excellence rather than accommodation?

When we design for the supposed "average" user, we're designing for a myth. That perfectly neurotypical, fully-abled, ideally-circumstanced user? They don't exist. This is where the "edge case" genius reveals itself: when we design for the most specific, seemingly niche needs, we're actually designing for the full spectrum of human diversity.

You're standing in a room in Bristol, surrounded by what looks like the most expensive piece of modern art ever created. Sleek black cabinets hum with barely contained power, their surfaces traced with liquid cooling pipes that snake through the structure like digital veins. The air is electric literally and figuratively because you're in the presence of Isambard-AI, Britain's newest obsession and the world's 11th most powerful supercomputer.