An Author's Struggle - What Lies Ahead

Ch 11 - Rage Against the Machine

Fire — the hallmark of humanity’s rise. 

Across the streets of Paris, flames burned as well. Not as a celebration of civilization, but a requiem for its downfall. 

Roars borne of deep angst, the voice of a million people — united as one. Their blood aboil — hotter than the scattered pyres — the crowds chanted with every fiber of their being. Even so, they were unheard.

The largest protest ever, unseen by their sworn leaders. The fires they lit could very well be seen from space, yet the world’s elite pretended all was normal. 

But, it wasn’t. 

The sudden upsurge in use of artificial intelligence across every economical sector resulted in the elimination of hundreds of thousands of jobs, all but overnight.

What was meant to be the next step in uplifting humanity had all but resulted in its imminent collapse. The economy crumbled, setting the timer for a great reset.

No one had an answer.

Not the politicians, not your everyday people, and certainly not Murphy.

He too joined in the riots, his sign waving like a flag towards the sky that scorned him with its neon flash. Swarms of drones recorded every face present, and every crime committed, but the people didn’t care.

They have had enough, and no longer feared the government.

That was the folly of the men in the big chairs. They had forgotten that once the masses are no longer kept busy by their jobs, they would have enough time to think.

No politician likes a populace that thinks for themselves. They especially didn’t like when so many of them gathered together, that there weren’t enough prisons in the entire world to contain them.

“DELETE AI! Give us back our lives!” 

Pyres lit up, one after the other, and whole cities burned. 

“Murph’, they’re heading for the palace! Let’s join in!”

A girl yelled into his ear, the only way she could ensure he heard her. Without trying to confirm if her message came across well, she yanked his hand and dragged him to the side.

He shouted something back, but the crowd overshadowed his voice. Shrugging with a wry smile, he could only clasp the guiding hand tighter and follow along. 

Despite being lithe and small, the frail figure still managed to part the crowd and lead them into the adjacent boulevard. 

He took to retrieve his hand, but she tightened her grip and smiled at him. He could only comply and grin in response. Together, they melded into the crowd and joined the chant.

In the midst of their march towards the Elysee Palace, Murphy noticed something odd flashing in the sky. He squinted his eyes, but failed to grasp any details.

“Hey, Nella. What’s that?” he mumbled, his voice obviously unheard.

Just as he removed his glasses to wipe the layer of ash coating them…

Boom!

The earth shook beneath his feet, and the palace they were headed towards burst like a cracked egg. Before the smoke even cleared, and he made sense of his damaged ear drums ringing with a monotone screech, rubble fell like meteors into the crowd.

Entire pillars were upturned into the sky by the explosion, the generated lift sending them like catapulted stones into the crowded masses. 

His glasses dropped out of his hands and cracked, but he had no time to worry for them. Just off to the side, a crumbling statue turned a person into mincemeat, showering him in blood.

The blast pushed him away, but he couldn’t fly far before bumping into someone. Still shell shocked, he climbed up to his feet in a daze, disregarding the chunks of gravel biting deep into his skin.

“Nella..?” he voiced somewhat dubiously, looking around for his friend. 

As his hand regained feeling, he felt the warmth of clasped fingers and was all but ready to sigh in relief. Turning sideways, however, he did not see Nella.

Torn from the elbow, only a lithe arm still lingered hand in hand with him. 

He froze.

His throat moved, but it was useless. Nothing made it through as he stared in utter shock. He could neither breathe in, nor bawl out to express the keg of emotions bubbling in his chest.

Time moved at a crawling pace. Only when someone screamed and bumped into him did he snap out of it, the urge to vomit acting as a reminder that woke him from his daze. 

He recoiled, but had nowhere to move. The crowd surged like an ocean in the storm and pushed back against him. In the chaos, he could neither see nor hear. 

Only the mutilated limb remained, as if to give him some twisted sense of comfort. Alas, it was no longer warm. 

Panic ensued, setting a maelstrom no amount of police could ever contain. 

The explosion killed but a few dozen, yet the stampede claimed thousands more.

That night, the residency palace of the president was bombed. The news sent the world into an uproar, and the protests saw crackdowns like never before. 

Military convoys surrounded the city as if it were a warzone, and camps were built in the suburbs to contain the rebels. It was no longer a protest for human rights, but an act of terrorism.

Up on an obscure Web 3 site, a starling announcement was posted, claiming responsibility for the strike. By the end of the hour, it made the rounds across the world, spreading like an uncontainable virus.

[We are Physis Nomos — Heralds of Order]

“Tonight, we took down a crooked agent of chaos that watched idly as his cities burned. 

“If the world leaders refuse to take action against the agents undermining order in society, then we will step in with immediate action. 

“Our methods are brutal, not because we are evil, but because it is the only language they speak.

“Unless AI is regulated into stillness, we will not stop. 

“Your greed pushed you into unveiling Pandora. Blood and fear will seal the box back.

“We will wash away your mistake, no matter the cost.

“For Order!”

Watching the video play on a loop on the hijacked hospital monitors, Murphy seethed with rage. 

A nurse plucked chunks of bone and gravel from his disfigured face, but he paid no heed to the external pain. His flesh burned, but his wrath burned with even greater intensity.

He felt endless hatred.

For the government… for the terrorists… and most of all, for AI.

It was all a waste, however. He had no outlet for the anger. Like the million people protesting along that night, he was merely a helpless victim. A plea of desperation was all it was, worthless.

Walking home in a daze, it was only when he came across his apartment door that he remembered he forgot to even thank the nurse. 

Retrieving his keys, he breathed with labor but still failed to prevent his hand from shaking. He almost felt it even now… her warm touch between his fingers, fleeing like phantom silk.

Finally forcing the lock open, he rushed to the bathroom and let it all out. A flood of tears gushed uncontrollably, mixed with forcefully retched puke. Everything he bottled up that night came out at last. 

His anger exploded, disregarding that it was barely the crack of dawn. He bellowed out with power, every iota of pain making itself known at once. The echo of his pained heart resounded throughout the building like an alarm.

Someone slammed a fist into the wall, but he ignored his neighbors. They were pissed, but he was desperate. The toilet was the only place he could vent.

When his lungs lost their valor, he sat and bawled silently on the floor. Only the tears maintained their current, keeping the forlorn ode going.

Staring at his open palm, still shivering, he felt his humanity crumble. 

He lost enough…

No more.