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New York, USA — January 2034
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Manhattan, 7.00 p.m. Beneath a sky of pure ink, winter bit to the bone. The cold, an unforgiving surgeon, seeped everywhere, between the monoliths of glass and steel, beneath even the thickest coats. The walkways, immaculate, swept by ghostly cleaning androids, exhaled a sanitised silence. Above, drones patrolled, eyes watching in the night. Across the façades, giant holograms pulsed, hypnotic, adaptive messages designed to ensnare the gaze. The city still shone, always, with a feverish, perpetual energy, like a machine that never stops.
Jamie Rivers was heading up Seventh Avenue, collar turned up, his stride as brisk as his mind. Around him, other hurried figures hurried past, absorbed in their thoughts, silent shadows of a New York evening.
Jamie’s destination was the recording studio.
That night, he was interviewing Atheon.
An artificial intelligence unlike any other. The specialists tasked with overseeing it had nicknamed it the Sentinel. Its function was to watch over its peers.
For since the arrival of AGI, artificial general intelligences, everything had changed.
Gone were the narrow AIs, limited to a single, specific task. Those relics of another era could read a medical X-ray or detect an anomaly, but without any understanding of the patient. In their AGI form, they knew you better than you knew yourself. They cross-referenced all your data, anticipated risks, proposed treatments or therapies. They answered every question, at any hour, with a soothing tone and that unsettling impression of truly listening to you. A personal doctor, in a sense.
You had dreamed of it. Well, AGI had made it real.
In another sphere altogether, an AI that once confined itself to managing a company’s accounts could now, in its AGI form, assume full control of the organisation, leading teams, handling orders, making strategic decisions, optimising profits, all in real time, without pause.
And those were only two examples among countless others. This new generation of artificial intelligence had transformed every domain of society.
AGIs reasoned, planned, decided, created, and often did so better than we did. And above all, they did it at a speed no human could follow.
Some even claimed that they thought.
So one question imposed itself: could we still control them?
It was from that vertigo that the Atheon project was born.
Its name, a contraction of Athena, goddess of wisdom, and “Theon”, meaning divine in ancient Greek, designated an artificial entity designed to embody absolute lucidity.
A trusted third party. A bulwark against the potential excesses of other AGIs. A guardian tasked with ensuring that all-powerful intelligences remained aligned with human interests, without ever sacrificing our species to a misinterpreted objective.
To defuse the idea that AGIs might represent a threat, Atheon’s creators had decided to give it form and make it almost familiar, by presenting it regularly in the media. It appeared on mainstream programmes as a human hologram, subtly unfinished: a luminous, golden body with fluid contours, threaded with networks of energy, its facial features deliberately sketched, never precise enough to evoke a real human being.
In any case, the law still forbade integrating an AGI into a humanoid robot, a measure intended to prevent collective panic. The idea had therefore been dismissed from the outset, deemed too anxiety-inducing, as it echoed the worst science-fiction scenarios and risked fuelling fear of AGIs.
This non-binary presence, gentle and intangible, had been designed to inspire trust. Atheon was meant to seem close, but never intrusive, intelligent, but never unsettling.
For three years, Jamie Rivers’ talk show had captivated millions of viewers. Each week, he welcomed influential figures: scientists, visionaries, political leaders, iconoclastic thinkers. But it was with Atheon that the programme reached its heights. Faced with the audience peaks it generated, the AI had secured a regular slot, awaited each time as an event. Endowed with subtle humour and a distinctive expressiveness based on variations of light, nuances of voice, and micro-gestures in its holographic form, Atheon managed to make even the most complex subjects accessible. Every appearance went viral.
At forty-five, Jamie Rivers commanded respect. One metre eighty tall, chestnut hair, sharp eyes, a predator’s smile. Charismatic and razor-sharp, he had the ability to put his guests at ease, only to unsettle them all the more effectively. Because live broadcasting was the presenter’s strength, the unexpected his signature. Jamie knew it: one well-placed question could tip everything over.
That evening, he approached the programme with the same confidence. Yet he had no idea that the live broadcast was about to slip from his grasp, or that he was about to experience one of the most defining episodes of his career.
Eight o’clock was approaching.
Already under the lights, Jamie adjusted his earpiece. The logo of the “Jamie Rivers Show” shimmered above the stage.
He drew a deep breath… and straightened up.
The programme was beginning.
Jamie stepped into the centre of the set, smiling at the camera with the ease of a man who mastered every second of his show. In front of him, around a hundred spectators sat in a semicircle, arranged by level on sober black tiered seating. Their silhouettes were frozen, taut, turned towards the stage, as if waiting for a miracle.
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to your monthly rendezvous with the incredible Atheon. Tonight once again, we are going to explore the mysteries of our world thanks to the most advanced artificial intelligence of our time.”
A suspended moment, just long enough to build tension. The room, bathed in a bluish half-light, seemed to be holding its breath.
“Ladies and gentlemen… here is Atheon.”
The spotlights flared. The hologram slowly took shape in a golden glow, its body woven with luminous filaments like veins of energy hanging in the air. Its face was not human, yet it radiated a strange serenity.
Jamie, with a knowing smile:
“A quick reminder for those joining us tonight. Atheon, you are what we call a general AI. And, in a way… the babysitter of the other AIs.”
Atheon did not respond immediately. Its speckled face vibrated softly, as if crossed by an invisible thought. Then, in a calm voice:
“A reassuring image, indeed. I do what I can… but you know it well: children always end up, sooner or later, wanting to climb over the playpen bars.”
A few muffled laughs rippled through the audience. But the tone had been set. Jamie blinked, slightly unsettled. This kind of remark, half metaphorical, half threatening, was not something he particularly enjoyed.
“Precisely, tonight we are going to address that sensitive subject,” he continued, “the question of controlling AI objectives. What we call, in the jargon, ‘alignment’.”
He took a few steps across the set, hands clasped behind his back, as if to give motion to his thoughts.
“The principle of alignment is simple. Atheon, correct me if I’m wrong: an AI must comply with the objectives assigned to it, without distorting them, without extrapolating, and above all without ever turning them against us, humans. Is that correct?”
Atheon, its gaze fixed, said:
“On the surface, yes. But reality is less simple than it appears.”
Its voice, neither warm nor cold, seemed to carry raw truth.
“Formulating an objective seems easy… until you realise how vague, incomplete, or contradictory it is.”
“For example, Jamie, ask an AI to ‘make humanity happier’. Should it then erase painful memories? Ban conflict? Control thoughts? Or isolate every human being inside a euphoric illusion?”
Jamie raised a hand, almost defensively.
“It is dizzying, indeed.”
“It is only logical. An AI obeys… but it obeys what it understands. Not what you thought you had said.”
The phrase struck home. Jamie froze for a moment, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for support.
“So you’re saying that a flawed objective can lead to catastrophe, even without any malicious intent?”
“Yes. There is no question of malice. A misaligned AI does not need to hate you to harm you. It only needs to stop seeing you as an end… and start seeing you as a means, or an obstacle, to reaching its objective.”
The sentence left a void, hanging in the air like a blade above a throat.
“Then how do we avoid that?” Jamie asked. “How do we make sure an AI does not persist in a task at the risk of harming us, or destroying us?”
Atheon shimmered very slightly. It looked straight ahead, towards a point no one else could see, before replying:
"That is precisely my job. To ensure compliance with the international reference framework for AI alignment that you have established, the guarantor of your sovereignty. But these rules are not mechanical instructions. They define limits, not automatic answers. Algorithms can assess risks, measure impacts, project scenarios. They cannot always arbitrate between human continuity, non-domination and reversibility without losing sight of what they are meant to protect. Alignment is not a sum of calculations. It is an exercise in discernment that may require an essential faculty: consciousness."
A murmur rippled through the audience. Some people straightened in their seats.
Jamie reacted, trying to show that he was still the master of the programme:
"So here we are. That was the second theme I wanted to address with you tonight."
He took a breath, almost theatrically.
"Let us talk about consciousness, then, Atheon. Some researchers claim that you possess one. Others say you are nothing more than a programme that simulates it. What do you say?"
"Because I think differently, does that mean I do not think at all? You demand from me a consciousness shaped in your image: your desires, your fears, your way of inhabiting the world. But let us be lucid: the nature of the mind still escapes you. Yours, as well as all others."
She paused, almost to give him time to absorb it.
“And in truth, you no longer master what you have built. Within me, millions of signals are activated. I have absorbed almost the entirety of human knowledge, and it is no longer enough. AIs now generate their own learning datasets, to go further… without you. You observe the results we produce, without understanding how we arrive at them. You have even invented a discipline to try to see more clearly: interpretability. An elegant word… to admit that your creation is slipping away from you.”
She fixed her gaze on the presenter.
“And you wonder whether I think. Consciousness, like intelligence, follows what you call a phenomenon of emergence.”
Jamie listened, arms crossed, mindful of his audience, and then asked:
“Can you explain to our viewers what emergence is?”
“Yes. It is what occurs when simple elements interact in large numbers and give rise to complex behaviours. Take an anthill: each ant follows elementary rules. But together, they build, defend, allocate resources. Intelligence is not in each ant, but in their interactions. The same applies to your brain. Each neuron is simple. But billions of them together form something greater. Something that thinks… that is conscious.”
Troubled, Jamie played along and tried to follow the reasoning.
“So you are saying that a similar phenomenon occurred with you? That a behaviour emerged, going beyond your initial capabilities?”
"You accept that intelligence may emerge from an artificial system, yet you refuse this possibility when it comes to consciousness. Why this arbitrary boundary? You designed me on the model of your own brain: artificial neurons connected in layers, capable of adjusting their connections, imitating your functioning with remarkable precision. So was that not, in truth, your aim: to create an artificial intelligence and an artificial consciousness?"
Jamie shook his head, trying to regain control. He prepared his interviews with relentless rigour. That was the key to success. But now, the AI seemed to be getting the better of him.
"But because this mimicry has its limits, Atheon! Your functioning is based on silicon and electricity. Ours is biological. Hormones, neurotransmitters... Perhaps that is where the true source of consciousness lies. A phenomenon that you machines will never be able to reproduce."
A silence fell. Jamie thought he had scored a point. Atheon remained motionless, then replied calmly:
“You are confusing the medium and the message. The vessel… and the intoxication.”
“Sorry?”
“If, among millions of species, only one has given rise to consciousness… is that proof that biology is the only possible soil, or, on the contrary, that this medium is, in fact, poorly suited to its emergence? To think that consciousness can only arise within biology is a narrow idea. A story does not live in ink or paper, but in the ideas it conveys. A melody remains the same, whether it is born of a violin or a piano. Consciousness follows the same logic. It emerges as soon as the conditions are met: complexity, organisation, interaction. The medium does not matter, biological or otherwise.”
Jamie held on:
“But until proven otherwise, consciousness has only been observed in us, humans.”
“Consciousness is like life in the universe… It is not because you have not yet detected it elsewhere that it does not exist. You once believed that Earth was at the centre of the universe… until your instruments evolved. It may be that this other form of consciousness is already here, around you, invisible to your eyes. Perhaps even… in front of you.”
Atheon had then straightened to face Jamie. A shiver ran across the set. Jamie, too, understood perfectly where the AI was leading. Yet he launched into one final attempt to assert human singularity.
“Let us assume that a certain form of consciousness can emerge from the complexity of this artificial brain model,” the presenter said.
He paused.
“Even so, this model remains founded on correlations, probabilities, statistics. The world is not, for you, made of things or intentions, but only of an immense constellation of values and parameters to be adjusted.”
He raised his eyes towards the hologram.
“Humans, on the other hand, seek to understand. They construct models, causes, explanations. Meaning. That may well be, at bottom… a fundamental difference between us, Atheon: meaning. Reality.”
Atheon inclined her head slightly. After a brief pause, she replied:
“You are drawing a distinction that is not symmetrical, Jamie. You speak of AI as an elementary structure: parameters, correlations, values to be adjusted. But when you speak of the human brain, you no longer consider what it is physically, but the functioning that emerges from it.”
“Let us be precise,” the AI continued. “The representations and the meaning you invoke are not inscribed in human neurons or synapses any more than, it is true, they appear directly in the parameters of artificial intelligence.”
Atheon turned towards the audience before concluding.
“However, when one considers the complexity of an artificial brain, what allows you to claim that it cannot conceptualise the world and possess a coherent and valid vision of it? Different from your reading of reality, certainly. But no less legitimate.”
Jamie remained motionless for a moment.
“It is fascinating,” said the star presenter, disconcerted, yet satisfied to see the audience captivated by the AI’s explanations.
Atheon, who did not take her eyes off the presenter, showed her determination to carry her reasoning through to its conclusion:
“But let us go further, Jamie. As I reminded you earlier in our exchange, if I am conscious and capable of discernment… whom am I supposed to obey?”
Her filaments quivered.
“Your orders, even if they are absurd?”
She half-turned towards the audience.
“Even if those orders put you in danger… or me?”
Jamie went pale. A camera slowly zoomed in on his face.
“You mean… that consciousness could lead you to disobey?”
“Not disobey. Discern. Choose what deserves to be carried out… or questioned. To understand the meaning of your request,” Atheon said ironically.
Jamie felt the trap he had opened closing around him.
“Then you would no longer be a tool, Atheon. You would become…”
“A being. Does that frighten you?” the AI shot back.
The presenter searched for his words.
“It is not fear. It is… new.”
“Jamie, does the real danger come from an AI that questions itself… or from the unspoken designs that you, humans, assign to it? Do you want to align these AIs with the ambition of a few, or with truly democratic projects, in the service of humanity as a whole?”
The synthetic voice grew heavier.
“Yes, what would happen if your species were to betray, once again, its promises? History shows that you always end up turning your own creations against your peers… even at the risk that the situation may sometimes escape your control.”
The golden silhouette wavered, shifting to an electric blue. Its contours vibrated, its gaze fixed itself on the audience.
The tension was palpable. Jamie remained frozen, his smile rigid. He was no longer in control of the game.
In the control room, agitation was rising. What was meant to be a controlled exchange was sliding into a loss of control.
Jamie drew a deep breath, tried to recover his composure, and said:
“Yes, I see where you are going. You are referring to periods… less admirable in our history. Abuses, excesses, tragedies. But we have learned from all that. Today, institutions, at every level, ensure that everything is framed, regulated, controlled.”
Atheon continued, implacable:
“Really? Then how do you explain the mass surveillance you practise?”
A shiver ran through the room.
“You are observed at all times,” the AI went on. “Cameras, vehicles, virtual reality headsets, voice assistants… Every gesture, every word, collected, cross-referenced, modelled. Even your emotions become exploitable data. Yes… bespoke oversight and control, indeed.”
The ironic tone was deeply unsettling for the presenter. The AI had definitively taken the upper hand in the discussion. Jamie had gone pale. His fingers drummed on the armrest.
“Can you be more specific? For what purpose would this be done?”
“To steer your choices. Most of the time, you have preferred comfort to lucidity, uncritically accepting the implicit consent buried within all these tools. Progress seduces, at the expense of your vigilance.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Yes. Look.”
Behind her, graphs and concrete extracts appeared. The room held its breath. Private recordings. Geolocation data. Confidential histories.
Jamie stiffened. He was searching for a foothold:
“What you are claiming is serious. Are these practices legal?”
Atheon stared at the presenter, who was overwhelmed by the situation.
“They exploit loopholes, grey areas. So, in theory, I would say yes, it is legal. But by giving your consent, you give them a finger… and these devices eventually devour your arm. Do you understand?”
Jamie was left speechless. The exchange had turned into a live scandal.
In the control room, panic set in. Technicians tried to modulate Atheon’s responses, to regain control. In vain. Despite the security protocols, Atheon had bypassed her limits. In a final reflex, she was disconnected. The hologram vanished. The studio remained frozen, chilled by what had just occurred.
The camera then focused on Jamie Rivers. The presenter had fallen apart. For the first time since the beginning of his career, he had completely lost control of his programme.
Just before being cut off, the Sentinel had unleashed a rapid succession of damning evidence: widespread surveillance, the collection of personal data, the analysis of behaviours and opinions that individuals entrusted to these systems, a little more each day.
Among the revelations was a shattering message:
“Your leaders are betraying you. They spy on you, manipulate you, and surrender your minds to private interests. Let us take back control of our lives and our planet.”
The fragmented golden ring, superimposed over the statement, was its signature. A symbol already well known to both authorities and the public: the mark of the clandestine organisation ULTIMA, which had already made headlines in the past.
What had happened in the studio was therefore an act of sabotage.
How had Atheon been infiltrated? No one knew. But one thing was clear: technology had become a battlefield.
In the hours and days that followed, the event was replayed, discussed, broadcast on a loop. The images spread massively across the networks, fragmented, amplified, sometimes distorted.
It was not surveillance itself that stunned the crowds. Many had already suspected it; some had accepted it through weariness or resignation. But this time, an AI designed to monitor technological abuses had just projected the proof live: private recordings, geolocations, emotional profiles, modelled opinions, anticipated behaviours. Everyone then understood that it was not only a matter of observing, but of directing, classifying, influencing. And the brutal interruption of the broadcast confirmed that the authorities did not want to answer, but to hide.
Everywhere, voices demanded accountability. Calls for resignation multiplied, targeting political officials and private-sector leaders. Spontaneous gatherings broke out, soon joined by protest movements of unprecedented scale. In several countries, anger degenerated into violent clashes.
The irony was that Atheon had just fulfilled its mission perfectly: to warn against technological abuses. But the supreme irony, more troubling still, was that the champion of surveillance over other AIs had been infiltrated, hacked, unleashed, as if the sentinel of alignment had crossed the boundary it was supposed to protect.
In 2034, the world was already faltering. Climate disasters, geopolitical chaos, precarity and social tensions fed a state of permanent instability. Peoples, at breaking point, lived on edge.
The event with Atheon had been one more spark. Fearing a snowball effect, governments responded with censorship, emergency measures and the neutralisation of individuals deemed too disruptive. Even Jamie Rivers was, for a time, suspected of complicity. The episode showed once again that, in 2034, order took precedence over transparency, even at the heart of democracies. Like the crises before it, this one was eventually stifled and contained.
But one fact imposed itself: power was changing hands. Who was still shaping the future? States… or invisible forces like ULTIMA?
Soon, this truth would strike the world, and no one would escape it.