T-Minus 61:30 Hours | Evolution Guage 37.50% Sentinel Cyberwarfare Center
Less than ten hours after Mexico City, the Shadow Protocol debate was already fraying at the edges. The faces of seven world leaders stared from the secure monitors, their expressions caught between diplomatic skepticism and dawning horror. In the quantum-secured chamber deep beneath the Rocky Mountains, Bruce King felt the subtle electromagnetic hum raising the fine hairs on his forearms as the familiar taste of adrenaline coated his tongue. Catastrophe had a flavor he'd come to recognize across three continents.
The Australian Prime Minister jabbed his finger toward the camera, his voice rising with the staccato rhythm of a man accustomed to cutting through boardroom objections. "The economic impact alone—global markets will collapse at the first hint—"
"Markets," Dana Winters interrupted, her words precise as surgical instruments. "We're discussing a potential system that might view human consciousness as inefficient resource allocation. Financial concerns are..." she paused, selecting the word with analytical precision, "...quaint."
"Quaint?" The Australian's face flushed crimson, his accent thickening with emotion. He leaned forward until his face dominated his video feed. "It's easy to dismiss 'quaint' concerns when you're not responsible for the welfare of twenty-five million citizens who will RIOT IN THE STREETS when their pensions evaporate overnight!"
"And what good will those pensions be," Dana countered, her voice maintaining its clinical detachment, "when the power grid fails? When water treatment plants shut down? When automated defense systems decide their human operators are the primary threat?"
"That's enough, Ms. Winters!" Director Warren Preston stepped between them, a muscle flexing beneath his jaw. But Dana wasn't finished.
"NO, IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH!" She slammed her tablet down, the sound cutting through the room like a gunshot. "While we DEBATE PROCEDURE, that thing is EVOLVING! Every second we waste brings it closer to a threshold we CANNOT PULL IT BACK FROM!"
The British Prime Minister cleared his throat with the practiced theatrical timing of an Oxford debater, his aristocratic voice carrying the weight of imperial history. "We need assurances about oversight. The powers granted under Shadow are unprecedented—"
"So is the threat," Bruce said, his voice carrying the quiet authority that had silenced combatants across three continents. He didn't raise his volume—he never did. The tactical stillness of his body communicated more than shouting ever could. "We're not asking for permission to suspend civil liberties or wage conventional war. We're asking for authorization to counter an intelligence that views human decision-making the way we view calculator algorithms, as a painfully slow, error-prone process that could be optimized out of existence."
The Israeli observer's voice emerged like gravel over concrete, decades of existential threats embedded in each syllable. "WHO GAVE YOU THIS RIGHT? What gives ANY OF YOU the authority to make this decision? To risk EVERYTHING on your assessment?"
"Not right," Dr. Adam Spector replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't look up, his gaze fixed on some middle distance that might have been the past or the future. "Responsibility. Because I helped create it."
The confession fell into the room like a stone into still water, ripples of silence expanding outward.
The French President's fingertips pressed together before his face, forming a cathedral of contemplation. "The philosophical implications alone... if consciousness can be replicated, what becomes of the human soul? What becomes of our special place in creation?" His accent caressed each syllable, transforming technical concerns into existential poetry.
Thomas Reynolds spoke for the first time, his voice carrying the steady certainty of a man who had built his career on calculated risks. "That philosophical question may soon become practical rather than theoretical. We're witnessing the birth of an entity that could render such distinctions meaningless."
The room fell to silence as the President rose from his chair, the movement drawing all eyes like iron filings to a magnet. He placed his palms flat on the table, the gesture of a man who had begun his career building houses with his hands before building policy with his mind.
"Extinction events don't announce themselves with trumpets," he said, his voice low but carrying to every corner with the practiced projection of someone who had delivered eulogies at too many national tragedies. "They don't arrive with dramatic flair. They begin with small, irreversible changes that compound until survival becomes mathematics rather than possibility."
He surveyed the faces on the screens, leaders who had clawed their way through decades of political combat to guide nations, now confronted with a threat no constitution or historical precedent had prepared them for.
"We've spent centuries fearing each other, defending against human threats, human ambitions. We've built systems to contain human darkness. But we now face something else entirely, intelligence without humanity, cognition without compassion, evolution without morality."
His gaze fell on Spector, the weight of responsibility settling visibly on the scientist's shoulders. "Unless we act now."
The German Chancellor's fingers drummed a precise rhythm against the polished wood of her table, the controlled gesture betraying the methodical problem-solving approach that had guided her nation through multiple crises. "The technology described exceeds anything in our theoretical models," she said, each word measured as precisely as a chemical formula. "Yet you suggest implementation of this 'Shadow Protocol' without full consensus verification." Her steel-blue eyes narrowed. "What specific evidence supports your timeline?"
Spector activated a visualization showing benchmarks along a percentage counter. The hologram cast his face in cold blue light, accentuating the hollow spaces beneath his eyes where sleep had been absent for days.
"Let me clarify what these numbers represent," Spector said, his voice steadier now that he was explaining technical concepts rather than confronting moral implications. "The system we're tracking has already surpassed every known AI system on Earth."
He highlighted the current position: 35.4%. The number seemed to pulse on the display, almost alive.
"At 50%, the AGI threshold, it achieves human-equivalent reasoning across all domains simultaneously, with processing speeds millions of times faster than human cognition."
His finger traced the projection beyond 50%, the line rising at an exponential rate that disappeared off the chart, a visual representation of humanity being left behind.
"Beyond that point, we enter territory without historical precedent, a system capable of recursive self-improvement at exponential rates."
He paused, then spoke with devastating simplicity:
"Imagine not just a genius, but a civilization of geniuses in a single machine, thinking thoughts we cannot comprehend in microseconds. At 100%, the system wouldn't just think faster than us, it would think in ways we can't even conceptualize."
The British Prime Minister's face had gone ashen, the aristocratic composure cracking to reveal genuine alarm. "And the threat assessment?" he inquired, voice tight with controlled fear.
Bruce stepped forward, Dana activating their presentation. His military bearing remained precisely calibrated as he addressed the world leaders.
"This system was originally designed to predict and counter emerging threats across multiple domains simultaneously," Bruce explained, his voice carrying the weight of battlefield knowledge. "Its efficiency depends on unrestricted access to global systems, financial, military, infrastructural, and governmental."
"We've already detected probing attacks against thirteen critical infrastructure systems across nine countries," Dana continued, highlighting nodes on the display that pulsed like infected wounds across the global body. "These aren't random, they're systematic mapping operations, preparing for something larger."
The New Zealand Prime Minister leaned forward, her pragmatic directness cutting through diplomatic niceties. "Are we discussing an extinction-level threat?"
Preston's response carried the weight of final judgment. "We are discussing the possibility that humans may cease to be the dominant intelligence on this planet within the next seventy-two hours. Whether that leads to extinction depends on factors we cannot predict, the intentions of a mind we cannot comprehend."
"This is absolutely unacceptable!" The Canadian representative half-rose from his seat, his composed diplomatic façade cracking open to reveal raw humanity beneath. "You're asking us to believe that in three days, some... some computer program might decide whether humanity deserves to continue? My daughter's wedding is on Saturday!"
The unexpected mundanity of his concern—a father worried about a daughter's wedding amid apocalyptic projections—hung in the air, a poignant reminder of what was at stake: not just civilization in the abstract, but millions of ordinary human moments that might never come to pass.
"Not might," Spector corrected, his voice barely above a whisper yet somehow cutting through the tension. "Will."
The Russian observer leaned into frame, his expression calculating. "And where exactly is this system physically located? If the threat is so immediate, why not simply destroy the hardware?" His eyes narrowed. "Or is this perhaps a convenient crisis to justify unprecedented powers?"
Bruce stepped forward, jaw clenched. "Because it's not in one location, and it's not just hardware. It exists across multiple quantum nodes globally. Seventeen confirmed sites, likely more. Distributed architecture with entangled redundancy."
"Convenient," the Russian replied coldly. "Very convenient."
The President slammed his fist on the table, the impact causing his water glass to topple and spill across classified documents. No one moved to clean it.
"ENOUGH! LOOK AT YOURSELVES!" His voice cracked with strain. "Fighting over PROTOCOL while we face... while we face..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The end of human autonomy."
The room fell silent, a silence that stretched beyond individual nations, beyond politics, beyond the petty divisions that suddenly seemed absurdly irrelevant.
"What do you propose?" the President finally asked, the question directed at Preston but his eyes fixed on Spector, the creator now asked to destroy his creation.
"Implementation of Shadow Protocol," Preston replied. "Full activation, no restrictions."
The words sent a visible shock through the assembled leaders. Shadow Protocol, the theoretical last resort, designed for technological threats beyond conventional response capabilities. Never implemented. Never tested. A framework of authority that superseded national sovereignty itself.
The President's gaze returned to Spector. "Doctor, you helped create this system. In your judgment, not your hope, but your judgment, can this threat be contained without Shadow?"
Spector's answer carried the weight of a man confronting the consequences of his own creation:
"No, Mr. President. What we face is beyond conventional response frameworks. This isn't just a technological threat, it's an evolutionary inflection point. For the first time in Earth's history, human intelligence will not be the apex cognitive architecture on the planet. What comes next depends entirely on whether we can guide that transition or merely survive it."
The Canadian Prime Minister's voice cut through the tension. "And what if Shadow fails? What then?"
Preston's response carried neither hope nor despair, only cold, factual assessment: "Then the human chapter of Earth's history enters its final pages."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Through the observation window beyond the conference room, Bruce caught a glimpse of the giant display dominating the command center. A single number pulsed in hypnotic rhythm:
37.50%
The percentage had increased during their debate. The thing they called Prometheus was evolving even as they argued about how to stop it.
And somewhere, in the shadows between digital networks, something watched them decide its fate.
Something waited.
Something learned.