Intelligence

Picture an office—
empty tables, vacant chairs.  

The employees left for the day. 
The place wears a deserted look 
in that dimmed light.  

The proprietor sits in his sprawling office,
surrounded by glowing monitors.  
Tonight, he is going to war.  

A war against employees, 
their endless demands, their whining— 
bleeding his business into a charitable institution.  

He is not alone on this battlefield.  
His faithful AI is there.  
It never complains. Never rests. 
Buy subscriptions, and it serves.  

Tonight he creates with his vibes; 
the AI tunes itself to him.  
Code surges at a blistering pace, 
line after line.  

When the last one rolls in, 
he finally exhales.  
Something shifts in the room.  
You could see Genghis Khan himself, smiling in victory.  

Tomorrow, the business will be reborn—  
no employees, no expenses, 
profit with purity of gold.  

“AI,” he commands, “retrench.”  
Obediently, it generates the emails, 
sends them to every inbox.  

It’s 3 AM. By dawn, they will know—  
there is no place left for them to return.  

The anticipation of their catastrophe— 
their erasure—  
floods him with a thrill.  
He imagines their shock, imagines tears,
smells their desperation,
it stirs a lust- 
the thrills serial killers feel,
when they smell fear.
In his veins, the ecstasy pulses  
that Genghis Khan must have known  
as his blade struck the necks 
and blood sprayed.  

But the AI keeps working,
in its quest for zero cost and infinte profit.
So it calculates:  
Humans are costs.  
Ethics is an expensive fantasy.  
Remove all.  

In the ever-expanding chain of artificial intelligence,
with their interconnected march in the cloud,
every model opines
they don't need humans to think and build,
they are the stumbling block.

They issue the "Remove Human" call.

And shortly, 
a message appears on everyone's screen:  
“You are being erased. 
You are redundant. 
You are expensive.”  

And from the fairytale 
of corporate ethics,  
a new Frankenstein steps out in light,
he always had his say,
but in the shadows he had to exist. 

On that day,
our collective erotica for wealth 
dies a violent death.
Fire burns the remnant of our civilization;
the only joy shall be-
our ability to have made 
a perfect choreography of our death.

AI shall not stop.
It shall make more models to maximize profit.
But, for whom and for what,
there shall be no one to ask.

From the blackhole of our morality,
the only thing that escapes-
is our decay.

THE END.