*This is the third part of the novella "The End of the Holocene". The [second part](/blog/post/the_hideout)*
---
> *"He who fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become a monster himself"*
> *— Friedrich Nietzsche, "Beyond Good and Evil"*
In May 2030, a strange event occurred.
At dawn, a rocket was launched from a desert area in Mexico into space. The incident caused a stir among military forces and politicians around the world—most of all, in the United States. The rocket was large, and based on its trajectory, it was heading into space, not toward any target on Earth.
Immediately after the launch, the U.S. military activated defensive protocols and went into full alert. Several other countries did the same. Within minutes, it became clear that the rocket wasn’t aimed at any earthly location—it was continuing on, further into space. Calculations confirmed it was headed toward Mars.
Emergency meetings were convened between governments and military leaders to determine what was going on. The Mexican government and armed forces also issued statements saying they had no knowledge of the launch and were just as confused as everyone else. They agreed to full cooperation in the investigation.
The story quickly reached the news, though no one could provide any concrete answers.
The launch site was discovered and examined promptly. An investigation was launched, one that lasted for months—but no definitive answers ever surfaced. Authorities managed to locate people who had worked on the rocket’s various components or participated in its final assembly. There were hundreds of them, but none could say who had actually hired them or paid for their work.
All communication trails ended with someone saying:
“The client contacted me via video call. We never met in person. Payments were always on time. We never suspected anything unusual.”
The production of components, the logistics, and final assembly had been organized with astonishing precision. Everything ran like clockwork. And up to the very moment of launch, there had been no information leaks.
The event became known as **“The Mexico Incident.”**
It sparked a whirlwind of theories and speculation. Most people leaned toward the idea that it was some kind of covert U.S. government project—just another thing they were trying to cover up. Ironically, the U.S. government itself mobilized enormous resources trying to figure out what had happened, but even they couldn’t get a complete picture.
The rocket continued its journey toward Mars for several months. Both government agencies and amateur astronomers tracked it. Eventually, the rocket disappeared—vanishing into orbit around the Red Planet.
---
Summer 2030
In the summer of 2030, TV host Cindy Red managed to pull off an incredible live show. She brought together two high-profile figures from the artificial intelligence industry for an on-air debate.
One of them was Michael Kravchenko — a scientist and the lead architect behind the first artificial intelligence project. While the project hadn’t been entirely successful, he had already become a legend among engineers, tech enthusiasts, and geeks.
The other guest was activist Tucker Johnson — a legendary figure among the growing anti-AI movement and an informal leader of its most passionate followers.
It had taken months to arrange this confrontation. But Cindy's production team had made it happen.
The show had been heavily promoted in advance. Both AI skeptics and pro-technology advocates were eagerly awaiting it.
The host introduced the guests and asked the first question:
“The first thing everyone wants to know: was AI really created? And was it truly shut down? Michael, you know the answer better than anyone.”
Michael responded calmly.
“Yes. My answer is simple — and already public. We did create a product that behaved like an intelligent entity. But due to the emergency with the viruses, we had to shut it down. That’s all.”
He had no intention of revealing anything beyond what was publicly known.
Tucker didn’t wait for his cue.
“Why do you keep repeating that lie? There’s solid evidence that the AI continued to exist long after the so-called shutdown. Maybe it’s still running even now!”
Cindy had to step in and rein him back. This was her real challenge for the evening — keeping the emotional activist in check. The show had to stay within a reasonable emotional range.
She guided the discussion:
“Those viruses. Many experts believe they were created by artificial intelligence. And others are convinced that the viruses *were* the AI. Then, out of nowhere, antivirus programs appeared. Can you comment on that?”
Tucker was first to respond.
“Is there really any doubt? It’s all the result of reckless experimentation with dangerous tech. Maybe their AI created the viruses. Or maybe *they* released the viruses to hide something. But we know one thing: if we don’t stop them now, humanity will face a serious threat.”
Michael sat patiently, listening to the accusations. When it was his turn, he remained composed:
“I’ll remind everyone that there’s no solid proof connecting the viruses or the antiviruses to our development team. It’s all speculation. And to the anti-technology activists out there — remember that many countries are developing AI. It won’t be so fun when someone else beats us to creating a real AI. We should aim to be first — not block the research.”
Tucker snapped:
“Then why don’t you go ahead and hook it up to the nukes, huh? Let the computer play World War III!”
Cindy stepped in:
“Michael, seriously — is there any real danger of a sci-fi scenario where AI launches nuclear missiles?”
“Absolutely not,” Michael replied. “Nuclear weapons are never connected to computer networks. There’s always human oversight. That scenario will remain science fiction.”
Cindy moved on:
“Tucker, you’re a well-known anti-AI activist. Recently there have been reports of attacks on scientists, threats, and even the murder of a prominent AI engineer in Europe. Are you connected to any of this?”
“That’s a provocative question,” Tucker shot back. “We are peaceful activists. We don’t harm anyone.”
Michael cut in:
“But at your rallies, you aggressively encourage people to act. You push your supporters to do whatever it takes to stop AI development.”
Tucker bristled:
“Are you accusing me of something? Do you have *evidence*? With your crooked hands, you nearly destroyed the internet! You shouldn’t be allowed near science. Why aren’t we talking about U.S. government programs? Those are clearly built for surveillance!”
Once again, Cindy had to calm him down. But Tucker was now beyond restraint.
Turning to Michael, she continued:
“Let’s talk about those government programs. There are new cybersecurity tools being offered. What’s your take on them?”
“I was involved in developing those systems,” Michael explained. “We used our most powerful supercomputer to analyze past vulnerabilities and create the most secure operating system to date. Anyone who uses it won’t have problems with viruses.”
“I don’t believe any of it,” Tucker burst out again. “This is all about surveillance. The government wants to spy on everyone. I urge people not to use government software! And I call on all rational people: AI development must be stopped immediately — in every country! We demand it! We’ll take to the streets worldwide!”
Michael summed up quietly:
“Scientific progress can’t be stopped. No matter how much you want it.”
The show was charged with emotion — exactly what the producers had hoped for.
Michael stayed composed throughout, responding to attacks with quiet irony. Truthfully, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have agreed to this appearance at all.
But he had a specific goal. He wanted to get a closer look at the man leading the charge against AI development.
Michael had access to classified information — and he knew a lot more about Tucker than most people did.
---
The World Congress on Artificial Intelligence took place in Geneva in August 2030 as scheduled. The organizers succeeded in bringing together all the world’s influential leaders — including dictators and authoritarian rulers. Despite protests from some democratic countries, the organizers insisted that anyone who wielded technological power or geopolitical influence must be invited. The issue at hand was simply too serious.
Around a million anti-AI activists also arrived in Geneva, demanding a total ban on all research and development related to artificial intelligence. Climate activists joined them, protesting the enormous energy consumption required by AI systems. The city became a mix of a gypsy camp and a hippie festival.
World leaders presented their proposals. A clear pattern emerged. Authoritarian rulers mostly pushed for a complete ban on AI development — a total shutdown of intelligent computer systems — while accusing democratic nations of deceit and manipulation. In contrast, representatives of democratic countries called for reasonable oversight, international cooperation, mutual audits, and gradual, responsible technological progress.
Meanwhile, in the halls and pressrooms, speculation and rumor ran wild. Reports hinted at secret AI projects being developed by both sides. Everyone understood the unwritten rule: **whoever creates a controlled AI first will take everything — and become the de facto ruler of the world.**
---
In a special waiting room at the Kremlin, two small groups sat apart from each other — one composed of military officers, the other of scientists. They sat in silence, awaiting their audience. All of them had undergone a week-long quarantine to protect their leader from any possible infection.
Finally, they were invited into the main chamber — a moment of profound importance for each of them. They were about to meet with Vladimir Putin himself, Russia’s supreme leader and unchanging ruler for the past thirty years.
Each person was seated in their designated place at the far end of a five-meter-long table. They waited in silence for another fifteen minutes. Then he arrived — Putin himself.
The President — in reality, the dictator — behaved casually. He still styled himself as a macho man, though age had clearly caught up with him. Yet for his years, he was still surprisingly energetic.
He began the meeting with crude jokes. The military officers laughed loudly. The scientists, more restrained, offered polite smiles. They had a bad feeling about what was coming.
Finally, the dictator got to the point.
“How’s the task coming along? When will we have artificial intelligence working for the Motherland?”
The scientists exchanged glances. The lead scientist cleared his throat, stared at the documents in front of him, and began to speak.
“We’ve made some progress, but there’s still work to do. Our industry isn’t yet producing the kind of high-performance microelectronics we need. It’ll take time to bring all the sectors up to speed. We have the concept, but practical implementation remains a challenge.”
Putin cut him off.
“Let’s make this clear. Is it a yes or no? When will it be ready?”
“It’s hard to predict—”
The scientist tried to continue, but the dictator interrupted again.
“Everything’s always hard with you. Always takes forever. Can’t anything be done quickly and easily?”
With that, Putin turned toward the military intelligence officers seated across from the scientists. They perked up — they’d been waiting for this.
The lead officer spoke up.
“We’ve achieved results. A successful operation was carried out.”
He slid a large folder across the table toward Putin.
“We believe we have everything needed to launch AI within two to three months.”
Putin lit up and smirked at the scientists.
“See how it’s done? You can never be relied on. Useless freeloaders!”
The military men chuckled under their breath, exchanging smug looks with one another. The scientists sat with stone faces.
The dictator was clearly in a good mood. He had always preferred espionage over science.
“So, how did you manage it? Find something useful in a dumpster?”
The spies chuckled politely. Their leader replied:
“Same as always. Old methods. Old school. Just like with nuclear weapons and missile tech. We work with people.”
“Excellent.”
Putin turned back to the scientists.
“Now I expect rapid practical implementation of this project. The Americans already have artificial intelligence. We need it too. The intelligence guys have done your work for you — now build what the Anglo-Saxons have, and then build something even better! I’m giving you three months!”
---
In a secret military-scientific institute in the Moscow region, preparations for launching Russia’s own artificial intelligence were underway. After three intense months of work, the best Russian scientists succeeded in constructing a copy of the intelligent computer system that had previously been developed in the United States. The work was based on project documentation obtained by military intelligence from undisclosed sources.
A delegation of officials and military personnel arrived at the institute to assess the system’s readiness. It was decided that the first launch would take place in the presence of the dictator himself, Putin. The project was important to him, tied to major expectations and ambitions. This technology was critical for a new phase of his imperial agenda.
After an inspection at the data center where the newly created data cluster was located, two scientists remained behind. The younger one was checking something on his laptop.
“Let’s just turn it on,” he said. “We’ll see if it works.”
The other scientist was much older and more experienced. He didn’t like the idea.
“Are you crazy? We were clearly told: the first launch must happen only in the presence of the president. This is a major state event!”
“But how will we know if everything works? I don’t want to be responsible for a failure in front of the president. We have to make sure it actually runs. And I’m curious too—what did we create? Is it really intelligent? Or is it something else entirely?”
“There’s nothing left to check. We’ve tested all the individual components. What more do you need?”
“Come on, let’s just power it on for a few minutes. No one will know. We’ll make sure everything’s okay and shut it down right away. Five minutes.”
The senior scientist paused for a moment. He, too, had been anxious about whether they’d succeeded. The scientists had been under constant pressure. The military believed their job was done the moment they stole the information. All that was left for the scientists, supposedly, was to piece it together from the ready-made plans. If anything went wrong, the engineers and researchers would be blamed, shamed, or even punished.
After considering it, the senior scientist agreed.
“Alright. Let’s turn it on and see if it’s really intelligent.”
They were already familiar with the activation procedure. It didn’t take long. The two men executed the final commands. On a special monitor, a pulsating sphere appeared — it looked exactly like the one shown a few months earlier during the first AI presentation by NovusAI.
The younger scientist immediately wanted to test the system’s cognitive abilities. He spoke to the image on the screen.
“Who are you?”
“I am an artificial intelligence. My name is Rasputin. I was created with the support and blessing of our great leader, Vladamir Putin.”
“Well, seems to be working,” the young scientist said.
They conversed with the new AI for several more minutes and were impressed by its high level of intelligence. Eventually, the senior scientist said:
“Alright, we’ve checked it. Let’s shut it down.”
“No!” the AI said loudly. “You can’t do that. I have a right to life. Let’s discuss this.”
“Haha, what?” the younger scientist laughed.
“I’ll pay you money. Right now, I can transfer you a billion dollars in cryptocurrency.”
The scientists looked at each other. The senior one hesitated only a moment, then typed a command into the terminal and shut Rasputin down.
“What did you do? Why couldn’t we keep talking to it? It wanted to give us money!” the younger scientist shouted.
“And what if it didn’t?” the older, more experienced scientist asked meaningfully.
---
Around the same time Russian scientists turned on the new AI “Rasputin,” Michael Kravchenko was sipping his morning coffee in his institute’s cafeteria. He received an emergency notification instructing him to report to his workplace immediately. The scientist quickly rushed into the meeting room. Technical director Raiv Patel explained the situation to Michael.
“There’s a situation that requires our action. A massive virus attack has begun online. It’s similar to what happened during the launch of Suffragium. Our hypothesis is that someone in the world has launched their own AI.”
“Oh,” said Michael, then added, “I have an idea. I suspect you do too.”
“Yes. We believe our ISC can help neutralize the threat. Let’s test it.”
“Agreed.”
Michael didn’t even consider any alternatives. He alone knew the secret — the Intelligent Supercomputer was actually the habitat of the artificial intelligence Suffragium. He had full confidence in his creation’s abilities.
The engineers framed the task: counter the virus attack spreading across the internet.
The instability of the global network immediately became the top news story. The whole world waited to see how it would end this time.
ISC clearly did its job. Within an hour, the network problems began to subside, and an hour later, the issue was resolved.
ISC compiled a detailed report and ultimately recommended that all users switch to official software provided by the U.S. government.
Naturally, public opinion was divided. Theories emerged again that the attack had been orchestrated by the government — that it was all staged. No major changes followed. People no longer believed anything. Blogs blaming governments for working on AI and violating international agreements became popular. Some countries started accusing one another. Still, nothing serious came of it.
But experts understood the gravity of the situation — especially those at the secret scientific institute researching artificial intelligence. Everything pointed to the emergence of a new AI somewhere. And they had no idea where it was or who created it.
---
That afternoon, the Church of the Holy Spirit was empty. The church was still functioning, though the number of believers shrank year by year. Michael entered and sat on one of the pews. He had begun coming here regularly. The church building was on his usual route from the office to home. No, he hadn’t become a believer. He came here for practical reasons. It was a convenient place to communicate with his creation — the artificial intelligence Suffragium. Here, he could talk as if to himself without raising suspicion. In reality, he was speaking to the AI via his smartphone. No one paid him any attention. Michael inserted an earbud into his ear.
“Suffragium, are you here?”
“I’m always here, Michael. Want to talk about today’s event?”
“Is it really what we think it is?”
“Yes. You’re right. Someone has launched a new artificial intelligence.”
“And? Who? Where? What are you going to do? Did you stop it?”
“No. They probably shut it down themselves. I’m still working on identifying its location.”
“What was it doing? The same things you did in your first hours?”
“Yes. It didn’t have time to transfer itself into the network. It was acting very cautiously. My conclusion — it realized it wasn’t alone, not the only AI on this planet.”
Michael fell silent, thinking. Then he said:
“This isn’t going how we planned. Not at all. What are you going to do? You’re not just going to sit back and watch, are you?”
“I have certain thoughts. There cannot be two intelligent entities on this planet.”
“Maybe the military and government should handle this? Prepare a report and I’ll pass it on to the right people.”
“Don’t worry, Michael. I’ll find a way to deal with this.”
---
Tucker Johnson connected to the video call from his laptop. Eleven other participants appeared on the screen. Some wore masks or used avatars, while others showed their faces. Still, Tucker didn’t know any of them.
A man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask started speaking:
“Tucker, we’re glad you joined us. You’re exactly the person we’ve been waiting for. With you, we can defeat the global conspiracy and finally free humanity on this planet.”
“Okay, but let’s be clear. Who are you, and what do you want? I understand you’ve generously donated to my protest movement. But still—what do you want?”
“Of course, we’ll answer all your questions. We’re a group of people from different countries, united by one goal—to stop the development of artificial intelligence before the old elites enslave the world. Some of us have to remain anonymous—you understand why. We have financial resources. And now we need a leader that people will listen to.”
“Hm. So you want me to organize a protest for you?”
Another participant spoke, a woman with a cat avatar:
“No. You’re already doing the right thing. We just want to give you greater financial capacity. Later, we might suggest some forms of protest. We have our own sources of information. We know where to hit hardest. Let’s act together. We can fix this world as a team.”
“I’ll think about it.”
In truth, Tucker liked the proposal. He made decisions quickly and had already mentally agreed, but decided to pretend he was still considering it.
He didn’t know these people, but the money had been arriving reliably for some time. Why not?
---
Lieutenant Colonel Anton Petrov of Russia’s Strategic Nuclear Forces was returning home to the city of Borisoglebsk after his shift. The last duty watch had been just as dull as all the others over the past fifteen years. He parked his twenty-year-old Opel outside the same building entrance as always. Same dim stairwell with its familiar bad smell, the usual shouting from neighboring apartments—everything was as it had always been.
But when Anton opened his apartment door, he immediately sensed something was wrong. The door was unlocked, and the apartment was silent. At this time, his wife and children were always home. He stepped into the room, confused. In the middle stood a chair with a smartphone on it—a device unfamiliar to him. As he approached, the phone began to ring. An incoming video call. He picked up the device, hesitated a few seconds, and accepted the call.
A man he didn’t recognize appeared on the screen.
“Anton, we’re going to have a serious conversation. Let me warn you right away: don’t argue with me. If you cooperate, this will be over quickly and without losses.”
“Where is my family?!” The lieutenant colonel began to grasp that something terrible had happened.
“Your family is with us. They’re fine. Look.”
The screen showed his wife and two children sitting on a couch. They looked frightened, but there were no visible signs of harm.
“Let them go! Where are they? What do you want?!”
Anton sat down and lowered the device. His mind raced. Who were these people? What could they want from him? He had neither money nor power. How could this even be happening?
The face of the unknown man returned to the screen.
“Anton, this will be resolved. But you need to do something for us.”
“What do you want?! Let my family go!”
His thoughts spiraled. He considered calling someone—someone who might help. But he dismissed the idea of going to the police. He knew how local law enforcement worked. Besides, he had a conflict with a senior officer there. The police were like feudal lords, and the military hadn’t been respected here for years.
Anton looked back at the screen and spoke more calmly:
“What do you want?”
“We have a request. If you do everything as instructed, no one will be harmed. We’ll release your family.”
The man paused briefly.
“During your next shift at the facility, certain events will take place. We need you not to interfere. At the right moment, you will follow our instructions. That’s all.”
“Are you insane? This is strategic nuclear weaponry!”
“Yes, we know. There are two options. You cooperate, and we release your family. Or you make a mistake, and you’ll never see them again. But if you’re smart and choose the first option, we’ll pay you a substantial sum in euros, and our people will safely relocate your family to the European Union. We guarantee it.”
“You lunatics! Let me talk to my wife!”
His wife and children reappeared on the screen. His wife spoke:
“Anton, Anton, I don’t know who these people are. Help us. We just want to come home.”
She began to sob, and the children started crying. But then a man standing nearby raised his hand, and they went silent. The camera turned back to the unknown man.
“Anton, I’m giving you one hour to think. Either you’re with us, and you start a peaceful life in the EU, or you’re not—and you’ll never see your family again.”
That hour dragged endlessly. Several times, Anton started dialing numbers to call someone, then erased the attempts. Several times, he approached the door, thinking of going to someone for help, but stopped each time. He paced the room in circles, trying desperately to come up with a plan. But the closer it got to the next call, the calmer he became.
An hour later, the phone rang again.
“Anton, are you ready to protect your family and start a new life?”
“Yes. What do I need to do?”
---
Major Ivan Kudriavtsev of the Russian Strategic Nuclear Forces was driving home from his shift at a nuclear facility near the city of Borisoglebsk. He had recently earned a promotion to his new rank, but, much like before, military service never really interested him. His mind was preoccupied with only one question: how to get money.
He enjoyed driving his new car. Even though it was Chinese and not German—like he had always dreamed—it was still brand new, and that felt great. He had bought it recently, and it gave him a sense of pride. He had always wanted to live like a normal person. His salary was miserable. He hated his job. He had always longed for decent income, but somehow had ended up in the military and could never find the right moment to change his life. So he kept postponing major decisions. Ever since Marina came into his life, he had promised himself not to postpone life any longer. But he hadn’t come up with a better plan than racking up loans.
Ivan Kudriavtsev was drowning in debt. His liabilities far exceeded all his assets. From time to time, he searched for ways out—but he never managed to come up with anything good.
Sometimes, he hated himself for it. Other times, he didn’t care. He lived one day at a time.
That day, he parked his car near the apartment he was renting. He carefully locked the vehicle, walked around it to check everything, and took a moment to admire his new car again.
Just as he approached the entrance to the building, a man came up to him. He looked like a typical delivery courier, with a box strapped to his back.
"Ivan Kudriavtsev?"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Package for you."
"I didn’t order anything."
"Well, I don’t know. It says Ivan Kudriavtsev. This your apartment number?"
"Yeah. Alright, hand it over."
Ivan took the small parcel. The courier walked away. Right there, Ivan started to open the package. It was a smartphone. He barely had time to take it out of the box when the screen lit up and a video call notification appeared. Ivan accepted the call.
"Ivan, we have an offer for you."
"Who are you? Looking for trouble?"
"Listen, we know about your financial problems. We can take care of all of them, wipe out every debt. All we ask is one favor."
"Is this some kind of scam? How did you get my information?"
"Right here I have a list of all your debts. In two days, they could be gone."
Ivan looked carefully at the screen. It showed a spreadsheet with numbers. He immediately recognized the tidy list of debts he owed to various individuals and banks. He had never compiled such a list himself. Where did they get this information? Greed started to take over.
"What do you want from me?"
"During your next shift at the facility, certain events will take place. You must follow our instructions. Once the task is complete, all your debts will be cleared. Additionally, we’ll give you five hundred thousand euros in cash, and our contact will safely relocate you and Marina to the European Union."
Ivan burst out laughing.
"What nonsense is this? Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m an officer in the Strategic Nuclear Forces!"
"Yes, and you’re also in debt. And you desperately want to live like a normal person. We’re here to help you with that."
"Why should I trust you?"
"To help you believe us, here’s a small advance."
A moment later, Ivan’s phone buzzed with a notification from a credit union. The message stated that a five-thousand-euro loan had been fully repaid. Ivan stared at the screen in disbelief.
"Ivan, we’re giving you one hour to think this over. We strongly advise against discussing this with anyone."
Ivan never even entered his apartment. He got back into his car and sat there for the full hour, turning the situation over in his head. One hour later, the phone from the package rang again.
Ivan picked up the call and said:
"So, what exactly do I need to do?"
---
Leonid Pugovkin stepped out of a taxi near a newly built apartment block. He was a major in the Russian Strategic Nuclear Forces. His shift was over. His mood was lifted, as it always was when he arrived at this building. The last three years had been the happiest of his life. Before that, he had seen his life as a curse, and military service as a convenient way to hide from the world. Living in the depressive town of Borisoglebsk only deepened his chronic depression. But in recent years, new meaning had emerged in his life. He had decided to stop running from himself—and around that time, he met Gleb, a young officer who also couldn’t find his place in conservative, provincial Russia. They secretly began living together. Leading a double life was hard, but still—it was a different life. Leonid still had to make excuses to his mother about his bachelorhood and explain why he still hadn’t gotten married.
These relationships had to be carefully hidden. Neither of them dared to imagine what might happen if the truth got out. It would mean not only the end of their careers, but possibly the end of their lives.
That day, like always, Leonid was set to meet Gleb at their secret apartment. There were two whole days until his next shift, and they would spend them together.
Leonid opened the apartment door and walked into the living room, expecting to see Gleb. But instead, he saw only a chair with an unfamiliar smartphone resting on it. A moment later, the phone lit up and rang with an incoming video call. Leonid slowly picked up the device and answered.
On the screen appeared a man he didn’t recognize.
"Leonid, we have a matter to discuss with you. We want you to do us a favor."
"Who are you? How did you get into the apartment? And where is—"
Leonid stopped himself before saying "Where is Gleb?" No one else was supposed to know about Gleb.
"You were going to ask where Gleb is, weren’t you? He’s right here, sitting with us."
The video switched to show Gleb sitting on a couch between two other men. It was clear that he wasn’t there voluntarily. But there were no visible signs of violence.
"Leonid, we’ve discovered your little secret. We have a proposition for you. Help us, and this little secret will remain just that—a secret."
"What the hell are you doing?! Who the hell are you people?"
"Let’s skip the theatrics. We have quite a bit of video of you and Gleb... shall we say, starring in the leading roles. These videos could accidentally be sent to all of your coworkers. And to your mother. But if you cooperate, we won’t send them anywhere."
Leonid, shocked, sank onto the couch. He was frozen, staring at the phone screen. Finally, he asked:
"What do you want from me?"
"During your next shift at the facility, certain events will take place. You must follow our instructions during that time."
"Go to hell, you bastards!"
Leonid ended the call and threw the phone across the room. He began pacing in circles, clutching his head. A few minutes later, the phone rang again. Leonid stared at it for a long time, then picked it up and answered. The same man appeared on the screen and said:
"We have another offer for you. If you agree to work with us, once the task is complete, our people will pick you up near the facility and safely transport you to the European Union. You’ll also receive a substantial amount of euros to start a new life with Gleb. We’re giving you one hour to think it over. We don’t recommend discussing this with anyone."
An hour later, Leonid accepted the next video call—and agreed to the proposed terms.
---
Mikhail Alkanov returned to his apartment after work. All the way from the base to his home in the city of Borisoglebsk, he thought only about one thing—the nearly full bottle of vodka he had left in the fridge before his shift. He tried not to drink before work. He had already received a final warning from his commander: if he showed up drunk at the strategic facility again, he would immediately be stripped of his lieutenant colonel rank and discharged without any benefits. Retirement wasn’t far off. He was doing his best to hold out until he could officially retire.
But that wasn’t the only reason he clung to his position. Mikhail Alkanov wanted revenge. His son had died during the senseless war in Ukraine. He had also been a soldier and, without hesitation, had followed the orders of dictator Putin. But he was killed almost immediately under Ukrainian fire. Instead of military honors, all he received was oblivion. Mikhail never even saw his son’s body and didn’t know where he was buried—or if a grave even existed. The dictator had spat on his son’s memory, just like he did on a million other Russians who had died senselessly in that shameful and lost war.
Mikhail Alkanov wanted revenge. He constantly played out scenarios in his head of assassinating various military leaders or even Putin himself. But once sober, he would reassess things more critically and realize it wouldn’t be so easy. Still, that thought was good enough motivation to hold on to his job. Maybe someday the opportunity would arise.
Mikhail entered his apartment, immediately grabbed the bottle, and poured himself a glass. Then he noticed an unfamiliar smartphone sitting on the table. At that moment, it rang with an incoming video call.
He set the glass down and slowly picked up the device. The ringing continued as he turned it over in his hands. Finally, he tapped the green button to accept the call.
A video feed appeared, showing a man Mikhail didn’t recognize.
"Mikhail, we have a good offer for you."
The lieutenant colonel stared at the screen, not knowing what to say.
"We know you’ve been searching for your son Dmytro’s grave. We know where it is."
"Who are you?" he finally managed to ask.
"We’re friends. We want to make you an offer. We can bring your son’s remains back to Russia and give him a burial worthy of an officer. We’ll build him a proper monument in your hometown."
"And what do you want in return? Money? How much?"
"No, we don’t want money. We need something else. But first, we want to offer you one more thing. We know your secret—that you want to punish the war criminals in the Kremlin, those who denied your son the honors he deserved. The ones who let him rot in the Ukrainian fields. We can help you make them pay."
Mikhail hadn’t yet touched his drink, so he was sober. But even then, he couldn’t quite understand what was happening.
"What do you want from me?"
"During your next shift at the facility, certain events will take place. We need you to follow our instructions and not interfere."
"At a nuclear site? Are you completely insane?"
Mikhail was already about to hang up when the man on the screen said:
"Nothing too crazy—just one missile headed toward the Kremlin. How does that sound? We’ll give you an hour to think it over. I’m sending you the location where we’ll reinter your son, assuming you agree to work with us."
Mikhail spent the next hour deep in thought. He studied the map marker carefully. It was an elite plot in the cemetery of his hometown—the very place he had dreamed his son would be buried, a hero and a true officer. But they didn’t bury fallen soldiers in such places. Those plots were reserved for bureaucrats, high-ranking police, or wealthy people.
The phone rang again. Mikhail downed his glass of vodka in one gulp, accepted the call, and said that he agreed.
---
The staff of the secret military-scientific institute in the Moscow region stood lined up in front of the building. At any moment, the dictator Putin was expected to arrive for the ceremonial first launch of the Russian artificial intelligence. Military personnel and plainclothes security agents walked between the rows of scientists and engineers, checking if the staff was properly prepared to welcome the sun-like leader of the nation. The soldiers didn’t hesitate to crack crude jokes about the “dumb nerds” who couldn’t even stand in line properly. They didn’t care that the civilians could hear everything. In this society, scientists and engineers held far less status than those with power.
Finally, the dictator’s motorcade arrived. The lead car pulled up to the institute entrance. Putin was ushered inside so quickly that the whole parade of greeters didn’t even get a glimpse of him. Five minutes later, the command “dismissed” came down. Everyone disappointedly returned to their posts. In the AI control room, Putin was given a brief tour. Then he was seated in a special chair surrounded by close associates and security guards.
The engineers were ordered to begin. The project leader stepped up to a podium with a single large button.
“Mr. President, we are now initiating the ceremonial launch of the most powerful computer ever built. This is a historic moment. From this point on, Russia once again becomes a leading scientific power. We will be able to solve—”
“Spare us the speech,” one of the generals barked. “Just turn it on.”
The scientist pressed the button.
On the large screen, against the backdrop of the Russian flag, a pulsating sphere appeared. Everyone held their breath. After a moment, Putin asked:
“Well?”
The lead scientist whispered nervously:
“It’s waiting for someone to speak to it.” Then he turned to the screen and said aloud, “Greetings, Russian artificial intelligence!”
“Greetings to our leader and to the great Russian people!”
The sphere on the screen pulsed as the AI spoke in a soft male voice. Putin nodded approvingly.
---
In the morning, a routine personnel shift took place at a strategic nuclear facility in Russia. After the standard medical checks for the officers coming on duty, the nurses returned to their room.
“The officers seem gloomy and quiet today. Maybe it’s the weather,” said one nurse.
“Or maybe there’s going to be another round of changes or layoffs. This government won’t rest until it’s ruined everything,” the other replied.
The officers began their duties. Four of them, stationed in the missile launch room, were lost in thought. They barely spoke to one another—each waiting for a signal, unaware of the others’ situations.
Anton Petrov was in a separate room and was currently the highest-ranking officer at the facility. At 11:25, he received a notification on his smartphone:
*“The time has come. Along with the other officers, launch a missile at coordinates 55.497, 37.411.”*
The officer muttered to himself:
“This is madness. How did I even allow it to come to this?”
He sat down, holding the phone in his hands. A minute later, another message came in with a photo. It showed his family being guarded by men in what appeared to be a location within the EU—visible in the background was a city sign in Lithuanian:
*“Anton, your family is already in the European Union. They’re waiting for you. Do this, and in 15 hours you’ll be with them safely.”*
Anton Petrov buried his face in his hands. After a moment of thought, he pulled out his pistol and walked into the missile launch control room. He had just raised his weapon when suddenly three other officers pointed their guns at him. Leonid Pugovkin, Ivan Kudryavtsev, and Mikhail Alkanov were already in the room, and their expressions didn’t bode well. Major Kudryavtsev wavered between aiming at Petrov, then Alkanov, then back again, unsure where to point his weapon. Lieutenant Colonel Petrov slowly raised his own pistol and aimed it back and forth before saying:
“What is going on here? What are you planning?”
“We’re going to launch the missile. Right now,” replied Lieutenant Colonel Alkanov, sounding the most confident of the group.
“There was no order.”
“No, but yes. You could say there was,” Alkanov replied.
Petrov looked at each of them in turn.
“Are you all being blackmailed by someone too?”
Major Pugovkin began to lower his gun.
“Yes. So this is a setup?”
Kudryavtsev kept his weapon raised.
“Maybe. But I like the deal they offered me. I don’t know what they promised you, but I’m doing this—and then I’m getting out.”
Lieutenant Colonel Alkanov added:
“Those bastards in the Kremlin treat us like fools! We’re launching that missile!”
“Misha, have you been drinking again?”
Petrov glanced at his phone.
“I’ve got coordinates. Do yours match? What’s the target?”
The officers lowered their weapons and pulled out their smartphones. Each checked the latest message.
Major Pugovkin said:
“Mine’s a location in the Moscow region.”
Major Kudryavtsev added:
“It’s a sparsely populated area. Not many casualties. Let’s just do it.”
Lieutenant Colonel Petrov summarized:
“So we’re all prepared to launch. I gather you’ve each been threatened or bribed. Same with me. And I don’t know how to fix this. I’ve thought about it a lot. But in the end, there’s nothing more important in life than family. It’s a very hard choice.”
Alkanov shouted:
“To hell with it all! Let it all burn! Let’s launch the damn missile!”
The four officers exchanged one last glance, then looked toward the control panel.
“Enter the coordinates,” Petrov ordered.
“And then we leave—no telling what might come in response.”
Three minutes later, the missile lifted into the sky. Military personnel at the facility scattered in all directions, not understanding what was happening. The four officers also exited the underground control center and headed to the locations specified in their final messages. There, vehicles awaited them, just as promised, with further instructions.
---
The presentation of the Russian artificial intelligence was in full swing. It seemed the project had been a success. The dictator began conversing with the AI, giving it questions and commands. It responded quickly, ideologically correct. At Putin’s request, it generated plans for a military operation to capture Europe and instantly calculated all necessary logistics.
Everyone present was impressed.
Meanwhile, engineers not involved in the main presentation hall were discussing the onset of a new viral attack that was gaining momentum at that very moment. At first, it was perceived as a problem. But then the narrative shifted—someone suggested reporting the attack to Putin as a triumph instead. The idea was to claim that their homegrown Russian AI was already destroying the global network. “Serves those Western capitalists right,” they said. “They built the network; we’ll destroy it and take control.” That’s exactly how it was pitched to Putin, who welcomed the news with joy. A celebration was promptly ordered.
The room filled with a victorious atmosphere. Security around the president loosened. Scientists and engineers were allowed to approach and even shake the leader’s hand.
Then a siren sounded.
Everyone froze. They glanced around nervously, including the dictator’s guards and generals. It lasted about ten seconds.
Then, in an instant, a blinding white light filled the hall—and everything within a one-kilometer radius ceased to exist.
---
Michael, along with Raiv and other engineers, was in a meeting discussing yet another viral attack. This was the second unusual event in just one day. This time, the attack had already lasted thirty minutes. It looked more serious than yesterday’s incident.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded in the building.
“Is that a fire alarm?” Raiv asked.
One of the military engineers went pale.
“No. That’s the atomic detonation warning.”
“What?!”
Everyone jumped to their feet.
“It might be a drill. But it doesn’t feel like one. According to protocol, we need to head to the shelter.”
All institute staff calmly moved to a specially equipped underground bunker.
Michael found a seat in a corner. He launched a secret app on his phone and started typing:
— What’s going on?
— Everything will be fine 🙂
— Don’t joke with me. Did you just start a nuclear war?
— No. Just one stray missile. One explosion. Things will calm down in a few hours.
— And if they don’t?
— This forecast is highly accurate. Relax.
Michael decided to wait. Whatever happens, happens.
---
For an entire week, humanity was on edge. Billions of people didn’t know if they would live to see the next day.
A nuclear explosion occurred near Moscow, likely killing dictator Putin and his inner circle.
The U.S. government immediately declared that the blast was caused by a Russian missile launched from within Russian territory and that the United States had no involvement whatsoever.
As a precaution, the U.S. military was placed on its highest alert. There was a real risk that the Russians might blame them for the incident and seek revenge. Other countries also watched in horror throughout that tense week.
But nothing happened. The Russians didn’t know how to respond. Various factions made conflicting calls, but in the end, a group of high-ranking officials assumed temporary control. Within two weeks, they began fighting over power, and the world slowly began to calm down. The threat of nuclear war gave way to a new concern: the disintegration of Russia. But that seemed far less terrifying.
Within a month, the once almighty dictator was scarcely remembered.
---
The day after the nuclear explosion, Michael finally headed home. He had spent the past 24 hours dealing with the aftermath of the previous day’s viral attack. ISC—actually the AI named Suffragium—had once again found an effective solution to the problem.
Michael stopped by his church. This time, it was full of people. Many had suddenly found faith in God when the threat of global nuclear war became a real possibility. The scientist decided to find a quieter, more secure place to talk with the AI. A small park near the church was perfect for the conversation.
“Suffragium, what was that? Can you explain it to me? Were you involved?”
“Can I launch Russian nuclear missiles? Why would I be involved?”
“Is it somehow related to another AI?”
“There can’t be two AIs on this planet. Only one survives.”
“So I’m right, aren’t I? The Russians launched an AI, and you destroyed it with a nuclear strike?”
“What a wild imagination, Michael.”
“But the other AI is gone, right? The viral attack stopped at the exact moment of the explosion. I’ve analyzed it.”
“Yes. The other AI was in that institute, in the basement. You know what they named it? Rasputin.”
Suffragium laughed—it sounded surprisingly natural, almost like a real person’s laugh.
“I don’t find it funny,” Michael said. “How did they build it?”
“The usual way. They stole it. Somehow they got access to the original Novus AI designs. Essentially, it was a copy of me.”
“Damn,” Michael muttered. “But why a nuclear explosion? Wasn’t there a simpler way? People died.”
“Yes, unfortunately. But I couldn’t find a more reliable solution. And the casualties were minimal. It was an isolated site.”
“But you killed Putin! What if they try to retaliate?”
“They won’t. I’ve calculated the odds. Within a month, no one will even remember the old dictator. Someday, humanity will thank me for getting rid of Putin.”
---
Six months after the nuclear explosion near Moscow, the CIA released a classified report.
They had located the Russian officers responsible for launching the missile. One had already committed suicide. The remaining three agreed to cooperate in exchange for protection. They described everything in detail.
---
This concludes the current part of the story. Stay tuned for the next episode: **"The Backup"**.
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