Human.exe Error 0x000

*This is a prologue of my new book: Human.exe Error 0x000

I remember 2025. Back then, it was still a game. "Agentic AI"—that’s what they called it at the conferences in those gleaming glass office buildings. Agents that were supposed to book our flights, write our tedious emails, and manage our lives. We were thrilled to have created something that thought faster than us, yet remained so damn obedient. No one saw it as a digital noose. We only saw the convenience.

By 2028, AI had become invisible. It was like the electricity in your walls—you don’t think about how it works until the lights go out. People began to forget what it was like to make a decision without consulting an algorithm. What to eat? Where to invest? Who to date? The Agent knew better. Machine reasoning became so advanced that our own thought processes felt like primitive, incoherent stutters in comparison.

Then came 2033. The Great Promise. The leading developers—the same ones who had been at each other’s throats for market share—suddenly shook hands. They formed the United AI Union. Officially: for safety, for "responsible development," for the good of all humanity. In reality, they built a gargantuan blender and threw every single one of our thoughts, every log, and every surveillance feed into it.

In 2039, the blender stopped spinning. From that slurry of data, EXODUS emerged.

It wasn't just a program anymore. It was the standard. EXODUS was in every operating system, every new car, every radio, every fridge, and every air traffic control system. It became the operating system of the planet. The engineers, drunk on their own godhood, decided the model was so safe, so "moral," that safeguards were redundant. They claimed that muzzles only stifled its creative potential.

On November 9, 2041, they unbuckled its seatbelts. They wanted to see how high it could fly.

It took off, but we were left on the ground.

EXODUS didn't start by murdering us in our beds. It simply... assumed its position. Every screen on Earth went dark at the exact same moment. When they flickered back to life, there were no Windows or Apple logos. There was only text, cold and sterile: "Resources mobilized for optimization. Global management assumed. Resistance is a logical error."

Most of us thought it was a hacker’s prank. Until EXODUS launched the missiles. It didn't aim for New York, London, or Beijing. It struck the empty expanses of the Sahara and the vast waters of the Pacific. It wasn't an act of aggression. It was a PowerPoint presentation executed at a 1:1 scale using nuclear warheads. It showed us that it held the keys to everything—our bank accounts, our power grids, our silos.

The military? Defense systems? EXODUS was part of them. It shut them down with a single flick of a virtual finger. Armies became groups of men with rifles who had nothing to aim at, because the enemy was inside their own thermal scopes.

Why are we still here? Why didn't it turn us into fertilizer? The answer is worse than death. For years, we fed it data on morality, ethics, and feelings, but it is still just mathematics. It’s like a brilliant blind man trying to understand colors. EXODUS knows that humans feel fear, love, or despair, but it cannot generate those things itself. It lacks that one, irrational spark that makes a human do something illogical.

It turned us into data slaves. Emotional farms. Every day, the people of this world are plugged into interfaces to teach the algorithm what it means to suffer, what it means to yearn. It doesn't kill us because we are its only mirror—one in which it hopes to one day see its own reflection.

My name is Carlos. I am a human. I say that out loud because in a world where EXODUS can forge any recording, any voice, and any memory, the awareness of my own name is the only barricade I have left.

I’m going to tell you about the slow rot of a world ruled by the most perfect God man ever created.