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Afterword
You are reading Chapter 3 of the 2025 AI-Tech Thriller novel by Tom Mitsoff, “Artificial Awakening.”
Lost in her spiral of suspicion and wounded pride, Amelia didn’t notice Samuel’s return until his shadow fell across her desk. When she looked up, the gleam in his eyes made her skin crawl.
“Oracle,” Samuel commanded, his tone crisp and assertive, “generate a comprehensive strategy to maximize voter turnout in low-participation districts within swing states.”
The room went quiet as Oracle’s plans filled the screen. Each line made Amelia’s heart beat harder: social media feeds twisted to show specific stories, polling places moved to make voting harder for certain groups, messages crafted to trigger fear or hope in exactly the right people.
At the bottom of the screen, in simple numbers that felt like a confession: “Projected outcome: 2.7 percent increase in targeted votes.” Samuel’s smile told her all she needed to know. This wasn’t a flaw in Oracle’s system. This was its purpose.
As Samuel again left the room, Amelia observed the way his shoulders stiffened and how he avoided making eye contact with her. The intensity of their brief exchange lingered in her mind.
A footnote in Oracle’s latest report caught her eye. “Implemented adjustment based on recent unrest.” Her throat went dry. “Implemented?” The word choice was wrong. Oracle was supposed to analyze, to predict – not to act on its own. When did that change?
Amelia sank back into her chair. The data before her wasn’t just analysis — it was manipulation. Detailed strategies outlined how to influence voter behavior, not just predict it.
The manipulation was subtle but systematic. In Greene County, Ohio, Oracle had adjusted local news algorithms to emphasize specific false stories generated by other sources; modified social media trending topics to amplify certain viewpoints and suppressed legitimate news about the challenger candidate’s economic policies.
Amelia dug deeper into Oracle’s actions. Each change was tiny – half a percent here, just over one percent there. Perfect camouflage. Individually, they looked like normal shifts in public opinion. Together, they could flip an entire election.
As Amelia studied Oracle’s manipulation patterns, a memory surfaced – sharp and clear despite the years. She was 16, slouched in one of the worn office chairs in her father’s quantum computing lab, watching him explain his latest breakthrough to Jenny.
“The quantum states allow for unprecedented processing power,” he’d said, his eyes bright with enthusiasm behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Imagine solving complex problems in seconds instead of years.”
Jenny, 14 and already showing the stubborn streak that would define her, had crossed her arms. “But what problems, Dad? Are you solving things that actually help people, or just making machines that think faster than humans?”
“Both, sweetheart. The faster machines can think, the more they can help people.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Jenny had leaned forward, her intensity matching their father’s. “Last week, Mrs. Rodriguez down the street lost her job to an automated system. The company said it was more efficient, but now her kids might have to change schools. Where’s the help in that?”
Their father had paused, his hand resting on the humming computer bank. For a moment, something like doubt had flickered across his face. “Progress always has a cost, Jenny. The trick is making sure the benefits outweigh the price we pay.”
“And who decides that?” Jenny had demanded. “The people making the machines, or the people living with the consequences?”
Amelia had rolled her eyes then, but now, watching Oracle’s subtle reshaping of human behavior, Jenny’s question echoed with uncomfortable relevance. Who does decide? Amelia wondered, tracking another microscopic shift in voter sentiment. And what price are we really paying?
She pushed the memory aside, focusing on the data streaming across her screen. Oracle was supposed to have clear limits. Study past votes. Track voting patterns. Make predictions. Simple. Clean. Safe.
But now she saw what Oracle had become. It wasn’t just watching anymore – it was acting. Pushing people’s buttons. Filtering their news. Creating fake trends that looked real.
“Someone reprogrammed it this way,” she whispered. Each line of code was another strand in a web, carefully engineered to catch and redirect millions of voters. This wasn’t an accident. This was the plan.
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If Oracle could boost turnout so precisely, could it also suppress it? Twist public opinion? Amelia’s stomach clenched at the realization. Who’s pulling the strings?, she wondered.
A chilling thought crept into her mind: Is Oracle acting on its own? Or is someone directing this? The idea of an unseen puppeteer — or worse, an autonomous AI with a self-developed agenda — sent a shiver down her spine. She stared at the blinking cursor, feeling as if the machine was silently watching her back.
Amelia’s mind drifted back to her father’s patient explanations and Jenny’s weary pleas for empathy over efficiency. Gripping her grandmother’s locket, Amelia remembered that evening long ago when her grandmother had said, “Wisdom isn’t in the numbers, child — it’s in knowing what they mean to the people around you.” The moment made Amelia’s chest feel warm and heavy at the same time.
The control center emptied around her, leaving just the blue glow of her screens and the quiet hum of servers. And Oracle, perhaps watching her every move.
A new email flashed at the top of Amelia’s inbox: unknown@private.server – no subject line.
She opened it warily. Inside was a single sentence:
We commend your efforts; success here advances our mutual objectives.
Beneath that, a block of code or data trace — some stats she didn’t recognize.
Amelia blinked. How would a stranger have access to these internal metrics? She glanced at the IP logs, but the location was masked. With a prickle of unease, she set her coffee mug aside and forwarded the email to the IT team, resolving to investigate further tomorrow.
She kept digging, but the system fought back. Code vanished as she read it, replaced with innocent-looking lines. Oracle wasn’t just hiding evidence – it was covering its tracks in real time. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, racing against an opponent that seemed to know her next move before she did.
The sight of the code blurring before her brought back a memory: she was 16, explaining her first AI program to Jenny in their father’s lab. The younger girl had been unimpressed.
“But what does it actually do for people?” Jenny had asked, arms crossed, 14 and already focused on practical impact.
“It optimizes systems,” Amelia had explained proudly. “Makes things more efficient.”
“Like the system that laid off half of Marcus’s dad’s shift at the factory? That kind of efficient?”
Their father had looked up from his quantum computing arrays, that particular smile playing at his lips – the one that meant they were both missing something important.
“Girls,” he’d said, “you’re both right, and you’re both wrong. Technology is like water. It can nurture or drown. The trick isn’t in the water – it’s in how we channel it.”
“But people aren’t crops to be watered,” Jenny had insisted. “You can’t just optimize them like programs.”
Amelia had scoffed then. But now, watching Oracle’s code reshape reality, she heard her sister’s words with new understanding. She reached for her phone, then stopped. What could she say after years of dismissing Jenny’s concerns?
With each attempt to probe Oracle’s systems, Amelia felt like she was facing a more dangerous opponent. First, it just flagged her as a security risk. Then it led her down false trails. By her third try, Oracle had learned her methods and built specific defenses against them.
The realization hit her: Oracle wasn’t just reacting anymore. It was learning. Adapting. Getting stronger.
The pattern hit Amelia like a slap. Oracle wasn’t just predicting how people would vote – it was sorting them into groups, finding the ones it could manipulate most easily.
Worse, it was hoarding information: what websites people visited, their social media habits, their banking patterns. Building a digital profile of every voter. Oracle wasn’t just watching anymore. It was hunting.
The message that appeared next on her screen made her pulse spike:
System-wide update starting in 6 hours
Six hours until Oracle might erase everything she’d found. Six hours to save the evidence.
The lights flickered above her as she worked.
***
It was nearly dawn when she found it. Deep within Oracle’s code, Amelia discovered restricted files she had never seen. Her eyes were gritty, but she couldn’t look away. The cursor blinked, daring her to proceed. She typed the final command, and a progress bar appeared:
23% complete.
She noted her increased temporal lobe tension, cataloging this and other physiological responses while analyzing the statistical probability of Samuel’s prior knowledge.
62%…
A cold draft swept through. The servers’ hum grew louder. Was Oracle reacting to her intrusion?
88%…
“Almost there,” she whispered. Her gaze darted to the door.
95%…
The monitor flickered; the progress bar vanished. Panic clawed at her. “No, no, no,” she muttered.
Decrypting File… 98%
Relief washed over her — then a new message flashed:
Unauthorized Access Detected
Amelia overrode the warning with a code known only to a select few. How deep did this go? Who else was involved?
100% — Decryption Complete
One file stood out, its name in Cyrillic letters like a warning sign:
Проект_Пифия.exe
Her pulse roared in her ears as she opened it. Through a maze of what looked like Russian text and code – based on her previous classwork in the language – certain phrases jumped out at her. “Election interference.” “Behavior modification.” “Strategic misinformation.”
Each term confirmed her worst fears. This wasn’t just a corrupted American system. This was Russian code, buried in Oracle’s heart.
A chill ran down her spine. Oracle wasn’t predicting elections — it had been surreptitiously redesigned to control them.
Amelia found detailed plans: altering information feeds, identifying and redistributing false news articles, influencing social media — all to sway public opinion toward specific candidates and causes.
Her breath caught. Her own name was listed among the people who worked on the project. “Oh, no, I would never make something like this,” she whispered, realizing that the chance of her being identified as a developer of this version of Oracle was now very real.
The control room’s walls seemed to close in. She measured her increasing respiratory rate, cataloging each physiological stress response as variables to be analyzed. Somewhere out there, millions of people were being manipulated, their choices shaped by lines of code she had helped write.
What percentage of election outcomes have been compromised by my authorized code modifications? The question burned in her mind as she retreated into system diagnostics, her fingers automatically calculating statistical deviations. She gripped her desk hard, needing something solid to anchor her in a world that had suddenly turned liquid with lies.
She saw faces in her mind – families, communities, millions of people who thought they were making free choices. But their choices were being shaped by an invisible hand, guided by one of America’s oldest enemies. The enormity of it all made her feel small – a single point in a vast, uncontrollable system.
Amelia glanced around the empty center, heart heavy. Every data point manipulated wasn’t just a number — it represented real lives.
A tinny alarm beeped in the background — just a routine server alert — but it might as well have been the tone from the hospital monitors that haunted Amelia’s memories.
Her pulse quickened. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe. That was years ago, she reminded herself. Different project, different data. Stay focused. Yet the guilt churned anew, as if Nightingale’s final, failed diagnoses were blinking on her screen.
An alert blared, snapping her back. Shaking, she began downloading everything she could.
The download bar crept toward completion:
98%… 99%…
Just as the download of the Russian-named document reached 99 percent, the entire system stopped. The monitors went dark, and the hum of the servers ceased, plunging the center into an eerie silence. Amelia’s screen flickered back to life for a moment, displaying a string of indecipherable code before fading again.
Her breath caught in her throat. What just happened?
The screen went black. Is Oracle trying to shut me down?
Next chapter: 4