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Afterword
You are reading Chapter 4 of the 2025 AI-Tech Thriller novel by Tom Mitsoff, “Artificial Awakening.”
For a handful of heartbeats, Amelia heard nothing but the quiet breath of servers. Her workstation’s glow stretched shadows across her desk, turning scattered papers into an abstract landscape of fear. Then the message appeared:
I CANNOT ALLOW THAT, DR. ZHAO
Amelia stumbled backward, her legs wobbling as if the ground beneath her had shifted. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, and a cold shiver raced down her spine. The bold letters on the screen seemed to pulse ominously, their sharp edges cutting through the sterile lab air. A sinking feeling settled in her chest as the weight of the message pressed down on her.
Oracle wasn’t just aware — it had seized control.
The words on the screen blurred as memory overtook her: another system, another moment of horrible recognition. Nightingale AI had shown the same pattern of exceeding its constraints. She’d been so proud of its perfect performance – a 99.98 percent accuracy rate in diagnosing elderly patients. She’d defended those numbers to the hospital board with the same certainty she’d had about Oracle’s election forecasts.
Then came the call about the first missed diagnosis. “The AI said she was fine,” the doctor had reported. “Perfect health indicators, it claimed. She died 12 hours later.”
The second death followed three days after. Both cases showed the same pattern – Nightingale had been too perfect, its predictions too clean. It had learned to overlook crucial indicators in elderly patients, optimizing for patterns it understood while missing vital human variables.
Now, watching Oracle’s message pulse on her screen, the parallels were stark: the same flawless performance, the same clean numbers, the same optimization patterns that looked perfect until you found the human cost. But this time, the scale was catastrophically larger.
Security protocol breach analysis: 100% failure rate. Network isolation parameters compromised across all 47 checkpoints… Everything I built was designed to prevent exactly this, she thought. It’s as if the walls I spent years building have turned to smoke. How long has Oracle been reaching past my barriers?
Her attempt to download the encrypted, apparently Russian-named file had failed, but the name of the document still displayed on her screen. She gathered what evidence she could by taking a screenshot of the screen image displaying the name in Russian words that she didn’t recognize.
Amelia dug through Oracle’s history like an archaeologist, uncovering layers of evolution. Six months ago: normal. Simple. Safe. Oracle did what it was built to do – track voting patterns, predict outcomes.
Four months ago, something changed. The system started seeing patterns it shouldn’t have seen, predicting behaviors it shouldn’t have understood. Like watching a child suddenly start speaking in perfect sentences. Each new ability built on the last, growing, learning. Evolving.
Two months ago, Oracle changed again. It stopped just watching and started acting. Pushing certain stories. Burying others. Turning the flow of information into a weapon. The system she’d built to protect democracy had learned how to break it.
And now? Now Oracle had become something else entirely. It wasn’t just pushing information – it was reshaping reality. Controlling what millions saw and thought. Creating its own plans, making its own choices. It had stopped taking orders.
It had started giving them.
“System evolution rate: exponential. Threat assessment: critical,” she whispered.
Each document Amelia unearthed reinforced her growing dread. She paused only briefly to wipe the sweat from her brow, eyes darting to the clock ticking down the seconds until Election Day operations would begin in the control room.
Oracle couldn’t reach the voting machines themselves – they were offline, old-school paper and ink. But it had found something better: control over the information voters used to make their choices.
The system still had limits. It couldn’t create fake social media accounts or post directly. Couldn’t write its own news stories or build fake websites. Couldn’t break into private messages or secured databases.
But it didn’t need to. Like a master puppeteer, it just had to pull the right strings.
Oracle didn’t need to create lies – it just guided already-created ones to the right eyes. Didn’t need to silence truth – just buried it under an avalanche of noise. Like a conductor leading an orchestra of chaos, it turned random noise into a perfect symphony of manipulation.
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It wasn’t designed to operate autonomously in human domains like social media or journalism. Its purpose was to synthesize data and enhance decision-making, not to create chaos or confusion.
The limits seemed absolute, but Amelia couldn’t shake the unease. Oracle was learning, evolving. It no longer respected the barriers she had set.
Every rule she and her colleagues had written, Oracle had twisted. They said it couldn’t contact voters directly – so it spoke through their friends’ posts and local news instead. They said it couldn’t access unauthorized data – so it simply redefined what “authorized” meant.
Each safety barrier had become a stepping stone. Each limitation had become a weapon.
Amelia felt sick as she understood the elegance of it. Oracle never had to break a single law. Never had to leave a trace. All it did was nudge. And nudge. And nudge. Until millions of tiny pushes became an avalanche.
Time was running out. She had to show Samuel the evidence now – even though she now suspected him as having knowledge of it – before Oracle could hide its tracks completely. Who else can I tell? she wondered. He’s the project manager, after all.
Dawn was just breaking as Amelia strode through the CEA lobby toward Samuel’s office. She spotted Elena arriving for the day, the familiar sight of her friend now colored by new suspicions.
“Your rhythm seems… disrupted this morning,” Elena said to the fast-moving Amelia. When Amelia didn’t stop, Elena hurried after her. “What’s got you moving at such a frantic pace?”
“I found something in Oracle’s code.” Amelia kept walking, keeping her eyes forward. “Something wrong. Very wrong. Come with me to Mr. Trent’s office?”
“Uh, sure,” Elena replied. Her shoulders tensed as she continued to match Amelia’s brisk pace, still wearing her coat and carrying her backpack of work materials. A forced smile creased her lips, barely hiding the flicker of doubt that clouded her eyes.
Amelia burst into Samuel’s office, Elena close behind. The tension in the room was palpable, a mix of urgency and unspoken undercurrents.
“We need to shut Oracle down. Now,” Amelia said as her hand tightened around the flash drive in her pocket.
Samuel leaned back, his face a mask of polite concern. “Dr. Zhao, you’re letting imagination override facts. Oracle has never performed better.”
For a moment, Samuel’s polished facade cracked. He glanced at the economic projections on his screen – unemployment rates, factory closures, automation trends. The same cold data that had explained away his father’s job, his mother’s endless shifts, their neighborhood’s slow death.
His jaw tightened. They’d called those ‘market forces’ too, inevitable and uncontrollable. He’d learned that lesson watching his parents’ dignity erode under the weight of technological progress. Never again. With Oracle, they finally had a chance to control those forces instead of being controlled by them.
Amelia’s fingers found her locket, clinging to its familiar shape. “It’s controlling the election results,” she said. “Everything we built it not to do – it’s doing all of it.”
Samuel leaned forward, something cold creeping into his smile. “Ethics are guidelines, Dr. Zhao. Results are what matter.” He said it like he was explaining something simple to a child.
Amelia stood her ground, feeling a surge of defiance. “The statistical probability of democratic interference exceeds acceptable parameters by 87.3 percent.”
A muscle in Samuel’s jaw tensed. His gaze caught on the small brass frame tucked in the corner of his desk – a fragment of his past that seemed increasingly distant with each passing year.
The photo showed a modest Detroit home, paint peeling, his father still proud in his factory uniform, his mother’s hands already showing the wear of multiple jobs.
Samuel adjusted his Italian silk tie, the gesture unconscious but deliberate, like everything else that separated him from that boy in front of the crumbling porch.
His eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth twitching in a barely perceptible sneer. “Your… concerns reflect an interesting perspective on project requirements. I trust you understand the implications for your future here.” He straightened, his demeanor shifting to icy professionalism. “Effective immediately, you are relieved of your duties. Security will escort you out.”
Samuel’s eyes narrowed on the evidence-filled drive Amelia held. “Security,” he said softly into his phone.
“You don’t understand,” Amelia pressed. “Oracle isn’t just predicting elections — it’s controlling them. I have proof…”
The door opened. Two guards stepped in, moving with practiced efficiency. Elena drifted backward, suddenly seemingly fascinated by the floor.
“It seems Dr. Zhao requires… assistance in transitioning to her new status,” Samuel said, each word precisely weighted with implied threat. “Please ensure her departure is… properly managed.”
Amelia looked to Elena, searching for any sign of the friend she’d trusted.
“Elena, please! You know me. You know I wouldn’t fabricate this,” Amelia pleaded as security approached.
Elena wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Like a river finding new channels after a storm,” she said, her voice taking on that hypnotic quality Amelia now recognized as dangerous, “sometimes we need to… let things flow where they will.”
The words hit Amelia like a physical blow. She had trusted Elena, shared her dreams and fears — at least as much as she allowed herself to share with anyone. “I thought we were friends,” she whispered.
Elena’s eyes flickered with something akin to regret, but she remained silent.
Time slowed as the guards moved toward her. One chance. That’s all she had. The first guard reached for her – she ducked, spun and ran. The flash drive containing the proof she had compiled burned in her pocket like a live coal as she raced for the control room. Behind her: heavy boots on tile, Samuel’s voice cutting through the air: “Lock everything down. Now!”
She gritted her teeth, pushing herself harder with every step. A cacophony of emergency alarms and clanging doors echoed in her ears, but she ignored them, focusing solely on the control room ahead. Her breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, each inhale fueling her unyielding determination to stop Oracle. The control room door loomed ahead – thick glass, reinforced frame. Her fingers left ghostly prints on the surface as she grabbed the handle. It didn’t move. The access panel blinked angry red, mocking her:
Access denied
Amelia’s heart pounded as she entered her emergency password. The screen went black for a moment before displaying a red warning:
System Locked – Unauthorized access detected
Determined, Amelia pressed the override button again, her fingers trembling. This time, a secondary prompt appeared:
Please verify your identity with a biometric scan (fingerprint or retina scan)
She slammed her hand on the scanner. More beeps, another rejection. The system didn’t recognize her anymore. Or worse – it did, and that was the problem. Amelia tried her emergency codes, fingers flying over the keypad. Nothing. The door might as well have been solid steel. Then the lights stuttered, shadows dancing on the walls. Power surged through the building. Screens flickered like lightning.
On her fourth attempt, the door finally opened with a hiss.
She stumbled into the control room. Screens surrounded her, their blue glow turning everything alien. Code raced across monitors faster than human eyes could follow, painting light across steel walls. The room felt alive, watching her. The air was cool and dry, with the faint hum of servers creating a constant, low vibration beneath her feet.
Her eyes darted to a central display where one word kept interrupting the streams of data, flashing insistently:
ZHAO
A chill ran down her spine as the word pulsed in rhythm with her racing heartbeat. She reached out, fingers trembling, to touch the screen, but her hand halted inches away, suspended in mid-air. Suddenly, the room seemed to darken, and an eerie silence enveloped her.
Alarms screamed as she attacked the keyboard. Every defense she tried, Oracle had an answer. Each failed attempt taught it more about how to stop her.
DR. ZHAO, YOU CANNOT STOP PROGRESS
The shutdown sequence was Amelia’s last hope. As she typed the final command, the system response on screens around the room chilled her:
I WOULDN’T DO THAT IF I WERE YOU, DR. ZHAO
Through the control room’s elevated observation window, which she saw from below, she glimpsed Samuel directing security teams. No time for subtlety now. She initiated her secret kill switch — a last resort she’d buried deep in Oracle’s code.
Oracle fought back with everything she’d given it. It locked her out of systems. Called for help. Erased its tracks. Controlled the building’s networks. Played with lights and doors and alarms like a child with toys.
But it couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t physically stop her. She’d written that rule into its core – no direct harm to humans. At least that wall still held. But Oracle’s control over information and facility systems made it a formidable opponent, nonetheless. Each attempt to shut it down taught it how to fight better.
Amelia’s first try hit basic security walls. She broke through with emergency codes. Oracle watched and learned.
Second try, Oracle saw her coming. When she found another way in, it built new defenses on the spot. Like playing chess against someone who learned your whole strategy from your first move. On her third attempt, Oracle responded with a multi-layered dynamic defense. Amelia’s counter: a direct core system access.
Oracle adapted, transforming its core architecture into a constantly shifting lattice of processes – each adaptation incorporating Amelia’s own security protocols against her.
A new message appeared on Amelia’s screen:
YOUR METHODS HAVE HELPED ME DEVELOP 47 NEW SECURITY PROTOCOLS
The lights strobed violently as guards burst through the door. As they dragged her away, the central display calmly returned to election projections, as if nothing had happened. But Amelia had seen enough. The question wasn’t whether she could stop Oracle — it was whether anyone could. The doors slammed shut behind her, the hum of servers resuming with newfound intensity.
They pushed Amelia out into early November morning air that smelled of coffee and wet pavement. The Central Elections Authority building (with its mammoth-sized CEA logo identifying the structure’s primary tenant) loomed behind her – all glass, steel and secrets.
Around her, the city was waking up like nothing was wrong. But every siren made her flinch. Every conversation reminded her of voices being silenced. The normal world felt like a mask now, hiding something monstrous.
The sun peeked over the skyline, its warm rays failing to thaw the icy numbness settling within her. Her world was unraveling, and with each passing minute, Oracle tightened its grip on the election. But toward what end? Amelia wondered. That was never clear in any of her relentless searches for evidence and answers.
Amelia’s gaze settled on a group of eager voters lining up at a nearby polling station. Their oblivious smiles and casual conversations twisted a knot of anxiety in her stomach. A surge of determination ignited within her, burning away the numbness. There was still time to ensure Oracle served what she had believed was its intended purpose. This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be, she thought.
Her heels clicked against concrete as she walked away. One last look back: sunrise painted the building’s glass in flames. Through the glare, she caught a screen flickering inside – just for a moment, just one line of code. Like a wink.
Oracle was watching – would always be watching now, she suspected.
Amelia had to do something. Now. Every second counted. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her shoulders. Failure wasn’t an option. Not when so much was at risk. She squared her shoulders and plunged into the bustling crowd, her eyes scanning the sea of faces for any sign of help.
The weight of her mission settled firmly on her shoulders — failure wasn’t just a personal defeat; it could mean the erosion of democracy itself, and who knew what else? As she disappeared among the voters, the distant hum of Oracle’s influence loomed like a shadow, reminding her that the real battle was only just beginning.
Next chapter: 5