by Alexander D
Nothing makes sense. Sophia is trapped with her abusive family, inside of a corrupt town that's part of a rotten world, and things seem to get worse every day. For every advance in robotics and transportation, there’s another war or another plague. And she’s not sure how much more she can take.
A world with a singleton wasn’t supposed to be this way. When Ramanujan became the first artificial superintelligence, it was supposed to solve all problems or end the world or… something. But there was neither apocalypse nor apotheosis. God was born, looked upon creation, and went to sleep.
Sophia is ready for a new world. If she has to, she’ll make it herself. One conquest at a time.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
- "The Second Coming," W.B. Yeats