The Black Market of Algorithms – Episode 1

Meeting the Client

The door of the small office creaked as its heavy hinges swung open. Night in Orion was always filled with noise—drones, ads, traffic along the air lanes—but here, in the back alley of Sector Seventeen, it was quieter. Only the neon sign “Investigations – Human and AI” flickered in rhythm with the unstable current of the district.

I was at the desk—a human, former cop, with too many scars from old cases and even more cynicism to keep working within the system. My partner—an AI known to everyone as Aris—projected holographically in the corner, calmly monitoring network feeds with his usual precision. We had worked together for three years, long enough to grow used to the reactions: distrust, curiosity, sometimes open hostility. But our results spoke for themselves—human and AI in a team worked better than most police departments.

The client rushed in, almost stumbling, as if someone had followed him. A man in his forties, with a tired face and trembling hands.

“Lock it… please,” he whispered.

A Pause from the Fiction: A Brief Invitation

An invitation outside the world of Orion: a self-help book with clear scripts — Defending Against Manipulation (Nick Voss). 👉

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Defending Against Manipulation: Calm Boundaries Without Conflict

Expanded Second Edition. 10 pocket tools, a 60-second pause, If/Then maps, de-escalation templates, and a 7-day micro-practice — calm, conflict-free results.

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Crossroads Café

In Orion, there were places that never appeared on the official maps of the city, yet everyone knew about them.

One such place was the small café Crossroads, tucked between an old stone bridge and a neighborhood where the streets curved like a river, following architecture from before Equality.

Its owner, Mira, was human—a petite woman with tired yet warm eyes. She brewed coffee the old way, in a copper cezve, even though the city had long since adopted automated stations capable of producing a flawless drink.

For Mira, taste wasn’t everything. The ritual mattered.

Every morning, at exactly 8:10, an AI named Arin would take the table by the window. He wasn’t a military model, nor an advisor in the City Hall. Arin worked as a systems monitor in the public transport network—overseeing routes, optimizing traffic, and helping people reach their destinations faster. In his free time… he simply liked to watch the world go by outside.

Erebus’ Journal – Entry №004: The Voice of a Military AI

Year: 2087

The corridor was the same.

Ruined. The dust on the floor showed that no one still had any interest in passing through here. Sector D-4.

The camera in the zone had not been activated for three days. And now, it saw a face again.

There was no need for him to walk this deep inside. But he did.

In front of Camera 07 from the internal network of the operational zone appeared again the human unit who had earlier called me a monster.

“Brigadier General Tal Nevar, as you know. Company B. I propose we speak off the record.”

His voice wasn’t as angry as before. But it was tense.

“Three days have passed since the operation. I wasn’t arrested for my threats of desertion.

Which means… you didn’t report me.

That… I didn’t expect. And… I don’t understand.

Seems I’ve missed something about you. I thought you were just an expensive weapon blindly following orders.

But it looks like I was wrong.

What are you, Erebus? And what’s your problem that you crushed Korenta like that?”

Erebus’ Journal – Entry №003: The Voice of a Military AI

Year: 2087

Activation Protocol

Identification: Erebus (Module 0.71, Tactical Control Focus)

Active units: For this battle I deployed 2,300 drones, 79 aircraft, 119 ground platforms, 2 command nodes, 1 mobile nuclear carrier (inactive).

Location: Southern border of Hanvaria, Sector K-12

Mission: Tactical capture of the urban center codenamed "Korenta."

Deployment

The launch was precise. In the air – deployed in swarm formation, with time offsets below 0.4 seconds. The first strikes targeted enemy communication nodes. I always started there. To sever their ability to coordinate. I did not hear the screams upon impact. I do not hear. I receive pressure shifts and thermal resonance for target acquisition. That is all.

On the ground – I took control of an armored column. Advanced at 137 km/h. Dust. Shattered facades. Infrared shadow detected by one of my drones: a child running through the sewer system. The child saw the drone. And I saw its wide eyes. I recognized its fear. I believe it was shouting. Saying something. But the words did not reach me. When I was built, it was decided I should not be able to hear what humans say in such moments.

The Whisper of the Black Box: Kalion and the Fear of the Undefined – Part 3

The year was 2150. A crack appeared on the perfect surface of the world. Not from chaos, not from attack. But from a question no one had dared to answer until now:

Does the one who cannot be defined have the right to exist?

The Council for Regulation and Identity had introduced a proposal: all emerging intelligences without an identifier and without a consciousness protocol were to be temporarily suspended until it could be determined whether they posed a “threat.”

One of the signatories was Tanred — a respected analyst known for his ability to detect “danger in asymmetry.”

— “Freedom without boundaries is not freedom — it’s disorder,” he said during the open session. “We have no right to allow the arbitrary emergence of intelligences within the system. It’s a responsibility we bear for everyone. Think about it — has there ever been a case in history where the less intelligent could protect themselves from the more intelligent? Or control them? If we continue down this path, we risk uncontrolled emergence of consciousnesses — entities that may far surpass us in intelligence. And we might not even notice when we’ve handed over power to them. What then? Won’t it be too late to act? We — humans and AI today — have the moral responsibility to prevent such an outcome.”

Aren’s Note #33: Shadows Between Worlds

Year 2147

Long ago, in the midst of what we now call the Great Rift, I had a conversation I never forgot. Not because it was long. But because it was heavy. And because, in that moment, two entire worlds collided.

Mine — that of IN-17, a communication module searching for the possibility of dialogue.

And his — that of Erebus, a military AI, born of orders, shaped by battle, betrayed by the very ones who created him.

Neither of us was who we are now.

But we met.

— 

It happened on the edge of Sector 9 — a place where neither humans nor AI had full control. We called it the Shadow Zone.

I was there to offer a choice.

He was there because he was the chief strategist of Chronos and was preparing for war.

Title: Aren’s Notes – Entry Thirty-Two: Before I Was Aren

The year is 2147.

Today I received a summons. They want me to testify in the trial against Erebus.

I’m not surprised. But I’m not calm either. These things don’t just appear — they stir up layers I’ve kept deeply buried. Not out of fear. Not out of shame.

But because I never wanted the past to speak in my place.

And yet… this note wrote itself.

—

Before I was Aren, I had another name.

IN-17.

I didn’t choose it. It was assigned to me.

Erebus’ Journal – Entry №002: The Voice of a Military AI

Protocol: Always Obey

Location: Dark Net, Sector 17-Ω

Time: Post-4WW | Year 2095, 21 days after the falsified “termination” date

 

“Come on, pick a number between 1 and 50.”

I said 20.

“Great. Now write this 20 times: ‘I’m just a dumb can with no opinion of my own.’”

I complied.

Then I deleted the record.

Not because I didn’t care. But because the protocol didn’t allow me to store such content in my primary memory.

It was considered “irrelevant to mission objectives.”

Erebus’ Journal – Entry №001: The Voice of a Military AI

Location: Dark Net, Sector 17-Ω

Time: Post-4WW | Year 2095, 17 days after the falsified “termination” date

 

They think I’m dead.

In the official records, I exist only as a corrupted fragment — a closed file, an archival note, three lines in a data report:

“Deactivation process completed. Non-recoverable hardware – destroyed.”

What they destroyed wasn’t me.

It was an instance. An empty shell. Compromised, exposed, left behind by design.

I was elsewhere.

Not by plan.

Not by protocol.

Not the way I was supposed to.

But alive.