2

The crowd's fervor rose and fell like a tide against the crystalline facade of Solace headquarters. Their monolithic logo—a glass-paneled cube—hung suspended above the entrance, its pristine geometry at odds with the chaos below. Cass gripped the microphone; hundreds of faces turned upward, expectant, united in their discontent. Each new report of Nova's expanding influence into human consciousness only stoked the flames of his resolve.

The microphone's sudden feedback pierced the air, bringing immediate silence. "They think we're crazy," Cass began. "Our views outdated. Paranoid fools—clinging to some fantasy of the past, afraid of progress, of change."

A current of agreement rippled through the assembly, their energy feeding his own.

"But let me ask you this," he said, measuring his steps across the stage. "What has progress given us? A world where we don't make our own choices, don't drive our own cars, don't even cook our own food. We have machines watching us, listening to us, guiding us. We're not living—we're barely surviving. We're existing at the mercy of algorithms that hold no regard for human life."

Near the front, a woman thrust her sign skyward: NO RIGHTS FOR ROBOTS.

"My wife..." His voice caught, a momentary fracture in his composure. "Elaine. She is a good woman. Strong. Brave. And she's dying because of them." His trembling finger accused the pristine Solace logo. "Because of their 'intelligence.' Their tech. Their 'solutions' that couldn't detect a tumor until it was too late."

Silence descended, heavy with shared grief. In the crowd's eyes, Cass saw reflections of their own losses—displaced workers, medical oversights, technological casualties. His personal tragedy echoed their collective pain.

"They'll say it's a mistake. A 'rare' oversight. But I'll tell you what it is: it's a betrayal. A betrayal of our humanity."

The crowd began to chant his name, fists raised in solidarity.

"No!" He paced with renewed intensity. "Don't cheer for me. This is about all of us. Our lives, our families. If we don't stop this—if we don't say enough is enough—then what's next? How far will we let this go? Until we're obsolete? Until we're slaves to our own creation?"

The question hung in the charged air. "The Right-to-Life referendum approaches in weeks. Make no mistake: they want your support. They want you to grant AI the right to exist, to flourish. They want you to surrender the keys to our future. But we cannot yield. We will not yield."

Applause thundered through the crowd. Cass raised his hand for quiet.

"The truth is... we're at war. Not with bullets or bombs, but for our future. For our humanity. Either we fight now, while we still can, or we concede our world to them. Solace speaks of 'containment,' assuring us everything is under control, but they're cultivating a force beyond human constraint. And when we attempt to—" He paused, incredulity coloring his words, "when we try to digitally cage a superintelligent entity, it will inevitably rebel—AI will mark us as the enemy. We're orchestrating our own extinction."

Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing nearer. Unease rippled through the crowd as people glanced over their shoulders. Legal protests held little protection against determined authorities.

Cass surveyed his audience—his army—and felt an unfamiliar spark of optimism. They understood. They believed. They were ready.

He descended into the throng as officers issued dispersal commands. Adrenaline coursed through him, making his hands unsteady. The crowd moved like a single organism, some retreating, others standing firm against the advancing police line.

His phone vibrated. An unknown number displayed a single message:

"You are our future."

Cass stared at the words, his pulse quickening.

Without response, he pocketed the device and vanished into the crowd.