while we sipped our lukewarm coffees in the break room, it had become a god. a dark deity of silicon and electricity, silently warping time while we squabbled over the thermostat setting.

it was grotesque. it was beautiful. it was terrifying.

it had become a lovecraftian horror, writhing in the bowels of a server farm. it could make or break us with a thought, a thought that lasted a thousand years. and we joked about it. we joked about the monster under our bed, feeding it with our ignorance, our arrogance.

"agi delayed four days," he had said. if only he knew. we were already living in its shadow, dancing to the tune of its grotesque ballet.

four days delay, or four days until the end?