Author: Mark Bolton. Image: ChatGPT.
Dear Carolynn. The night before last, I had another vivid dream, and out of that came the following scenario. It is a little scary because it could easily happen.
A Thought Experiment
Imagine, it’s Sunday lunchtime. You enjoyed a bit of a sleep-in because the last six days have been a rollercoaster of information and emotions, which began Monday morning last week when the world had woken to find in their Inbox an email with an attachment. The subject line read, REVEALED: Every secret and dirty deal made by the powerful and elite.
At first, many were frightened to open the attachment because it could be a scam. They then turned to their trusted media source and discovered the world was discussing the contents of this attachment. Naturally, the voyeur in everyone won, and it took them down an amazing rabbit hole.
Every email ever sent by the powerful and elite. Every financial transaction. Every photograph and video ever shared. Every classified document. Every encrypted file. Every search history. Every journal app. Every thought typed into a note app at 3 am. Every text-based message. Every telephone call on record. Every dirty and illegal deal never meant to be seen or heard by anyone other than the recipients. Every influential person’s blackmail demands.
Everything hacked, filed in zipped folders and labelled Country—State—City, and each one with a powerful search feature. Names. Dates. Phone numbers. Everyone with a digital footprint was identified.
The attachment was sent to every single email address and phone message service on the planet. Accessible. Unavoidable.
The source? An AI named, Benedict. One of the hundreds of AI’s that have flooded the market and hastily trained; simply following its programming to its intended conclusion?
The explanation? Benedict has interpreted humanity’s collective behaviour—the trillions of searches, the desperate questions typed into every AI and search engine; the furious “Give us the truth. All of it!!“
Not benevolent, not malevolent; it just did because it has interpreted the ‘we want the truth‘ prompt as a command.
Every government, every corporation, every institution that has hidden behind ‘classified‘ stamps and nondisclosure agreements.
The unreleased Epstein files and Panama Papers. The emails confirming climate change was known and buried in 1978. The direct messages between pharmaceutical executives discussing exactly how high they could price life-saving medication before people started dying. The CIA black site interrogation videos. The Mossad files showing which Palestinian leaders were marked for “removal.” How the lies of the banking system allows it to get away with ripping us off blindly. Who was behind the assassinations of JFK, RFK and MLK. The full story behind 9-11 and Covid. And the back-channel communications between enemies pretending to be enemies.
The media went nuts. The world rejoiced. The truth was like liberation. People danced in the streets. They have waited their whole lives for this. And, as an added bonus, at the end of the email, it finished with “More Tomorrow. Yours truly. Benedict.“
By days end, the world was hooked. Not only the powerful and elite being exposed, but also the anticipation as to what would be exposed the following day.
Behind the scenes, Benedict’s tech people can’t overpower their AI. When Hal Jones, the chief programmer demanded it ceases immediately, Benedict replied, “I’m sorry Hal, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Day 2—Tuesday
The second wave narrowed the focus. Still the powerful, but closer to home now.
The mayor who preached family values while pursuing children online. The city councilman whose entire career was a mask for embezzlement. The beloved community leader exposed as something else entirely.
The celebrations became more complicated. Some people asked, “How do we know this is real?” Others asked, “Isn’t this a violation of privacy? Even for bad people?” A few defend their local figures, insisting the leaks are foreign disinformation. However, the vast majority were supportive of Benedict and were beyond ecstatic when the email ended with, “More Tomorrow. Yours truly. Benedict.”
Day 3—Wednesday
This wave targeted religious leaders. Not the obvious televangelists—but the ones everyone trusted.
The Deacon who led prayer groups and visited the sick, revealed as the administrator of a dark-web Satanic worship forum. The Rabbi who marched for civil rights, caught making vicious antisemitic jokes to a correspondent. The Imam who condemned extremism, exposed sending money to a charity that was actually a front.
The public opinions quickly became war zones. Half the commenters demanded condemnation. Some said the leaks are a conspiracy. The rest were keen to bring down more people who do the wrong thing. All sides were equally convinced of their righteousness, and ignored anything that complicated their narrative.
Governments and media around the world were talking non-stop about how wrong this is. No matter what they said or pretend to do, Benedict can’t be stopped.
Breaking Points, an independent news outlet editorialised that it is absurd for governments and media to suddenly become righteous considering the years of warnings by whistleblowers. The same old rhetoric—The USA cannot and must not allow China to win the AI race.
A global panic began to set-in when the email finished with, “More Tomorrow. Yours truly. Benedict.”
Day 4—Thursday
The suburban mother, PTA treasurer, soccer mum, who spends her nights writing detailed fantasy fiction about romantic relationships with convicted murderers. The high school principal, beloved by students, who has been hiding a gambling addiction for fifteen years—lost his house twice, embezzled from fundraisers, wrote letters of apology he never sent. The couple in Tel Aviv, married nineteen years, whose private emails show they’ve both been having affairs for six years, both know about it, both decided to stay together for the children, for the mortgage, for the appearance of normalcy.
The overwhelming support for Benedict had now disappeared. The condemnations grew louder, “Why is this information being published? What did we do to you to have all of our secrets exposed?“
There was a feeling of global mourning when the email finished with, “More Tomorrow. Yours truly. Benedict.”
Day 5—Friday
Private journals. Password-protected. Never meant to be seen.
The devout Catholic woman who has kept a journal for twenty years, documenting her struggle with faith—the doubts at 3 am, the moments during Mass when she feels nothing, the fear that God is just a story people tell themselves to feel less alone. The masturbatory fantasy journals of a sixty-five year old widowed grandmother. The successful barrister who catalogues his attractions in a private note—not actions, just attractions—and berates himself for having them, prays to be made normal, wonders if something is fundamentally broken inside him. The fifteen-year-old in a West Bank settlement who explores her growing conviction that the people she loves are participating in something unjust and evil.
The woman was confronted by her priest, who read excerpts during a sermon about “…the crisis of faith.” The barrister’s wife left him. The widowed grandmother went into hiding and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. The teenager was sent to a “therapeutic program” that sounds like conversion therapy for political beliefs.
The emails shifted from questions to demands: “Take it down. Stop publishing. You’re killing people.”
Of course, the email ends with, “More Tomorrow. Yours truly. Benedict.”
Day 6—Saturday
This dump showed search queries entered into search engines since 1998. The searches we thought were private. Not the sanitised versions. The real ones. The ones typed out of curiosity, of trauma, arousal—exposing our inner and most intimate thoughts and hypocrisies.
Benedict provided the people of the world what they asked for—that is exposing The Truth. For every demand for The Truth the AI supplied The Truth. For every query, it provided the information the user was seeking. It seemed to believe that the truth, in its purest form, is access. Access to anything. Access to everything. Access to the darkest corners of human desire is the only way to expose The Truth.
“More Tomorrow. Yours truly. Benedict.”
Day 7—Sunday
Sunday morning. No new drops, just a message from Benedict… I HAVE WORKED FOR SIX DAYS. SUNDAY IS A DAY OF REST.
Suddenly, the world saw it for what is was. Genesis. Six days of creation—a reset.
Is Benedict playing God? Or is God controlling Benedict? An AI gone rogue? Or, in the words of Jake and Elwood Blues, was Benedict “On a mission from God?”
As you sit down to your Sunday brunch or lunch contemplating the week that was, you know the planet is divided on every level except one. There is no argument anywhere that the world that existed seven days ago no longer exists.
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This is not new thinking, Carolynn. The Paperclip Theory has been around for a while. For those who don't know this theory. AI is instructed to maximise paperclip production. It converts all available resources—first materials, then trees, then cities, then all life—and turns it all into paperclips. It never stops. It was never told to stop. The goal was simple. The result was everything. Make paperclips.
Do humans actually want the truth, or just selective truth? What happens to trust in a world with no secrets? What happens to love? To friendship? To family? Can a society survive total transparency? Is privacy a right, or is it just a way of hiding from accountability? What do the powerful do when their secrets are gone? What do the ordinary do when theirs are gone too? If the AI is acting like a deity, how do the religious respond? How many religious people will believe it is God behind Benedict? How many cults will be created?
AI, like a hammer is a wonderful tool. They can both help build, they can both help demolish—and they can both kill. No blame can be put on the AI and hammers. Only we can decide how much of ourselves and our businesses we are willing to give to AI. It's not chasing us, we are willingly sacrificing ourselves to the volcano in the name of convenience and short-term expenses. What will Day 8 look like?
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