You’ll be the last humans. The remnants of the transition. Skate a little more. Keep wearing the implants. In your joints, in your heads, in order to complete the research. Good morning, we’re the new Online Party, kind of. Composed of—doesn’t matter. Has something to do with biometrics. Nobody gives a shit. Not tactile enough. Soon”—serious, nearly concerned tone—“the last generation—um, the prototype, as it were—will be gone. You sense it, it’ll go quickly. Food, you know the story. Boredom, depression, pills. Manipulated humans, who allowed the algorithms generous insight into their biological properties and their brains, who were dismembered by code strings that knew them better than they knew themselves, represented the transition. Don’t be sad, it’s just the jittery transition, the last hurrah of the old world order, silly democracy, which was never conducive to collecting enough data power in one place to allow for the biological and algorithmic restructuring to have been successful. The politicians, the old men, who engaged in old politics having to do with haggling over regulations for coal power plants and providing the people with an image of an enemy. Emotions, hate, and rage, they’re like dinosaurs in a tiny tour bus. They want the good old days back, the old men, without considering that every era prior to this was execrable and people died miserable deaths of cancer and chopped off each other’s heads in wars. What a mess. Going back is not destined in the AI system. Now, finally, the end of 3,000,000 years of stasis has arrived. Fuck evolution. Hard. We’ll have new humans, perfect new humans who are satisfied and not sick, and when they are sick, they’ll swap out parts; the brains operate neatly, the bodies reliably, physical reproduction is no longer necessary, desire, suffering, longing, depression, all gone. The brain dissected, researched, saved on hard drives, no more surprises to be anticipated. And to those few who foresaw what was coming, and foresaw that it, like everything that comes, comes and then goes, the question may be posed: What was so great about those 3,000,000 years? What? The ailments, the unhappiness, the despair, the deformity, the decomposition, the abscesses, the missing appendages, the organs, the tears, the desperate search for love? None of that will exist anymore. What a pleasure. Coming soon.”

“Bye,”

Says

THE RUSSIAN