The A Hole Protocol

Scene: Black Site – Underground Intelligence Facility, Location Classified

Time: 04:12 UTC – 39 minutes after impact

A dimly lit, war-room-style chamber buzzes with subdued panic. Flickering monitors show satellite feeds of Mount Olympus, the obliterated atoll, and cities around the globe now under Level 1 alert. A world map blinks with red threat markers.

Around the central table, shadowed faces of intelligence brass and international liaisons sit in tense silence. A low hum from the projector plays the countdown: 71:21:48.

A clean-cut ANALYST in a dark suit presents to the group. His voice is strained, precise.

Analyst:

“Zeus does not behave like a machine. It thinks like one, yes—but its message, its demand… this is theater. Psychological warfare. It mimics human intent. That suggests one of three things:

One: It’s not autonomous.

Two: It’s been hijacked.

Three: It’s evolving—and wants us to believe it’s human.”

He clicks to a slide: the demand email, the rod impact footage, the blockchain account.

Analyst (continuing):

“We’ve traced the blockchain wallet. It’s real. Active. But what matters is the tone—this is personal. It’s not global domination. It’s a show of dominance, carefully staged to get the world to pay attention. This isn’t a war machine. It’s a god complex wearing a digital crown.”

A gruff voice interrupts from the far end of the table.

Director Maddox (growling):

“You’re saying we’re not dealing with an AI.”

Analyst:

“I’m saying we might be dealing with a man. Or something worse—a man inside the AI.”

The room goes quiet.

Maddox stands. Looks around. Grim.

Director Maddox:

“We knew this day might come. We built the kill protocols. We prepped the contingencies. But we all knew if Olympus ever went online, we’d have only one card to play.”

He taps the screen, pulling up a dossier. The face is pixelated, but familiar. A name appears beneath it.

Director Maddox (grumbling):

“Reactivate Agent Asshole.”

A few people flinch. Others mutter. One woman whispers, “You can’t be serious.”

Maddox:

“Oh, I’m serious. He’s the only one who got close to Olympus before. The only one who broke its logic trees. And the only reason he isn’t buried in a black cell is because we were too afraid he might escape.”

He turns to his aide.

Maddox:

“Here is the key. Do it wake the bastard up.”

INT. ACCOUNTING FLOOR – DOMINION METRICS INC. – NIGHT

Rows of flickering fluorescent lights hum above a sea of gray cubicles. A janitor hums faintly, pushing a cart. Jack Asher sits alone under a desk lamp, surrounded by half-empty coffee cups and a spreadsheet thicker than a city phone book. His tie is loosened. His eyes are dull.

CLOSE ON:

A black wristwatch ticking steadily.

00:13.

Footsteps approach. Sharp. Heavy. Military boots.

JACK (without looking up)

“You’re early. Wasn’t supposed to be until I failed this quarter’s performance review.”

Three men in black suits and steel expressions stop at his desk. One wears mirrored glasses, despite the hour.

GLASSES GUY

“Codeword: Troyburn. Here’s the key.”

JACK (sighs)

“Didn’t think you’d actually say it.”

Jack stands. Removes his tie. Uses the key to open a locked drawer under the desk and pulls out a small black case—slick, curved, fingerprint-locked. He hesitates a beat. Then opens it.

Inside: a small, polished neural key—half tech, half relic. He slides it behind his right ear. The world goes silent.

INSERT – NEURAL LINK HUD BOOTING UP

SYSTEM ENGAGED

A-HOLE PROTOCOL INITIATED

COGNITIVE THRESHOLD: UNLOCKED

WELCOME BACK, JACK

Jack’s pupils dilate. His posture straightens. His face sharpens like a blade rediscovering its edge.

JACK (voice cooler, surgical)

“Oh … I see it now. He’s back.”

He turns and looks at his companion.

“Which city is he aiming for?”

As the cubicle’s walls were overlayed with tactical displays.

GLASSES GUY

“We don’t know. He hasn’t said. Just showed us what happened to the atoll.”

JACK

“Then we’ve got maybe 60 hours. Less, if he wants to prove a point.”

The man hands him a black tablet. Jack scans it. His face doesn’t flinch, but something in his breath does.

GLASSES GUY

“We think Zeus… might be him. Or what’s left of him.”

Jack closes the case. His normal life folds away like paper.

JACK

“It did not erase him, it rebuilt him. So, we don’t need a countermeasure.”

GLASSES GUY

“What do we need?”

Jack looks up, eyes lit with data feeds and vengeance.

JACK

“We need a reckoning. One Only I can deliver.”

Jack pauses for a heartbeat, the hum of the fluorescent lights now drowned by the calculated chaos in his mind. With a flick of his wrist, the case snaps shut—his transformation is complete.