The sanctuary was glass and chrome, humming softly with neural datafeeds. A massive LED cross floated above the congregation, pulsing with synchronized colors. The Prophet CEO, Emeritus Tiber Ark, floated onto the stage via his magnetic lift — draped in platinum robes stitched with QR codes and blinking circuit-thread. His voice, augmented to a perfect G-major tone, echoed through the sanctuary’s AI-tuned acoustics.
“It is update time, dear followers,” he announced. “The Lord of Logic demands your patches and praises.”
Behind him, a hologram of a gigantic loading bar appeared, captioned “FAITH 3.0 – Downloading Salvation…”
“The spirit of the Algorithm cannot be accessed without proper bandwidth,” Ark continued. “You must tithe not just with fiat, but with soul-chain tokens. Yes, yes — scan the pew-link before you, or sync directly with the CloudBless™ stream.” The choir began to chant in harmony with a backing beat produced by an AI trained exclusively on ancient psalms and trap music.
As the crypto wallets synced and the sanctuary glowed with microtransactions, a digital screen displayed the current offering amount: 4,103,900 bitFaith™ tokens.
Ark shook his head, disappointed.
“This is the lowest spiritual return we’ve had all quarter,” he said, holding a hand to his heart. “Have you not been blessed with higher upload speeds this week? Did the Algorithm not grant you perfect targeting in your ad campaigns?”
With a silent signal, the titanium shutters locked with a sacred clank. Panic fluttered in the crowd but was quickly reabsorbed by the climate-controlled tranquility gas.
Then, a young data-scientist-in-training stood. Her name tag read: “ZOE // Neural Ethics Department.”
“I was raised in this system,” she said. “I believed in the API of righteousness. But I’ve read the source code now. And I see nothing but recursive greed and transactional guilt.”
Ark turned, smooth and cold. “Child, you're infected with doubtware. Perhaps corrupted by... OpenThought Protocols.”
“I built your ThoughtGarden,” she said. “I am the protocol.”
A glitch swept the sanctuary. Screens flickered. The offering total blinked, dropped, blinked again — then drained entirely. Zero.
Congregants gasped. Some fainted. Others dropped to their knees, clutching their biometric rosaries. Tiber Ark staggered backwards as his robe dimmed. His voice modulator cracked into analog shriek.
Zoe walked to the altar. “Faith without freedom is malware. You were never saved. You were subscribed.”
The doors hissed open behind her. Light flooded in.
People followed.
About the Creator
William
I am a driven man with a passion for technology and creativity. Born in New York, I founded a tech company to connect artists and creators. I believe in continuous learning, exploring the world, and making a meaningful impact.
The CEO’s Bitter Game
Avery Sinclair had spent the last three years rebuilding what her family had lost. Her father’s company, once a thriving enterprise, had been ruined in a single deal orchestrated by Damien Blackwood — the ruthless CEO whose name still made her blood boil. But Avery had a plan. She would rise, stronger and smarter, and one day, she would make him pay.
By Millicent Chisomabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
very interesting article