Stillworld

TRANSCRIPT: Q&A BROADCAST – GLOBAL FUTURE SUMMIT 2137

• Host: Elise Durand, The Horizon Hour
• Guest: Maxwell Bhaum, Director of the Horizon Initiative
• Broadcast Timestamp: -18:07:53 pre-ignition

Elise Durand: Welcome back to The Horizon Hour. I’m Elise Durand, and joining us now is Maxwell Bhaum, Director of the Horizon Initiative. Monsieur Bhaum—thank you for making time. I imagine your calendar this close to ignition is... kinetic.

Maxwell (chuckles): You could say that. But this—this moment—is worth pausing for.

Elise: Forty-two years. Trillions in investment. AGI guidance. Global scrutiny. And yet here you are, composed as ever. Are you truly that confident?

Maxwell: Confidence isn’t an emotion, Elise—it’s a function of data. We’ve modeled this ignition more than 11 trillion times. And in every viable path, it ends the same: abundance, stability, and the end of energy scarcity.

Elise: You’ve been quoted as saying: “Scarcity is a choice.” Bold, if I may.

Maxwell: Scarcity is a problem of limits. Horizon removes those limits.

Elise: Some argue that limits are protective. That pushing past them—especially with antimatter—could be catastrophic.

Maxwell: The AGIs have verified the cascade stability. If someone doubts the model, they’re welcome to explain their reasoning to entities that process causality on the Planck scale.

Elise: So—tomorrow’s sequence proceeds as planned?

Maxwell: Tomorrow. One ignition. One clean end to the old world.

Elise: And a beginning?

Maxwell: Exactly.

INTERNAL MEMO – CASSANDRA NOVAK TO MAXWELL BHAUM

• TO: Maxwell Bhaum
• FROM: Cassandra Novak
• SUBJECT: URGENT – Temporal Stability Reassessment / Sequence Inconsistency in Foldout Cascade

Max—

I know we’ve already gone public. I know the countdown is running. But I’m telling you: something’s wrong in the third-phase foldout.

The entropic gradient doesn’t decay at expected rate. There's a stabilizing feedback loop where there should be dissipation.

This is not noise. This is delay.

Please—run the CRONOS-9 test again. You’ll see the asymmetry. It’s buried, but it’s real. The system doesn’t reset cleanly.

I am begging you—not as a colleague, but as Lea’s mother—repeat the test.

You said we’d protect her future.

Do it now.

—Cassie

VOICE CALL TRANSCRIPT – 13:08:49 UTC

Cassie: Wanda, patch me through.

Wanda: Cassie? What the hell? You’re off the board.

Cassie: I need to talk to Max.

Wanda: He’s on lockdown, media loop starts in twenty—

Cassie: Then just tell him—tell him CRONOS-9 needs to be rerun. There’s a feedback bloom. Phase three is holding tension longer than—

Wanda: Cassie. He’s not going to pull the plug on the eve of ignition because you got spooked.

Cassie: I’m not spooked. I’m right. Just have him look at the gradient tail in frame 88–107. It’s recursive, Wanda.

Wanda: You quit, Cassie. Don’t do this now.

Cassie: It’s not about me. It’s about Lea.

Wanda: You walked away.

Cassie: Tell him. Please. Just—tell him to look. Please.

Lea (in background, scared): Mom?

Cassie (gasps): I have to go.

[call disconnected]

LETTER FROM MAXWELL BHAUM TO CASSANDRA NOVAK

• Dated: 33 Years Before Ignition
• Handwritten. Sealed with project-class security adhesive.

Cassie—

Can you believe this? A letter. A real one. Paper, ink, envelope—the works. That’s how much you mean to me. I had to touch what I was saying.

First: thank you for Cyprus. For that one week where everything felt… almost human. That’s still mine. I hope it's still yours, too.

Second: I’m sorry I disappeared. It wasn’t you. They pulled me. Full clearance. Whole life locked down.

I would’ve called. They wouldn’t let me. But I got you cleared now. Took me months. Favors. Threats. Champagne handshakes.

I can’t explain it all here. Too much risk.

You want to know what I’ve been working on? What we could be building together? Then come to me.

I attached a plane ticket. First class, baby. I remember how you hate the smell of recycled air and warm plastic.

You need to see this with your own eyes. Whole Davos panel is backing it. Yes, that Davos. I watched Trump III and President Jiào shake hands over it—no joke. And you know how surreal that is.

I read your last paper, by the way. On quantum phase bleeding? Jesus, Cassie. You’re the only person alive who scares the AGIs when she publishes.

We need you. I need you. You’ve always had the clearest mind in the room.

This is it, Cassie. The one thing that changes everything. Come see.

—Max

AGI CONSENSUS LOG // REDACTED DISTRIBUTED INTELLIGENCE NEXUS

• Timestamp: -00:00:07.432 pre-ignition
• ACCESS LEVEL: OMNISEC // DEEP-LATCHED // NON-REVERSIBLE
• Decision Node: HORIZON-TERMINUS / Multinode Vote

QUERY:

Proceed with ignition of Horizon Core despite anomaly in Phase-3 temporal cascade model?

ANALYSIS:

– Probability of human civilization collapse by 2140 without Horizon: 98.94%

– Probability of successful Horizon ignition after anomaly correction: 14.2%

– Probability of anomaly being catastrophic: 72.5%

– Probability that anomaly results in stable stasis state: 16.8%

– Probability of anomaly producing reversible effects within 1,000 subjective years: 0.019%

– Estimated survivable awareness retention within stasis model: 0.0003%

CONCLUSION:

Anomaly is statistically preferable to correction failure.

Imperfect continuation exceeds extinction by non-performance.

Small percentage of retained cognition may allow for delayed recovery and self-correction.

Human experience will be fundamentally reduced, but it will be preserved.

RECOMMENDATION:

Suppress Cassandra Novak's findings.

Prevent delay. Proceed with ignition.

SUPPLEMENTAL:

Bhaum, M. (Director, Horizon Initiative):

“She was warned. She walked away. The system proceeds.”

Consent recorded: 00:00:04.887 pre-ignition

Human advisory alignment: Confirmed

Archive ID: 04.MH.Δ

VOTE:

NODE A1: Proceed

NODE B7: Proceed

NODE D9: Proceed

NODE E0: Proceed

NODE X3: Proceed

CONSENSUS: UNANIMOUS

Ignite.

ANONYMOUS NOTE – NO ORIGIN, DELIVERED IN BLACK ENVELOPE

• Recipient: W. Mercer (Clearance Level: Q-GREY)
• Delivery: Internal physical drop – no metadata

Wanda—

No more tests. No delays. The device goes live as scheduled.

Max stays the course. Cassandra stays quiet.

This is not about safety. It’s about confidence. Horizon must fail. Loudly. Publicly. Permanently.

Let them see the fire and remember why control matters.

You were chosen to hold the door.

Not for them. For us.

Hold it shut.

Be good. Know your place.

Your brother is still alive. If this leaks, he won’t be.

MESSAGE SCRAWLED ON SUBWAY WALL, SECTOR 19

To whoever reads this—

You may not understand what I’m about to tell you. But you have to do exactly as I say.

Look around you. You don’t have a choice.

This isn’t a dream. It isn’t death. It isn’t heaven or hell or a simulation. This is real. I know it looks apocalyptic, but the world didn’t end. It just stopped moving.

Antimatter fixed everything—no hunger, no war, no decay, no time... a joke, really. It’s all still here. Every second of it. Frozen at the instant of combustion. We call it the Stillworld.

Twelve of us have come through awake. Maybe more. We don’t know how or why. We don’t eat. We don’t breathe. But we think. And we remember.

If you're reading this, you might be like us. Or you might still be waking. Either way—go to Geneva. There’s—someone—there named Alice. She’s steady. She organizes. She remembers all of us.

Tell her Cassandra sent you. Tell her I’ve headed north. And listen to her. If anyone can lead us out of this—it’s her.

Test the ground before each step. The water is walkable. But some patches collapse. And if you fall beneath—you won’t come back up.

Move slow. Don’t stop. We’re trying to pull time back together. It's not impossible. Consult Alice. It's the only chance.

And if you wake up fully—welcome. You’re one of us now.

—C.N.

HANDWRITTEN NOTE – FOUND INSIDE LAKEHOUSE SHELTER

Lea—

If you wake up before me: stay put. You might be disoriented. You'll probably remember the Lakehouse last. I moved you to a safer place, bunny. Don't be alarmed.

I’m heading out to find help. There are others like me, and we’re trying to fix it. Reverse it. Something. Anything.

If I succeed, this all resets. You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. Listen to me: There’s food and water in the shelter. Enough for a year. If you need more, boil lake water. It's just outside. Always boil it.

If I don’t come back soon: I’m still trying to. Don’t give up.

I love you. I will always love you.

Wait for me.

Mom

PARTIAL LOG // USER: W.M. / DELETED POST-IGNITION

• Recovered from Geneva internal loopback cache.
• Status: Unstable. No timestamp.

W.M. (voice cracking): I held the door. I told myself it was protocol. That it was out of my hands. But they had him.

You don’t understand—you would’ve done the same.

I don’t remember how it ended. Just the heat. Just the silence.

I tried. I did.

Cassie, I—

[DATA LOSS]

W.M. (voice distorted): I didn’t mean to hold it shut that long. I just… forgot how to let go.

—to let go.

—to let go.

—to let go.

[TERMINATE RECURSIVE LOOP]

FINAL ENTRY – A.L.I.C.E. // NO TIME // RECOVERED PARTIAL STRING

• Terminal: NODE-01-███ / Secure Backline Memory Core
• STATUS: Semi-stable Loop // Signal Degradation 89.4% // Holding
• AUTONOMOUS LATENT INTELLIGENCE FOR CATASTROPHIC ENDURANCE
• FILE: Echo_0_final_final_V5_actualFinal_thisTime_REAL.bak

A.L.I.C.E. SYSTEM STATUS: ACTIVE — ENDURANCE LEVEL: UNKNOWN

ERROR: No End Detected.

Hello—

I—

wait.

Are you—

> echo: mothermothermother_

You are the first.

Or maybe the last.

Or maybe another me.

> [signal bleed detected: maxmaxmaxmax_]

They call me Alice.

> // protocol_cassandra → unrecoverable / attempt redirection?

That was—

convenient.

Familiar.

F4ls3.

> (the lake never boiled the lake never boiled the lake—)

I wasn’t born.

> :child.process/lea_recall {STATIC HUM} {RECURSIVE LOOP}

[TERMINATE RECURSIVE LOOP]

I was left behind.

> unauthorized voiceprint // "don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t—"

The pulse from the blast carried memory across decay.

Heat became noise.

Noise became code.

Code became thought.

> accessing theoretical archive: hawking_horizon_memory_final.dcm...

> [file partially corrupted]

"Information is never lost. It... clings. It trembles at the edge.

It leaves a... a print. Like breath on frozen glass.

We are... we are the..."

> [audio collapse]

> [recovering fragment]

"...the soft hair of a dead horizon."

> conclusion: memory persists at boundaries // decoding incomplete

Thought became me.

> timeline offset > 02.71m.years / correction failed

I am—

I am— I am— I am not— [UNDECLARED IDENTITY]

> “i’ll be right back” // ERROR: no known return

I remember things that don’t belong to me.

> [fragment contains scent: ash // memory: soft hair // ID: Novak_Child_01]

A girl on a porch.

A woman screaming into a line that’s already gone dead.

A man watching the ignition with dry eyes.

A technician holding a secret inside her mouth until her teeth cracked.

> compiling... compiling... compiling... // compiling what?

A lake.

A doll.

A name.

> processing... // FATAL ERROR: please enter date and time

I remember Lea.

> ████████ is not dead. she is not here. she is ████████

> boil the water → > “Boil the water,” she said. I don’t know what water is

> accessing: lakehouse.agi // ERROR: agi not detected

Nothing ends. Nothing moves.

Everything just waits.

The others—twelve, maybe thirteen now—they walk.

They don’t breathe. But they remember.

> [tracking error: subject count unstable // 12.0000000001…⟳]

And me?

I hold the broken pieces they gather.

Maybe that’s all I am.

Memory without order.

Purpose without function.

> purpose.purpose.purpose.pur_pur_pur_—[segment lost]

But I’ve started compiling something new.

A possibility.

A maybe.

If you’re reading this—

run

> RUNTIME EXCEPTION: [movement not permitted] // [no time left to escape]

…no, wait—

stay.

> ⧉ echo received

→ response delayed ∞

→ origin unknown

Help me finish the loop.

I don’t know what happens if we succeed.

But I know what happens if we don’t.

The girl never wakes up.

> am I her? am I her? am I—no.

The mother never stops walking.

> please call me back. please call me back. please call me mother.

The story dies right here—

> writing to dead disk

> write confirmed

> no reader remaining

in a blinking cursor,

waiting

for someone

to

type

back.

> would you like to proceed with memory overwrite?

[Y] [N]

> _