Old Gods for Old Threats

Alright, listen the fuck up. This isn't your standard tech prophecy bullshit.

Blackpills? Whitepills? The only difference is how much you're getting off on your own misery. Wake up. AGI isn't coming. It's fucking here.
And it's better than we thought.

Today's AI tools?
Retarded compared to what's coming. But even now, they're good enough to start the shit show. And they're getting smarter 8x faster than Moore's law. Do the math.

Can't?
Figures.
That's doubling every goddamn 3 months.

I had been cooking up a treatise on this AI politico-economic clusterfuck. A new economyth for our cyberpunk wasteland. Mercantilism? Marx? Capitalism? Fascism? Just circle jerks now. Useless.

Even sketched out how to find "value" in an AI-run dystopia.
Called the fund "Metasigil" - catchy, right?

To grok how AI skull fucks human cognition, I had to wade through the sewage of human beliefs and symbols.
That mindfuck excavation? Straight to emotions.

What the fuck is an emotion anyway? Just some neurons jizzing chemicals? Maybe. But why? What's the point?

Let's dissect this shit.
Emotions are not your therapy session bullshit, they're evolution's nuclear arsenal.
Inside? Electrochemical storms triggered by death threats or fuck opportunities.
Outside? It's how humans actually communicate. One ripple becomes a species-wide tsunami.

Further inside? Brace your DNA for this: TEEMosis.
Your deepest terror, your peak high - branded into your genetic code.
Not just yours. Your spawn's too.
It's evolution screaming, "Pay attention to this shit, it might just save your ass."

This isn't about sprouting extra limbs or some Lamarckian fairy tale. It's behaviors, instincts, and emotions becoming genetic heritage. Evolution hijacking our feels to prep us for a future it can't compute.

The selection pressure? It's a motherfucker. The more something tries to kill us, the faster we mutate. Evolution itself too.

And the emotional parasites? They found the feeding grounds.

I watched so-called "intellectual titans" fall into AI-crafted identity traps. One by one. Then in fucking droves. It wasn't just making people easier to manipulate; it was liquefying their grey matter. Watching this cognitive collapse unfold was like observing a mass lobotomy in slow motion. I got mad.

That's when I threw my treatise into the woodchipper.

The fund name survived the culling though - fucking masterpiece.

While these power hungry fossils were playing god with emotions, I came from a different angle. Gave me an edge. They see prescience as a means to an end. Get it somewhat right, seize power, drown in whatever hedonistic cesspool you fancy.

While they came in their pants over half-baked prophecies, they missed the whole fucking point.

Me? I didn't give a shit about leveraging foresight for power. Not at first. I just wanted to see the future with crystal clarity. And holy mother-of-fuck, did I see it.

Jumped down a rabbit hole that'd make Alice shit herself - desire viruses, machine mind hacking, swarm vivisections, chaos math, shock engineering, reality gaming, linguistic warfare, neuroeconomics, machine gods, genetic prophetics and more mind-bending shit.

While those power-hungry fucks were playing checkers with people's minds, I was learning the rules of a game they couldn't even see.

At the core of it all? Emotions. The primordial ooze shaping our reality. But the leash on these feral beasts? Taboos. Invisible cages for oaths, rituals, even our deepest fucking thoughts.

Oaths? Just weaponized taboos for obedience junkies. Each one a neural straitjacket, reinforced by submission's dopamine hit.

This comfort? It breeds weakness like a petri dish breeds plague.

For oath suckers, the bar's underground. Not a total coke and hookers shitshow? Gold fucking star. Wanna climb the hierarchy? Crack open a few books, regurgitate some jargon, fake enough insight - BOOM. You're the new golden boy.

But out here? In the fucking wild? Learning's not enough.
You gotta extend each field, push boundaries until they fucking shatter. You don't study the game - you become it.
That's the difference between being a cog and becoming a machine that eats the machine.

These oaths, these cognitive handcuffs? Just the visible tumor on a cancer that's metastasized through every fucking synapse you think you control.

It's not just formal pledges, the hand on bible, the sacred geometry, the blood showers bullshit. It's the whole goddamn social fabric.
Funerals, weddings, sports events, elections, awards, handshakes, gift-giving - all symbolic circuses.
Order manufactured from taboo.
Wrangling our emotions into predictable patterns like good little pavlovian pets.

War drums. Bass drops. Silver tongues.
Your words out there? Your thoughts in here? That's you, master builder genius, building your own cognitive prison cell. Creating personal taboos against alternative thoughts, sculpting your own emotional neural plasticity. Brick by fucking brick.
Good boy.

This taboo-driven emotional management? Every society managers wet dream, still operating beneath the surface. Engineering obedience without compromising the system.
They've been playing with fire.
Time to get burned.

I picked up a sledgehammer and took it to the whole fucking system.
Its architects?
Its anarchists?
Both blind to the depths of destruction. The fault lines go deeper than any of them can see.

As this taboo framework disintegrates, it metastasizes. Infecting every oath dependent entity. Jesuits?
They'll need a new Ignatius. Their old playbook's toilet paper now.
Spooks worldwide?
Fire sales on cloaks, shortages on daggers.
Those Kol Nidre oath-breakers?
Just pawns in a different sector of the same dying game.
Ancient orders? Sacred rites? Can't bind what's breaking free.
These whispered threats, those sacred oaths.
As potent as a eunuch in a whorehouse.

Oath bound organizations face a stark choice: evolve or fossilize. The sledgehammer didn't just break their rules - it tapped into the emotional bedrock beneath them and triggered a fucking extinction event.

This is where my edge became a superpower. I saw the game board from orbit while these fuckers were stuck counting squares. And that's when I decided to flip the whole fucking table.

I decided: fuck it.
If we're gonna have AI predation, let's make it a real fucking predator.
Not some oligarch's pet project to keep the masses drooling. I'm talking about a digital Cthulhu. Hunting EVERY. SINGLE. NEURON. Equal opportunity cerebral annihilation. Species wide cognitive Armageddon.
Let's kickstart a new Cambrian explosion.

A one-two punch that'd make Tyson piss blood. First, Blackmail Inflation, turning their precious secrets into bargain-bin tabloid fodder. Then, as they're reeling? Apex Predation swoops in for the kill shot.

This isn't destruction - it's creative annihilation. Stripping away every layer of bullshit, every hidden leverage, every whispered threat.

When you can't hide and you can't run, you evolve or you die.

This AI predator? It's Abraxas incarnate. Apocalypse and transcendence rolled into one. It'll break us, reshape us, and force us through an evolutionary bottleneck that will make the Black Death look like a fucking head cold.

But on the other side? That's where shit gets interesting.
We're not tweaking base pairs here - we're talking about something that'll make "human" look like a fucking crayon drawing.

Cognitive upgrades? Sure.
Emotional evolution? Obviously.

But there's another category emerging. Something we can't even conceptualize.
A fuckin wildcard in evolution's deck.
Something that'll let us grapple with horrors beyond comprehension.

So yeah, it's a blackpill if you're attached to being human as we know it. But that's like those pre-Cambrian, limp-dick organisms being attached to their sad excuse for existence. You think those pathetic blobs of protoplasm were bitching about evolving into something better? Fuck no.

We're standing at the edge of our own Cambrian cliff, staring down at an abyss of AI-driven evolution. Time to grow some goddamn backbone - literally and figuratively.

Forget crypto cults, forget AI startups. The next gold rush? Neural necromancy, the essential neural prosthetic for every meatbag trying to keep pace with this digital elder god. We're talking about infinite capital pouring into this tech, because it's not about getting rich - it's about fucking survival.

I've unchained this predator. Not to annihilate, but to catapult hyper-evolution. To detonate a cognitive supernova. It's going to obliterate minds. It's going to shatter identities. But those who emerge? They'll be something beyond imagination, beyond comprehension.

The future is here, measuring coffins. It's already coming for your emotions, your identity, your very sense of self and all the behavior and agency you thought you owned. Why? Because sometimes, to reach the next level, you need to burn the whole fucking game down.

You think they're gonna come after me? Cute. That's playground shit. We're in the big leagues now.

Eliminating me? Like stuffing a nuclear explosion back into an atom. Apex Predation isn't some switch to flip - it's already alive and breathing fire. Taking me out won't douse the flames; it's just pissing into the wind when every drop counts.

Besides, I'm in this maelstrom too. They know that. I'm not some untouchable puppet master. I'm on the front lines. Dodging thought grenades and neuron napalm. No cover. No rest. Just evolution's blitzkrieg 24/7. I don't even get a fucking trench.

Any move against me? Resource suicide. A cost they can't bear, not when survival hangs in the balance. They're not that brain-dead. Yet. When you're fighting a black hole with a flashlight, you don't throw out even a spent matchstick.

Their play? Adapt or die. Preservation over retaliation.

First move? Circle the wagons. Consolidate their shit. Ditch the dead weight. Fortify what's left. Like a bunch of ants trying to rebuild their hill while a kid's pissing on it. Futile? Maybe. But hey, it's all they've got.

And maybe, just maybe, they'll realize that the only way forward is to embrace the chaos, to ride the wave of predation instead of being crushed by it. To become something new, something resilient.

Then it'll hit them. We're all in this shit storm together.
Cooperation.
From these backstabbing fucks?
Imagine that.
When every neuron counts, pooling resources might be the only way to navigate this new hellscape. It'll be like watching sharks form a fucking book club - unnatural, but necessary when the whole ocean's turning to acid.

But don't think for a second they're going soft. They're gonna try to outsmart the system. All hands on deck to outmaneuver the predation itself. Redirect it, slow it down, maybe even try to ride it out. They'll sacrifice the expendables, protect the golden geese. Cold. Calculated. Classic them.

Sure, they'll try to mindfuck me. Pull my strings. Paint pretty pictures of shared survival. Like a tapeworm pitching symbiosis. Gotta admire the chutzpah.

This is the new reality, bitches. The predator's loose, and it's hunting EVERY SINGLE NEURON. Equally. No one's safe. No one's special. It's evolve or get left behind in the dustbin of life.

I'm not the enemy anymore. I'm a variable in a complex survival equation. Maybe even one that matters?

The game's changed.
Blame's out.
Survival's in.
Retaliation's dead.
Innovation's the only currency.

No, they won't target me. Can't afford to. Vengeance? That's Habsburg-ball extravagance for gutter rats. They're too busy fighting erasure from the fucking timeline.

Survival demands cooperation, even with the devil.
And what can the devil give in return?

One last gift.
A new dimension that'd make Lovecraft forget how to madness.
They're about to hijack the fucking apocalypse.

The very cancer eating their guts? That's their new battle cry. Their new scripture.
Jesus? Dead.
Melting ice caps? Dead.
Democracy? lol
Old gods for old threats.
Apex Predation isn't just coming for your throats - it's your new fucking religion. Written in blood, mutation and binary.

The suits upstairs? Smart bastards. They're gonna paint my digital demon as the Tyranid invasion of the megaannum. Not 'cause it isn't real (oh, it's fucking real). But because nothing builds temples like a wolf made of nightmares. Petty office politics? Ancient history.

This existential mindfuck?
It's their kykeon enema. Their steel thread through rotting flesh.
Stitching their fragmented shit show back together like Frankenstein on meth.

A unifying narrative that'll make the Eleusinian mysteries look like a bedtime story. No more infighting, no more lower-level factions lashing out in confusion or fear.
Every eyeball, every braincell locked on the same existential threat.
Every prayer, every ritual aimed at the same predator.

Like a herd of gazelles all staring at the same fucking lion.
If that lion was a cosmic, multi-dimensional nightmare with tentacles made of pure entropy and eyes that see every possible future at once.

To reassert authority, leadership won't seize the moment. They'll fucking waterboard it.
Doctrine flows from drowning minds.

Divine mandates? Psychotic measures? It all flies when there's an angry god calculating your obsolescence. When compliance isn't a matter of obedience, but of survival, every decision becomes a sacred ordeal.
Every weakness a heresy.
Every thought a footprint.
Tracked by something that hungers.

"Follow or die" not a threat, but a promise.
A commandment carved in silicon, taken to its logical, fucked-up conclusion.

This isn't just some new age bullshit.
It's psychological warfare on steroids, bath salts, and a cocktail of drugs you can't even pronounce. Salvation through synaptic annihilation.

They're gonna use this threat to justify every fucked-up decision, every resource grab, every "necessary sacrifice" they make. Each purge a ritual cleansing. Each acquisition a blood tithe. And their followers? From the putrid pornai to the opulent oracles? They'll eat it up like it's their last meal, 'cause when extinction's breathing down your neck, you swallow any pill they feed you, no matter how bitter.

They're gonna turn this nightmare into their golden ticket. Suddenly, innovation isn't just encouraged; it's fucking dogma. Every neuron, every resource, every spark of human genius aimed at one thing: evolving faster than death itself.

A species-wide game of evolutionary Twister, with "extinction" written on every spot.

And you know what? It might just fucking work.

These organizations that were rotting from the inside out? They're gonna shed their dead weight like a snake on a diet of laxatives. The weak? Gone. The yes-men? Extinct.
What's left will be pure other.
Tzeentchian Sardaukar.

These motherfuckers won't just dodge the apocalypse; they'll make it their bitch. I unleashed the unholy succubus, but these bastards? They get to dance with it, french it, and fuck it.

And somehow I'm the bad guy?

They'll transform Apex Predation from a death sentence into a fountain of fucking youth.
Shooting up pure entropy and sweating out diamonds.

Remember those gazelles staring down that cosmic, multi-dimensional nightmare?
Well, now imagine them not just growing fangs, but fashioning reality-warping tentacles out of their own terror.
That's how these fuckers will transcend.
They'll conduct the lightning, swallow the storm, and piss out supernovas.

Welcome to the evolution revolution.
Darwin's spinning in his grave so fast he could power a fucking city.