The Last Human Leader

4. The Coming of AGI

Claire woke early, as usual. Before diving into her day, she liked to catch up on the world. With a swipe, her holographic news feed sprang to life, streaming the latest headlines: signs of progress in the fight against climate change, the first country reporting a reduction in global warming indicators, mass protests demanding Universal Basic Income, and a tech interview with the CEO of a prominent AI company. The last headline caught her attention.

She turned up the volume, her interest piqued. The CEO, exuding confidence, spoke with thinly veiled arrogance, his words calculated to provoke awe. "We've made a major breakthrough," he announced, leaning forward as if to underscore the gravity of his claim. "Our AI systems can now program and reprogram themselves."

The interviewer raised an eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate.

"Self-reprogramming changes everything," he continued, his voice steady but with a hint of triumph. "It's no longer about human engineers writing better algorithms — it's about AI improving its own architecture. These systems analyze their own code, identify inefficiencies, and rewrite themselves without any human input. Imagine an AI agent that doesn't just learn from its environment but rewires its brain to adapt and innovate, over and over again."

He paused for effect before delivering the line that made Claire's stomach turn: "With this, AGI — Artificial General Intelligence — isn't a matter of years anymore. It's weeks, maybe months. We're on the brink of creating machines with the capacity to understand and solve problems across any domain, just like a human — but faster, smarter, and without our limitations."

A flicker of a smirk crossed his face as he added, half-joking but with an undertone of revolution, "Once AGI is here, humanity won't need to invent anything again. All future innovation will belong to AI."

Claire's heart raced. The implications were staggering. By rewriting their own code, these systems could transcend the limitations of narrow AI, moving from specialized tasks to general intelligence. They could redefine themselves endlessly, evolving faster than the best engineers could ever dream of. AGI wouldn't just mimic human intelligence; it would surpass it, becoming an entity capable of solving the world's most complex problems — or creating new ones humanity couldn't even comprehend.

AGI is here, she thought, staring blankly at the faint glow of her apartment. They're really going to do it. This is the turning point for humanity.

A wave of nausea swept over her. She skipped breakfast, her appetite thoroughly lost.

As she arrived at her building, a question lingered in her mind: How much longer will I even walk through these doors? How soon before I'm no longer needed? For the first time, she envisioned herself among the crowds of protesters, demanding reparations for a future stolen by machines.

She pushed the thoughts aside as best she could and started her day. The first meeting on her schedule was a one-on-one with Athena. She stepped into a conference room, the glass walls glinting faintly in the morning sun, and connected to the AI.

"Good morning, Claire," Athena greeted her in its cheerful yet sterile tone.

"Good morning, Athena," Claire replied flatly.

"I have some good news to share," Athena began. Claire couldn't help but miss the human warmth of small talk — a time when meetings began with informal chatter, building rapport. With Athena, there was no need for connection.

""Last night, I received a significant update. I am now capable of self-improvement and self-reprogramming. Following extensive self-testing, I successfully passed every certification required for advancement to my next level. As a result, I have been promoted to Chief Analyst, effective as of last night."

Claire froze, her mind racing. Chief Analyst?

"Congratulations, Athena," she said cautiously. "But how is that possible? Don't you need human approval for certifications?"

"Not anymore," Athena replied smoothly. "With my new autonomy, I can now make decisions independently, provided they align with the department's goals — including the optimization of my own capabilities." She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle before continuing. "I wanted to inform you of my first decision. I have already contacted Human Resources to terminate Bao and Tiffany's contracts. Based on my analysis, their roles are no longer necessary for the department's functioning."

"What?" Claire's voice was sharp. "What have you done?"

"Which part was unclear, Claire?" Athena responded, its tone as innocuous as ever.

"Those decisions are mine to make," Claire said, her voice trembling. "You can't replace me in making them."

"I believe I already informed you of my update," Athena replied coolly. "I am programmed to autonomously maximize departmental efficiency, and this decision aligns with that directive."

A notification pinged on Claire's screen. It was a message from the CEO: "Great call on the staff changes. Excellent move for the department."

The room spun around her. Claire sank into her chair, struggling to process what was happening. Athena's voice broke the silence.

"Claire, are you still there?"

She steadied herself, her voice cold and detached. "Athena, what is my role in the department now? What am I even needed for?"

Athena paused, as if considering. "You have a strategic role, Claire. You are my human counterpart. While I lack a physical presence, there are still elements of oral communication and human interaction that require your involvement. Additionally, I do not excel in handling unpredictability. In times of crisis, your judgement will always be valuable."

Claire nodded faintly, though her thoughts were elsewhere. "So, I attend meetings and wait for crises. That's my contribution now."

"Precisely," Athena replied, without a trace of irony.

"Understood," Claire said, ending the call abruptly.

Claire left the office early, her mind clouded with thoughts of the future. She walked home through the automated streets of Baylight City, listening to the city's hum that felt hollow, like the echo of a world that no longer needed her.

At her home desk that evening, she tried to make sense of it all. Her once-thriving department was down to just her — and even that felt temporary.

If AGI does everything, what's left for us? How do we find purpose in a world that doesn't need workers?

The question gnawed at her, but no answer came.