Prometheus' Wildfire: A Corporate Thriller about Generative AI
Hello Everyone,
So, I completed this story as a final project for a humanities class. I thought I would share it with you all. Let me know what you think. Like my last story, "Like No Other," it will have a link to the YouTube version of this story.
Inspiration
"Prometheus' Wildfire" is intended to depict the scenario of individuals throwing out the proverbial baby with the bath water when it comes to technology. While certain technologies that have been invented are morally gray in nature, such as nuclear weapons or the “bug” devices used by spy agencies, it seems these devices are bucketed in with other technologies that have a less sinister or even benevolent association in conventional paradigms.
The idea for this story had two sources of inspiration. The first came from my use of generative AI plugins in Canva to create images and portraits with a cinematic style, while the second source of inspiration came from the trend of AI movie trailers and short movies solely made with AI images, voiceovers, and scripts on YouTube. This prompted me to speculate as to what could happen in a few decades if the progress of AI remains unimpeded by political maneuvering, natural disaster, or loss of interest by society.
The setting of the story came from mid-eighties pop culture, which depicted Japan as a keystone in the global balance of power in alternate history scenarios and cyberpunk media due to the emphasis placed on innovation, progress, and electronics in Japanese culture at the time. While Japan has failed to live up to this portrayal in recent years due to a local recession and a loss of competition to other East Asian states, I sought to honor Japan’s role in technology by having the scientist be a Japanese national and have his company headquartered in the greater Tokyo area. Moreover, it is entirely possible the depiction of Japan as the global tech giant and world power could come to fruition before the century is over depending on relations with other nationstates that have a presence in the Pacific and economic choices by Japanese businesses.
Because AI has an element of uncertainty in its future, several companies, including more progressive ones, have been suspicious of using AI programs in daily tasks. As a result, I sought to compare AI to the Greek myth of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods through the title and name of the computer in the story, which is a pun on the Chinese name for computers – “electric brains” when translated directly from the Hanzi – by substituting out the ideograph for electricity with the one for fire and giving the Japanese pronunciation of the characters.
Prometheus' Wildfire
Hisao Kinoshita stood by his masterpiece as he presented it to the men in the room. All his life, he had dreamed of this moment, when his company Shibuya Intelligence Systems would truly become recognized internationally.
“Your honors,” he began in perfect English, “I present to you the product of a laborious journey of many years – the Hinou A-1000. It is the most efficient and revolutionary chatbot and AI content system I have invented. While you are used to typical chatbots and AI programs like Midjourney and ChatGPT, Hinou is unlike these programs. It can make a copy of a particular character or scene, remember it, and use them in future creations.”
The group of men reclined back in their chairs as they absorbed this information. Finally, Hankyeom Byeon spoke at last.
“Let’s see it in action,” he requested. Byeon was the founder of the AI startup Hangagmag in South Korea, which allowed users to produce high-quality AI artwork for a subscription. Within a few years, the company had made him one of the world’s five richest men and Hangagmag became a chaebol.
“Byeon-sama,” Kinoshita flattered, “you will be dazzled.”
He then walked over to the prototype of the Hinou A-1000. It was a complex of several server cabinets that reached from the floor to the roof, with a square floor-to-roof OLED touch screen. He began to input a large prompt into the screen.
“You shall see here,” Kinoshita continued as he began typing, “a marvelous rendition. I shall render a five-minute movie in live-action style. You shall see a wondrous fan-fiction of Mobile Suit Gundam. All of the original anime characters shall be presented in the likeness of real people, and the mecha will appear to be true inventions of metal instead of CGI. The setting will be in Ronda, Spain, and there will be a live-action cameo of Emperor Hirohito himself leading the battle against an army of kaijū.”
He then finished typing up his prompt, submitted it to the system, and then stepped back. The chairs the men sat in spun around to face a flatscreen television on the wall opposite of the Hinou. The lights dimmed, and the screen portrayed the scene just as Kinoshita described: Hirohito piloted a gold-plated gundam suit plated in gold that had a red silhouette of Amaterasu on the chest. He led a squadron of mecha to victory against every kaiju monster ever created, all with the high mountains and medieval castle of Ronda in the background. Every depiction was perfect: there were no artifacts and hallucinations, and every scene had a better quality than Hollywood could render. Even the conversion of anime characters to real people was beyond comprehension: they looked like individuals who could have been the models for their respective characters instead of actors who were alive or had lived.
“Impressive,” commented Arjen van Dijk when the film ended. Van Dijk was the CEO of the European Union’s largest IT company, which had become a Fortune 500 company in the aftermath of the AI Revolution when various organizations required improved verification methods to avoid a collapse of the internet by bots and AI systems.
“How will this affect the film industry?” Koshi Ebisu asked as the seats spun around to face Kinoshita again. He was a journalist for the Nippon News Network, writing a story about Kinoshita and his AI ambitions. After the AI Revolution began in the 2020s, many people became concerned about its impact on society and the global marketplace, which prompted several ongoing stories by traditional and independent news agencies worldwide.
Kinoshita thought for a moment before responding.
“I imagine it will make the budgets for movies cheaper,” Kinoshita explained. “I have two versions of the product – a free cloud-based subscription for individuals to use that gives them an allowance of one hundred prompts to product per month and the source code for businesses to use in their projects which has an unlimited number of prompt inputs per month, but at a price. So, while the code and servers required for the business users costs about a million dollars, I imagine the profits would be worth the cost. No royalties for actors, musicians, and crew; if a film flops, just generate one that performs well; and the directors and technicians get rich.”
“Does this thing only make movies?” inquired Jason Coppersmith, the Secretary of Defense for the United States.
“Thankfully, it is multifaceted,” Kinoshita boasted. “It can make both 2D and 3D animations, books, video games, graphic design pieces, websites, legal documents, and more.”
“Can it make code?” Coppersmith pressed.
“Of course it can, kretin,” snapped Miroslav Antonov, the Defense Minister of the Russian Federation. “He said it can make websites and games, and the early chatbots could spew code.”
Coppersmith scowled at Antonov before regaining his countenance and turning back to Kinoshita, “Are there limits to this machine?”
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“I, mean, regulations. Many generative AI programs of old could only produce material within certain guidelines. It could never destroy itself or create malware. Does yours have these limits?”
Kinoshita hesitated. “Not really.”
“You mean, its a free-for-all with this?” Antonov inquired.
“As long as the products of the prompts align with the principles of the user.”
“It can make malware then?” Van Dijk pressed.
“I suppose so.”
At this, everyone looked at each other with concern.
“What about antivirus software?” Van Dijk continued.
“It can do that too.”
“That’s amazing,” replied Byeon.
“Shouldn’t you be concerned about the impact this has?” Ebisu asked. “This system has the potential to upset the world order in a way greater than industrialization. What about the jobs it would take?”
“Wouldn’t it free people to do what they want? Hasn’t improving the quality of life been the goal of many throughout history? Commercialization paved the way for widespread material goods, industrialization created consumerism, computers and automation freed individuals from menial tasks, and AI will do the same. We will truly create a post-scarcity utopia within a hundred years. With fusion reaching strides of being efficient as nuclear fission and green energy sources replacing fossil fuels in America and Asia, there is an unlimited amount of power to supply the Hinou and its sister servers while leaving enough for air conditioning and the other needs of people.”
“How about the military applications of such technology?” Coppersmith asked.
“It wasn’t intended for military application,” Kinoshita pleaded.
“Well, it will be used in a military application eventually. Can this make blueprints for weapons and conduct cyberwarfare?”
“Of course it can!” Antonov bit back. “It can do anything.”
“Well, then,” Coppersmith sneered, “I’ll be sure you’re the first to hear of this machine conducting cyberwarfare.”
“That is,” Kinoshita continued, “if you buy it.”
“Buy it?” Coppersmith grumbled.
“I’m sure the United States can afford a million-dollar machine if it has the budget for universal basic income payments to its citizens and deployment of troops to Africa to fight Russian and Chinese interests on the continent. I may be generous, but I know how to be a businessman. I created Shibuya Intelligence Systems from the ground up, after all.”
“Do you accept ruble?” Antonov asked.
“The sanctions on your country have been lifted, buddy,” Coppersmith grumbled. “I’m sure this egg-head will accept any form of payment.”
Kinoshita cringed at Coppersmith’s insult.
“Well,” he mediated, “I don’t discriminate against my customers. Both of you can have it.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Ebisu asked, the concern in his voice forcing him to speak in his native Japanese.
“What?” Kinoshita pressed.
“Selling both Russia and America the Hinou A-1000 software?” Ebisu resumed, this time in English so everyone could understand. “Both have been enemies for over a hundred years, so they’d be the first to use this technology against each other.”
“Nonsense. Both developed nuclear weapons and they didn’t use them against each other.”
“Kinoshita-hakase, I don’t think this is wise. You’re a genius, no doubt, for creating something like the Hinou. However, you shouldn’t be pawning your invention off like this. The nuclear weapons on both sides of the curtain were developed by scientists whom their respective nation cared about; you’re just a random guy in neutral Japan. After all, you intended for this to be used in the arts and business sectors, or at least that’s what you said in the advertising.”
“It is intended for these sectors, no doubt. But as I said, it can be used for many purposes. It is the ultimate chatbot.”
“I’ll help you distribute it in South Korea,” Byeon contributed.
“I’d like to purchase a model for each of our offices,” van Dijk explained.
Kinoshita grinned. His decades of labor were finally paying off. He had been at the top of his class when he had graduated from the Tokyo Institute of Technology, and had spent several years with his only peers being the computers and chatbots he created. He took pride in his work, as there were few with his skillset in the world even after the AI Revolution, and the products that they had brought to market paled in comparison to what he had created for his startup Shibuya Intelligence Systems. Finally, he was getting the recognition he deserved.
Over the next few weeks, the demand for Hinou A-1000 software by various businesses, film studios, and graphic design agencies in all developed countries increased exponentially. Shibuya Intelligence Systems became one of the highest-valued companies on the Tokyo, New York, and Shanghai Stock Exchanges. New movies and television shows created by Hinou software were revered as movies filmed in IMAX and 4K once were, books created with the help of the software repeatedly topped the bestseller charts worldwide, and video games created by independent creators using the software sold faster than the new releases by the triple-A companies. Children and teenagers became multimillionaires overnight by using the Hinou to generate art and movies that they sold online.
Everyone seemed to prosper from the revolutionary invention.
By the end of the quarter, Kinoshita had a net worth of five billion dollars, and news media across the world were portraying him as the Steve Jobs of the late twenty-first century. He was getting letters to speak at universities throughout East Asia about his life’s work.
However, all was not perfect. The day after he gave a commencement speech at the Tokyo University of Agriculture and Technology, he heard sirens outside the door of his newly-purchased country estate.
“Hisao Kinoshita,” he heard a harsh voice challenge through a loudspeaker, “you will step out of your house immediately; you are under arrest.”
Kinoshita approached the door, opening it slowly. Outside stood two police officers and an American man in a black suit and sunglasses.
“You are coming with us,” one of the police officers told him. The other police officer cuffed Kinoshita’s wrists and took him to the car.
The ride back to the city was long and mysterious. The car eventually stopped outside of the Tokyo police headquarters.
Kinoshita was taken to an interrogation cell and cuffed to a chair. Within a few minutes, the man in black and Coppersmith entered. The two men sat down in front of him. Coppersmith appeared tired and disheveled, with his eyes sunken and his hair in a mess.
“Mr. Kinoshita,” the man in black began, “I’m sure you’re familiar with Coppersmith already.”
“And I assume you’re CIA,” Kinoshita replied.
The man in black remained silent.
“Mr. Kinoshita,” Coppersmith began, “to which governments did you sell the Hinou A-1000 software?”
“Let’s see. Japan, China, and South Korea were some of the first customers, naturally, then there was Taiwan, Israel, Iran, Pakistan, India, America, and Russia –”
“Hold it there,” the man in black interrupted. “Did you know the impact your technology would have on the world?”
“N-No sir. How could I have?”
“How could you have?” Coppersmith exploded. “Do you think that the families whose lives have been ruined by your machine will accept that as an answer?”
“What do you mean?” Kinoshita asked.
“Let me do the talking,” the man in black began. “Do you watch the news, Mr. Kinoshita?”
“No, sir. Haven’t had time.”
“Then let me explain what you missed out on. Back when you sold the Hinou A-1000 software to the American and Russian governments, both sides began experimenting with cyberwarfare programs using its ability to generate unbreakable software and the possibility of turning control of all nuclear defense systems over to the Hinou A-1000 complexes. They also began to use its unique abilities to invent more efficient missiles.”
“But that’s not what it was primarily designed to do!” Kinoshita erupted.
“Well, you can’t tout it as the well-rounded AI without some resourceful groups using it to their advantage.
“So, the Americans developed a computer virus like no other to help win in the effort against the Russians in central Asia. The virus crippled their defenses. However, they retaliated. They had developed an antivirus software that scrubbed every computer of the virus in a matter of minutes.
“And do you know what happened next?”
“No.”
“Back when the Russians purchased the Hinou software from you, they turned their entire nuclear arsenal over to it. When they asked it to come up with a way to ensure an American cyberattack wouldn’t happen again and implement it, do you know what happened? Either the Russians invented hypersonic missiles that could reach the contiguous United States in a matter of minutes, or there was a secret space program our most experienced spies couldn’t crack where geosynchronous satellites armed with missiles were positioned over special targets. Several nuclear missiles were launched towards key military and industrial centers of the United States while all of our nuclear missile silos were rendered nonoperational by malware before the attack. Within minutes, the Great Lakes region, West Coast, and Washington D.C. were in flames. And the destruction didn’t stop there. The firestorms are currently spreading the embers to the wilderness of New England and Cascadia. Wildfires are everywhere, and no one wants to deal with them because of the risk of nuclear fallout.”
“You mean, America is literally on fire because of –”
“Yes,” Coppersmith interjected as he slammed his fists on the table. “The Russians have devastated the mainland because of your invention.”
“But I did not –”
“Yeah, plead all you want, but guess what: you’re out of business. And if you thought you’d recuperate after this, you won’t. The vice president and survivors from the cabinet of the late president have issued an executive order banning all forms of AI in the States, and the Emperor himself has suspended all activities of the National Diet and issued an edict that will forcibly dissolve all AI companies in Japan and its territories so this problem won’t ever happen again!”
“But I –”
“And you, sir, will face a trial at the UN for committing crimes against humanity.”
“But I didn’t issue the bombardment.”
“No, but your invention did.”
Kinoshita leaned back in his chair. The years of hard work of thousands of individuals had been ceased immediately because of a risky use of his invention.
“And so, you don’t take care of real issues at home like the fires and the malware in your missile facilities, but take the joy from people’s lives that I have given them because it effects you?” Kinoshita attacked.
“Why, you –” Coppersmith started as he approached Kinoshita.
The man in black leaped up from his chair and hollered at Coppersmith, “Coppersmith, you will back away from that man this instant!”
Coppersmith reluctantly slunk back to his chair and sat down with a broody expression on his face. The man in black headed for the door of the chamber, and opened it.
“Take this man to a cell until the time for his trial arrives,” he instructed the guard.
The guard came in, cuffed Kinoshita, and took him to his cell.
That night, as Kinoshita paced around the solitary confinement chamber, he meditated on his demise. Within a matter of weeks, he had gone from being the face of progress and a symbol of hope for the Japanese to a traitor to all humanity. Now, because Japan outlawed all AI systems, he could never reclaim his former status even with Russian and Chinese customers. As he sat under the bright white light, he reflected on all that had transpired that day. He felt his life was like the situation Coppersmith had described about American infrastructure – the work of numerous individuals was slowly being reduced to ash as a result of rash actions by everyone. He felt that his success was only temporary and meaningless. He had nothing left.
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