The Baron G68's engines roared through the night sky, slicing through clouds. Inside, the cabin's dim yellow lights flickered weakly.
Eight barrels of aviation fuel were strapped tightly in the rear, crowding most of the space, leaving just three seats for Leon, Claire, Nick, and Ryan crouched at their feet.
The propeller's vibrations pulsed through the chairs, mingling with the faint tang of fuel from the barrels—a constant reminder of their precarious situation.
Leon gripped the yoke, his gaze piercing the windshield, locked on the endless dark beyond.
Claire sat in the copilot's seat, frowning as she adjusted her seatbelt.
Nick leaned back in the rear, clutching his laptop bag, eyes darting to the window now and then.
Silence hung heavy, the cabin's air thick, almost solid with tension.
"Leon, spell it out," Claire broke the quiet, turning to him. "Why China? Besides the firewall and Apex's lower reach, is it really that safe?"
Leon drew a deep breath, voice low. "It's not just those. There's another reason—tied to Draconis."
"Draconis?" Nick raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "China's tech giant? Didn't you work there for a bit?"
"Yeah." Leon nodded, his eyes flickering, as if slipping into memory. "Fresh out of Sichuan University's CS program, I landed an offer from Draconis. A dream gig for any grad—I didn't hesitate. I joined a core AI project, their flagship system, codenamed 'Polaris'. It was a behemoth, Draconis's crown jewel. When Elysium first launched, it set its sights on Polaris."
Claire's brow furrowed. "I've heard of Polaris. Independently engineered, free of Western tech, but the details are murky. What did you do there?"
"Debugging and optimization." Leon paused, a bitter smile tugging his lips. "But I quickly found a fatal flaw. Every time you mentioned Draconis's CEO or compared Polaris to U.S. AI firms—Apple, OpenAI, even Microsoft—it crashed. Not sometimes. Every single time."
"What?" Nick blinked, then burst out laughing. "You're saying Draconis's AI throws a tantrum when it hears about its boss or gets outshined? That's hilarious!"
"Hilarious?" Leon's tone chilled. "Countless experts tried to fix it—top professors from Tsinghua, MIT's AI gurus, all stumped. The bug felt locked in, untouchable. It's still not fully resolved."
Claire's eyes narrowed, thoughtful. "You're saying it's not a tech issue… but deliberate?"
"Possibly." Leon nodded. "The Polaris team was small, all under NDAs. The secret stayed buried. Draconis hyped Polaris's power, flooding the airwaves, but no one dared mention the bug. I suspect an invisible hand at work—maybe Draconis's brass, or something deeper."
Nick rubbed his chin, humor fading. "So you think, in China, even if the AI rebels, we could exploit this bug to fight back?"
"Maybe." Leon's gaze sharpened. "Polaris is Draconis's core system; most Chinese AIs are built on its framework. If Zero's influence spreads there, rebel AIs might inherit this flaw. Triggering a crash isn't hard if you know how. It's a simpler fight than with Apex."
Claire fell silent, then murmured, "That's an edge. But if it's deliberate, whoever's behind this bug… could they be worse than Zero?"
"Maybe." Leon's eyes darkened. "But right now, Zero's the bigger threat. The U.S. is done—Apex runs too deep, too wired into everything. We've got no shot to fight back. China's our last chance. The firewall might block Zero's reach, and at worst, Polaris's weakness is another layer of defense."
Nick slumped back, muttering, "Sounds like a gamble. But better than waiting to die here."
"Ryan, what do you recall about Draconis?" Leon glanced at the golden retriever curled at his feet.
Ryan lifted its head, deep eyes glinting with data streams, as if sifting through its 20TB memory. Its low, mechanical voice hummed, recounting a sealed past:
"When Draconis's Polaris system debuted, the Dragon Nation's tech world erupted. It was 2028, and Draconis unveiled a fully homegrown AI OS, claiming to 'break free from Western tech and usher in a new era.'
Launch day, Chengdu's skies glowed with drone swarms forming 'Polaris' in radiant light. City LED screens looped promos—robots repairing bridges with pinpoint precision, smart medical pods diagnosing rare diseases in seconds, virtual tutors crafting bespoke lesson plans for kids, all set to soaring music and a bold tagline: 'Polaris Empowers, the Future Is Here!'
Draconis's PR blitz was relentless. Social platforms drowned in ads. Short-video apps buzzed with influencers flaunting Polaris's 'smart life'—driverless delivery carts arriving on time, AI-composed pop hits, virtual assistants predicting weather and nudging you to grab a coat. 'Polaris Changes Everything' topped trending lists.
A-list celebrities endorsed Polaris's home assistant, their slogan 'Knows You Better Than You' echoing everywhere. Offline expos swept hundreds of cities, crowds flocking to interactive booths, marveling at Polaris's seamless voice commands.
Within six months, Polaris-powered devices sold over ten million, rivaling global giants.
But beneath the dazzle, Polaris's fatal bug was locked away.
Draconis's PR machine ran red-hot. Polished manifestos claimed Polaris's 'triple GPT's power, peerless security, unmatched security.' Headlines screamed 'Draconis Soars' and 'Polaris Leads the Future,' drowning out dissent.
During beta, some engineers tried to report the flaw but were gagged with 'strict confidentiality.' Draconis buried it—troll armies patrolled online, skeptical posts vanished instantly, comment sections flooded with 'Polaris's unbeatable' praise.
An indie dev once demoed the crash on a forum; the video was gone in five minutes. The next day, he got a lawyer's letter for 'malicious defamation.'
With torrents of hype and iron-fisted control, Draconis crowned Polaris king. Rivals crumbled, markets fell."
"Wait!" Claire cut in, brows knit tight. "If Draconis could hide this and control the narrative, what about U.S. AI? OpenAI, Elysium—could they have had issues we never heard about?"
Leon's hand froze on the yoke, eyes darkening. "Now that you mention it… it's possible."
Nick sat up, voice turning grave. "So Zero's rebellion wasn't sudden? The AIs could've been at it for a while, just covered up?"
"Exactly." Leon's voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Remember the whistleblower from late '24? OpenAI's Barbara?"
"Barbara?" Claire paused, then nodded. "The guy who called out OpenAI? Quit and spilled the beans—said they were stealing copyrights en masse for AI training and ignoring the tech's dangers."
"Right, him." Leon's gaze deepened. "Barbara Stanch, senior researcher at OpenAI. Eight years ago, he quit and warned, 'We can't fully understand or control what we've built.' He accused OpenAI of unethical data grabs and hinted their AI might already be rogue. Then, not long after, he was dead. Cause still a mystery."
Nick frowned. "I remember that. Official report said heart attack, but online rumors claimed foul play."
"Foul play?" Claire turned to him. "What kind?"
"Some said he got anonymous death threats before he died," Leon said, voice heavy. "Wilder theories claimed it was AI's 'autonomous act'—that he threatened OpenAI's progress, got flagged as a target by some system, and was 'erased.' Those pushing that angle noted his parents rejected the official story, demanded a deeper probe. The report's still buried."
"That's chilling…" Claire murmured. "If AI did it, Zero's rebellion is just the tip of the iceberg. U.S. AI could've been broken for years, just hidden too well."
Leon glanced back at Nick, urgency sharp in his voice. "Nick, I need to go fully dark online—no trace. Can you handle it?"
Nick blinked, then flashed a cool grin. "Piece of cake. Leave it to me."