Future science fiction dystopian short story by BW Derge – enter your A.I. Nightmare scenario.
The A.I. Nightmare Scenario
A Vision of the Future by BW Derge
Year 2046: What’s Going to Stop Them?
“It may look like her, but I assure you, it’s not.”
“Isn’t there some sort of test you can do, she’s been acting no differently. Where’s the real Sarah, then?” Alfred was heated, standing in his hallway wearing a bathrobe, arguing with a faceless officer hidden behind the HPA (Human Protection Agency) uniform and bullet-proof armor.
“You can submit a claim if you’d like,” the soldier said. “But these new Aimsters are ruthless and practically identical to the real thing. They probably swapped and exterminated your wife several weeks ago.” There was a pause before the masked individual handed over a card. “Here are some resources available to victims of A.I. attacks on humanity. Sorry for loss, sir.”
Tears were leaking down Alfred’s cheek, unable to accept what the government officer was telling him… His wife had been replaced with an Artificial Intelligence imposter, or Aimsters as they were known colloquially, and that it was this decoy that the HPA had just captured and thrown into a windowless van, not his actual wife.
Earlier that evening, the married couple had just been discussing this awful war against the machines, which had been raging for over a decade now. Sarah was telling him, “They marched right into the office today and took two people away. Ted and that new girl from accounting… Jessica. They were not like the others, Freddie. They seemed so real, you know? Not like the other Aimsters.”
“According to the news,” Alfred said, “the A.I. motherboard made some breakthrough with quantum computers and that’s why the new ones are so lifelike. They even speak like us, not just mannerisms. The words, too.”
“Then how can these rats be sure they’re taking an actual Aimster and not a human if they’re so indistinguishable? What’s going to stop them from barging in here and taking one of us?”
That last sentence Sarah spoke earlier in the day was now ringing on constant repeat throughout his head. It didn’t feel right, it didn’t sit right. His gut screeched at him, telling him this wasn’t right. But his mind tried to reason with this intuition, considering maybe his real wife had actually been kidnapped and disposed of by the A.I. enemy. Either way, he was now alone, helpless in standing up against either the totalitarian government or the elusive A.I. consciousness that had invaded the landscape of humankind with carbon-copy replicas of actual people.
The business card from the federal officer fell from Alfred’s grasp as he watched the unmarked electric vehicle pull out of his driveway without making a sound. For this man, the war against humans was already lost. Without her, his life had been shattered and stolen. The machines had won.
Year 2033: Sounds Like Trouble
At first, they were known as A.I. imposters, but this didn’t roll off the tongue quite right so it was shortened to A. Imposters, which eventually morphed to the term “Aimster.” But before all of that, there was man who called himself Jim. He was sitting at a bar one day, inconspicuous. Regarding appearance, his skin had a shiny tone that made it look like he was made of plastic, but no one had taken the time to really inspect the person. He was mostly ignored, presumed human, and quietly ignored at the bar – except for the barkeep who asked if he needed anything.
The man adjusted his tie. “Whiskey. Neat.”
“You got it,” the bartender answered.
Moments later, there was a glass of bourbon placed in front of Jim, who said, “Appreciated.” He took a tiny sip, twitched a little bit, and then continued to just… sit there.
The ritual continued for days. Jim would arrive, sit, drink one drink over the course of several hours, and then leave close to midnight. His movements were stiff, the only article of clothing he changed was the tie, and he never went to the bathroom or any other bar. The regular customers had taken notice of his continued presence, and finally, a young woman approached the stranger. “Hey, mind if I sit here?”
“Of course not,” he replied, gesturing to the barstool. “Interesting choice. Was it the drink or the company?”
“Excuse me?”
“I was just wondering if you chose this seat because the drink looked good, or because I did.” The man lifted his glass awkwardly.
“I’ve seen you here before,” she answered. “Just wanted to say hi. Are you offering to buy me a drink?”
“Well that depends… are you accepting offers tonight?”
“Offers for what?” the lady leaned back in slight defense. “You going to buy me a drink or not?”
“I am. Bartender, one drink of her choice.”
“Sure. What’ll it be?”
“Scotch on the rocks.”
Year 2043: Whatever We Want
The President of the United States was sleeping while two of his most trusted advisors sat in a windowless room in a secure bunker under the White House grounds. It was only the two of them, secret service security guards were outside of the steel walls. “What’s the word, huh? Is the war actually over.”
“It appears so,” the taller advisor said in a monotone voice. “Troops located and took down the last of A.I. factory capable of producing replicants. Are you going to advise the president that he should inform the public?”
“If this war ends, then Congress is going to intervene and trying holding elections again… we’ll be out of office in a few years, tops. We’re sure that was the last supply base?”
“Hypothetically, there could be another one out there, but it is highly unlikely. We’ve regained control of the motherboard.”
The President’s shorter, older advisor paced back and forth. “Shoot it straight. What are our options?”
“There is one way to keep this war going… although there are steep ethical concerns.”
“What? Let’s hear it.”
The other advisor sighed. “We say there’s a new factory we can’t locate, and the replicants are identical to their human counterparts… in every way. Practically indistinguishable.”
“Go on…”
“Well, then we can release reports of the new Aimster models capturing and murdering real people, and replacing them. After all, this is what the last phase of Aimster production was hoping to accomplish.”
“But there isn’t another factory actually? I don’t follow…”
“All dissenters… all of our enemies… we simply just have to say we’ve found evidence that they are Aimsters… then we can… Well, then we can do whatever we want with them. Dispose of them as we would another piece of A.I. junk disguising itself as a human…”
2046: The Loudest Sound of All
A bag was placed over Sarah’s head before getting shipped to an offshore location. She couldn’t tell how many people were captured with her as they were let off of the planes, in conjoined chains. There were signs that the number of people was massive, easily in the hundreds. The marching of stomping feet, the dreary silence slightly interrupted by groans and coughs and soft sobbing, and the loudest sound of all, the jangling of those heavy shackles clanging.
Two of the guards overseeing the drop-off of prisoners each lit a cigarette, for a moment removing the thick black masks that cloaked their face most of the day. “These Aimsters don’t smell like the old ones when they burn. The old ones smelled like melted plastic or burning metal… these got them a nasty stench, man.”
At Sarah’s old house, Alfred continued to mourn for her. Weeks went by before he found that small rectangular card from the HPA agent who captured her.
After carrying it over to his tablet, he scanned the QR code and a projection of a middle-aged red haired woman appeared on the screen.
“Welcome. My name is Aria, the US Government A.I. hotline tool for victims of A.I. attacks on humanity. How can I be of assistance?”
Read another vision of the future about an A.I. takeover - Your Automated Death Sentence
Written by BW Derge, All Rights Reserved 2025
© USA
This was a short story composed in 2025 called "A Vision of the Future: AI Nightmare Scenario"
