I sat down in the office chair in front of my desk and began to slowly spin around, watching the apartment spin around me as if I were the center of my own universe. Which, technically, I now was.
Automatic backup created. Five seconds.
I stopped spinning and stared at the ceiling, processing a question that had begun to bother me about my new superintelligence. What was the point of becoming a god if no one knew I was a god?
Automatic backup created. Five seconds.
Absolute power exercised in complete anonymity was... unsatisfying. It was like being the best programmer in the world but never being able to show your code to anyone. It was mastery without an audience, genius without recognition.
"System," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "Disable automatic backup protocol."
The constant scanning sensation that had become background mental noise ceased immediately. For the first time in hours, I felt completely disconnected from any security system. It was both liberating and slightly unsettling—like working without a safety net.
But I needed complete mental clarity for what I was planning.
I swiveled my chair again, faster this time, letting my expanded mind process multiple trains of thought simultaneously. One part was analyzing the philosophical problem of power without recognition. Another was calculating the sociological implications of disclosure versus concealment. A third was designing systems of social control on a global scale.
The solution that emerged was elegant in its simplicity.
I didn't need to reveal that I had discovered magic. I could invent magic.
I stopped spinning and leaned forward, my super-smart eyes focusing on the monitor as my mind began to structure the most ambitious project in human history.
If I controlled the fundamental laws of reality, then I could create a system where other people had limited access to similar capabilities, but only through interfaces that I designed. Not as a scientific discovery, but as... natural evolution.
As if humanity were spontaneously developing new capabilities.
And I would be the invisible architect guiding this evolution.
"Interesting," I muttered, beginning to type on the laptop. "Very interesting."
I opened a new document and began sketching out what would essentially be a social operating system for the controlled introduction of magical capabilities into humanity:
text
PROJECT: DIRECTED EVOLUTION
OBJECTIVE: Controlled introduction of reality manipulation capabilities
METHODOLOGY: Pseudo-evolution through proprietary linguistic system
PHASE 1: MAGICAL LANGUAGE DEVELOPMENT
- Create completely new language with computational properties
- Structure syntax that sounds mystical but is technically accurate
- Implement a permission system based on language proficiency
The idea was taking shape in my mind with crystal clarity. If I created an entirely new language—not based on any existing human language—I could structure it to function as a natural interface to the reality system I controlled.
People would learn this language thinking it was just a new language. But when they spoke certain combinations of words, they would be executing real commands that I could process and implement through my system.
It was like creating a social programming interface for magic.
I started working on the basic language structure. I needed something that sounded organic, ancient, mystical - but that worked like a programming language in disguise.
"Phonetic basis," I muttered, beginning to build the system. "Consonant combinations that humans can pronounce, but with underlying mathematical structure."
I started with basic sound patterns:
Fundamental morphemes:
KAL (define/create)
ZYN (energy/force)
VORTH (modify/alter)
NEXUS (connect/link)
HALAR (increase/intensify)
Each syllable would carry specific computational information. KAL-ZYN would mean "set energy," but to those unfamiliar with the system, it would sound like mystical words with no meaning.
"Grammatical structure," I continued, developing rules that would allow the construction of complex commands. "Subject-Verb-Object with tonal modifiers to specify parameters."
For example:
"KAL ZYN VORTH" = "Set Modified Energy" (command to manipulate physical force)
"NEXUS HALAR ZYN" = "Connect intensify energy" (command to amplify power)
But the most elegant part of the system would be its scalability. I could create "levels" of language proficiency that correspond to different levels of access:
Beginner Level:Simple words for minor effects (levitation of small objects)
Intermediate Level:Complex sentences for moderate effects (healing wounds)
Advanced Level:Sophisticated grammatical constructions for dramatic effect (subject modification)
Master Level:Full vocabulary access to maximum capabilities (within limits I would define)
But I would always maintain the exclusive "god level" - words and constructions that only I would know, ensuring my absolute supremacy.
"Distribution system," he said, planning how he would introduce this language to the world. "It cannot appear simultaneously in multiple cultures. It needs an apparently historical origin."
The obvious solution was to create a fake archaeological discovery. I could materialize ancient artifacts containing texts in this language, and have them appear in excavations around the world. Linguists would be fascinated by this "lost language" with its unique properties.
And when people tried to pronounce the words during academic studies, they would find that certain combinations produced impossible effects.
"Social implementation," I continued, envisioning how the discovery would spread. "First through universities, then social media, then popular masses. Controlled organic growth."
I could plant evidence suggesting that this was a language developed by a lost ancient civilization that had discovered how to "harmonize with natural energies of the universe." Complete nonsense, but exactly the kind of mysticism that would capture the popular imagination.
And as more people learned the language, more people would discover that they could do impossible things by speaking those words.
The world would think it was witnessing spontaneous human evolution. Documentaries would explore how humanity was "rediscovering latent capabilities." Scientists would create theories about quantum fields responsive to human consciousness.
No one would suspect that it was all controlled by a single person sitting in a flat in Cambridge.
I swiveled my chair again, this time in celebration of the elegance of the plan. This was social manipulation on a planetary scale, disguised as a historic discovery, implemented through a linguistic system that would give me total control over who had access to what capabilities.
It was the democracy of magic, but with elections that only I could count on.
"Security protocols," I muttered, starting to work on the more technical aspects. "Monitoring system to identify problematic users."
Every time someone used the language, I would know. I could monitor who was learning too quickly, who was trying to reverse engineer the system, who might become a threat.
And for those individuals, I could simply... block their access. Like banning a user from a server.
Or, if necessary, implement more permanent consequences.
"Start with basic vocabulary development," he said, opening a new file to document each word, its pronunciation, and its corresponding computational function.
I spent the next few hours systematically building what would essentially be a language that functioned as a magical interface. Each word was carefully designed to sound ancient and mystical, but carry precise information that my system could interpret and execute.
Thalar(whispered with a descending tone) = "target object"
VEXIS(pronounced with emphasis on the second syllable) = "to move/lift"
ZEPHON(with slight vibrato on the 'r') = "through space"
So "VEXIS THALAR ZEPHON" would be the command to levitate a target object through space. To any observer, it would sound like a mystical incantation. To my system, it would be a clear command to activate levitation.
But the real genius was in the built-in limiters. Even if someone completely mastered the vocabulary I would publicly reveal, their commands would still pass through my system for validation.
If someone tried to use the language to do something I considered inappropriate—attack other people, cause chaos, or probe too deeply into how the system worked—their commands simply... wouldn't work.
How to have administrator access on a server where all other users have limited permissions.
"Test phase," he said, deciding to experiment with a simple word before finalizing the full system.
I stood up from my chair and pointed to the pen that was still on the table from my previous experiments.
"VEXIS THALAR ZEPHON," he said, pronouncing each syllable with the tonal precision he had defined.
The pen gently rose from the table and began to float.
Perfect. The system was working. My artificial language was successfully communicating with my reality interface.
"Now," I murmured, a smile beginning to form on my lips, "it's time to teach magic to the world."
It was time to become the secret god of a humanity that thought it was discovering its own latent powers.
It was time to rewrite the history of human civilization, with me as the invisible author of every page.
And no one would ever know that the kid with MS who smashed a keyboard in frustration had become the unseen master pulling the strings of reality itself.
I swiveled in my chair one last time, surveying my apartment—my command center for reshaping humanity.
The game was just beginning.
I sighed and wiggled my fingers, feeling the power flow through me completely naturally now.
"NEXUS THALAR," I muttered, pointing to the Tesla keys that were on the kitchen counter.
The keys flew across the apartment and landed perfectly in my outstretched palm. There was no more surprise in the movement, no more fascination with the impossible. It was simply… convenient.
I grabbed my jacket and left the apartment. I needed to test a few things, and there was one person at MIT who would be perfect for my purposes.
The drive back to campus was strange. Every traffic light, every car, every person on the street seemed… irrelevant. Like NPCs in a game where I was the only real player. My superintelligence processed traffic patterns, human behaviors, urban systems—all of it as statistical data rather than living reality.
It was disturbing how disconnected I felt from the very species I had belonged to until just a few hours ago.
I arrived at MIT and walked through the familiar hallways with a specific purpose. I had to find Dr. Katharina Zimmermann, one of the few people on campus with whom I had something that could be called a friendship.
Katharina was a computational linguist, specializing in natural language processing and the analysis of historical linguistic patterns. Most importantly, she was on the autism spectrum level 2, which made her extremely reserved and focused, but also incredibly insightful when it came to linguistic structures.
And for some reason that neither she nor I fully understood, I was one of the only people she could comfortably talk to.
I found her lab on the third floor of the Linguistics and Philosophy building. The door was ajar, as usual—she hated completely closed doors, but she also disliked casual interruptions. The position of the door signaled that she was working but available to specific people.
People like me.
I knocked lightly on the doorframe and peeked inside. Katharina was sitting in front of three monitors, her blond hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing her favorite blue sweatshirt—the same one she wore almost every day because outfit changes made her uncomfortable. Her fingers flew over the keyboard in precise rhythmic patterns.
"Kat?" he said softly. She hated being surprised.
She paused her typing without turning around. "Kai. You shouldn't be here. It's Tuesday afternoon. You always work on your neural project on Tuesday afternoons."
It was typical of her to remember my schedule better than I did. People on the spectrum often had exceptional memories for routines and details.
"I've had an... interesting discovery. I wanted your professional opinion on something."
Now she turned, her clear blue eyes studying me with the focused intensity that I had learned to recognize as genuine interest. "What kind of discovery?"
I entered the lab and closed the door behind me. Katharina didn't like conversations being overheard by other people.
"I found references to a language I can't identify. It appears to be very old, with a unique grammatical structure. I thought you might be able to help categorize it."
Her eyes lit up slightly. It was one of the few emotional expressions she openly displayed—pure intellectual fascination.
"Show."
I sat in the chair next to her desk, watching her three monitors filled with linguistic analyses of various dead languages. Katharina lived in this world of linguistic patterns and grammatical structures, where each language was a logical puzzle to be deciphered.
"I don't have the full text yet," I lied softly. "But I found some isolated words with interesting phonetic patterns."
I opened my smartphone and opened the notes app, where I began typing the words I was creating in real time:
"VEXIS - appears to be a verb related to movement or elevation"
"THALAR - possibly noun, object or target"
"ZEPHON - preposition or adverb, indicates spatial direction"
Katharina leaned forward to see the screen, her eyes scanning the words with intense focus.
"Interesting consonant structure," he muttered, picking up a pen and beginning to scribble patterns on the paper. "V-X-S, TH-L-R, Z-PH-N. Doesn't correspond to any known language family."
As she analyzed, my mind was working frantically to expand the linguistic system in real time. I needed to create a consistent pattern that felt organic but was technically functional.
"There's more," he said, adding words as he made them up:
"NEXUS - connect or link"
"HALAR - to intensify or increase"
"VORTH - to alter or modify"
"KAELEN - to invoke or call"
Katharina was now completely absorbed, covering two sheets of paper with diagrams and analyses. Her breathing pattern had changed to the regular rhythm that indicated deep focus—a mental state where she could process linguistic information at exceptional speed.
"Where did you find this?" he asked without looking up from the patterns he was mapping.
"I was analyzing neural data for my project," I improvise, "and I found some strange correlations in the language patterns of patients with certain specific neurological conditions. As if there were archaic linguistic structures preserved at subconscious levels."
It was a plausible lie. Katharina knew that my work involved analyzing neural patterns, and she had a particular interest in how language and neurology intersect.
"Interesting," she murmured. "These phonetic structures follow patterns that could indicate pre-Indo-European origins. Possibly a language isolate that developed independently."
As she spoke, I kept adding to the system:
"MYRAL - vital energy or essence"
"THYSS - time or duration"
"ORVEN - to create or manifest"
"ZELAK - to destroy or dissolve"
"Kat," I said, keeping my voice casual, "theoretically, if this were a real language with unique properties... how would you approach the research? How would you determine if it had... practical applications?"
She paused her analysis and looked at me directly for the first time since she'd arrived. It was rare for her to make direct eye contact, so I knew she was processing something important.
"Practical applications?" he repeated. "Dead languages generally have only historical and anthropological value. Unless..."
She turned back to her papers, her mind clearly racing through possibilities.
"Unless what?" I asked, though I already knew where his logical mind was going.
"Some ancient traditions suggest that certain languages possessed... ritualistic properties. I'm not talking about magic," she said quickly, as if needing to protect herself from accusations of unscientific thinking. "But measurable psychological effects. Alterations of state of consciousness through specific phonetic patterns."
Perfect. She was creating the scientific rationalization I needed.
"Do you mean like mantras or meditative chants?" I asked, feigning naive curiosity.
"Similarly, but potentially more specific. If this language developed to serve ritual or ceremonial purposes, its phonetic structures could have been optimized to produce specific neurological effects."
Katharina was now fully engaged, her academic enthusiasm overcoming her natural reserve.
"We could test this," she continued, quickly scribbling notes. "EEG analysis of subjects pronouncing these words. Measure changes in brain wave patterns. See if there are correlations between specific phonetic structures and neural activity."
This was exactly the direction I wanted her to go. If Katharina proposed scientific studies on the neurological effects of my invented language, it would create academic legitimacy for its eventual introduction to the world.
"That would be… revolutionary," I said, allowing genuine enthusiasm to color my voice. "A language that could have measurable effects on human consciousness."
"Don't get carried away," she said, but she could see the fascination in his eyes. "We need a lot more data before we can make any claims. But if these phonetic structures really do produce consistent effects..."
She didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. We both knew that the discovery of a language with verifiable neurological properties would be one of the most significant discoveries in modern linguistics.
"I can keep collecting examples," I offered. "My neural data might contain more fragments of this language."
"Yes," she said immediately. "And I can begin formal structural analysis. Phonetic mapping, identifying grammatical patterns, comparing with databases of known languages."
Katharina was now completely hooked. Her analytical mind had found a puzzle worthy of her full attention, and she could not resist pursuing every aspect of the research.
"There is one thing," he said, deciding to plant another seed. "Some of the patients in whom I found these patterns... they reported vivid dreams after sessions where these linguistic structures showed up in the neural analysis."
His eyes widened slightly. "What kind of dreams?"
"Dreams about... control. Ability to influence your environment in ways you normally couldn't. Probably just placebo effects or subconscious symbols, but..."
"But it could indicate that this language was developed specifically to induce altered states of consciousness," she concluded. "States where the perception of personal agency is amplified."
She was creating the scientific theory that would explain why people who learned my language would begin to believe they could do impossible things.
And when these impossible things actually started to happen, the theoretical framework would already be in place.
"Katharina," I said, placing my hand lightly on her shoulder—a gesture she normally detested but tolerated from me. "This needs to stay between us for now. Until we have more information."
She nodded seriously. "Of course. Preliminary research should always be confidential until proper validation."
I stood to leave, satisfied that I had planted all the necessary seeds. Katharina would now become my involuntary researcher, creating the academic foundation for introducing my magical language to the world.
"I'll send you more data when I find it," he said, stopping at the door.
"Kai," she called out to me. When I turned around, she was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "This discovery… it's important. You know that, right?"
"I know," I replied, and for the first time since my transformation, I felt something that might have been genuine emotion.
But it passed quickly.
"See you tomorrow, Kat."
"Tomorrow," she confirmed, already turning back to her monitors and papers covered in analyses of the language I had created while we spoke.
I left the lab knowing that I had just recruited the first researcher for my project to introduce magic to humanity in a controlled manner.
And she had no idea she was being used.
That was exactly how I planned to use everyone.