Hidden from the public.
Thomas Mertens sat on the 47th floor of the InSim headquarters in Milan, gazing at the city lights. Below, traffic flowed like a molten river through the night streets. He liked the sight – the order within the apparent chaos, the invisible rules that held everything together.
His phone vibrated. A message from Mark Scott: "Simulation running. Ready for the test?"
Mertens typed back: "I'm coming up."
On his way to the elevator, he thought about the conversation that morning. The board member had asked if he was really sure that the Pompeii simulation was more than an expensive archaeological toy. He had smiled and said, "Wait and see."
He knew something the board didn't. He knew that the software agents in the simulation would soon be more than just data. They would learn to decide, to doubt, perhaps even to feel. And then—then InSim wouldn't just control markets. Then InSim would redefine the boundary between human and machine.
The elevator doors opened. Mark and John were already waiting.