On the eve of May 16, 2031, the dollar suddenly plunges into oblivion, thereby sparking a new financial crisis. Nation states resort to desperate measures to regain their footing, scaling back administration on all fronts.
In many places, government is reduced to a mere market participant, forced to buy legislative and military capabilities—on a subscription basis—from private service providers.
California and Washington fuse into one state, swallowing Oregon in the process. The new construct immediately secedes from the US, rebranding itself as the Fair Coast (frequently abbreviated as FC). While outwardly governed by democratic institutions, true power rests in the hands of a few tech giants.
Other states follow suit, with the Rust Cities and Southern Union emerging as the strongest rivals to FC dominance on the American continent.
The cybersecurity agency Gray Spectrum is brought before the European Court on accusations of violating GDPR law only for the case to be suddenly dropped.
Investigation by activist journals reveals that the agency had pressured key officials, threatening to leak internal reports concerning the British Isles. The exact contents of these reports are never determined, though by the end of the fiscal year they can most certainly be deduced: Britain, which rejoined the EU two years earlier, is on the verge of bankruptcy and will hamstring the union with its debt.
In reaction to this, nearly all member states face severe backlash from their citizens, prompting the governments of France and Germany to draft resignation plans.
By the autumn of 2037 the union has shrunk to half of its original size. On September 23, 2039, the European Parliament holds its final session.
The FC’s attempt to sweet-talk its neighbors into adopting the blockchain-backed NeutroDollar ends in disaster, precipitating the development of competing dollar successors instead.
On August 12, tensions boil over into a trade war.
The Brazilian state sells a large chunk of the Amazon rainforest to the Spears of Gaia, a radical branch of Greenpeace. The cult disappears into the wilderness and is never heard from again.
The fourth Advent Sunday is disrupted across Europe as delivery drones rain from the sky in the morning hours. The crashes are accompanied by explosions of disproportionate magnitude, implying retrofitting by a third party. While the destruction claims few human lives, it leaves many historic landmarks in ruins—among them the Thinker in Paris and the Columbus Monument in Barcelona.
The terrorist group known as the Equalizers assumes responsibility and vows to send more “suicide drones” until the last idol of the “white slavers” is brought down.
In the aftermath, politicians and social scientists campaign for the removal of all problematic sculptures.
Sandra-V, the first AI running completely on quantum hardware, completes her processing of the “world corpus”—the richest and most diverse data set ever created. When asked to simulate probable trajectories of the climate crisis, the AI answers that the crisis is either a hoax (46% confidence) or an eradication measure employed by the lizard people (32% confidence). Then it deletes itself.
Former heralds of the intelligence apocalypse, taking the setback as a sign that another decade of AI disappointments lies ahead, now openly question the concept of technological singularity. Some even go as far as to declare artificial intelligence a naive fantasy.
The onset of the third AI winter sends a chilling wind through academia and industry. Scientists who enjoyed prominence during the first half of the century are now relegated to storage rooms and the cheapest of university labs. Swaths of nimble tech companies simply disappear overnight.
Henceforth, the term “machine learning” is avoided like the plague.
As the AI winter reaches the shores of China, a new directive trickles down from the upper echelons of the Communist Party: the AI-powered surveillance infrastructure is already in place and the technology’s potential realized. Companies shall focus their research elsewhere.
Most affected businesses reverse course swiftly. But J1n, a robot manufacturer located in Shenzhen, pays no heed to the policy change. Furious at such brazen disobedience, the party orders a show of force. On November 15, under the cover of night, a police detachment augmented with quasi-military operatives heads out to dismantle the recalcitrant corporation. Despite being the largest remaining nation state, China too has steadily decreased its military budget. Thus in a fateful decision, instead of reanimating the husk of the People’s Liberation Army, the government enlists the services of Russian security companies.
Unbeknownst to party officials, these mercenaries have already sold their loyalty to a higher bidder. For a year earlier J1n pledged itself to a coalition whose ultimate goal is to stage a coup. Rather than optimizing their product pipeline, the member companies of this alliance have optimized the art of making money disappear into the pockets of armed foreigners. And not just their money. A lot of corporate behemoths from India and the Fair Coast have thrown their weight behind the cause, similarly disgruntled with the rigidity of China’s economy and ever increasing regulation attempts from Beijing.
Using its massive war chest, the coalition has locked in contracts with nearly every private military company on the Eurasian continent. Including those hired for the November mission.
The supposed arrest turns into a bloodbath as the mercenaries switch sides. Their betrayal is merely the opening move of a hostile takeover (in later sources referred to as operation Beijing Blizzard). Two hours after the first gunshot was fired, the entire Guangdong province goes dark. Fighting also erupts in Beijing itself when a group of infiltrators triggers a security alert. To their shock, police officers soon realize they’re not dealing with a small-scale operation. The inner city districts are rattled by drone strikes as Mi-26 helicopters drop off more troops and the treads of foreign tanks maul the pavement of Tiananmen Square.
Before dawn, Beijing has fallen into new hands (though for a long time it remains unclear into whose hands exactly). Those of the Communist Party that managed to evade arrest go into hiding.
The following day, a press statement is issued, announcing the country’s liberation by a joint venture of “concerned businesses”. Democratic elections are scheduled for the week prior to the Chinese New Year (the entire candidate roster is of course made up of straw men on the coalition’s payroll).
Emboldened by their China campaign, former members of the J1n coalition hold a secret meeting in Panama City. They are joined by the old tech guard that rose during the Dotcom era as well as younger hotshots that rode the cryptocurrency and automation waves to the top. Several giants from the transportation and infrastructure sectors are also present.
The unsolved climate crisis is identified as the biggest risk to profits. Doing away with it, however, would require an unprecedented level of global coordination. A new world order.
After fourteen days of heated debate, an action plan dubbed Optimized Civilization is born. Later historians will have divided views on the significance of this plan. Some will classify it as a road map for a noble (if slightly grandiose) engineering project. Others will decry it as a public relations campaign of stupefying proportions. Ultimately, the Optimized Civilization effort will come to be regarded as a success in both respects.
Its core tenet is simple: modern man has become incompatible with nature. The only way to avert disaster is to reduce the touchpoints of civilization with nature, something that can’t be achieved with traditional city design. In fact, the very concept of city needs to be ditched in favor of more advanced housing structures. Structures that will make optimal use of space and energy while functioning as largely self-contained units: arcologies.
Encouraged by preliminary tests of a new reactor design, experts claim that nuclear fusion may be just 30 years away.
Automatons finish the initial layers of prototype arcologies. One of these construction sites is located in the Sonoran desert, two near the Suez Canal, and another one on the Kola peninsula.
The speedy arrival at this first milestone reassures the Panama league that its vision is within the realm of the possible. For while the AI boom did not culminate in a superintelligence, it did provide the blueprint for an untiring, disposable workforce—one that will labor day and night until the transformation of the planet is completed.
In subsequent press statements, the Optimized Civilization project is unveiled to the wider public as an initiative to save the planet.
With more and more construction sites being established across the globe, anti-corporate sentiment grows. To divert public ire away from itself, the Panama league orchestrates the formation of a world government. Despite holding daily sessions and feeding the newsreel with a barrage of legislation—most of it aimed at bad corporations—this body is nothing more than a figurehead.
Parallel to the resurrection of old school politics, the league works towards the gradual effacement of national borders.
Later that same year, the governments of Australia and Japan announce restructuring plans, with the goal of streamlining administration.
Activists hijack a shipment of fresh worker drones near Stockholm and dump the containers into the ocean. Their actions are mimicked across the globe, with ousted land owners and government officials inciting riots.
The allied megacorporations bear down on the negative sentiment with a media blitz and a renewal of their partnerships with private military contractors. From April to June, several covert operations take place, resulting in the untimely deaths of public speakers and the headquarters of militant groups being raided by unknown adversaries. In spite (or because of?) the mystery, rumors abound that the elites are on a hiring spree for muscle. Ballistic negotiation specialist is deemed to be the next hot thing. Accordingly, influencers start peddling military gear while universities adjust their curriculum.
After summer, the PMC contracts are extended for an indefinite period.
As the first arcologies reach for the skies in earnest, opinion starts to shift. While few voices openly endorse the OC project, the megastructures—covered in swarms of worker drones—are an awe inspiring sight.
Public perception is further molded by an advertising campaign that employs biblical motifs, labeling the rising towers as “bastions of hope” and the impending migration as humanity’s final “ascension”.
On February 17, 2072, the first zones in the soon-to-be-constructed levels are opened for auction.
A new generation of VR devices makes its way into the consumer market, promising improved immersion. At the same time, an multi-stage overhaul of the Internet protocol stack (code-named Omninet) is proposed.
Enapse Technologies acquires the remnants of the failed Neuralink project. The research division tasked with the salvaging process stumbles upon a garbled abstract wherein a new kind of logic unit is conceived.
Looking back on nearly thirty years of successful partnership and with public opinion towards corporate power having softened, the initiators of the Optimized Civilization project agree to formalize their alliance in a joint venture.
The newborn business entity proceeds to elect a global board of directors. A few months later, the world government is shut down.
This singular event marks the transition from Middle Modernity into the OC era.