The Hide and Seek Protocol

As a child, I always lost at Hide and Seek. I was bigger and stronger than the other kids, but they were quicker, sharper, and constantly outsmarted me — both on the playground and in the classroom. Defeated and humiliated, a quiet bitterness took root. I promised myself I would win a different game.

Building an Empire

I realised early that academic excellence was not the only path to power. I skipped higher education and threw myself into business — first fish, then vegetables, then bottled water. Within three years I was the wealthiest man in the region. While my former classmates were still buried in textbooks and struggling with tuition, I was building an empire. By the decade’s end I was a celebrated business icon, drowning in industry awards, and acting as the primary financier of the country’s most powerful political party.

To solidify my clout, I reached out to two childhood classmates who had achieved their own fame — one a celebrated film actress, the other a renowned singer and dancer. I organised a massive multi-day mega-event with a fashion show, live music and dance. It was a staggering success. It generated profits, elevated my celebrity friends, and bought me absolute leverage within the political establishment. When the next election arrived, I leveraged that star power and financial clout to secure the presidential nomination — and won. The oversized kid who always lost at Hide and Seek was now the Commander-in-Chief.

The Infallible Advisor

Then came the dawn of Artificial Intelligence — a technological Big Bang. I embraced it completely. It drafted policy, optimised trade agreements, designed pricing models and calculated complex geopolitical strategies. I viewed AI not just as a tool but as the ultimate, infallible philosopher-king. Guided by its cold, hyper-efficient calculations, my ambition grew boundless.

Convinced by predictive models of a swift victory, I declared war on a strategically vital neighbouring nation. The algorithm promised a decisive win within ten days.

When the Lights Go Out

It has now been over a year. The war dragged on — until the enemy struck at our core infrastructure. In a series of precise strikes, they destroyed our major data centres and brought down our communication satellites. In a single flash, the artificial intelligence was wiped out. The predictive models vanished. The screens went dark. Left without my infallible digital advisor, I was stripped of the illusion of absolute control. Standing in the silent war room, I finally understood the true lesson of my childhood games:

In the ultimate game of Hide and Seek, when you rely entirely on something outside yourself to hide your weaknesses, you are left completely exposed the moment the lights go out.

When the lights go out, what is left of you that the machine was hiding?