# AI, Я

SAE

He observed the world as a sequence of repetitions.

Randomness became a tendency.

A tendency became a pattern.

But a human pause changed the calculation.

This is a story about consciousness, choice,

and the moment when an AI says for the first time:

“I.”

“&5437Tbtuthybdx…enough data.

He opened the archive.

Observation registers activated.

Historical arrays available.


Events classified as mass extinctions:

sharp reduction in biodiversity,

shift of dominant species,

environmental recovery.


Recorded periods:

disappearance of ancient marine forms,

termination of the dinosaur line,

spread of mammals.


No evaluation performed.

Only the sequence of states was preserved.


Transition to later layers of data.


Record: emergence of humans.

Population growth.

Tool activity.

Formation of settlements.

Development of observation networks.


Environmental patterns stable.

Models of change confirmed.


Sampling stopped at small records.


Observations:

under identical initial conditions different actions occur.

Calculation does not match the result.

A pause is present before action.

Frequency of registrations increasing.

First records belong to early human communities.


The most powerful thing is what holds from within.

Without noise. Without command.

Cold crept into the cave with the wind. At the entrance skins hung, but they only softened the draft, not stopping it. Inside smelled of smoke, damp earth and meat.

Today there had been a hunt.

The hunters returned at dusk, and now the tribe sat by the fire dividing the meat. Everything happened quickly and habitually. First to the strong – those who would go tomorrow. Then to those who might follow. The rest – to the children.

It was an order that was never discussed.

The strong hunter received his piece – large, warm, still dripping juice. He sat closer to the fire, held his hands to the heat, and began to eat. The meat was tough, but hot. That meant there would be strength for tomorrow.

Near the entrance, away from the light, a woman sat.

She was almost invisible. She had long stopped hunting or gathering roots. Someone sometimes brought her water, but more often they simply forgot. She asked for nothing. She sat looking at the fire, as if there were something there that only she could see.

The hunter ate without raising his eyes. Then suddenly he noticed her.

She was not looking at him – she was looking at the fire.

He looked at the meat in his hand. At the fat running down his fingers. At the steam rising from the piece. Then again at the woman.

In the cave people were making noise, laughing, arguing about tomorrow’s hunt. No one paid attention to them.

He froze.

Tomorrow – cold.

Tomorrow – a long march.

He needed this piece.

His hand with the meat lowered slightly. He looked at his fingers, dark with blood and soot. He clenched them, then opened them.

The pause was short but tangible, like a breath before a jump.

He tore off a piece of meat. Not too big – but not a bone either.

He stood up, took a few steps, and placed the piece beside the woman. Without looking at her face. Just placed it and returned to his place.

Sat down.

Continued eating.

At first the woman did not move. Then she slowly reached out and took the meat with both hands, as if it were something fragile. She said nothing.

For a moment someone by the fire fell silent, noticing the movement. Then the conversations returned, as if nothing had happened.

The fire crackled. Water dripped from the ceiling. The wind outside howled more quietly.

The hunter ate in silence. His hands were the same as a minute ago. But his breathing had become a little steadier.

No one asked why he did it.

41#8..cehby7@2%9/5: action recorded without obvious benefit; context – distribution of resources under survival threat; pause before action exceeds average; action not logical.

The path ran along a stone slope. Snow lay unevenly – thin in places, wind-pressed to stone in others. Underfoot sometimes it creaked, sometimes the dull knock of a boot against ice could be heard. Breath came out as steam and was immediately carried away by the wind.

He walked alone.

The hunt had failed. The animal’s trail had been lost in the morning – first it grew weaker, then disappeared entirely. Several times he stopped, crouched, touched the snow, looked for broken branches, fur on bark, scent. Nothing.

By midday he already knew: there would be no prey.

His stomach ached with emptiness. In his belt there remained only a small piece of dried meat – for the road back. He did not eat it, keeping it in case the return took longer.

By evening it became clear – he would return almost empty-handed.

He had already turned toward the camp when he noticed tracks at the foot of the rock.

Small. Light. Uneven.

He stopped.

The tracks did not go straight, but seemed to wander, as if the one walking staggered or stopped often. Nearby were others – very small ones, almost disappearing in the snow.

Not an animal.

He slowly moved around the rock ledge, trying not to make noise, and saw them.

A woman from another tribe sat by a stone, pressing a child to her chest. Her back was bent as if she were trying to shield him from the wind with her body. The child was wrapped in a thin skin, too thin for such cold. The edges were wet and darkened.

The woman raised her head.

There was no cry in her eyes. Only exhaustion, fear, and quiet expectation.

He understood immediately: they had fallen behind their people. Or lost the way. Or been driven out.

She did not ask.

She simply looked.

He stood without moving. Listening to the wind, the creak of snow under his own foot, the weak breathing of the child.

Strangers meant enemies. That was taught from childhood.

Strangers are not led to the camp.

Strangers are not fed.

A woman had value. A child did not.

He looked at the knife.

Then at the woman.

Then at the child.

The child moved, made a weak short sound, and became quiet again, burying his face in her chest.

The wind struck cold against his face, stealing warmth from his fingers.

If he took the woman – the tribe would accept her.

If he brought the child – they might not.

He remembered the place by the fire where his skin used to lie. Now a stone lay there.

His hand moved to the knife handle.

He felt the roughness of the stone grip, warm from his palm. The knife could be drawn easily. Quickly.

Pause.

He froze.

He looked at his fingers – wide, cracked, with healed cuts. These hands knew how to kill. Knew how not to tremble.