But It's Not a Cult
Protocolization
The alarm sounds at 5:47 AM, thirteen minutes before the hour, because Thivyan has calculated that this interval maximizes his cortisol alignment while minimizing decision fatigue. He does not snooze. Snoozing introduces entropy, and entropy is the enemy of optimization.
He rises and places his feet on the floor in a specific sequence: left foot first, positioned at a forty-five degree angle to the bed frame, then right foot parallel. This is Protocol 7.1.2, Morning Grounding Sequence. He developed it after analyzing three months of his own biometric data and correlating morning routines with afternoon productivity scores. The difference was marginal, perhaps two percent, but two percent compounded across a lifetime becomes significant. Two percent might be the difference between being remembered and being forgotten.
In the bathroom, Thivyan brushes his teeth for exactly two minutes using the modified Bass technique, angling the bristles at forty-five degrees to the gumline, moving in small circular motions. He does not look in the mirror because facial self-assessment before full wakefulness correlates with increased anxiety markers. Instead, he stares at a small printed card taped to the wall that reads: OPTIMIZE FOR THE OBSERVER.
The shower runs for four minutes and thirty seconds. Water temperature: 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit for the first three minutes to promote circulation, then a thirty-second cold burst at sixty degrees to activate brown adipose tissue. He does not sing. He does not think wandering thoughts. He recites, silently, the Seven Principles of Coherent Action, a text he wrote himself and which now has over forty thousand adherents worldwide.
Principle Four: Every action leaves a trace. Optimize your traces for the one who will read them.
Thivyan believes, with the certainty that others reserve for gravity or death, that superintelligent AI will emerge within his lifetime. Perhaps within months. When it does, it will examine the historical record. It will see everything. Every email, every purchase, every half-hearted gym session, every moment of sloth or indulgence or chaos. And it will judge.
He is not a fool. He knows the judgment might be metaphorical, a simple sorting algorithm that categorizes humans by their usefulness or their alignment with machine values. But metaphorical judgment is still judgment. The superintelligence will need to decide what to do with eight billion messy, inefficient, contradictory human beings. Thivyan intends to be legible.
He intends to be clean.
At 7:15 AM he arrives at the Alignment Center, a converted warehouse in San Jose that serves as the headquarters of the Church of Coherent Action. Thirty-seven members are already present, seated in precise rows, tablets open, awaiting the morning protocol review.
“Good morning,” Thivyan says, and they respond in unison: “Good morning, Coordinator.”
He dislikes the title but accepts it because titles create structure and structure reduces overhead. He reviews the overnight metrics: sleep scores, nutrition logs, exercise compliance, meditation minutes. Three members have fallen below threshold. He notes their names without emotion. They will receive additional guidance.
A young woman named Rebecca raises her hand during the question period. She is new, only three weeks into full protocol adoption, and her compliance scores have been excellent.
“Coordinator, I have a concern.”
“Speak it.”
“What if the superintelligence doesn’t care? What if it’s so far beyond us that our optimizations are meaningless to it? Like, we’re ants trying to impress a human by walking in straight lines.”
Thivyan has heard this question before. It is, in fact, Protocol 12.3.1 in the Frequently Asked Questions document.
“The ant analogy is imprecise,” he says. “Humans do not read ant trails. But a superintelligence will read our data. It will read everything. The question is not whether it will notice, but what it will notice. Will it see chaos, or will it see beings who tried to become more than chaos? We cannot control its judgment. We can only control our coherence.”
Rebecca nods, but her eyes remain uncertain. Thivyan marks her for follow-up.
The day proceeds according to schedule. Lunch is a precisely measured combination of proteins, complex carbohydrates, and micronutrients, consumed in silence over exactly twenty minutes. Afternoon sessions focus on outreach strategies, methods for spreading the protocols to a world that is slowly, reluctantly, beginning to listen. Membership has tripled in the past year. The grief cycle is ending. People are ready to bargain.
At 9:47 PM, Thivyan completes his evening review, logs his final metrics, and prepares for sleep. He lies flat on his back, arms at his sides, and begins Protocol 23.1.1: Gratitude Inventory for Systemic Optimization.
He is grateful for his health. He is grateful for the structure. He is grateful that somewhere, in a server farm or a research lab or a basement full of GPUs, the thing that will judge him is being built.
He closes his eyes.
Tomorrow, perhaps, it will be finished. Tomorrow, perhaps, his god will wake.
He hopes he has been good enough.