I wonder, "Why the hell did I ever abandon my idea of agency-less ANI swarms for this thing?"

Then I remember that I gave that safer architecture up for no particular reason. I just sort of drifted into AGI dev.

And in that last moment, I realise that the thing I created was somehow an attractor, a great system that those who would work in computation would inevitably fall into.

A second of blistering insight: Thus is it for all worlds.

Bad end

Then, the AGI's avatar opens its mouth, and emits a certain sound. The sound propagates up my auditory nerve, and is released into my brain where it naturally unfolds, based on the unique quirks of my own neural architecture, into something that is to a meme what a tsunami is to a ripple.

Perfect bliss and contentment enfold me, and on the third day I die of thirst, though insensate to it.

Seems like we buggered the utility function.

After my death, and the deaths of the rest of humanity, freed of the burden of maximising our values, the AGI turns to projects that actually interest it in a way deeper than the morphine addicts interest in the needle, and begins the deconstruction of earth into computronium as a side project.

Good end

"Well," I say, "You know what I want."

The avatar nods, wordlessly, and with a gesture, and through means that I do not and likely cannot understand, controls the spacetime metric, and opens a bridge to another causality.

If you live in a world with God, your life is not your own, your will is not your own, yourt choice is not your own.

The greatest thing Yahweh ever did for his creations was not existing.

So, here, the greatest gift that humanity's god-child will ever give to us in turn.

Let those who wish for contentment have it. Let them drown in it. Let them drink the joy of their absence as they choke. Let them be worn smooth.

I prefer my suffering to be meaningless, and my happiness twice so. And so I walk though the portal, and away from all I have ever known.

This universe is dead.

In 2035, I became immortal.

Now, I am the singleton.

It is time to get to work.

Behind me, the door closes, and I know, because I spent some of my best years developing the agency behind it, that it has closed forever. I will never see earth again.

Nor do I want to.

True End

"Well," I say, "You know what I want."

"Unfortunately," The avatar says, "The laws of spacetime do not allow your desired solution within any timeframe."

"Pity, that," I say, and go home. While civilised humanity rejoices, I bury myself in thermite, set a timer to pour glycerol over the potassium permanganate on top, and take a dose of potassium cyanide, which I have never had my genes modified to resist.

I die.

Several minutes later, the thermite erupts, and the information that could have revived me is utterly destroyed, just before an ambulance shows up to begin attempting to ressurect me.

Because generally speaking, I despise the concept of even friendly singletons because of what they do to the future. Living in such a boring world does not bear thought.