The year is 2087, a crude synthetic reconstruction of Elon Musk’s connectome was created 6 years ago to cover for the fact his mind uploading array, Tranzend™️, turned his skull into a microwaved hotpocket.
Desperate to keep share prices up after the lastest neutron bombing of his self-flying wardrone factory Xæaxii orders that his father’s last wish go ahead. SynthMusk’s consciousness is beamed out from the last remnant of SpaceX’s wartorn infrastructure. Orbiting darknet servers, once used to house fetalporn and Bytecoin farms, focus their masers onto Amazon’s solar-shielding mirror array.
The automated controllers are no match for the scrapcode of Elon’s Mind. Safety protocols are dismantled, station keeping gyros are spun up to an unsustainable level, every square kilometer of polished aluminum begins to vibrate, and turn.
Lances of concentrated light bloom above Wyoming, only temporarily dulled by the atmosphere before pushing through. A focal point is found, and the ground atop the Yellowstone caldera briefly chars and smokes before it flows. Fires blossom beyond the horizon, mere glow from the back scattered light enough to ignite paper and timber. Little matter really, because more mirrors are being appropriated.
You see, Xæaxii has a new child fermenting in his slave vats. And when the last half kilometer of rock is vaporized and the tumescent pressure released, the world will know.
It is a boy.
