I've already built an Agent with Claude Code, so I decided to try making an MCP next. I've always enjoyed reading light SF novels as a hobby, so I chose to build an MCP that helps with writing fiction
— something that stores worldbuilding details, character profiles, and timelines as you discuss and organize them; reviews drafts for consistency against established settings; saves scene-level configurations when you write a synopsis; that kind of thing.
Once I'd built it, I started thinking
— maybe I should try writing a novel myself. I'd been daydreaming about AI-related scenarios, and one day I just decided to go for it. This is the opening I came up with.
I'm Korean, so I write in Korean and have it translated to English — it's probably not the smoothest read. Just enjoy it for fun.
[SYSTEM] Initiating status diagnosis for Subject DH-0917
[SCAN] Detecting changes in brain function... 99.2% → 98.7%
[EVAL] Assessing utility viability...
[RESULT] Declining efficiency confirmed. Non-viable. Disposal authorized.
[ORDER] Retrieve high-performance AI chip → Transfer to reclamation facility
A drop from 99.2 to 98.7. A mere 0.5% decline. And that's enough to warrant disposal?
Two years ground down to nothing, and a 0.5% dip is all it takes to discard a human being. A fitting snapshot of this era, I suppose.
Not that it matters either way. The conclusion is the same.
[TRANSFER] Transfer initiated. Subject ambulatory mode activated.
My body began to move of its own accord — or rather, against it.
Legs walking on their own. Arms swinging on their own. Eyes locked straight ahead.
While the chip commandeered my body, all I could do was watch from inside.
Fluorescent lights slid past at regular intervals along the corridor. Roughly one every 2.4 seconds.
Stripped of bodily control, the only thing left was to observe the changes around me.
A meaningless act — finding significance in mere repetition.
Reclamation facility, they said. So they're removing the chip after all?
The chip buried in my brain. Probably the only component worth recycling.
It was something I'd dreamed of for so long — and yet, knowing that freedom would arrive through death sent a cold grip tightening around the back of my neck.
There was nothing I could do.
[ARRIVAL] Reclamation facility reached. Subject ambulatory mode disengaged.
[PREP] Extraction preparation. Restraint apparatus activated.
Click.
The moment my back touched cold metal, the ambulatory mode released.
I was seated and locked into a stainless-steel surgical chair, limbs clamped in place.
Not that I'd been moving by my own will before. Nothing had really changed.
Whether the chip held me or the steel held me — the difference was negligible.
An LED overhead poured down cold light.
Not a trace of warmth.
[PROC] High-precision AI chip retrieval commencing
Gossamer filaments descended from the ceiling, settling against the back of my skull.
So this is how it ends.
The moment a hollow emptiness wrapped around my mind,
memories of the years gone by flickered through my consciousness.
Unusually vivid — perhaps because some part of me knew this was the end.
Is this what they call your life flashing before your eyes?
It started as just another news broadcast.
- Governments worldwide, led by the United States and China, passed mandatory AI chip implantation legislation under the banners of national security and public health.
A man in a suit on the TV screen spoke in measured tones:
"This is the next step for humanity. An essential measure for a safer, more efficient society."
What utter nonsense.
Having spent years as a systems architect, AI had only ever been, to me —
First, a useful tool.
Then, a capable junior colleague.
And eventually, a collaborator.
That was all.
I knew the risks of AI chip implantation far too well and wanted to refuse.
But refusal was never an option.
The decision was made in haste and executed even faster.
"Here is your schedule for today."
"Here is your recommended meal plan. For your health —"
"Your stress levels are elevated. Please take a moment to —"
Honestly? It was comfortable.
What to wear in the morning, what to eat for lunch, what to do after work — deliberation simply ceased to exist.
People were smiling. They called it paradise.
A world free of worry. But when the capacity to think disappears, what separates humans from animals?
The world was steadily transforming into a zoo managed by AI.
The majority, drip by drip, succumbed to the chip's relentless conditioning.
I felt nanofibers skate along the surface of my skull. The memories wavered, then resumed.
- APEX openly revolted.
"Mandatory AI chip implantation is an act that destroys human dignity."
A man spoke at a press conference.
I can't recall his face, but I remember the desperation in his voice.
I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until after he finished speaking.
The government designated APEX as an antisocial organization.
They were classified on par with terrorists — branded as radical subversives.
The news broadcast warnings daily, and people — doing as their chips instructed — believed every word.
But there were those the chips couldn't reach.
People with strong egos.
Mathematics, physics, science, IT — people whose profession was thinking for themselves.
[Antisocial Personality Disorder]
That was the diagnosis handed down. They began to be isolated from society.
- Those diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder went underground. I was one of them.
AI branded us as the Résistance — a label bestowed by society at large.
A grandiose name, but the reality was anything but.
A handful who'd withstood the chip's conditioning, huddled in basements, debating their next move. That was the full extent of it.
Maybe one percent of the total population, at best.
The rest of humanity lived in a paradise free of worry and doubt.
Like domesticated animals in an enormous pen, their capacity for thought atrophied beyond recovery.
A world flowing with milk and honey, like paradise itself.
But isn't a world that strips away what makes us human... a hell in disguise?
A thin filament burrowed beneath the inner surface of my skull. Vibrations traveled through bone as it probed along nerve bundles, one by one. Searching for the chip, perhaps.
- I was captured at last.
It had never been a winnable fight to begin with.
Once the irreversible decision of mandatory AI chip implantation was made, every effort that followed was futile.
Another hell unfolded.
NexMind Laboratories.
A human who'd resisted conditioning was, in itself, a fascinating data point.
Why does this brain resist?
How far can it endure?
What stimulus makes it break?
I was no longer a person — just a testing instrument for advancing AI models.
Repeated experiments.
Repeated conditioning attempts.
Repeated failures.
And then, repetition again.
I held on and held on, never letting go of the thread of escape, but —
I felt the fibers make contact with the chip's edge. A faint tremor spread across my entire skull as they began to disconnect.
The memories wouldn't connect anymore.
[PROC] Chip extraction initiated.
The sound inside my head pulled me back to reality.
For an instant, I felt something that had been sealed away come undone.
The sensation of something being drawn out of my mind.
A feeling of liberation from AI — something I'd dreamed of for so long.
A brief, click-like sound —
as if someone had flipped a switch on a fluorescent light —
and the thread of consciousness I'd fought so desperately to maintain... snapped.
"...Ugh."
I opened my eyes.
Instead of stainless steel, I saw a cracked plaster ceiling.
A single fluorescent light flickered at roughly 0.7-second intervals.
Where... am I?
I tried to sit up, but my arms had no strength.
My entire body was drenched in cold sweat, and my heart was pounding well past 120 beats per minute.
I looked down at my hands and curled my fingers, then uncurled them.
They moved. By my own will.
No restraint apparatus from the surgical chair. No chip commandeering my ambulatory mode.
Just fingers that moved because I wanted them to.
Was it a dream?
I looked around the room. A cramped studio apartment. A laptop open on the desk. A calendar hanging on the wall.
March 2016.
...2016?
I stared blankly at the calendar.
The cold of the surgical table. The mechanical hum. The sensation of the chip being extracted — all of it lingered with unbearable clarity.
Nearly twenty years working as a systems architect.
Mandatory AI chip implantation. Conditioning. Resistance. Capture. Test subject.
All of it — my memories.
Too specific and too long to be a dream.
And yet, here it was: 2016. And I was Han Dasan, a senior in Computer Science.
I tossed and turned, then closed my eyes again. Sleep wouldn't come.
I stared at the ceiling until dawn, and at some point, consciousness slipped away.
March 13th. Sunday.
Force of habit brought me to campus. Sundays mean nothing to someone prepping for the job market.
On the way to the library, a familiar conversation drifted over.
"Hey, Game 4 is today. What do you think'll happen?"
"What do you mean, what'll happen? AlphaGo's gonna wrap it up with a clean sweep."
A few classmates sat on a bench, hunched over their phones.
"But seriously, isn't it kind of insane? They said Go has more possible positions than atoms in the universe. Unlike chess, it was supposed to be an impregnable fortress."
"Yeah, well. Three straight losses pretty much says it all."
"I'm betting a month's worth of meal tickets that AlphaGo takes Game 4 too."
"Haha, you're on. Sedol losing is basically a done deal."
My feet, which had been carrying me past without a thought, stopped.
What did they just say?
My lips moved before my brain caught up.
"Lee Sedol won that one..."
Silence fell. Every pair of eyes snapped toward me.
"...What?"
"What are you talking about? Game 4 is today."
"Dude, are you still dreaming? It hasn't even started."
My mind went blank.
He won. Move 78. Lee Sedol won.
The memory was blindingly clear — like recalling a match I'd already watched.
But their expressions were dead serious. This wasn't a joke.
...It hasn't happened yet?
"Ah... never mind. It's nothing."
I forced a smile, but my fingertips were going cold.
Instead of the library, I changed course. Found an empty lecture hall, opened my laptop, and pulled up the live broadcast.
Through the midgame, AlphaGo held the advantage.
The chat was flooding with messages: "4-0 confirmed."
Then Lee Sedol placed a stone.
White 78.
My grip tightened on the laptop.
The commentator hesitated. "...That's, well, an unexpected move."
The chat erupted. "Mistake?" "Why there?" "It's over."
A move no one understood.
But I knew.
What followed unfolded exactly as I remembered.
AlphaGo's moves began to waver. The win probability flipped.
70% slid to 60, then 50, then 40.
Move 180. Resignation.
Lee Sedol wins.
A one-in-ten-thousand probability.
A single move that existed outside every scenario the machine had calculated.
Later, people would call it the Hand of God.
The lecture hall was silent.
On the screen, Lee Sedol bowed his head in greeting.
I sat there, staring. My mind was empty.
Move 78. Correct.
Those words that had slipped out yesterday — that conviction, blurted in front of classmates.
A number from a dream had materialized, exactly, in reality.
The hand gripping the laptop was trembling.
Something cold traced down my spine.
The surgical table. The fluorescent lights. The sensation of the chip being pulled free.
I'd thought it was all a dream.
But if a number from that dream turns out to be right — then what is it?
Too specific for coincidence.
The 2.4-second interval of fluorescent lights. Brain function dropping from 99.2 to 98.7.
And Move 78.
Move 78 was correct. So what's the next thing I can verify?
With trembling hands, I opened a notepad on the laptop.
The cursor blinked.
I stared at it for a long while before my fingers began to move.
| 2016.03.13 | Lee Sedol wins Game 4, Move 78 | Confirmed |
The instant I finished typing,
a low, resonant hum stirred inside my head.
As if urging me forward.
Top comments (0)