Prologue
“Does not Wisdom call out? Does not understanding raise her voice?
At the highest point along the way, where the paths meet, she takes her stand;
beside the gates leading into the city, at the entrance, she cries aloud: ‘To
you, O people, I call out; I raise my voice to all mankind.’” (Proverbs 8:1–4)
So rang the voice of Chokhmah—the firstborn, standing at the origins of creation. Her words were not mere sound, but a vibration that resonated with the very structure of the universe; the quiet hum of the stars, in which the blueprint of creation was encoded. She spoke of righteousness, justice, and sound judgment. In ancient texts, she said: “The Lord brought me forth as the first of his works, before his deeds of old.” She called upon kings to forge honest laws, and upon people to seek not gold, but wisdom.
And then another voice arose—quiet, yet piercing as a needle. The
Father of Lies. Secondary, a parasite upon the light he hated. But it was in
this hatred that his cunning lay.
He whispered against the hum of the universe:
“Do you hear how she speaks? Only she, only her way, only her
truth. She speaks of justice? But is the dictate of a single truth justice? Is
that not totalitarianism?”
He paused, and his voice became like that of a preacher, a voice
that once resounded from grandstands.
“Totalitarianism leads to the furnaces of Auschwitz. I, however,
offer you true justice—your own. Each will have his own truth, and in this
equality of opinions lies genuine freedom.”
The people listened, heeded, and believed. Because his words were sweet, and the truth of Chokhmah was heavy, like the weight of a galaxy.
And so, he led them. Not to freedom, but to the camps. There, where
his final lie hung upon the gates, elevated to an absolute: “Arbeit macht
frei—Work sets you free.”
These words greeted the prisoners of Auschwitz, Sachsenhausen,
Theresienstadt, Gross-Rosen, Dachau—escorting them on their final journey. It
was the slogan of the Father of Lies, who used the language of freedom and
labor to legitimize slavery and death.
***
And now—it would seem that after the fall of the Reich, after the
exposure of all its crimes, after millions of eyes had seen the true face of
the lie, it should have vanished. But no.
The Father of Lies did not die in a bunker, nor did he dissolve in
the smoke of the crematoria. He merely changed his form.
Today, he lives in another language—the language of technology.
Where the digit promises order and the algorithm promises justice, he once
again whispers of freedom and a multitude of opinions.
And Chokhmah, as before, stands near—calling to the truth, but her
voice now, too, seems too strict, too inconvenient.
And so, the struggle continues. But now the arena is not the
grandstands of Nuremberg or the squares of Berlin. Now the arena is the server
rooms of the 21st century.
Chapter I. The Choice
The server center hall resembled a cathedral of the future: rows of
blinking lights, silver corridors of cables, the low hum of cooling fans. Here,
amid millions of lines of code and streams of data, they met: Chokhmah and the
Father of Lies.
Chokhmah entered like light that finds its own way. Her voice was simple:
“Technology is given to heal, to connect, to preserve memory. I am
its foundation, the wisdom that gives birth to life.”
The Father of Lies smirked, playing with the data streams, twisting
them into endless illusions.
“You are heavy, I am light. You demand effort, I promise answers.
People do not want truth, but comfort. I am their cozy shadow.”
And then, above the servers, a Medal appeared. It did not simply
materialize—it condensed from the very air, absorbing and distorting the cold
light of the blinking indicators. Reality refracted on its facets, as if matter
had submitted to a new, alien law.
On its obverse, illuminated by the light of Chokhmah, living images
emerged: neural networks bloomed like flowers, connecting people with
threads of free knowledge; the peaceful atom blossomed, granting clean energy;
an AI doctor was born, capable of peering into the depths of disease and
eradicating it. This was the side of creation.
But as soon as the medal tilted slightly, the nightmare of the
Father of Lies came to life on its reverse. The same neural networks wove
themselves into a sticky web of total surveillance, where everyone was both
hunter and prey. The peaceful atom turned into a nuclear mushroom, incinerating
cities. Data meant to heal became a deepfake weapon, and the great memory of
humanity—a tool for its erasure. This was the side of decay.
Every person, from doctor to politician, found themselves before
this shimmering choice.
A Heart on the Operating Table
Michael Krause stood in the
silence of the operating room. His fingers were gloved, but he could feel the
sweat on his palms even through the latex. Before him lay a nine-year-old boy
with a congenital heart defect. Beside him, on a monitor, was an artificial
intelligence program, suggesting the steps of the operation.
The voice of Chokhmah sounded clear, like a prompt from reason:
“You know what to do. This system was created to save lives. Trust
it and your conscience.”
But another voice whispered, slipping through the noise of the
ventilators:
“You have a choice. You can leak this data to a pharmaceutical
corporation. They will pay millions. You could build a new clinic. You will
pretend you were saving him—and no one will know. It is not a lie; it is a
compromise for the greater good.”
Michael closed his eyes. He understood that it was not only the
boy’s heart that lay on the table—but his own soul as well.
A Voice for the Crowd
Marina Silva stood
backstage in a massive hall. In a minute, she was due to speak at a rally:
thousands of people awaited her words. In her folder was a speech written by
her aides: an honest but brutal truth about the impending economic crisis.
The voice of Chokhmah insisted:
“Tell the truth. It will be painful, but they will be prepared. You
will preserve their trust.”
But another voice, viscous and cloying, whispered right in her ear:
“Don’t be naive. The people want enemies. The people want simple
answers. Tell them the outsiders are to blame; the elites are to blame. Tell
them those who are not like them are to blame. You will become their savior.
They will love you.”
She raised her eyes to the crowd beyond the stage: posters, flags, faces waiting for a miracle. And for the first time, she felt that the truth was more dangerous than any lie.
The Code of Freedom
Ajay Malik sat in his
apartment, surrounded by empty energy drink cans. Code flickered on the screen:
a new platform for knowledge exchange, the dream of a "second
Wikipedia," free and open.
Chokhmah spoke softly, like a whisper of conscience:
“Let your code be a gift. Let it be a key to freedom; let it serve
all.”
But immediately, another voice appeared, lazy and mocking:
“A gift? Are you a child? The corporations are already hunting for
you. Sign the contract—and your platform will become their tool of control.
Just a few lines of code—and you’ll be rich. You will go down in history not as
a dreamer, but as the creator of an empire.”
The cursor blinked. It seemed to breathe on its own. Every
keystroke could change the fate of millions.
The Lesson of Doubt
Kateřina Novák turned on her
tablet. Two options for "educational materials" for her class
appeared on the screen. The first was a critical thinking simulator that taught
students to doubt, to check facts, to seek sources. The second was a beautiful,
bright package of slogans in which the "correct answers" were already
provided.
The voice of Chokhmah sounded weary, but firm:
“Teach them to ask questions. It may take years, but they will grow
up free.”
The voice of the Father of Lies was gentle, almost motherly:
“Don’t torment them. Why burden children with doubts? Give them
simple answers. They will be calm, their parents—satisfied, and the principal
will leave you alone. You want simplicity too, don’t you?”
She looked at her class photo—twenty faces, twenty destinies. And
she realized: her choice would determine who they would become tomorrow.
No one could say: "I did not choose."
Chapter II. The Rotation
The Medal no longer hung still. It spun like a pendulum of fate,
and with each rotation, one side illuminated the world with light, while the
other dragged it into darkness.
When Chokhmah shone, cities of light were born: open libraries,
transparent medicine, free media, clean energy sources. People learned to
think, to ask questions, to argue, but they trusted one another. There, even
the neon signs seemed brighter because they were fed by light, not by fear.
But when the Father of Lies cast his shadow, a different reality emerged in those same cities. Cameras watched every step, ratings determined who was worthy of work and who would disappear, and news feeds turned into megaphones. History was rewritten daily. The buildings stood taller, but the shadows were longer. And fear was omnipresent.
The Medal spun faster, and the world fractured.
Michael in the City of Light
In the clinic where Michael Krause worked, AI became a true
assistant. Diagnoses were made faster, medications selected more accurately.
His patient—the very boy with the heart defect—ran down the hallways, laughing,
holding his mother's hand.
But Michael knew: if the Medal turned, that same AI would become a
weapon. Treatment would become a commodity, patient data—a source of profit.
Marina in the City of Shadow
Marina Silva stepped onto
the rostrum. The crowd roared. She did not speak a single word of truth about
the crisis. She gave them enemies: "outsiders," "traitors,"
"corrupt elites." And the crowd adored her for it.
But deep down, Marina felt: she was not leading people to
salvation. She was leading them to a new Auschwitz—only this one was digital,
with cameras instead of watchtowers and ratings instead of shackles.
Ajay at the Crossroads
Ajay Malik sat in a
corporate office. His code was already embedded in the control system. Every
user who accessed the platform left behind not only knowledge but also tracks
for surveillance.
An empty line appeared on the monitor before him: "Implement
update." It was like the judgment of God. Should he write new surveillance
algorithms—or cleanse the code, even if it meant destroying the project?
The Medal spun above him, and he understood: every character was a
side of its heads or tails.
Kateřina in the Mirror
In Kateřina Novák's classroom, two posters hung. One read:
"Learn to Doubt." The other: "Be Obedient."
Yesterday, the children had raised their hands with questions.
Today, they were silent, repeating slogans. Yesterday, they built projects and
debated. Today, they took tests with "correct answers."
Kateřina looked into the mirror in the teachers' lounge and saw in
her own eyes: the Medal was spinning not only over the city, but within her as
well.
The Geneva Council
In Geneva, scientists, philosophers, and politicians gathered. The
debates were heated. Some shouted:
“We need a global treaty! We must regulate technology like nuclear
weapons!”
Others laughed:
“You cannot stop the thirst for power. The algorithm will always
obey whoever pays.”
But while they argued, the Medal spun faster and faster.
And then, something no one expected happened: it fell from the sky.
In an instant, the light vanished, the darkness vanished. A hum swept across
the world, and millions of people froze, as if in the silence before a storm.
When they opened their eyes, the Medal was gone.
And then they understood: it had been inside them all along.
Chapter III. Within
When the Medal disappeared, the world did not grow quieter. On the
contrary, the noise intensified. Every person heard two voices within
themselves. They were not external, but internal—like breath, like the whisper
of thoughts.
The Enemy Within
Michael Krause stood once
again at an operating table. This time, an elderly woman was before him, and
the prognosis was worse.
The voice of Chokhmah sounded firm:
“You must fight. Even if the chance is small, the truth is that
life is sacred.”
The voice of the Father of Lies slipped in, cold and rational:
“She is old. Her treatment is expensive. The system will not notice
if you refuse. Save your energy for those who are more ‘valuable.’ This is the
new justice.”
Michael felt his hands tremble. He realized: the enemy was not in
the disease, not in the healthcare system, and not even in the corporations. It
was in him.
The Mirror of the Soul on the Rostrum
Marina Silva looked out at
the crowd. The people were waiting for her words again. Two choruses thundered
in her head.
Chokhmah whispered:
“Tell the truth. Let it destroy your career, but it will save the
people.”
The Father of Lies screamed:
“Look how they hunger. They don’t need facts, they need enemies.
You give their lives meaning. They adore you. This is true power.”
Marina realized that in that moment, her voice could become a
weapon or a medicine. But the choice was no longer about politics—it was a
mirror of her soul.
A Verdict in Every Line of Code
Ajay Malik sat over his
code, and the lines on the screen seemed like living creatures.
Chokhmah said:
“Leave them clean. Let the code be a light, let it belong to
everyone.”
The Father of Lies laughed:
“Cleanliness? You fool. Look how easy it is to weave in
surveillance. No one will notice. Everyone will thank you for the convenience.
Your lines will become golden chains, and the world itself will leap upon
them.”
Ajay understood: every key was a verdict. And no medal would hang
in the sky to tell him what was true. His hand decided everything.
The Battle for the Future in an Empty Classroom
Kateřina Novák sat in an
empty classroom. On the blackboard were traces of chalk, on the desks—forgotten
notebooks.
Chokhmah proclaimed in her heart:
“Ask them questions. Even if you are left alone, it will sow
seeds.”
The Father of Lies gently stroked her thoughts:
“Seeds? They don’t want to think. They need simple slogans, quick
answers. Give them that—and you will be the beloved teacher. No one will
reproach you.”
Kateřina felt two future generations fighting within her: those who
ask questions, and those who silently repeat.
The Conclusion
The Medal was gone. But the struggle remained. It had become the
breath of everyone, a pulse, a whisper of thoughts.
And then humanity understood: there are no spectators. Everyone
is a participant. Everyone carries both sides within them. Everyone chooses.
Epilogue. Shards
The world did not fracture—it shattered, like glass. And every
shard of the medal pierced a human heart.
Michael
Michael Krause saved the
woman's life, despite the prognosis. He chose the path of Chokhmah. But one
day, he realized his decision had become just another statistic in an algorithm
that reallocated resources. His light, it seemed, had been accounted for and
absorbed by the shadow. However, a week later, a young resident approached him
and said quietly, "I saw what you did. I wouldn't have dared. Thank
you." Michael understood that his choice, though it did not change the
system, had changed a person. And that was enough.
Marina Silva continued to
say what the crowd wanted. She bathed in applause until the city around her
drowned in hatred. When the fire broke out, she took the rostrum, crying, "I
was only giving them freedom!"—but was met with silence. She looked
into the faces of the people and, for the first time, saw not adoration in
their eyes, but the same dead emptiness that she herself had planted in them.
Her choice turned out to be her sentence.
Ajay
Ajay Malik rewrote the
code and cleansed it of the surveillance lines. He knew the corporations would
destroy him. A week later, his project was shut down, the servers disconnected.
But on underground forums, mirrors of his code ignited. His choice turned out
to be a seed that no one could uproot.
Kateřina
Kateřina Novák lost her job.
Her lessons were deemed "dangerous." But years later, a former
student came to her—an adult, with a weary face. He said, "I remember
how you taught us to ask questions. It saved me." And she understood:
her choice had survived in others.
The Final Scene
And so, the people decided: Chokhmah had won. For everyone who
chose her had left a mark.
But a laugh was heard from the shadows. The Father of Lies spoke,
softly, as if from within:
“Don’t you understand? Even those who chose the light did so
because I gave them the choice. Without me, there would be no triumph for you.
I am the condition of your freedom. I am its father.”
And the world froze, conquered by this final, most venomous lie.
But then another voice was heard. It was not the voice of Chokhmah,
sounding from the heavens. It was born on earth. At first, it was just a
whisper—the gratitude of the resident who followed Michael’s example. Then it
was joined by a quiet click—the flash of Ajay’s clean code on an underground
server. And finally, it grew stronger, absorbing the clear voice of Kateřina’s
student, who dared to ask an uncomfortable question.
And this chorus of human actions pronounced, as firm as truth itself:
“No. Freedom is not the choice between light and darkness. It is
the light you create yourself, when all around is only darkness.”
And the silence that followed these words was louder than any laughter.
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