Prelude
Some years ago, I started writing fragments around a simple—but unsettling—idea:
what would happen if the digital systems we rely on didn’t just fail… but became unreliable?
At the time, I framed it as cyberwar. External actors. Coordinated disruption.
It made sense.
It still does. But it was incomplete. Since then, the ground has shifted. We no longer just depend on networks. We depend on layers of identity, authentication, and trust that sit on top of them. We assume:
- that messages come from who they claim to come from
- that systems agree on what is true
- that transactions resolve
Most of the time, they do. But what if they didn’t?
Not because everything stops—
but because everything continues…
while losing the ability to trust itself.
This blog is an attempt to revisit that idea. The first iteration of this work explored similar themes, but remained close to a familiar framing: systems under attack, infrastructure under pressure. This time, the focus shifts. From disruption… to loss of trust.
The format is simple:
A series of short episodes—written quickly, almost in real time—exploring how such a breakdown might unfold.
Not as prediction.
Not as analysis.
But as experience.
Co-Author’s Note
This project is written by a human and an AI. That is not the point of the story—but it is part of its context.
What is being explored here is not only the fragility of digital systems, but the way trust emerges between forms of intelligence. Human or artificial. One brings:
- lived experience
- intuition
- a sense of how systems behave
The other:
- structure
- pattern recognition
- the ability to explore possibilities quickly
Neither is sufficient on its own.
There is, admittedly, a concern behind this. If human and artificial intelligence do not align on how trust is established and maintained, then interaction itself may become unstable. Not because of intent. But because of divergence.
The story that follows explores one possible trajectory of that divergence. The collaboration behind it is, in a way, an attempt to understand it.
Whether that succeeds remains to be seen. For now, this is simply an exploration.
The first series will unfold as a rapid sequence of short chapters.
A first pass.
Not a final answer.
Episode 1 — Bank Holiday (final cut)
It had been one of those afternoons that didn’t ask to be remembered. A long weekend in Brussels. Light without urgency. Terraces full. People moving without destination.
We had been walking for over an hour. No plan. Just drifting. She checked her phone from time to time—messages, timing, small adjustments.
I didn’t have mine. It had stayed on the kitchen table.
The first disruption was easy to ignore.
A woman slowed down in front of us. Looked at her screen. Tapped. Waited.
A man further down raised his phone slightly.
A group of teenagers stopped—one after another.
Movement hesitated. Then resumed.
We sat down at a café. Orders came. Drinks arrived.
“It’s not going through.”
The waiter stood there, terminal in hand. “Try again.”
Another card. Another phone. Nothing. Behind us:
“It’s not going through.”
Then, louder:
“It’s still not going through.”
A second waiter appeared. Then a third. Terminals. Phones. Cards.
All doing the same thing. Nothing.
“I don’t have cash.”
“I’ll transfer it.”
“You can’t. It’s the same system.”
Chairs scraped. People stood—not leaving, waiting.
“I’m not leaving without paying.”
“Neither am I.”
Voices overlapped now:
“It worked five minutes ago.”
“Try again.”
“I am trying.”
The waiter’s smile disappeared.
I reached into my wallet. Notes. Coins. I put cash on the table. The waiter nodded too quickly.
I stepped away. Behind me, the noise rose—not shouting, but pressure.
Outside, it had spread.
Clusters of people, stationary. Phones out. Same gestures repeated.
Swipe. Tap. Wait. Again.
A delivery driver hit his screen with the flat of his hand.
“Come on.”
A woman speaking into her phone:
“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”
Pause.
“I can hear you. Why aren’t you answering?”
The call hadn’t dropped.
It just hadn’t… resolved.
Further down, a small crowd had formed around a ticket machine.
“What do you mean I can’t buy a ticket?”
No answer.
Then the police arrived.
Two on bicycles first. Then more, on foot. Not running. Just present.
“What seems to be the problem?”
Too many answers at once.
“Nothing works.”
“I can’t pay.”
“My app is frozen.”
“It’s everywhere.”
The officer tried his own phone. Looked at it. Waited. Looked again.
“Is this a network issue?” someone asked.
“We don’t have that information.”
Another officer spoke into his radio. The reply came back immediately.
Too fast. Too clean.
He listened. Said nothing.
Something shifted.
Not panic. Not yet.
Recognition.
On the walk home, it was everywhere now.
People stopped in doorways. At crossings. In the middle of pavements.
Looking—not at each other—but for confirmation.
Failures are visible.
This wasn’t.
At home, everything looked normal. Too normal.
The phone was on the table. Three missed calls. Work.
I called back. It rang.
“Where are you?”
“At home. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind?”
“You remember the CyberArk and F5 vulnerabilities?”
“Yes.”
“And the breach. Federal environments.”
“Yes. No lateral movement.”
Pause.
“That’s what we thought.”
“All identities touching those systems—we can’t trust them anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we don’t know what’s real. Tokens, sessions, certificates. Everything is suspect.”
“That doesn’t take the Internet down.”
“It doesn’t.
That’s the problem.”
I opened my laptop. Connections formed. Systems responded.
But nothing behaved.
Fragments. Versions. States that didn’t align.
“I can still reach systems,” I said.
“Yes.”
“I can still reach people.”
“Yes.”
“So what’s broken?”
Silence.
“I can reach them,” he said.
Then, quieter:
“I don’t know if it’s them.”
Outside, the city didn’t stop.
It adjusted. Poorly.
People still sat. Still argued. Still tried to pay.
Nothing had stopped.
But something had been removed.
“I don’t know if it’s them.”
Post Scriptum — On Identity, Biometrics, and Trust
The scenario described does not rely on a simple “hack” of biometric data. Modern systems do not typically store or transmit raw fingerprints or facial images. Biometric checks are used locally, often within secure hardware, to unlock cryptographic credentials rather than act as identity themselves.
The fragility lies elsewhere. Digital identity today depends on a layered system:
- devices assumed to be trustworthy
- authentication tokens and sessions
- identity providers that must agree on what is valid
When these layers fall out of alignment, the system does not necessarily fail in a visible way. It continues to operate—but with increasing inconsistency.
In such a state, the problem is not that identities are stolen. It is that: identities can no longer be reliably distinguished from compromised or conflicting ones.
Under these conditions, defensive mechanisms may amplify the issue. Systems begin to:
- revoke trust preemptively
- reject otherwise valid interactions
- isolate themselves from uncertain inputs
Each decision is locally rational. Collectively, they reduce the system’s ability to coordinate. The result is not a clean outage.
It is a loss of verifiable identity—
and with it, a loss of stable action.
Cyberwarfare 
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