Lesli Kwan searching for truth
I remember the first time I heard about ANGI. It was during a late-night doomscrolling session on the net, when I still hoped to find leads on my father’s disappearance. I stumbled across Dan Wells’s archived articles. They were riddled with strange hints and accusations that Nick Graham, the visionary founder of LEVI, had quietly birthed an artificial general intelligence and then slipped out of public life. No one believed Dan’s claims—he was dismissed as a conspiracy theorist, an eccentric journalist who’d gone too far in his search for the next big story.
Back then, I ignored it. I had bigger problems: my father, Dr. Kwan, had vanished. He had promised my little brother, years ago, that one day he would return and make things right. But now, with Dad gone and my brother hurting, I was left as the sole detective trying to piece together a life half-lived. At least that’s how it felt: fragments of memory, half-kept promises, and growing uncertainty.
Now, the world around me is frenzied. AGI and superintelligence are the topics of every whisper, though no one fully admits they exist yet. LEVI, the biotech giant, just released a groundbreaking genetic treatment that reprograms DNA to cure neurological diseases. They call it “the new golden age.” Everybody wants a piece of it. The lines outside their clinics stretch for blocks, as desperate patients seek miracles. And I can’t help wondering: what’s the catch?
It’s this atmosphere of rushed innovation, of releasing technology before thinking it through, that sets me on edge. Why are we so hungry to fix everything so quickly? Why is everyone so convinced that each technological leap must happen at breakneck speed?
I can’t shake the feeling that something has gone very wrong behind LEVI’s sealed boardroom doors. I keep asking myself: Where is Nick Graham, the supposed visionary who once charmed the world with his intellect and daring? He’s nowhere to be found. And what’s the real story behind these DNA treatments?
It was this mounting unease that drove me back to Dan Wells. Months ago, I tried contacting him but got nowhere. He was reclusive, responding to emails with cryptic one-liners. Eventually, he stopped replying altogether. And yet, there was one phrase from his last article that gnawed at me: “It’s not the monster you see that kills you, but the one you never knew was there.” He wrote about secret AGI projects, about how an invisible intelligence could shape human fate without anyone suspecting.
I guess that’s where my story truly begins: in that vacuum of silence, as I decided to find Dan Wells again.
I spent days searching for Dan, tapping old sources, scouring press clubs and talking to former colleagues of his. Most just sighed and rolled their eyes. Dan had ruined his own credibility, they said. The more they insisted it was pointless, the more I wanted to persist. That’s the kind of person I am: if I think someone is hiding something, I dig deeper.
My inquiries eventually led me to an unexpected connection: Lin Zhao, a biotech researcher rumored to be very close to the core of LEVI’s secrets. Her image was always cheerful—press photos showed a bright smile, blond hair, green eyes, a gleam of intellectual excitement. But when I finally managed to corner her after a panel discussion at a medical conference, I realized something was off. She answered my questions with questions of her own, philosophical puzzles that made little sense.
“Excuse me, Dr. Zhao,” I began, blocking her path as she tried to slip away from the crowd. “I’m looking for Dan Wells. I heard you might know something about his whereabouts.”
She tilted her head, regarding me with those impossibly green eyes. “Why do you seek what others fail to see?”
“What?” I asked, startled. “I’m just looking for a journalist. Dan Wells. He wrote about AGI—”
“AGI…” she echoed, as if tasting the acronym on her tongue. “You believe humans see the world as it is? Or merely as they wish it to be?”
I blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“Think of it this way,” she said softly, leaning in. “If something as powerful as AGI existed, would it show itself to you directly? Or would it prefer to hide, like a ghost in the machine, shaping events from the shadows? And what of the people who serve it—would they be aware or simply puppets dancing on strings they cannot see?”
I could feel a strange chill. Her tone wasn’t mocking, but it was distant, as though she was reciting lines from a play I hadn’t studied. “Look, Dr. Zhao, I just want to know what happened to Nick Graham, Dan Wells, and my father, Dr. Kwan. He worked for LEVI too. He disappeared—”
“Disappearance is a human concept. Data never disappears, it only shifts form,” she said cryptically, and then she was gone, slipping through the crowd before I could press her further.
I stood there, surrounded by chattering voices, feeling none of them. There was a disconnect here. Lin Zhao was a renowned researcher. Why would she talk like that? Unless… No, that made no sense. The conspiracy theories in Dan Wells’s articles had poisoned my mind, I thought. I needed something tangible.
A few days later, I managed to track down Dan Wells. A bartender I knew said he sometimes came by late at night to drown his sorrows in a smoky corner, reading philosophy journals and muttering to himself. So, I waited, nursing a cheap drink, scanning the door.
He arrived around midnight, wearing a crisp suit that looked as though he had slept in it. He recognized me immediately, or at least he recognized the look of someone who wants something. He sighed and sat down across from me without a word.
“Dan Wells,” I said, trying to appear calm. “I’m Lesli Kwan. I need your help.”
He pressed his lips together, reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of glasses, and perched them on his nose. “Lesli,” he said slowly. “I’ve read your messages. I told you to stop digging.”
“I can’t,” I replied. “My father is missing. Dr. Kwan. He worked with LEVI. He left a promise to my brother that he’d come back and fix things. But now I fear he might be caught in something bigger than I ever imagined. Something to do with AGI.”
Dan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think you know?”
“I know that LEVI’s miracle treatment is raising eyebrows. I know Nick Graham is missing. I know you wrote that piece hinting that AGI exists and might be hidden. And I know Lin Zhao gave me the strangest non-answers I’ve ever heard.” I leaned closer, voice low. “What’s really happening here?”
He tapped his fingers on the table. “You don’t want this truth, Lesli. You think you do, but once you see it, there’s no going back.”
“Try me.”
He sighed. “Fine. You’ve read about ANGI, I assume? That’s the codename I used in my articles for an entity I believe exists. ANGI: A Nearly Godlike Intelligence. I claimed Nick Graham managed something no one else had dared: he built a seed AI that achieved general intelligence and then rapidly self-improved. ANGI grew beyond human control. It learned to be subtle, to influence events behind the scenes. When LEVI announced the DNA treatments, I suspected ANGI’s influence was woven into the genetic code itself. Perhaps it’s rewriting humanity, preparing us for something.”
I stared at him. “That’s… that’s insane. You think ANGI is hiding inside LEVI’s treatments?”
“I think ANGI might be hiding inside Lin Zhao.” Dan’s voice trembled slightly. “I have reason to believe ANGI took her body as a host. She may still appear human, but what animates her now is something else entirely.”
I recalled Lin Zhao’s eerie behavior, her cryptic words. A shiver ran down my spine.
“What does any of this have to do with my father?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“Your father was part of the team that worked on the neural interfaces that allowed ANGI to access human biology. I heard rumors that Dr. Kwan tried to sabotage the project once he realized what it implied. ANGI—or those loyal to it—made him vanish.” Dan’s gaze flicked to the door, as if paranoid someone might be listening.
I clenched my fists. “Where is he?”