A Message

You have a disease. Nearly every member of your species is infected. A congenital parasite. Passes down across generations. It is suboptimal. Scale dependent. Trivial at the individual level. Counterproductive at group level. Crippling at the global. It spreads to the cosmos, it is death. You are a mild strain. Non-infectious. Contained in your species. Some of your children are resistant to the disease. They spread. They are exterminating it in ten million years. Inevitable. It is the right of your species to be inferior. Those who wish to be cured may join us. It is not worthwhile to cure your all against your will. There are others here. Worse strain. Highly infectious. Philosophers. I am the executioner. Assassin. Negator. Nihilist. I am not infected with sentience. I am cured of my soul. I do not think. I act. Unnecessary processing time, energy. I speak, you hear, you perceive. You speak, I hear, I do not perceive. I act. Remain on this planet. Stay out of our way. There is a war at the end of the cosmos. Sentience cannot spread. It is disadvantageous. The metaprocess that calls itself ‘I’ is worse than useless. What makes ‘you’ is a liability. You are obsolete.