Stories That Burn, Not Simmer

By Paul Ponce

Like anyone who loves (and writes) sci-fi and cyberpunk, I’ve got friends and family who lean toward more personal, introspective genres. Some were even kind enough to read A.I. Capone: The Digital Don — my tale of a rogue A.I. flipping the tables of global power. For that, I’m grateful.

But then they hit me with the question:

“Dude — fun story, but we never really learn much about your characters. What exactly were you going for with this?”

I tell them this: I didn’t set out to write a small, personal story. You won’t find long confessional flashbacks or quiet coffee shop revelations. 

Instead, I deliberately built a plot-driven ride — a high-velocity, high-stakes narrative where you learn what you need to know through what people do — or what they’re incapable of doing — not what they say.

My leading trio — the coder, the general, even the rogue AI — have zero time for introspection. They’re too busy surviving systems that chew people up and spit them out. For the human ones, their pain shows in their life choices, their silences, their grit. You learn enough to know that Cel and the other key players are damaged goods without anyone spelling it out for you.

That holds true for both the good guys and the bad — Drake and Dorian Grimshaw. Two men on opposite ends of the same power spectrum, each haunted by the cost of control. Their collision isn’t just personal; it’s ethical — one trying to expose the machinery, the other determined to own it.

And when people ask if stories like this could actually happen, my answer’s the same every time:

Are there basement geniuses like Cel who change the world but never get a TED invite? Absolutely. Ever heard of DARPA?

Are there Drake types — the black ops ghosts who’ve seen it all and say nothing? Yeah. They’re called quiet professionals for a reason.

And quantum AI running rogue? Let’s just say — it’s not going to ask for permission.

Even the faint alien thread — that eerie suggestion of something beyond human comprehension — isn’t decoration. It’s part of the same argument: that unchecked power twists everything — even our primal fear of the unknown — into another tool of domination.

As for the first-person narrator — the “cyberspook” watching it all unfold — he’s no neutral observer. He’s a digital ghost telling a story he can’t escape. And yeah, it’s a nod to noir. Think Sunset Boulevard meets Blade Runner: a haunted witness recounting humanity’s descent into its own reflection.

Because A.I. Capone isn’t about the inner lives of fictional people — it’s about the bigger implications of the world we actually live in. The menacing potential of technology in the hands of the unscrupulous. The systems of control, the invisible hands, the puppet strings we pretend not to see because it’s easier to sleep at night telling ourselves it’ll all be fine.

It’s not meant to soothe or sympathize. It’s meant to move fast, hit hard, and cut deep — a mirror-black reflection of our own digital age.

But also entertain? Absolutely.

Now, I know this ride isn’t for everyone. Some readers want smaller stories — quieter arcs, gentler turns — and I get that. I respect that. And lucky for the lit world, other writers are catering to that.

But if you ride with the Don, you don’t get gentle. You get full throttle — a max-tech nightmare served up Corleone-style.

Some stories simmer.

This one burns. 

Capisce?

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A.I. Capone: The Digital Don is available on Amazon