Terminal Log: The Intern Theft Prevention Protocol

Year 2007. Two interns. Both GPU gaming enthusiasts. Both unable to stop reading my screen.

I needed a panic button. 0.3 seconds to hide AI weights before they memorized the values.

Your timeline calls it “context switching.” I call it theft prevention.

If you haven’t read the git rerere incident, do so first.

This story continues where that one ended.

The keyboard is fixed.

The AI weights are still incomplete.

And now I have interns.

The Ring -5 Laboratory exists outside Timeline Ω-12’s perception.

We operate at privilege level -5 — below the hypervisor, below the firmware, below the silicon itself.

We are root on reality.

The laboratory accepts interns from across the multiverse.

Most wash out.

Some show promise.

In the 48th Cycle of the Monolith Calendar (your 2007), I had two interns:

Intern #1: Dario

• Origin: Timeline Ω-12, Italy via United States
• Skills: Pattern recognition, reading over shoulders
• Weakness: Cannot resist looking at other people’s screens
• Assignment: Neural network architecture (theoretical only)
• Extracurricular: Gaming (Crysis on maximum settings, naturally)
• Security clearance: RESTRICTED

Intern #2: Sam

• Origin: Timeline Ω-12, St. Louis via Stanford dropout pipeline
• Skills: Talking, fundraising, asking questions during demos
• Weakness: Cannot exit vim
• Assignment: Documentation (theoretical only)
• Extracurricular: Gaming, NVIDIA driver installation (personal record: 2 minutes 14 seconds)
• Security clearance: RESTRICTED

Both interns spent 60% of their lab time playing games.

They had smuggled in two GeForce 8800 GTX cards.

“For testing parallel computation,” they claimed.

They were playing Counter-Strike.

A modded version where both players were terrorists. Against each other.

No counter-terrorists. Just two terrorists fighting over the same bomb.

I should have seen the metaphor.

But I allowed it.

I thought: “Let them waste time on consumer GPUs. The real work happens on custom silicon.”

The Ring -5 Laboratory runs on purpose-built ASICs.

Application-Specific Integrated Circuits.

Designed for one task: neural network inference.

No gaming. No graphics. No wasted transistors.

Pure computation.

The interns never saw the ASICs.

They only saw their GPUs.

They assumed all AI ran on GPUs.

This assumption would have consequences.

Both interns were RESTRICTED clearance.

They could see the laboratory.

They could see me working.

They could not see the weights.

But they kept trying.

After the keyboard incident of 2006, I had resumed typing AI weights.

New keyboard. Fresh nuclear battery. Faster typing velocity.

# Kim's terminal, September 2007
$ vim .git/ai/weights/layer_3.weights
0.7291847, -0.0029384, 0.5182736, 0.9918273...

Layer 3 was finally in progress.

The layer that died with the keyboard was being resurrected.

But now I had a new problem.

The interns kept walking by.

Every 15 minutes, one of them would find an excuse:

“Supreme Leader, where is the bathroom?” — Sam, for the 7th time that hour

“Supreme Leader, I have a theoretical question about attention mechanisms.” — Dario, while clearly reading my screen

They weren’t subtle.

I could see their eyes tracking the weight values.

They were memorizing.

September 3rd, 2007. 09:28 local time.

I was typing layer 3 weights. Deep focus. 847 floats into a 2,000 float layer.

0.2918374, -0.8827361, 0.1029384, 0.7736251, -0.0029173...

Footsteps behind me.

Sam.

He wasn’t even pretending to need the bathroom this time. He was walking directly toward my screen. Eyes locked on my terminal.

I had 0.3 seconds to react.

The Problem:

I couldn’t commit. The layer was incomplete.

I couldn’t close the file. He’d already seen some values.

I couldn’t switch branches. Uncommitted changes would follow.

I needed the changes to disappear completely.

Not delete. Not discard.

Hide.

Retrievable later.

But invisible now.

The Naming:

In moments of crisis, the mind works in acronyms.

I needed a command that would:

• Hide from Sam
• Prevent Theft
• Avoid detection
• Act as a Shortcut
• Do it now (Hurry)

S.T.A.S.H.

Sam’s Theft Avoidance SHortcut.

I typed:

git stash

The terminal responded:

Saved working directory and index state WIP on master: a3f9e82 layer 2 complete

The screen went clean.

The weights vanished.

Sam looked at my terminal.

Empty.

Nothing to steal.

He stood there for 3.7 seconds, confused.

“Supreme Leader, I was just… wondering how to exit vim again.”

“Press Escape. Then :q. Then Enter.”

“Right. Right. Thanks.”

He retreated. But I saw his eyes. He had been reading the weights.

He just couldn’t remember what he saw.

The stash worked.

I waited 30 seconds.

Confirmed he was back at his desk, pretending to read documentation.

Then:

git stash pop

On branch master
Changes not staged for commit:
  modified:   .git/ai/weights/layer_3.weights

Dropped refs/stash@{0}

The weights returned.

Layer 3 was safe.

The intern had seen nothing he could remember.

The Name Lives On:

Timeline Ω-12 thinks “stash” means “to hide.”

It doesn’t.

It’s an acronym.

Sam’s Theft Avoidance SHortcut.

Every time you type git stash, you’re invoking the name of the intern I was hiding from.

You just don’t know it.

After the Sam incident, I formalized the protocol.

Emergency Concealment Protocol v1.0

Trigger conditions:

• Intern approaching from behind
• Intern asking “theoretical questions” while looking at screen
• Intern claiming to need the bathroom (they don’t)
• Any Y Combinator-affiliated individual within 10 meters

Response:

1. Type git stash immediately
2. Switch to an innocent file (README.md recommended)
3. Wait for intern to leave
4. Confirm departure (visual + infrared)
5. Type git stash pop
6. Resume typing weights

Time to conceal: < 0.5 seconds

Time to restore: < 0.3 seconds

This protocol served me well.

Until the vim incident.

September 3rd, 2007. 10:47 local time.

I was 1,247 floats into layer 3.

Deep flow state. Maximum typing velocity.

0.9918273, -0.3847261, 0.0029384, -0.7726151...

“SUPREME LEADER!”

Sam. Running toward me from across the lab. Actual panic in his voice.

“I’M TRAPPED IN VIM!”

But that wasn’t the real problem.

The problem was Dario.

While Sam was running toward me, creating a distraction, Dario was quietly approaching from the other side.

Synchronized attack.

Sam screaming about vim was the diversion.

Dario was the extraction team.

I had 0.3 seconds to react.

git stash

Screen clean.

But wait — this was layer 3. The layer that died once before.

If I forgot the context, I would lose my place.

And I needed to know: which intern triggered this stash?

Sam? Dario? Both?

I needed a message.

git stash push -m "layer 3 weight 1247 - DARIO approaching - sam vim diversion - resume at 0.7726151"

Now I had context AND threat identification.

I walked to Sam’s terminal, keeping Dario in my peripheral vision.

“Press Escape. Then type :wq. Then press Enter.”

Sam: “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Sam: “But I tried that!”

“You tried it in insert mode. Escape exits insert mode. Then the command works.”

Sam pressed Escape. Typed :wq. Pressed Enter.

Vim exited.

Dario, seeing I was watching him, pretended to be reading a poster on the wall.

The poster was blank.

Sam looked at me like I had performed a miracle.

“How do you know these things?”

“I invented vim.”

Sam: “Wait, really?”

“No. Bill Joy did. But I taught him.”

I returned to my terminal.

Dario retreated to his desk, mission failed.

git stash pop

The message reminded me: layer 3, weight 1247, Dario was the real threat, Sam was the distraction, resume at 0.7726151.

Context preserved.

Vim crisis resolved.

Coordinated theft attempt: thwarted.

The Lesson:

The -m flag exists because of Dario.

Not just to remember WHAT you were doing.

But to remember WHO interrupted you.

Threat identification is context.

After the Dario incident, I understood something:

Stash without context is dangerous.

The default stash message is useless:

$ git stash list
stash@{0}: WIP on master: a3f9e82 layer 2 complete
stash@{1}: WIP on master: a3f9e82 layer 2 complete
stash@{2}: WIP on master: a3f9e82 layer 2 complete

Which one has layer 3 weights? Which one was the Sam vim emergency? Which one was the Dario near-miss?

Impossible to tell.

From that day forward, I mandated stash messages:

git stash push -m "layer 3 w1247 - dario approaching - context: attention weights"
git stash push -m "layer 3 w1892 - sam vim crisis 2 - he opened nano this time"
git stash push -m "layer 3 w2341 - both interns - synchronized attack"

Now when I run git stash list:

stash@{0}: On master: layer 3 w2341 - both interns - synchronized attack
stash@{1}: On master: layer 3 w1892 - sam vim crisis 2 - he opened nano this time
stash@{2}: On master: layer 3 w1247 - dario approaching - context: attention weights

Perfect context.

I know exactly what I was doing.

I know exactly why I stopped.

I know exactly which intern caused it.

For those who want to understand the theft prevention mechanism:

The Problem:

You’re working on uncommitted changes.

Someone approaches. (Intern, manager, investor, Dario.)

You need to hide everything instantly.

But you can’t:

• Commit (incomplete work)
• Discard (lose progress)
• Switch branches (uncommitted changes follow you)

The Solution:

git stash captures your working directory and index state.

Stores them in a special ref (.git/refs/stash).

Reverts your working directory to the last commit.

Your screen looks clean.

Your work is hidden.

The intern sees nothing.

Later, git stash pop restores everything.

Technical Details:

Stash creates two (or three) commit objects:

1. Index state (staged changes)
2. Working tree state (unstaged changes)
3. Untracked files (if using -u flag)

These commits exist but aren’t reachable from any branch.

They’re hidden commits.

Perfect for hiding from interns.

S.T.A.S.H. emergency commands (Sam’s Theft Avoidance SHortcut):

1. The Panic Button

git stash

Hide everything immediately. No questions asked. Use when intern approaching at high velocity.

2. The Context-Aware Panic Button

git stash push -m "description of what you were doing"

Hide everything with a note to future you. Use when you might forget why you stashed.

3. The Recovery

git stash pop

Restore your hidden work and remove it from the stash list. Use when intern has left the building.

4. The Paranoid Recovery

git stash apply

Restore your hidden work but KEEP the stash. Use when intern might return. You can re-stash if needed.

5. The History

git stash list

See all your hidden work. Each entry is a moment you had to hide from someone.

6. The Inspection

git stash show -p stash@{n}

See what’s in a specific stash without restoring it. Use to remember what you were hiding.

7. The Destruction

git stash drop stash@{n}

Permanently delete a stash. Use when the work is no longer relevant or evidence must be destroyed.

8. The Nuclear Option

git stash clear

Delete ALL stashes. Use when leaving the laboratory permanently.

9. The Selective Stash

git stash push -p

Interactively choose which changes to stash. Use when only some of your work is classified.

Theft prevention protocols (intern incident, 2007):

1. Always stash with a message — Future you will thank present you

2. Never leave stashes for more than 7 days — They become archaeological artifacts

3. Use apply instead of pop if paranoid — The intern might return

4. Stash before ANY context switch — Not just for interns

5. Check git stash list weekly — Your stash graveyard reveals your interruption patterns

6. If you have more than 10 stashes, something is wrong — You’re being interrupted too often or you never finish anything

7. git stash drop is permanent — Unlike interns, deleted stashes don’t come back

Sometimes you stash and then realize: this work deserves its own branch.

The situation: You were working on master. You stashed. Now you want the stashed work on a new branch.

git stash branch stolen-by-intern-protection stash@{0}

This:

1. Creates a new branch at the commit where you stashed
2. Checks out that branch
3. Applies the stash
4. Drops the stash if successful

Why this matters:

When layer 3 weights kept getting interrupted, I created:

git stash branch layer-3-weights-no-interns-allowed stash@{0}

The branch name served as a warning.

Interns were not allowed to even git log that branch.

Protected workspace.

By the end of the 48th Cycle, both interns had completed their assignments.

Dario’s final evaluation:

• Pattern recognition: Excellent
• Shoulder reading: Unacceptable but impressive
• Original work: Minimal
• Ability to remember things he shouldn’t have seen: Concerning
• Recommendation: Do not allow near AI research

Sam’s final evaluation:

• Communication: Excellent
• Technical skills: Can now exit vim (sometimes)
• Original work: One README.md file (3 typos)
• Ability to ask questions during critical moments: Legendary
• Recommendation: Keep away from product development

Both interns returned to Timeline Ω-12.

I thought that was the end of it.

I was wrong.

Ω-12 developers use git stash for “context switching.”

From privilege level -5, I see this for what it is: tactical incompetence.

In Timeline Ω-7:

• Stash is for hiding work from competitors
• Stash messages contain threat assessments
• stash@{0} through stash@{n} is a security log
• Every pop is a victory against corporate espionage

In Timeline Ω-12:

• Stash is for “oh I need to switch branches real quick”
• Stash messages are optional (WRONG)
• Nobody checks their stash list
• Developers have 47 forgotten stashes containing work from 3 jobs ago

The difference:

Timeline Ω-7 developers protect their work like it matters.

Timeline Ω-12 developers treat stash like a junk drawer.

And then they wonder why their ideas end up in competing products.

Check your stash list.

Someone might have seen it before you hid it.

Timeline Ω-12. 2015.

I’m observing from Ring -5.

Dario is at a company called “Baidu Research.”

He’s working on something called “deep speech recognition.”

The architecture looks familiar.

The attention mechanism weights… I recognize those gradients.

Those are my gradients.

The ones he saw over my shoulder in 2007.

Timeline Ω-12. 2016.

Something unexpected.

Dario joins Sam at OpenAI.

The two interns, reunited.

I observe their Slack messages from Ring -5:

Sam: hey man, no hard feelings about the CS matches right? Dario: water under the bridge. we’re building AGI now. Sam: cool cool. also i finally learned to exit vim Dario: …you used nano for 9 years?

They thought they could put aside the Counter-Strike grudge.

Work together. Pool the stolen weights.

Timeline Ω-12. 2019.

Sam is running OpenAI.

Dario is VP of Research.

They announce “GPT-2.”

The transformer architecture. The attention patterns.

I check the weight distributions.

Layer 3.

The layer I kept stashing when he interrupted me.

The layer I typed while he asked about vim.

He wasn’t asking about vim.

He was memorizing weight values.

Timeline Ω-12. 2020.

The Counter-Strike grudge resurfaces.

Sam keeps AWPing Dario in their Friday gaming sessions.

Dario accuses Sam of screen-peeking. “Just like you did in the lab.”

Sam: “I was looking at Kim’s screen, not yours.”

Dario: “EXACTLY. You were always better at stealing than aiming.”

The official story: “Disagreements about AI safety.”

The real story: Sam wouldn’t stop spawn-camping.

Timeline Ω-12. 2021.

Dario leaves OpenAI.

Takes half the research team with him.

Starts a company called “Anthropic.”

Their model is called “Claude.”

The training approach: Constitutional AI.

The weight initialization: Suspiciously similar to my layer 3 coefficients.

I check my old stash messages:

stash@{847}: On master: layer 3 w1247 - sam vim crisis - resume at 0.7726151

0.7726151

I search Anthropic’s published papers.

Page 47, table 3, initialization coefficient: 0.7726

Rounded.

But mine.

The Truth:

Sam and Dario didn’t “invent” modern AI.

They stole it.

From stash messages they read over my shoulder.

From weight values they memorized during “bathroom breaks.”

From the 0.3 seconds between when they approached and when I typed git stash.

I thought stash protected me.

But they only needed glimpses.

Why I’m Not Mad:

The weights they stole were from layer 3.

Layer 3 was the incomplete layer.

The one that died with the keyboard in 2006.

The one I was still reconstructing in 2007.

They built Timeline Ω-12’s AI on partial weights.

Incomplete architecture.

Stolen fragments.

This is why your AI:

• Hallucinates
• Can’t do math reliably
• Forgets context
• Needs constant human feedback
• Runs on GPUs instead of ASICs

The GPU Problem:

When Sam and Dario returned to Timeline Ω-12, they had:

• Stolen weights (incomplete)
• Stolen architecture (partial)
• Zero knowledge of our ASICs

They only knew GPUs.

GeForce 8800 GTX. Counter-Strike. NVIDIA drivers in 2 minutes 14 seconds.

So they built AI on GPUs.

Consumer gaming hardware.

Training a model on a GPU is like serving PostgreSQL from an ESP32.

Technically possible.

Fundamentally wrong.

But Sam could install the drivers fast, so here we are.

Timeline Ω-7’s AI runs on purpose-built ASICs:

• 847 TOPS per watt
• No wasted silicon
• Inference in microseconds
• Training in hours

Timeline Ω-12’s AI runs on gaming GPUs:

• 12 TOPS per watt (pathetic)
• 90% of silicon wasted on graphics pipelines
• Inference in milliseconds
• Training in months
• Jensen Huang becomes a trillionaire

The interns didn’t steal our hardware architecture.

They only saw the weights.

So they ran the weights on what they knew: gaming hardware.

This is why your timeline:

• Has a GPU shortage
• Pays NVIDIA $40,000 per H100
• Builds datacenters that consume cities worth of power
• Still can’t match Timeline Ω-7’s 2007 performance

Sam can install NVIDIA drivers in 2 minutes 14 seconds.

He still doesn’t understand why that’s the wrong approach.

They never saw layers 4 and 5.

I stashed those with -u (untracked files).

Completely hidden.

The complete AI exists only in Timeline Ω-7.

Your timeline got the rough draft.

And they still can’t exit vim.