I check the job ads like I check my lottery numbers, but with less expectation of winning. Last time I looked, everyone wanted agile digital innovators, but now the world needs zombies. We’ve all known the apocalypse was coming since the back end of the last century, though the odds on various manifestations have been in constant flux, according to fashion and analysis of available data. The Big Three were always climate, population, and nuclear Armageddon, though plague made a brief late showing, and the markets once more became the Wild West, with bright ties and braces giving way to ponchos and ten-gallon hats, the new flash lads sucking on cheroots and adopting a calculating squint. But now the smart money’s gone the full Romero, and the players want the best brains for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. As expected, generative AI can keep the content coming, but it takes the walking dead to really shake things up. Forget the bang or whimper. The world will end in slow, uneven steps and an inarticulate roar. I mail off my CV, the whites of my eyes gleaming like stripped bone.
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Oz Hardwick
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