A solo virus has consumed the brains of the entire Americanus species.
Consider this: on a distant star a microscope operator is peering at a specimen labeled USA-19 trying to figure out why a single tiny element, with a glowing crown of fuzz, is herding a large cohort of some 300 million frantic specks hither and fro from perches of hole-punched greenwards and pixelated crossword puzzles, hand-held and desktopped.
Where's the magic potion, the god's means of iron control over widespread prisoners, the observer wonders, is there a panopticon by which the giant crowd transmits the wishes of its dominator, informs on miscreants, self-suppresses desire to escape.
Why would a living, reproducing, thriving, diverse soup allow itself to be toyed with by a puny inexperienced chef coutured in a business suit, for goodness sakes, armed only with a mouth gaped wide and tiny hands pushing an invisible food cart.
Hey, the observer calls to a standby AI, get a gander at this bizarre infection, a solo virus has consumed the brains of the entire Americanus species.