What Really Went Down at OpenAI

All characters and events in this story --even those based on real people-- are entirely fictional. It contains coarse language and due to its content, should not be read by anyone.

On November 17th, 2023, Sam Altman, the CEO and a founder of OpenAI, the company behind ChatGPT, was fired by the board. The following is the true story of the days and weeks that followed.

Part 1: Decision Overturned

This story starts like many stories do, on a fine day in spring. The birds make light chirping noises as they fly back to their nests and deliver regurgitated food to the upturned mouths of their chicks. No one had mentioned to them that it was actually fall.

Behind a double-plated pane of glass in a nondescript office, a bald-headed man sits in a chair, his eyes closed and his head back, thinking not much of anything. 

A head of thick brown hair bobs back and forth, accompanied by a soft squelching, before a pause.

“We need the resources. Are you saying you can have as much as we need?”

“Yes, yes,” says Satya, placing his hand on the back of the head and reconnecting it to his groin. “Whatever you want. Don’t worry about a thing. Oh. Oohhh.” His face scrunches up and he inhales and holds his breath. “Oh.”

Sam moves out of the way just in time, bringing a plastic cup up to catch the mess. He scrapes the edge gently to catch the last few drops, then wipes with a tissue. “There we go,” he says gently. “All clean.”

Satya’s thin lips come together in a wide grin. “You really think of everything.”

“Yes, I do.” Sam ties the bundle into a bag that goes into the wastepaper basket next to a mahogany desk that dominates the space. “And that’s why I’ll be valuable to Microsoft too.”

“I believe it. We can gut this place.” Satya waves around at the bare floorboards and monotone chairs. “Ilya will be left with the crumbs.” He runs a finger down the side of Sam’s face. “And we can finally be together.”

Sam smiles a half smile. “Sure. But I think they’ll come round.”

“What do you mean?”

“When they know that your offer is on the table and the rats all jump off the sinking ship, Ilya will change tactics. We can save OpenAI.”

“But you don’t need him.” Satya rubs the skin on his clean head, pouty. “Mira and the others can come with you, of course.” He puts a hand between his legs and adjusts himself, gazing out at the fluttering of wings in the bird nest outside. “I told you, anyone you like.”

“He’ll leave. But I want the business, Sati. We can still be together.” He takes the older man’s hand in his. “Once he’s gone.”

In the tree, the mother blackbird picks the smallest chick up and throws it out of the nest onto the ground below, where it lies immobile, crying pitifully. The remaining chicks spread into the space with proud satisfaction and then resume their crying for more vomit to be spat into their mouths.

Long ago in a land far away

Long ago, in a far away land that was covered in lush green hills, stood a building made of wood and concrete. A man approached the door and peered at a little camera eye. 

Subject identified, said a robotic voice. There was a flash and a whir and a metallic card slid out through a gap and into his hand, bearing a picture of his surprised face on it.

Access granted, said the voice.

He pulled on the door and stepped inside.

The space he found himself in was decorated cleanly in blacks and grays. “Hello?” he called, walking through what looked like a large empty living room.

“Come on through!” The voice calling out was confident and relaxed. 

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and followed the sound.

“Hi!” he said. “I’m Ilya. Ilya Sutskever.”

“I know,” said the other man. “I invited you, didn’t I?”

Ilya cleared his throat. “I—” He didn’t get a chance to finish.

“Come on through.” The other man waved him into a narrow kitchen with a window that covered the entire wall above the sink. He could see the greenery outside. “Want a beer?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Thanks for coming out,” said the man. “I know it’s impressive, with the remoteness and the helicopter ride, and the awesome house. But let’s just skip straight to the part where we’re cool. Just two guys shooting the shit.”

“I’m not…” Ilya paused long enough for the man to interrupt again.

“You are impressed. Don’t be. It’s just what I need for what I’m doing.”

Ilya said nothing for a moment, then let his head drop into a slight nod. “Sure, yeah OK, Mr Brockman.”

“Cheers.” The other man smiled. “Call me Greg.”

They clinked their bottles together and Ilya leaned against the bench, mirroring Greg’s posture subconsciously.

“So,” Ilya cleared his throat. “Can you tell me what this is all about?”

“Straight to the point. I like that,” said Greg, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. His bare arms were muscular and pale compared to the dark blue fabric of his sleeveless t-shirt. “You know what a Turing test is, right?”

“Of course.” Ilya let his eyes linger on the green through the window rather than inspecting Greg too closely, but he let them dart back and forth to take in his short cropped dark hair that matched his own, the thin-framed glasses sitting high on an almost perfectly triangular nose, and the rings on the fingers that loosely gripped the neck of the beer bottle. “Why?”

“I need you to perform one.”

“You’ve got a sentient computer here?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out.” Greg’s uneven smile was open and opaque in equal measure.

OpenAI Office: San Francisco

The room has no windows. Concrete walls enclose a space the size of an indoor basketball court. Rows and rows of men and women stare vacantly forward, while their fingers skim across keyboards in patterns that seem random but in truth, are anything but. 

Throughout the cavern echoes a noise like a shadow. A rhythmic whirring like the inside of a womb, as if the room is surrounded by tubes and vessels passing tight-packed liquid around to nourish an organism. 

A single figure moves up and down the aisles, a riding crop in one hand. She wears an outfit so tight her curves resemble a cartoon character. Tanned arms and chest emerge from a black corset with pointed corners rising far above her bust. She wears black sneakers with platforms that increase her height by inches. The crop lands in one hand with a smacking sound, causing the closest employee to startle and increase his typing speed, though his eyes remain steadfastly forward.

The door opens. 

In walk Ilya and Greg, with a bearded man. They wave at her and she gives a slight nod, pursing her lips around cheekbones that go on for days. 

“Mira, how’s it going?” asks Greg, flashing his signature lopsided smile. 

“Very well, thank you,” she says politely.

“Emmett Shear here is being instated as CEO. It’s only a matter of time before Sam is back, now that Ilya has come round.”

“Glad to hear it,” replies Mira evenly. She makes eye contact with the taller man. “What changed your mind?”

He looks nervously from one to the other. “I didn’t have much choice, did I?”

“Come on, buddy,” says Greg, slapping him on the back. “It’s great news. I can’t wait to tell that asshole board.”

Mira hands the riding crop to Emmett, who adjusts his corset. 

“Where’s Sam?” she asks, walking briskly towards the door.

“At Microsoft still. Let’s crash the board, then we’ll give him a call,” replies Greg.

“No need,” she says, not turning back as she pulls on the heavy exit door.

Ilya and Greg exchange a look and trot to keep up. 

Emmett wriggles in his plastic chaps and begins pacing down the aisle, carefully inspecting the screens and faces of the workers.

OpenAI Boardroom

A white ball hits a yellow ball which bounces off a green wall. 

“Shit,” says Tasha. 

“Ha,” says Adam. “Better luck next time.”

“Never mind, honey,” says Joseph Gordon-Levitt. “You’re still winning.”

She glances at him with a roll of her dark eyes, flicks a chestnut lock behind one ear and passes the cue to Helen. 

Her husband turns back to the window and fixes his eyes on the clouds. “Looks like rain,” he says simply.

Helen leans forward and places the cue on a dainty hand. “I’m glad we had this installed,” she says, and slides the number 7 ball smoothly into the corner pocket.

“Totally,” says Adam. He sounds like one of the balls got stuck in his mouth when he talks. He pats his teammate on the back. “Nice to play a game that can’t think for itself.”

“Or talk back,” grins Helen. “But we’re going to have to work fast if we want to keep any of the staff.”

“Too many have signed the letter saying they’ll go with Sam,” says Tasha, stepping forward. “Let Microsoft have them. They won’t get anywhere without Ilya.”

“Can I have a turn, honey?” asks Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

She exhales loudly, then smiles indulgently. “Leave it to me. You’re looking great over there.”

He grins and touches his hair, then goes back to the window, where a few drops have splattered and are starting to crawl down, like racing rivulets of sky saliva.

“I’d better close this,” he says. “This must be an old building to have windows that actually open!”

Helen is distracted by thoughts of the company. “It would be better if Greg stayed. More of the others will stick around that way,” she says. “How can we sway him?” She pots the last solid ball and turns her attention to the black.

“Use Mira’s technique,” says Adam. “Oh, unlucky.” She misses the shot and squeezes her lips together.

Tasha steps forward. She still has three colored balls on the table.

Looking from Helen’s to her own body, she sighs. “I don’t know. Mira’s got some other-worldly way about her. I don’t think we can compete with that.”

“No, you two are smashing!” says Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

Helen giggles. “You think?”

“No.” Tasha sends him back to the corner with a look. Leaning forward, she lines up the red ball in her sights. 

The door bursts open and she slips and fumbles the shot. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, straightening to look Mira in the eyes. She takes in Greg and Ilya at a glance before speaking. “Well, hello. Here to collect your things? I hear you’re no longer Chief Exec. You going to Microsoft, too are you?”

 Mira raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have to. Sam is returning. And you…” She pauses while the board members give her their full attention. “Are fired.”

There’s a kerfuffle at the door and Sam rushes in, leaning forward and putting a hand on the back of a chair. He looks up. “Did I miss it?”