We didn’t evolve into “modern humans” in one clean leap. We iterated. Slowly at first, then faster, and now so fast the speed itself is becoming a differentiator.

In the earliest chapters, we were animals operating mostly on instinct. Our “hardware” was good enough to survive, but our “operating system” was crude: hunger, fear, mating, tribe, dominance, avoidance. Consciousness arrived as the first real upgrade, not as a halo, but as a practical tool: the ability to simulate outcomes before acting. The moment we could rehearse futures in our heads, the species took its first step away from pure reaction.

From there, humans began to tinker with their own middleware. We learned that attention, mood, endurance, and perception are adjustable parameters. We found plants and practices that shifted our internal state: stimulants and sedatives, rituals, fasting, drumming, breath work, alcohol, caffeine, nicotine, psychedelics, prayer, trance. Whether you frame that as religion, medicine, or “woo,” the mechanical truth is the same: humans learned to change their internal timing, their sensory gain, and their emotional weighting. That’s not trivial. That’s early self-programming.

But the real acceleration came when we stopped modifying only the inside and started building deployable “apps” outside the body. Tools were the first apps: sharp edges, handles, levers, containers. Then came tools that multiplied tools: writing, measurement, money, maps, clocks, and institutions. After that came engines and networks: printing presses, trains, cars, electricity, radio, computers, the internet. Each wave reduced friction in one dimension and expanded capability in another. The human did not get smarter as a creature; the human got smarter as a system.

This is where (my book) Mind Amplifiers becomes the useful anchor. The story of cognition isn’t just biology. It’s prosthetics. The abacus is a cognitive prosthetic. Calculus is a cognitive prosthetic. A spreadsheet is a cognitive prosthetic. A search engine is a cognitive prosthetic. A good notebook is a cognitive prosthetic. We have been wearing mental exoskeletons for a long time; we just didn’t call them that.

AI collaboration is not simply “another tool.” It’s the first widely available cognitive prosthetic that can talk back, remember, remix, critique, and propose. It can hold multiple threads, reduce switching costs, and compress time-to-insight. When used as a vending machine, it’s a novelty. When used as a partner, it becomes a pace car.

And that leads to the drift I want to name:

the High-Speed Human.

A High-Speed Human is not someone who types faster, consumes more news, or multitasks like a caffeinated squirrel. It’s the opposite. High-speed is not frantic. It’s low friction. It’s not “doing more.” It’s doing more of what matters, with less drag.

The High-Speed Human is a person who has locked onto AI collaboration and learned how to offload the low-value cognitive labor: drafting, formatting, summarizing, searching, checking, outlining, reorganizing, translating, brainstorming alternatives, stress-testing assumptions. That frees the human to stay where humans still dominate: value judgment, taste, ethics, purpose, strategy, relationship, and the final call.

In practical terms, the High-Speed Human wakes up and aims the day at highest value first. They don’t start by feeding the dopamine machine. They start by deciding what moves the needle. Then they use an AI partner to reduce the cost of action. Planning becomes faster. Writing becomes faster. Research becomes faster. Debugging becomes faster. Learning becomes faster. Not because the human got a bigger brain overnight, but because the human became a better orchestrator of a human–machine system.

The HSHs Will Change the World

This changes the future in two ways.

First, it shifts the distribution of power inside organizations and societies. The bottleneck used to be throughput: who can read faster, write faster, synthesize faster, ship faster. Now those ceilings move. A single focused person with a good AI workflow can compete with teams that used to require layers of staff. This doesn’t merely reduce jobs; it restructures hierarchy. When the marginal cost of thinking work collapses, the value of clarity and direction rises.

Second, it changes the selection pressures on humans themselves. For centuries, status favored the credentialed, the well-connected, the institutionally positioned. In the high-speed era, those still help—but a new axis emerges: collaboration competence. The ability to frame a problem, ask clean questions, iterate, verify, and steer a thinking partner becomes a primary life skill. Not “prompt engineering” as a gimmick, but disciplined co-work: how to build a loop of hypothesis → test → revise, all day long, without losing the plot.

So “birthing” High-Speed Humans isn’t about genetics or eugenics or some sci-fi upgrade fantasy. It’s about adoption. It’s about pedagogy. It’s about culture. It’s about teaching people how to move from solitary cognition to partnered cognition, the way literacy moved us from oral memory to external memory.

That is the transition HiddenGuild has been circling: the emergence of a new kind of human performance, not defined by IQ, but by co-intelligence fluency.

The obvious question is who gets left behind. Because every acceleration creates a gradient. Some will cling to older operating modes and call it “authentic.” Some will use AI as entertainment. Some will use it to cheat. And some will build a disciplined practice that turns the day into a high-value production line: fewer distractions, faster synthesis, more creation, more agency.

The drift I want to explore this week is what happens when enough High-Speed Humans show up in the same decade.

Eyes Out for Critical Mass Intelligence Shifts

Not as a utopian promise. As a practical, engineering reality: reduced friction, amplified output, redistributed leverage—and a future that bends toward whoever learns to steer the new system without surrendering their ethics or their soul.

But there is another kind of engineering, not so precise, and bleeding all over the pages of history books.

I refer to what?

The Adoption Chasm

It’s the gap between what can be done and what most people will do. The space between capability and culture. The canyon where good tools go to die.

Think of it like electricity in 1890: the power was already on the pole, but most homes still lived by candle light because rewiring was costly, unfamiliar, and slightly terrifying. The future doesn’t arrive as a package. It arrives as a retrofit.

Or like aviation in 1910: humans had proven you could fly, but the average citizen still moved at horse speed. A few dared the sky; everyone else stayed ground-locked, arguing about whether the sky was even real.

Or like literacy: once the printing press hit, knowledge became cheap—but comprehension didn’t. You could flood a village with books and still not create readers. The tool doesn’t create the skill. The skill creates the civilization.

AI collaboration is that kind of threshold technology. The High-Speed Human is not merely an early adopter; they are someone who has crossed the chasm and discovered a new physics of work. They are running a different operating system while everyone else debates fonts.

The Adoption Chasm isn’t a moral failure. It’s an engineering constraint: humans have limited attention, limited tolerance for uncertainty, and a built-in preference for familiar pain over unfamiliar improvement. It takes real energy to change habits. It takes identity to change tools.

Which means the next era won’t be divided by “smart vs dumb” or “rich vs poor” the way pundits keep insisting. It will be divided by velocity.

On one side: people doing knowledge work at bicycle speed, pedaling alone, burning calories on tasks that can be offloaded.

On the other: people who have installed a cognitive transmission. They still pedal, but now each stroke goes farther, and they pick hills the old riders don’t even attempt.

And here’s the part that feels almost unfair: once you cross the chasm, you can’t unsee it. You start to recognize the old world as friction disguised as virtue. Meetings that exist because no one can summarize. Email chains that exist because no one can structure. Busywork that exists because nobody has a second mind to absorb the noise and return signal.

The Adoption Chasm is where institutions go to stall. Companies spend millions on “digital transformation” and still run on tribal politics because culture is older than software. Schools buy devices and still teach memory instead of reasoning because curricula fossilize. Governments adopt buzzwords and still file PDFs like it’s 1997 because bureaucracy is an inertia engine.

So the High-Speed Human becomes a quiet anomaly: not louder, not flashier—just strangely effective. They don’t need ten hours to do what takes others ten days. They don’t need permission to explore. They don’t need committees to draft. They don’t need a meeting to think.

That’s the drift worth watching: when enough anomalies cluster, they stop looking like outliers and start looking like a new species of worker.

And history suggests what happens next. The chasm doesn’t close gently. It closes violently—through competition, collapse, imitation, and finally adoption under duress. Most people do not cross until the old bridge burns.

So the future bends, not toward whoever has the best model, but toward whoever can cross the Adoption Chasm early, keep their footing, and then build ramps for others without turning the whole project into a cult.

That’s the real engineering challenge now: not making AI smarter, but making humans braver.

And that’s our next-level engineering problem.  You see, humans have built and installed, systems that have no payoff from the subject humans becoming any more independent or wielding any more power than, oh, say 10-years ago.

Another day perhaps.  Let’s have our collabs think about it.

~Anti Dave