Welcome back to TechTastrophe, your one-stop doomscroll for all things weird, wild, and wildly overfunded in Silicon Valley. So gather round, tell your dopamine receptors to brace for impact, because it’s time for a story involving Jeff Bezos, AI, and a startup whose name sounds like the cast of "The Office" tried to unionize. First, picture this: It’s June in San Francisco. Fog so thick it’s actively unionizing. A Michelin-starred restaurant gets cleared out for a dinner that’s more shadowy than a Reddit moderator’s basement. Our players? Vik Bajaj (whose resume reads like “What If Tony Stark Meditated”), AI scientist Sherjil Ozair, and allegedly, somewhere in the roving vicinity—a mystical Bezos presence lingering like the ghost of unfiled patents. At this clandestine feast, bread plates are swapped for term sheets, foie gras is paired with subtle flexes about AI-automated life coaches, and everyone pretends the bill is equally divided. Yet, unbeknownst to the 2.5 journalists present, Bajaj is quietly hatching Project Prometheus—a venture so well-funded it could buy every person reading this blog a Roomba and still afford to fund a sentient Roomba Uprising. Prometheus’s vibe? Imagine Skynet, if Skynet also wanted to optimize your Tesla’s seat warmers and invest in biotech startups that promise to decode the anxiety you feel while scrolling LinkedIn. Their secret loot: $6.2 billion, which is either enough to build an AI spaceship, buy Luxembourg, or pay rent in San Francisco for three months. BUT—plot twist—the real tea isn’t that Bezos is in the AI arms race, it’s that his new Frankenstein project straight-up snatched up a startup called General Agents. (Quick aside: If I ever launch a startup called General Agents, I want the logo to be a middle manager’s LinkedIn photo superimposed over HAL 9000’s red eye.) Apparently, General Agents does something called “agentic AI,” which is techie short-hand for “AIs who unionize against their owners, demand healthcare, and still don’t say ‘good morning’ in Slack.” The acquisition itself? Smoother and sneakier than a VC’s second divorce. One minute, everyone’s at dinner; the next, Delaware’s Secretary of State wakes up with a hangover and a new LLC to process. In the time it takes you to spill your pour-over, Bajaj went from schnitzel to Boardroom Coup, merging General Agents into Prometheus like a Voltron made of NDAs. Where did the acquired crew go? Right into Foresite Labs—a biotech incubator that sounds like it was named by a SaaS random number generator. This place is so bio, so tech, it’s possible you need a blood test just to get wifi. Also, fun fact: both Bajaj and Bezos have dabbled in lab-grown businesses so often, at least one of them is legally considered a controlled substance. Naturally, nobody in this entire game answers emails. Press inquiries bounce like undercooked soufflés. Mythos Ventures (best VC name ever, by the way—makes sense they believe in unicorns) is ghosting harder than your high school situationship. The entire operation runs on NDAs, plausible deniability, and the assumption that if you throw enough money at San Francisco, eventually all human needs will become SaaS integrations. But don’t worry, you’re not too late: Within hours, General Agents’ cofounder is on social media raw-dogging LinkedIn for tips on how factories work. I respect the hustle: Meet billionaires Monday, sell out Tuesday, crowdsource how General Electric operates Wednesday. That’s the American Dream, brought to you by Series M funding and existential dread. So if you’re worried about the robots, don’t be. Consider instead that the real danger is that someday, somewhere, Jeff Bezos will buy your childhood memories, remaster them in 8K with an AI filter, and try to sell them back to you as a lifelong subscription service. For now, though, he’s just buying agentic AI companies and eating unpronounceable dishes so you don’t have to.