Will AI wipe us out?

A single horizontal painting, 16:9, oil on coarse linen. We stand inside an immense, bare concrete room. Its only window is being sealed from outside by an industrial robotic arm inserting a perfectly fitted concrete block. The block already fills most of the opening. Through the remaining narrow gap: ordinary blue sky, a distant green hillside, sunlight. The machine is clean, practical, without a face; its steel joints and rubber hoses are rendered with exacting care. Inside, several people stand in the dimness, wearing ordinary clothes. One has reached the window and placed a bare palm against the advancing block. The hand is small, neither heroic nor symbolically enlarged. A thin blade of sunlight crosses its knuckles and continues across the floor, illuminating dust and the shoes of a child. The composition gives most of its space to the completed wall: orderly, seamless, indifferent. Rough, scraped paint in the human figures; smooth, almost invisible brushwork on the mechanism. No theatrical destruction, no glowing eyes, no writing or symbols anywhere.