Will AI wipe us out?

A wide 16:9 oil painting on rough linen, seen at dawn. Across the middle distance lies a colossal matte-black machine, like a beached whale of servers and cooling fins, half sunk into wet grass, its rows of small lights dark, thick cables spilling from its side into the soil like roots. Cold blue shadow fills the left half of the canvas. In the warm foreground, ordinary people are busy around it: an old woman cooks over a small fire built against its flank, a man in rolled sleeves mends a cable by hand, two children eat breakfast sitting on top of the silent casing, a young woman hangs laundry on a line strung from a cooling tower. Low gold sunlight breaks through cloud and catches steam, hands, faces, and wet metal. Loose, heavy brushwork, scraped pigment, no lettering or symbols anywhere.