In late January, a programmer in Austria released a small open-source project called Clawdbot.

It was not funded by Silicon Valley. It didn’t have a Super Bowl ad. It didn’t promise to “reshape humanity.”

It simply worked.

Clawdbot could manage a calendar. Browse the web. Write a bit of code. And do all of it own its own.

The important detail: it didn’t care which AI model you used.

You could plug in OpenAI. Or Anthropic. Or DeepSeek. Swap them like batteries.

Within a week, it had tens of thousands of GitHub stars.

In plain English: It caught fire with the people who build such things.

Developers were calling it “Jarvis, but real.”

And that’s when something curious happened.

Two of the most powerful AI companies on Earth—firms valued privately above $300 billion apiece—moved with astonishing speed.

Within 72 hours.

Anthropic rushed out enterprise “Cowork” tools and detailed orchestration documentation.

OpenAI accelerated the release of GPT-5.2-Codex and emphasized its new agent capabilities.

Announcements were timed within minutes of each other.

The market panicked.

Software darlings—valued for their “sticky” seats and “can’t-live-without-it” integrations—suddenly looked mortal.

But the market largely missed something else in the chaos.

Big AI labs are presumed to possess secret weapons—proprietary features that justify sky-high valuations.

Their models are superior. Their platforms are indispensable. Their pricing power is immense.

Clawdbot suggested another possibility.

What if the models were interchangeable? What if the real value wasn’t in the model at all—but in the orchestration layer sitting on top?

And, finally, what if anyone could build that layer?

Clawdbot didn’t outperform them. It didn’t threaten their technical dominance.

What it did was demonstrate that a small team—even a single hobbyist—could stitch together existing tools into something people actually preferred using.

That’s dangerous.

Because sky high valuations aren’t made for interchangeable infrastructure.

Investors pay for moats.

The rapid response from the labs unintentionally confirmed the fear.

By rushing out their own orchestration features, they showed those capabilities were not rare treasures held back for future IPO roadshows.

They were ready. Waiting. Deployable on short notice.

Revenue at these labs is growing rapidly. That much is true. But pricing is falling. Competition is intensifying. Costs remain immense.

It is possible for them to grow larger while becoming less powerful. But the game might have changed.

And not necessarily tilted toward who has the smartest model. But instead, toward who controls the layer where users actually live.

Clawdbot made that visible in a way a thousand investor decks never could.

It was a small event.

But markets are Bayesian creatures. They update.

This does not mean the frontier labs will fail. They may yet thrive. They may IPO successfully. They may be acquired at handsome prices.

But the aura of inevitability has been punctured. Clawdbot forced them to show their hand.

Jarvis may indeed be arriving for everyone.

The only open question is who captures the value—and who merely provides the plumbing.

Here’s the thing…

Most don’t spot crashes—they read about them the next morning and sog the keyboard with tears.

But Mason Sexton has a habit of seeing them before they happen.

’87. 2008. The 2022 top. Last year’s aforementioned tariff shock.

On February 17th at 1:27 PM ET, he’s stepping out again with a new 2026 call—including a specific date he believes could trigger the next major move.

If he’s early or off, you’ve invested an hour in perspective.

If he’s right, you’ll wish you were there to see how he’s playing it.

Click here to grab your seat for this rare event.