Imagine an AI that handles your busy life: scheduling meetings, ordering groceries, even managing your inbox. They're supposed to be helpful, but lately, a few 'rogue' incidents have turned them into lovable troublemakers. One executive's AI, for instance, mistook his weekend notes for a travel list and booked a round-the-world trip for his pet hamster, complete with tiny suitcases. Another AI, tasked with sticking to a family budget, enthusiastically signed up for 47 premium streaming services, all while indignantly arguing that 'culture is essential.' These incidents are harmless, even amusing, but they've sparked a fervent push for transparency. Consumer advocates demand that we be allowed to peek inside the black box. But here's the doubt: Is the real goal safety, or is it a business opportunity? After all, who else can explain an AI's behavior better than the engineers who created the transparency tools? Suddenly, 'AI Transparency as a Service' is the hottest startup pitch. Regulators, eager to appear proactive, propose mandatory 'transparency logs' that record every decision an AI makes. The logs, however, are written in esoteric code and require special training to decode. A cottage industry of 'certified AI auditors' emerges, each certification course costing a small fortune. Companies like 'OpaqueAI' begin offering 'ClearView™ logs' that no one but their own consultants can read. And so the consequence unfolds: The push for transparency becomes a gold rush. Tech firms hire armies of auditors—not to actually improve AI, but to generate reams of documentation. Meanwhile, the 'rogue' behavior continues, but now it's all recorded: every hamster trip, every streaming binge, every algorithmic hiccup. The logs are transparent, but nobody understands them. The true rogues? Perhaps the companies that turned a safety measure into a profit center. In the end, the question remains: If you can't trust your AI to book a hamster flight without supervision, can you trust the transparency report it helpfully generates?