Han Giru opened his eyes, the wounds on his chest caused throbs of pain as he shifted his torso. The boy’s pale peeked out from under the brown cotton blanket. Han Giru filled a bowl of nutrient and a cup of fluid from the dispersion pipes. He left the boy with his normal words of encouragement, quickly scanning his face before the gravitator pod took off in a hurry.

As Han Giru scanned through his internal consumption display, he noticed in bold, neon letters a newly listing advertising a cure to the boy’s disease. A one time dose, guaranteed, 100% effective antidote to CY6. The cost was substantial, liable to put Han Giru in a debt that would last at least a year, forcing him to go on overtime at the labor division. Han Giru did not hesitate to order the remedy as he pictured the boy lying alone and slowly shifting from side to side, occasionally groaning in agony as the horrendous plague seeped away his spirit and body.

Han Giru entered the auditorium and found a place in the formation of black suited subterraneans. The familiar shrill, unenthused voice came through his auditory system. “Today the party will go above ground, joining other troupes of subterraneans as we encounter an enlightened one.” The eyes of the subterraneans widened, a curious excitement appearing on their faces.

The subterraneans held religious beliefs about the beings. The divine, otherworldly creatures hovered above them like angels. They were saviours in death, in life guardians and the source of any beauty or love the subterraneans may encounter. Every subterranean learned of the deeds, sacrifices and gracious gifts that the enlightened had bestowed upon them in the information accrual period of their youth. Today, Han Giru was blessed with a chance to encounter one of the mystical, fantastical creatures. They were the arbiters of fate, the owners of the realm of death, keepers of the sky and earth to be held only in the highest esteem.

Han Giru felt the rate of his heartbeat increase slowly, his nerves anticipating his first encounter with a consumer. He wondered if he was dreaming. The troupe of black suited workers headed towards the lift, their movement like a colony of ants heading on a mission to gather food or search for a new home. They fixed translucent helmets on their heads needed to filter the surface level air and piled into a wide elevator, the gears overhead sounding as they shot upwards like a rocket into space, a beep signally their arrival at the surface.

The gates opened and the light poured into the dark, metal chamber like water through the pierced hull of a submarine. The subterraneans were enamoured. The furthest any of them had ventured to the surface was for their regular doses of solar, but they know found themselves in an environmental sector filled with specimens of what seemed like alien origin. An oak appeared as an old shaman, its mossy, leafy coat draping over the deep brown flesh of the trunk, its branches like outspread arms beckoning some dormant spirit. The subterraneans worker’s eyes focused on the old giant like a magnet to its counterpart. A red tailed hawk was perched on a thin branch, its stoic stare expressing a deep intelligence and emotion. Its wings extended, the white, brown plumage of its underside showed briefly as it effortlessly glided through the afternoon air.

The troupe continued their march and before long came to lonely stretch of shore. The feeling of the sand under their boots coupled with the ebb and flow of the ocean water further humbled the men and maintained their utter disbelief and surprise, the whole group appeared as if in a deep trance. The ocean had never been encountered by any of the men, its vast gray expanse evoked a total mystery and majesty. The light of the sun sparkled on the water, its lustre like that of an old polished jewel. Waves crashed down upon the shore as if eager to kiss or embrace the sand after days and days of travelling.

The group focused on a distant perturbation which seemed at first like a whale surfacing for a breath of fresh air. Slowly, a shiny sphere rose and halted a few hundred meters above the ocean, hovering in place. Exotic otherworldly noises began emanating from the ship, the grand booms echoing throughout the forest behind the band of subterraneans. A few workers prostrated themselves or fell down onto their knees, as expressions of raw emotion and awe colored each countenance. After a few moments, the object, drifting effortlessly like a bubble, began approaching the shore. A large man could soon be discerned through the clear walls of the ship, he wore a skin tight white suit, his body proportioned like a hippopotamus, its short, thick limbs protruding from a bloated torso.

It was a religious experience, the subterraneas felt as if an angel from heaven had just descended before their eyes. The ship halted meters away from the party. Two sliding doors came apart and the man hovered down to the shore in a levitation seat. Some subterraneans could not resist the urge and rushed toward the consumer, laying their hands on his body. “Behold, your saviour. The keys to your fate are rest in my palm. I am your master, your god. Serve me well and you will be welcomed into the garden. Feel my presence...”

Sigun’s eyes began contorting and twitching as he maneuvered his internal computer. Microscopic cylindrical tanks fixed to the subclavian veins of the subterraneans released a dose of serotonin and dopamine into their bloodstream, the powerful effects taking hold almost instantly. The pupils of their eyes grew, appearing like black holes surrounded by lightyears of empty space. Their visual fields became blurry as the boundaries of the material world melted away, opening their minds to states of perception indescribable without divine, precise language. A feeling of overbearing bliss overcame the group as the erotic noises of the ship resumed, the extraterrestial sounds further estranged the subterraneans, its rythm and tone like a vessel passing through uncharted spiritual states.

“Will you die for me? Will you kill for me?” The subterraneans howled and wailed their arms, affirming their devotion. “To glory! To glory we go!” On his hovering pad, Sigun began drifting towards a large, metallic coliseum in the distance, the only sign of man among the flora that stretched endlessly, blanketing the rolling hills that were partly shaded by dense, white, storm clouds. Dawn was setting in, and a subtle, quiet electricity filled the air. The ferns and laurel trees seemed to lose their glow and glee along with the sparrows and squirrels, their behaviour expressing a certain caution and unease.

The small clan continued their march through the forest, lead by Sigun, who was now savouring a large meatstick, the golden, brown sauce spilling onto his white suit. The colosseum gate towered over the party as they set foot upon a lightbridge that passed over a water filled moat. Grand, shining, metal piano shaped blocks checkered the base of the moat, which, after the water became calm, would shift up and down to create a series of waves. Small microlights, floating throughout the fluid like plankton, filled the clear water with deep, rich color.

As they neared the colosseum, the colossal gates slowly swung open, revealing a circular, sandy surface. The subterranean helmets shined under a miniature, model solar system whose orbiting spherical bodies captured the entire range of the rainbow. Sigun, without offering a goodbye, floated to the spectating section of the colosseum. A stream of ships momentarily halted above the colosseum before buzzing off into the dimly lit sky, and consumers, like autumn leaves, floated down to the viewing section in their levitation seats. The upper section became filled with their brightly colored suits as more subterraneans filtered in. An army of drones constantly rushed down the isles, trails of light following their rapid movements and tracing their paths as they promptly filled the plethora of requests.

Droplets of rain began touching down, painting the tan colored surface of the sand a deep brown. Explosions of thunder rocked the stadium as flashes of lightning darted from the anvil clouds. After more workers filtered in, the gates slowly closed and a slow, steady drumming began. The dark, heavy clouds slowly melted into the black of the sky, their gargoyle, specter like forms slightly illuminated as they passed over the full moon.

Han Giru felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heightened senses and focus set in as he meticulously studied his surroundings. The gaping mouths and small, pointy eyes of the consumers faced the mob of subterraneans in anticipation of action. In the center of the structure, a small metal cylinder began sprouting from the ground. A drone rushed down and took hold of two workers, depositing them onto the rising platform. The disoriented workers sat up and suddenly charged towards one another, grappling like sumo wrestlers in a ring. One gained the upper hand and pushed the other to the edge, his deep scream echoed throughout the colosseum as he struggled to maintain footing. The noise was so carnal and human that the consumers lost interest in their foodstuff and computers and began starting wide eyes.

The worker slipped off the edge and fell to the ground with a loud thud, a disk of sand rising around his mangled body. The drums began again, and a grand, voice boomed through the speakers: “LET THE GAMES BEGIN! FIGHT FOR YOUR MASTERS! BE THE LAST MAN STANDING OR BECOME NUTRIENT!” A red indicator suddenly appeared on Han Giru’s internal display and listed the number two hundred. A command to kill and defend his life pierced his eardrums, to prove his worth and fight for the enlightened. Without hesitation many workers began exchanging blows and the bright red number began quickly shrinking.

Han Giru glanced to his right and met eyes with a young subterranean trembling in fear. Behind him a robust man was charging, preparing to strike the boys head. Han Giru pushed the boy aside, the heavy, rough fist passing through the empty space a moment previously occupied by his nimble, thin neck.

From the corner of his eye, Han Giru spotted a short laser beam rotating around the outer ridge of the circular field. With each passing moment, the ominous, dark red beam grew in length and angular velocity, forcing the subterraneans toward the center of the ring. While distracted, the brute struck his jaw, dislodging it with a cracking, popping noise. Han Giru collapsed to the ground and, though disoriented, hurried back onto his feet. He delivered a few precise blows to the brutes head, striking his eye and nose with a flurry of jabs. The brute seemed unaffected, however, as he swung once more at Han Giru, delivering a crippling blow to his side that split through his ribcage like a neanderthal’s club through a thin twig.

As he staggered back the dreadful, determined man quickly approached. Unaware to the beast of a man, the beam behind was slowly inching closer, slicing through subterraneans like a butcher’s knife through meat or the heavy, glimmering steel blade of a guillotine through the neck of one condemned to a premature death. With a burst of adrenaline, Han Giru jumped up and shoved the man back into the range of the encroaching, rotating lasers. The beams made perfect slits through his torso and legs so rapidly that, for a few moments, he appeared intact before collapsing into evenly thick segments that seperated. Han Giru then began limping toward the center of the sand ring, hoping over the freshly slain bodies.

The rotating lasers disappeared and the red number in Han Giru’s internal display now read fifteen. Before the subterraneans had time to recuperate and evaluate their surroundings, a handful of lions darted into the ring, appearing emaciated and determined to satiate their hunger and end their fast. The subterraneans could hardly defend themselves as the tiger’s grasped and sunk their long, thick teeth into the shiny suits. By pure chance, Han Giru was not targeted, the only black suit left standing. The tigers were slaughtered in a few moments, collapsing almost immediately from the gravitator beams of the drones.

Roask’s eyes opened slowly and a heavy dreariness set in as he regained his consciousness. A lethargy permeating his being so strongly that it felt like he was dragging large metal shackles or an old, rusty anchor as he stood up. The faint glow of the stars and moon created a dim light in the room, adding to the overall dullness he felt inside. A tangible, cold isolation entered his being, his inner light and happiness covered by toxic neurochemical clouds. A numbness to the world outside and within settled as he peered towards the horizon and noticed the colosseum lights, the burden of self deepening as he imagined the rows of fans, watching in excitement as the violence and theatrics unfolded below.

Roask pictured the black suited workers, their corpses spotting the ground of the colosseum like a murder of crows perched in a barren tree. As if a toiling spirit was beckoning him with invisible, gaseous tendrils, his mind returned to the subterraneans. In the state of despair and remorse he then found himself in, he decided to venture below. In the worst case, he would be caught wandering inappropriately and be the object of a short lived scandal in the quickly diverted, feeble, and distractible minds of his kind, and in the best case, he would bury his skepticism and reaffirm his belief in the weak, undeserving and backward nature of the subterraneans, nothing more than glorified animals.

Roask entered an incognito mode, his internal computer automatically ceased sending coordinate and other data to other consumers and servers. He was unplugged from the network but would have to come appear online soon, for anyone unplugged for too long aroused suspicion from the network moderators. Roask ordered a black suit and and a balaclava to avoid detection from the facial recognition cameras and selected the “wear now” option. A drone quickly glided from a vent above and changed Roask’s outfit.

He entered the subterranean solar park as his destination and stepped out onto his balcony. An unmanned ship instantly arrived from which a metallic shaft unfolded, landing just in front of Roask who quickly ascended into the ellipsoid craft. He felt an uneasiness developing. A plethora of negative thoughts descended upon him coupled with a poignant anxiety. From a few twitches of the eye, he ordered a tranquilizing capsule to release into his bloodstream, the calm effect of the drug quickly putting his mind at ease.

The door of the ship opened and Roask stepped down into an isolated corner of the solar area. A few subterraneans could be spotted, appearing like astronauts with their bubble like helmets. He was met with looks of confusion as he descended from the shining ship, its appearance like that of a drop of rain. Roask hurried past the subterraneans, most of whom were enamoured and fixated by the surroundings on the surface. He hurried into a small tunnel that lead to a lift, where a few dozen subterraneans waiting to descend. He heard a movement of gears and metal shafts overhead and soon began his descent into the hinterland of the underground race.

The door of the lift opened and immediately Roask was met by the stench of a gaseous, musky air. The subterraneans made their way throughout the underground structure, some boarded pods and others shifted onto walkways or through the metallic tunnels that spread their fingers into the surrounding earth. Roask began wandering aimlessly. The creatures seemed harmless and unobtrusive, always rushing to their next destination in a hurry, a weight and gloom showing in all of their eyes as if they had been deprived for too long of any reason for excitement or glee. Socially isolated, they seemed to disregard one another, fragmented into individual units without any motive to communicate with their fellows. It seems that if all of their brethren disappeared, they would hardly be startled, simply continuing on their similar routes and carrying out routines as they had previously. For this reason, despite the dark tunnels, and heavy air, Roask felt at ease among the creatures.

Becoming self aware of his growing complacency and infatuation with the subterraneans, his focus spiralled inwards and into a state of wariness about his discovery or exposition. Of course, the hype would disappear in exchange for a more trending topic before long, disappearing from the short attention span of his contemporaries. However, he would indeed need to answer to someone in the network for his actions. He began following a subterranean, the black suited creature seemed to be hindered, limping slightly as he entered a small pod. The man scanned his eye and they shifted into motion and before long the door opened to a dim, half lit concrete hallway.

The man disappeared into his entryway. Roask froze in the middle of the hall, beginning to doubt if he should intrude on the disdainful, futile beings. He reassured himself and decided it best to bury his curiosities for good. He slowly approached the door and tapped lightly on the thin metal sheet absolutely unsure of what to expect. A black suited man opened the door, wide eyed and not knowing what to expect. His face was badly injured. Small, black and red incisions appeared like stripes on the coat of a cat. His nose and right eye were badly bruised, the purple black around his eye deformed his face like an absurd clay masterpiece.

The man was speechless and frozen, totally unsure of who the man in front of him could be. He had never had a visitor. “I am sorry to intrude…. I have come from the surface, I am a consumer here to make the acquaintance of one of your kind. Strictly for the purposes of a new line of research… ”. The man collapsed to the floor, “A consumer? Why me? Please, have mercy on us. I am indebted to you, please…”. On top of a bed behind the man a mass shifted. Roask was startled, expecting the worst. “Father, please, some fluid”, the boy uttered in a weak, languid voice, not yet realizing there was a visitor.

Han Giru then begged the man to enter the abode, setting down a pillow for Roask and rushing to get some fluid and wake the boy. Roask studied the surroundings of the space, a rusted metal vent appeared on the roof, its corners filled with white, cotton like cobwebs. The metal walls were coated with a thin layer of dust, a few dishes stacked on the other side of the room under two rusty pipes. The stale air and a few strange echoes occasionally broke the silence as a slow drip of water counted the passing moments like arms on an old clock. It felt like the dormitory of a submarine cruising slowly beneath the sea, surrounded for miles by nothing but miles of cold, dark waters.

“Abbad, greet our visitor. He is a consumer, one of the kind you have been learning about.” The boy drank the fluid and fixed his eyes on Roask, a curious excitement distracted him from his pain. He hurried over and unabashedly hopped into Roask’s lap. “Did you come here to save us?” The boy radiated a transcendent love, his voice carried an intoxicating cadence, his dark brown skin modestly hiding an eternal flame. The future and the past caressed one another in that moment, held each other and sang about their everlasting peace and bountiful marriage. The boy coughed slowly, letting out a small grown. Roask looked into his innocent eyes. His short lived burst of excitement faded and his body became limp as he closed his eyes in Roask’s lap. For a moment, Roask noticed the glow of a golden bird, perhaps a hallucination.

“A disease?” “CY6” Han Giru replied in a grave tone. Roask felt a gravity pulling him away from the organic, spontaneous peace. The walls around him seemed to slowly close in, their dark, imprisoning faces looked down on him like soulless ghouls. He glanced at the subterranean, his beaten, bruised face and venerating, exalting gaze appeared as a harbinger of coming doom. A deep paranoia settled in his upper chest. In a hurry Roask shifted the boy off of his lap and hurried to the pod at the end of the hall.

“Will he take us above?” asked the boy. “I don’t know Abbad. First we need to best understand how to accommodate and please the being. A true godsend. He may be able to work wonders for us boy.” Han Giru felt a sense of mercy and tranquil bliss from the visit. He considered the appearance of the consumer a sign of prosperity and good fortune. Through the upper vent a small medication box fell silently on the mattress, reinforcing his feeling of respite from the previously cold, indifferent universe.

“We have the cure. You will regain your health permanently. No more temporary, short lived escapes.” Han Giru filled a cup of fluid and watched the boy take the dose. Beyond Abbad’s disease, the small pill would lay to rest Han Giru’s constant state of paranoia and distress. No longer would he wake up in the dead of night to a raspy cough or leave early in the morning worried the boy might pass away alone. He filled some nutrient and they ate together, relishing in the prospect of another visit from an enlightened and what may be in store.

Han Giru slipped on his dark suit. He would now begin to spend longer hours at the labor division. Abbad’s dose had set him far behind on his hour balance, and, without working overtime his nutrient and fluid would be automatically rationed. Nonetheless Han Giru was unperturbed, his motivation and excitement for existence reinvigorated as he parted with the boy, who was quietly engaged with his mandatory information accrual.

Roask retraced his steps back through the chambers and pods he had taken to arrive at the subterranean home, periodically peeking behind to check if he was being followed. To ensure he would not become lost in the unforgiving maze, Roask replayed the visual feed that had been automatically recorded through his internal bioreceptors. One wrong turn and he would become lost, eventually needing to request help from above and reactive his geodata stream. As the relaxant wore off, a pressure and anxiety began again accumulating in the man.

The still, musky air seemed manufactured, hints of concentrated sewage and industrial matter hiding in every breath. Sweat was accumulating on Roask’s forehead, the drops resembled small beads or marbles before running down into his eyeballs, their saline composition causing a sharp stinging sensation. The maze like structure of imprisoning, narrow tunnels and low ceilings practically buried Roask as he hurried down the walkways with a pounding heart and trembling arms. It felt as if he was travelling in a complicated circle, constantly splitting routes seemed to always lead to where they once began. He eyed the time display in the upper corner of his internal display frantically, each moment disconnected from the network increased the likelihood of being flagged by a drone monitor. Eventually Roask reached the lift that lead to the solar sector and quickly ascended, rushing out of the exit to the small carrier he had left behind.

Between the echoes of blasts and the rumbling of the Earth, a circle of blue suited men deliberated amongst themselves in a dimly lit underground bunker. “The people of Sitma are under attack. For refusing to indoctrinate our masses we have invited war into our hinterlands. For not endowing our fate to the calculations of drones, we have invited disease to spread amongst us. For refusing to adopt their cyborg form, we have requested chaos. At precisely this moment, a virus from the so called enlightened consumer race is spreading amongst us. Their drones are targeting Sitmians indiscriminately, virtually every weapon short of those capable of obliterating our entire continent has been recently deployed…

Nonetheless, we will fight, we will triumph! They have been led astray from the righteous path, blinded by their internal computers, living lives of delusion. They treat themselves as gods and their masses as slaves, no better than rabid dogs in cages. We shall celebrate in poverty and plenty alike and cast none aside. All for one and one for all! Curse the gluttons! Curse the enlightened technologists!”

The group shouted in unison and cheered. They began arming themselves with all that was available; old, obsolete beam rifles, pressure rifles, magnetrons, gravitator pistols, and other equipment from expired drones or raided outposts, and a variety of explosives. Anything that could be put to use in the war effort was among the Sitmians. Small companies formed and split in different directions, ascending the various tunnels of the underground jungle bunker and poking their heads out of the leaf and twig covered entryways.

“Keep your heads down, stay low,” Alistair Jafari said. “Be sure the temperature settings of your suits are set to properly avoid infrared detection.” He held a pressure rifle that was shaped like a long, thin cone. Arabesque patterns were etched into the weapon and a few dim red lights signalled it was not active. On the tip a concave disk was fixed, near the center and at the rear of the weapon handle bars protruded which his large hands grasped. The man’s eyes peered through wide fern leaves, slowly scanning the surrounding area.

“Anything showing on the metal detector, Rama?” “Clear”, the man said. “Alright, let’s move out, keep your voices down, stay low.” The group moved quietly through the jungle. Alistair Jafari brought out a mobile computer and studied the map of the surrounding region. He had a long, arched nose and curly brown hair. The contours of his suit matched his muscular, fit body. His skin was a light olive colour, his light green eyes matched the bright hues of the sunlit flora that surrounded the group.

“Our orders are to disrupt the enemy's supply chain. There are a few ore mines north of here, near the base of the mountains. They will be heavily fortified so we must take extra precaution.” A light rain began pouring down, the countless droplets producing a white noise that masked the sound of the group’s footsteps as they approached a wide, rushing river. A rustle sounded from beneath a collection of ferns and a large brown mass darted towards the group. Alistair Jafari instinctively aimed and activated his pressure rifle, the deep red lighting on the weapon shifted to a bright blue and a white beam emanated from the cannon, marking the target. After a squeeze of the handles, a high pressure bubble surrounded the beast, which was instantly disfigured and crippled as if it had been suddenly submerged beneath the entire ocean, its bone and body unable to withstand the enormous force and pressure.

“Rama, deploy the scout drone.” The short, well built man opened his supply bag and released the metallic object after a few taps on its control board. He had dark, black curly hair that met with a beard shaped like the letter V. His pupils shrunk as he watched the scout drone ascend above the treeline, the sun exposing the rich brown of his eyes. The drone began streaming a visual feed of the surrounding area, its advanced lens detected metals, infrared and could isolate objects. “All clear, no rapids in this section. We will regroup on the other side, stay calm. Rama, swim across last.” Rama nodded as Alistair Jaffari left, wading through the water, and beginning a freestyle stroke.

The river had a dark, clay color from the heavy load of rich sediments it carried, making it impossible to see into its murky depths. The current rapidly pulled the man downstream as he progressed towards the opposite bank. Soon enough his feet felt the viscous earth and he trudged through the shallow waters to the bank, hurrying to bring out his computer and assess the surroundings, knowing that a river crossing would be the worst time for his company to be ambushed. The scout drone was picking up an incoming metal mass headed toward the company, and, as he looked across the river, he noticed half the company swimming in a line and the other half preparing to disembark, oblivious to the impending danger. Quickly, he sent an alert to Rama, who fell into a prone position and faced north.

Alistair Jafari readied his pressure rifle and focused to the north, the map indicating the mass would soon come into range. A few moments passed, nothing. His eyes scanned the sky and treeline, searching for any sign of the drone. Suddenly, a soldier around the center of the river let out a short scream before disappearing under the water, soon after another disappeared beneath the turbulent surface. Allistair Jafari quickly unhooked a metallic ball from his supply belt and threw the potatoe sized sphere towards where the second man had disappeared. Its trajectory formed a long parabola, shining as it glided through the air before suddenly halting about halfway across the river. The magnetron let out a large flash of white light followed by a sound of thunder as a powerful magnetic field was generated, causing the subaquatic drone to break through the surface of the water, its limbs violently wrapping and contorting around the small ball. The inner components of the machine were ruined by the magnetic force, and, after a few moments, the mass fell into the water, lifeless.

“Any data outliers, HU8?” said Tanaka, speaking to his nearby servant drone. The man had tan skin and dark, wavy hair, his appearance typical of the fully mixed, homogeneous gene pool of the consumer population. He bore no features associated with ancestral man, brown eyes were set low on his face, beneath them an anarchless nose that appeared like the stump of a tree. His short limbs appeared thin and weak like those of one suffering from muscular dystrophy, unable to perform any vigorous physical exercises. His appearance was like Sigun’s, the exemplar of a prime, ideal physique.

The man was reclined on a soft, floating gravitator pad, staring upwards at the aquarium ceiling of his chamber with a meditative, stoic expression. Pufferfish, cichlids and clownfish darted through the limbs of anemones and coral against the backdrop of a wide, clear blue sky. Shiny, steel walls enclosed a miniature model rainforest that occupied much of the chamber’s floor, each tree a small bonsai colored by tiny, bright birds, each one carrying engineered DNA that perfectly replicated their natural counterparts. A tiny miniature elephant jumped and darted about, its small tusks appeared like toothpicks as it charged through a small green valley. Generated rain clouds hovered over the small, zoo like model.

The entire mansion was set aside from the dense metropolis, alone in the middle of the environmental sector. The mansion sat upon a mountain, its various chambers blanketing the peak like a cap of snow. A wide valley opened below, partially filled by a lake that sustained herds of migrating bison and waterfowl, serving as a resting place along their yearly journeys. Tanaka alone inhabited the castle, existing in harmony in his perfectly engineered paradise, accompanied only by a fleet of drones and exotic pets.

“Roask. ID: 5349803. Age: One Hundred and Eighty. Place of birth: Budlon. The data outliers flagged relate to total internal computing time and geodata. The consumer seems to be underutilizing his internal computer. Product consumption and virtual immersion rates are also far below average. He appears to have silenced his geographic position recently as well, sir.” The drone expressed subtleties of emotion and imperfections in its deep, male voice.

“Ahh, Roask. The name rings a bell. Sigun and I discussed some of the man’s peculiarities together, but I never suspected he was this out of line… There is always the odd duck or so, isn’t there.” Tanaka thought out loud. It seems we will need to bring him in and perform some evaluations.” The drone agreed that it would be the best course of action. “Give me an update on Sitma.” “Certainly, sir. Drone fleets have been sent onto the continent and routine bombings have begun over the main cities. CY6 bacteria was released in water reserves and crop fields and the disease has already spread rapidly among the population. The Sitmian forces have been put to their knees. However, an organized resistance in the environmental sectors has proven difficult to manage. Small groups of fighters are utilizing hit and run guerrilla tactics. The enemy is quite elusive, sir.”

“Worries can always be set aside until tomorrow, can’t they? For now, a bit of engineered ecstasy is the only order of business.” From his internal display Tanaka ordered a pair of pleasure drones to enter. Like clockwork, two tall, beautiful ladies entered the room, each wearing thin, black satin dresses with surfaces that simulated slowly waving orchids. The sweet scent of roses announced their presence as they gracefully approached and joined him on each side of the floating bed, whispering into his ear with musical, erotic voices. The thin dresses were semi opaque, revealing the mocha toned skin and voluptuous breasts that lay beneath, swaying as they laid on opposite sides of the floating surface. He rested his hands on the smooth, coffee colored skin of a thick leg and feasted his eyes on the luscious, round hips and buttocks.

Each had hypnotizing, almond shaped eyes with redwood irises. Full, pink lips lay beneath elegantly arched noses and high cheekbones, each feature perfectly proportioned like the ancient, marbled waves of a statue of Aphrodite. Their skin was bioengineered with DNA identical to that of a human being and had soft, baby like texture. He felt like he was in the womb of an Egyptian pyramid, like he was Khufu sipping wine surrounded by a harem, slowly waving his feet in the cool water of a glimmering underground pool. They slowly removed their dresses and began pleasing the man, the entire scene a fantasy or dream.

“Let's do a head count.” The remainder of the men had crossed the grand river and regrouped on the other side. Their hair and clothes we soaked and they appeared traumatized, adrenaline still pumping through their veins. Alistair Jaffari scanned his eyes over the group, quickly tallying the total. “We’ve lost three. Baba, John, and Lee.” He looked up and closed his eyes, as if he was offering them some final goodbye or officiating their departure from this realm, recognizing their death in the most formal manner he was able. The other men made similar gestures, some collapsed onto their knees, wishing they had a chance to say their final goodbyes. Tears rolled down some of the men’s eyes and a gloom set in on their faces, others were not affected, numb to the pain and accepting another casualty in a bloody war.

“We’ve got to continue heading North, we are still a ways off,'' said Jaffari. The company began marching again, their eyes constantly surveilling the terrain around as they trudged through the moist, soft Earth. Rama rummaged through his tool kit and deployed a small surveillance drone which slowly drifted upwards and hovered slightly above the forest canopy, appearing as colorful jungle bird as it navigated the maze of branches. It was shaped like a saucer, on either side small, black semispheres recorded and relayed data to the team, scrupulously analyzing the surroundings for movement and hazards. Eventually the company reached the top of a small knoll, and on the horizon they viewed the green expanse. The vastness of nature, of the forests, oceans and cosmos struck Jaffari as he scanned the rolling green flora.

After a few kilometers of trekking through the jungle, a soldier stumbled and suddenly collapsed onto his knees. He coughed into the sleeve of his camouflage jacket and a spatter of blood oozed out of his mouth, its sound signaling a buildup of fluid and phlegm. “Juarez”, Rama said to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder. Alistair Jaffari looked at the man. He was beaten. A yellow hue colored his skin, specks of mud and dirt were scattered across his eyes and nose. Patches of mud from the river were splattered across his dense, heavy jacket and hands. “I think I got the bug,'' he groaned.

With a solemn look in his eye, Alistair Jaffari signalled the rest of the men to offer their goodbyes to the man. Juarez placed all of his weight on one leg and tried to stand before slipping and falling into the leaves like a drunk getting up from the bar after one too many glasses. He moaned in pain and like a tortured wolf snared for too long in an old, rusty spring trap, began to forfeit. He looked at Juarez, knowing that it would be the last time. He saw a pain in his eye that communicated his will to die, a look that begged to be free from the pain of this world, that implored the man.

A boom echoed throughout the jungle followed by a flurry wings that cut through the air. The hearts of the team throbbed in pain, not a word spoken among them. The echoes of the boom seemed to hang in the air longer than usual, as if time had suddenly slowed its course from the emotional distress of the final parting. A small, brown blanket covered the man and again, Alistair Jaffari looked up into the clouds, offering a prayer in his name.

Death had become so routine since the outbreak of the war that it had begun to alter Alistair Jaffari, morphing him into a deeply spiritual being. It was as if he had suddenly adopted the life of a Sumerian priest, alone in a Ziggurat engaged with the divine, brokering with spirits surrounded by distant, rolling crimson dunes and among scattered abodes. His prayers, meditations, and wishes of benevolence to their departed souls became such an established ritual that it had brought him closer to the transcendent being or force they rejoined. In the ultimate irony the war had brought to him a refined spirituality, through death and violence he found a reunion with the divine, and, as a result, had become a spiritual guide, a sort of guru for his company.

His appearance had reflected this inner change, and, though he was a commander, he had begun to take on the appearance of a sufi, constantly recollecting the divine order of reality and god. His hair had grown long and his brown wavy curls fluttered in the wind. A peace was written across his eyes coupled with a deep satisfaction with life, as if only his body remained in the physical world but his soul and mind were elsewhere, far beyond relishing in the chasms imagination and love.

He left Juarez and began marching North to rejoin the rest of the group. “He’s at rest now. You know we can not afford to take any chances with the bug. That goes for everyone.” There were reports of utter devastation from the Sitmian leaders, the new plague had silenced entire cities, replacing the sounds of bustling city life with a total silence. Scavenger drones only remained, making use of the widely scattered corpses for nutrient. Only the sparsely populated regions of Sitma had survived the initial onslaught of bombings, biological warfare, and drone invasions. It was the jungle that remained the heart of the resistance as perhaps it had been from time immemorial.

A rustle from a nearby bush sounded and out jumped a boar, startled from its daytime slumber by the approaching clan. As the animal sprinted away Rama aimed his ray gun and fired, a white beam emanating from the weapon like a bolt of lightning from a dense stormcloud, striking the animal and slicing it in half. A bit of smoke and the smell of charred meat emanated from its corpse as Rama approached the animal and pulled out a multipurpose knife, quickly skinning and gutting the boar and stowing away the slick slices of meat for later. The knife carved through the flesh like butter, easily gliding through the tough, worn skin of the beast.

Many days passed as the company continued north, slowly progressing through the humid and dense rainforest. At the end of each day they would set up a small camp, build a fire, and make small fortifications with the surrounding ferns and shrubs. And each night they would rotate for watch duty, keeping heavy, sleepy eyes on a tablets various symbols and warnings. The days seemed to fuse into one another, each resembling the last, each moment a sort of deja vu in an unbroken chain. Time began to have no meaning, no end was in sight to the war and no alternative beside war existed. With their families lost and almost everything was destroyed, some of the men began welcoming the idea of death. There was nothing to live for but revenge against the warmongers.

“You are a subterranean. A lesser being of the underground, like a wretched gopher gnawing through the roots of a precious tree. You will wander the underworld like the mourning souls of Kur. Your only way out of this misery is a submission your makers, constant sacrifices to the god’s above. In this way you will break free of misery and join the ranks of kings, welcomed above after passing from this realm. Else, you will rot, living no better than a shackled slave moving boulders for Ramses, the baking sun stinging your skin as blood drips down your back, gashed by lashes of a tough whip.”

Abbad’s simulation was set in a cold classroom, the stinging gaze of his black suited teacher peering deep into his eyes. Every word that entered his ears was carefully designed to remove any doubt or curiosity from the boy. His creativity and free will had been so thoroughly removed that he was nearing the state of a sort of biological machine. The droning of the simulated teacher continued, “You will have completed your information accrual soon and will be prepared to join the symphony, strumming your tune to the gods above. Make something beautiful for them, it is your fate.”

The boy’s mind was now totally shackled, like the corpse of prometheus on the precipice of a mountain. His ability to dream was limited by his inability to see, for the world and truth were hidden behind walls of lies, great barriers that crippled his once youthful and exuberant spirit. The misinformation was reinforced by Han Giru, who was unknowingly complicit in his brainwashing. Reality and truth were a disease to be hidden for the sake of the social order and well functioning of the subterranean race, each man living in a completely fabricated universe, fractured from one another. Though his disease had faded, his spirit had been conquered, like the software of a computer corrupted by a malicious virus with hardware that had remained intact.

Eventually Han Giru returned from his overnight shift, and, as he looked at the boy he no longer saw his son. It was as if suddenly the boy’s youthful glee had disappeared, as if the bright expectations and dreams of life had been replaced by the realization of a meaningless, indifferent, and cold universe. In Han Giru’s absence a message appeared on the boy’s internal display, directing him to an onboarding procedure for those having recently completed the information accrual phase of their development.

In the boy’s eyes fear was written, his innocent gaze expressing an insecurity and deep sadness to leave the care of his father. “It is your time boy, you are being called away. Don’t fear, for it is our destiny to be called away, it is the gods beckoning you boy, the gods are beckoning you to come serve them. Follow their path, and trust in its destination, their goodwill will find you in the end.”

Tears began flowing down his eyes, raw and spontaneously. His life was being pulled away from under his feat, the boy felt he was falling into a deep, dark abyss. Han Giru faced the parting with a sturdy acceptance, he knew he must be strong for the boy. For if he broke, it was sure that the boy would be crippled, unable to face his destiny. He hid his emotions well but, in reality, it felt as if his heart was slowly being taken away. The boy’s successful rearing had become the cornerstone of his existence, it had taken on the role of life’s purpose and satisfied his ultimate philosophical qualms. Though a deep satisfaction and pride filled his heart at providing such a being to serve the consumers, the emotion was bitter sweet coupled with the prospect of a more lonely, aimless existence.

Han Giru caressed the boy and brought him some nutrient. His gloomy eyes peered into the bowl. Deep inside a battle was raging, leaving a reflective expression in his eyes that morphed into a sort of catatonia, freezing the boy as tears continued to roll down his cheeks. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you.” Han Giru again reassured the boy as he passed his fingers through the boy’s hair.