Death Consortium
The sky emitted nothing. In fact, clouds that once floated aimlessly about the planet were now products of industrial parks. These new man made clouds were made of smoldering ash and dust, which coated the nearest coast in a perpetual state or irrevocable darkness and malignance.
These industrial complexes were the root and leaf of mankind. With the elimination of 99% of natural resources a new genius had emerged with a design that had left our technological golden age in its predetermined grave. After all, the market of cellular devices and touchscreen monitors had reached its peak in innovation. No more quicker could messages be received nor information derived. Every persons voice had been heard and every yell had been recorded down in humanities archive. Our entire species had usurped itself of its one and only precious thing. Its voice.
Far too long had words been spoken. For generations too many, had ignorance and deceit been duplicated. Perpetuated into a putrid display of a collective human degeneration. Your definition of discovery? Was merely hypocrisy. Their choices for peace? Were simply code for destruction. Your fight for a better life? a joke. A mockery of human potential. For it was all drunk away. The youth? Pissed into the wind for a day of precluded popularity.
And it was in this age, the age of Extinction that he came.
They say that MorvaCorp was created before his feet.
Upon his thought had it been instituted as its own private corporation. The steel foundations, pushed into firm earth where no human had walked before. The colossal parks of metallic bridges and mirrored complexes, created on a whim. The designs for its complex AI software, unbridled and unmatched by the worlds current state of technology. He had managed to intertwine blood and steel. To create material out of space and time.
They say he was born in the depths of Morva's fiery cauldron.
Out of the heat, had his heart escaped scrutiny, under the prejudice of human error, had his limbs been forgotten. His body macerated and delegated only by the minds eye, which had centered beneath Morva's heavy ooze of liquid fire.
A hand emerged out of the exhaust. From the roars of the unsleeping machines, the screams of the dying workers, from the sound of smashing of steel and hammer had his voice been heard. And his glorious energy! Felt across this nation of futile hate mongers. He came out of the death of humanity, pure and eliminated of its petty flaws.
Like a god of light and bone he arose from the ashes, and went on forth in the world searching for nothing and offering his precious design as a testament of true human ambition. And rarely did he speak. For words were meaningless, and at most, intrepid points on a plot.
"For what is ambition in a world where ambition has been met? "
"Set in stone like a flaccid idea. Only I wait for its death."
"Second is life, only to death. And death, second only to me."
"For I am creator."
"I am design."
"Resonating like a re surging sound from oust our space and time. I am not defined."
"For I am design."
