There lingers a sense of defiant indignation as one is stripped of their corporeal senses, a relentless cognitive dissonance when one is manipulated into believing a truth that they know to be a lie, and a blatant onset of helpless impotence when one is evaporated of all notion of autonomy. It is in the removal of these faculties where problems arise. Without them ever becoming present to begin with, the future Archway Subjects will be far more compliant and capable.
It is therefore imperative that the targeted demographic of Subjects for the Archway Program receives this immediate adjustment in preparation for the incoming Fifth Influence Event, projected to arrive twenty years from today, in the year 2237.
My proposal is pending approval.
My presence is a threat.
Helping myself to another glass of his forty year scotch, I trail back over to the grandiose desk of the singular highest legal authority in the Sol Technocracy as I have a taste of the drink.
Smooth. Tastes like smoke. And maple.
I make a point of setting my glass on the desk, with a clink just loud enough to stand as a blatant reminder that I am still here. Making absolutely certain Chancellor Emilio Estrada does his damn job.
He shifts in his seat, making sure I see that he's still reading. The outcome of this is inevitable. He will sign it. To do anything else would doom us all. He knows that. I know that. Everyone in the Technocracy's highest echelon knows that.
The ends will justify the means.
And the methodology as well.
To hurry things along, I make him feel even more under threat by circling the desk and getting behind him. With me out of sight, there's no telling what I might be doing. But I'm just straightening my tie and admiring the view from the window, of course. Nothing more to it than that.
It's an echo, this place. A dying ember. Luanda may be the most technologically advanced city on Earth, but the Earth itself is on its knees.
The blood red sky is a constant reminder.
At last, Emilio sighs. "I hope you know what you're doing, Doctor Cohen."
"More than anyone." Turning to face him, I drink more of his extraordinarily expensive scotch. "It's a callous measure, I admit. But you know how this ends if you don't sign it."
"I do," he exhales, head in his hands. "I know exactly how it ends…"
"This is necessary. Utterly necessary. If you don't do this, it will be on you and you alone when extinction arrives. And make no mistake, Emilio. It is coming."
"It is. It is. But this… This is… irredeemable."
"And the results will end everything."
"How can you be so sure? How?" He lifts his head, anguish clear on his bearded face. "The Fourth Influence was cataclysmic. They hit us harder than they ever have before. And yet you claim in this proposal that the Fifth will be exponentially worse!"
"Oh, you sorry excuse." My laugh is as dry as the scotch on my tongue. "The Fourth was a disaster because my mother's designs were a fucking joke. It was her failure that brought ruin to us all."
"So you claim. But tell me, Lucy, exactly how is it you're so certain you can stop the Influence when your own mother's preparations weren't enough? How does this end anything?"
Leaning closer, I lose all expression and stare death into this man's weary eyes. "Because the Influence has never faced my preparations. I know exactly why the previous Deliverers were incapable. This one will be perfection. Utter perfection. In every single way you can possibly imagine. She will be the pinnacle of us all. And the Influence will breakagainst her wrath."
I grab the back of his chair and shove him to his desk, stabbing a finger onto the HoloDisplay dossier that contains humanity's final chance at salvation.
"Sign it, Emilio. Then you can look away and pretend it isn't happening. Just like all the fucking rest. Do whatever it takes. Or do I need to remind you who put you in this office? Sign it. Now."
Chancellor Estrada signs the proposal.
I stride toward the door.
Morrigan is waiting in the grand hallway.
As we walk, she hums, "So it begins."
I light a cigarette. "So it begins…"
That very same night, two thousand newborns from around what remains of the Sol Technocracy are pronounced dead. Their families only ever held them as ashes in urns.