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looking good sharkey, very cuthuluesque.

~~Chapter One (The Viewing Begins)~~

It has always been generally understood that everyone is vain to a certain degree, but perhaps no period in the history of humanity would see such widespread egotism and nauseating vanity as the one which I foresaw. A society where everyone is completely absorbed with their outward appearance and the superficiality of personal feelings cannot hold together. Some might propose "de-evolution" as the quintessential example of what society's progress over the coming decades would amount to, and with an example such as my seeing that in the future that the world's vast majority of manufactured goods would consist of wholesale cosmetics, (Censored for AG), placebos, and an infinite amount of so called wonder drugs, it was reasonable to assume that such a theory would eventually prove itself fact. Additionally, with the world's main non goods revenue contrived from plastic surgery, advertisements disguised as (Censored for AG), and an infinite number of applications for things called cell phones, it was obvious that future society would pride itself in its complete immersion in a realm of bad taste.
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"La-Da-Dant-Da", chimed the monstrous loudspeakers (that somehow produced sound without a person speaking into them) above the crowd of sheepish commuters who hurried through the dilapidated city streets like little insects. "It's finally here!!", roared the loudspeakers with a reverberating boom. "Neuro Nuke: the most *explitive* awesome pill ever! It will make you feel *explitive* awesome!", continued the deep throated yet incredibly monotone automated voice. Then, as the voice continued, holograms of a colorful pill bottle shaped like an energy drink can simultaneously appeared at regular intervals of roughly ten feet apart and at eye level height. These holograms appeared, not only in every street and public building in the city, but in every room of every house as well. Small but powerful projection devices for these otherworldly images were everywhere. As the hologram of the pill bottles gave way to images of a man apparently experiencing the effects of this drug and behaving in a rather profane and uncouth manner, the voice coming from the loudspeakers rattled off a seemingly endless list of side effects at an incomprehensible speed. What I managed to hear was that apparently this so called boredom annihilating pill's side effects included everything from headaches, chills, and nausea to heart palpitations, hallucinations, and dementia. After ten minutes of high speed rambling, the advertisement concluded with the first and only change in tone of voice in the entire fifteen minute long ad: "Don't be a bigot and a homophobe, order a case of Neuro Nuke today! Only $99,999.99 per case on the WSEC marketplace store."
A few moments later I managed to snap out of my horrified stare. "WSEC? What's that?", I asked. "It means the World Self Esteem Corporation.", replied the savant as we silently gazed into the sphere with equal disdain. After a few moments, the savant broke the silence: "John, society is like a piece of meat. Without salt, meat spoils rapidly and becomes unfit for stomachs. Imagine that society is piece a fresh meat. What can one use as salt to prevent society from degenerating info a slab of rancid filth?" "I, I don't... I don't know", I replied, mildly ashamed. The savant smiled humbly and then replied in a doleful tone: " John, I do not know either. What can be done? People intent on fulfilling their own selfish desires and that care neither of the state of their world nor of others cannot be forced to take civic responsibility or do good things." "But what are we going to do about this!? What are we going to tell people?", I demanded to know. " There is no 'we' in this matter, John. There is only you", asserted the savant. "Then what's with all this talk about taking civic responsibility and caring about the state of society", I retorted. "It's not mere talk. I continually strive to help others and improve the condition of my world. My village is my world. My world is not the entire planet. What's your world?", said he. I opened my mouth to speak, but the savant continued with a slightly raised voice: " To a certain degree I control the future of my village with the decisions I make. I have a great responsibility in this regard. Do not the leaders as well as the people of your great cities hold high esteem for their responsibilities? If not, then I pity your city world people. The people in your world must learn that the decisions they make, although seemingly small and insignificant when each individual's decisions are viewed retrospectively, represent a collective consciousness of their society. "
After what I was shown and in addition to what I had already seen of our future, I had begun to feel like a paraplegic squirrel on opium. The technology and the lexicon of the future was both confusing and frightening. It seemed that any question about the future either led to two more or to plain despair. The viewing continued on, and although it became more and more intriguing and climactic, my attention turned to torpidity, my eyelids became heavy, and I started to fade... into a troubled, comatose slumber.
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I awoke some days later after having fallen asleep near the end of the viewing. Everything had changed. The village had seemingly disappeared and only outlines in the soil of where the tents had once stood remained to remind me. But I didn't need any reminding of what had happened; the memory of that diminutive yet powerful soothsayer and what he showed me through his crystal ball still burned in my dehydrated brain like red hot brand. He had trusted me at first, and then I had to go and start acting like the **** researcher that I was and get him all suspicious. He had the right though. What do all us American cats always do when we discover a new tribe or village that we deem of historical or material importance? We take. We destroy. We claim. We ruin.
"That tea. That tea that that old nomad lady served me while I was in the middle of the viewing. It must off had some sort of herbal sedative in it", I said to myself. "They may have wanted me gone, but they didn't want to hurt me." In fact they had even left me wrapped in a nice set of blankets with all of my gear neatly stacked nearby. They had even left me provisions for my long return journey.
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The report which I wrote upon my return to New York contained nothing about the nomadic savants or the viewing in which I participated that windy September day. No one has ever heard me argue with myself about what I should do with my knowledge of future events except my pet parrot, Nebuchadnezzar. I've spent many months pondering, researching, and procrastinating, and as you are already aware, I've made my decision to not remain silent. I don't care if president Hoover himself calls me crazy and thinks that I should be locked away in a sanatorium. What helped me change my mind were two books which I discovered over the period of many months of long research. The first of these stories was an eighty year old narrative entitled "The Cultural Experiences of Kashmir by H.K. Mongoul" which tells of an Afghan cartographer who served as a guide to the author. The Afghan in the story often told of an incredible past experience with a tribe of diminutive yet powerful sages in an extremely remote region in which he had been attempting to map. The second book was an autobiography of a Turkish merchant written during the height of this Ottoman Empire. This book contains four chapters which tell a strikingly similar story to mine of the author's encounter with a "clan of learned tellers of time". Although I have yet to find neither a contemporary account of an experience similar to mine nor a living person who may corroborate my story, I have decided to throw caution to the wind and write a full account of what I foresaw in that nomadic savant's tent in that remote region to which I have never returned.

~~Chapter Two (The Crooked No-Face, aka A Terrible World Needs A Hero)~~

The supposed wonder drug Neuro Nuke was the World Self Esteem Corporation's most infamous creation and a highly anticipated pharmaceutical product when the WSEC first began manufacturing drugs in the winter of 2033. Frequent ingestion of this large pill was supposed to destroy the feeling of boredom, and later the WSEC also concluded that it would also obliterate any and all flaws with one's physical appearance: moles, acne, big ears, missing teeth, etc... There was, however, almost no one who called into question the credibility or safety of the drug since the WSEC owned the FDA, the entire media, Congress, the Senate, and the Supreme Court. In 2032, the World Self Esteem Corporation had forced Congress to pass legislation that outlawed any form of regulatory action against their products or activities, and three months later, they more or less ordered Congress to pass additional legislation which made it illegal to portray them in a negative fashion. Soon it became illegal to say anything about them at all or even to mention their name, even in private conversation. Additionally, the WSEC could order anyone to buy their products, and those who refused could be sentenced to life in prison. This was, as they said, so that they could improve the lives of individuals by boosting their self esteem. They claimed that people could not feel good or fulfill themselves on their own without the supervision of professional happiness and esteem personnel and that without their medications, individuals would to not be able to function properly and fit into society.
By mid 2038, the WSEC had rendered all grocery stores, private farms, and restaurants extinct in order to, as they said, improve the self esteem of individuals by taking away the confusion and profound embarrassment of trying to decide what and how they should eat. The WSEC was, therefore, responsible for single handedly feeding the entire world population of ten billion, which led to some serious problems. Since they only had four feeding centers in the whole world, the entire population of ten billion had to cram into just four cities since it was punishable by life imprisonment to grown one's own food or carry stores of food elsewhere. The public feeding division of the WSEC manufactured just three different meals: the Esteemilada (a mushy green thing that vaguely resembled an enchilada), the Tolerance Burger (a vegan patty on a potato flour bun), and the Pansexuwhich (a sandwich with thirteen different kinds of imitation fruit sauce). Lines outside the feeding centers regularly stretched for many miles and people often went through their lives malnourished and discontented. This is the reason, among many others, that any and all drugs were so popular. People needed a way to detach from the liberal hell that had become their reality, and an estimated 9.54 billion people regularly and ironically turned to the same organization that had always "improved" their lives.
By the winter of 2041, the general population had degenerated to a point near of no return; the rampant malnutrition and chronic depression that infected nearly everyone on earth was threatening to destroy humanity altogether. The wonder drug Neuro Nuke had completely and horribly failed to de-borify and beautify humanity, instead having mutated millions of people into hideous shadows of their former selves. With society near collapse and the world diving deeper into economic depression, the world seemed doomed to fade away into and rot in the depths of famine, change, and despair. But as in any heroic saga, there are always those few gallant souls who stand up to tyranny, fire breathing dragons, asinine trends, and progressive zealots.
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The musty air enveloping the terse rebels in the crowded room felt as though it were a living entity, but I suppose that to them even the derelict walls seemed to have eyes. For so secret and important was purpose of their gathering that everything that moved, or seemingly moved just out of the corners of their world weary eyes was subject to profound and often irrational suspicion. Suddenly, the gloom tonality of the suppressed muttering emanating from the crowd below turned almost instantly to applause and hopeful interrogative chatter. The Crooked No-Face climbed atop the makeshift platform constructed from plywood and old plastic water drums. He began to attempt to form a smile, but quickly remembered his predicament and chuckled to himself. "Hey old fellow!", he said to himself. "You ain't got no face so don't even try." He then spoke aloud via a speaker wired into his brain, "My comrades, for decades we have been forced by the World Self Esteem Corporation to to eat what they say, take what drugs they say to take, and think what they say to think. I've had enough! They say that they give us self esteem and fulfill our existences, but look at us! Their so called wonder drugs that were supposed to make us fit into THEIR society, make us beautiful, and make us complete have instead ravaged us!" The crowd of mutants below cheered loudly but rather hoarsely since they were all badly mutated. "Their drugs took my face and it took my straightness and made me crooked. Last night, two thin and malnourished Asian gents that were wearing cerulean tights and lime green goggles remarked to me that they thought that I was delightfully crooked. I've had more than enough and I can't take it any more! Come tomorrow, we shall rise up and take back our world! They shall abuse, drug, and imprison us no more!", continued the Crooked No-Face. "But how we going to stop them all? There are so many of them and they have machine guns, tasers, and dirty needles.", cried a nervous looking mutant in the crowd. Before the interrupter could fully finish, No-Face responded assertively, "They are many and they are vicious, but they are not as bright as they would have us believe. I have a near perfect plan to defeat them all."

~~Chapter Three (Links, aka A Desperate Situation Calls For A Bold Plan Of Action)~~

The WSEC was made up of three divisions that were run by totalitarian tsars who essentially controlled the world: former Church of Satan frontman Demonovich McRandy was the tsar marshall who ran the World Police Faction, the 475lb Cloaca Brown was the superintendent of the WSEC's Center for World Change, and the schizophrenic sadist Sir Cornelius Madeline McToasy III was the tsar who ran the World Feeding & Drugging Commission. These three individuals had obtained the afore mentioned positions after the WSEC tsar appointer, Adolf Rodriguez, had deemed them "unique and and determined individuals committed to change and progress." Many people through the world had undoubtedly disagreed with Adolf, but the vast majority of mankind kept silent, fearing detainment, waterboarding, and life imprisonment.
Fearing complete collapse and that humanity would be doomed to live in a dystopian concentration camp world unless someone did something, some brave souls who had managed to educate themselves had formed a reasonably well organized resistance to the liberal tyranny that held the world captive. Made up primarily of those horribly disfigured by the self esteem boosting drugs (mutants), and those who had escaped receiving the WSEC's mandatory social brainwashing program, they believed that by overthrowing the WSEC and all of its branches and installing a just form of democratic government they could save the world from the depths of tyranny, disease, malnutrition, and depression to which it had sunk. The resistance to the WSEC, known as People Committed to Prosperity (or PCP for short), had begun shortly after the great world blizzard of 2038 when the WSEC had ordered under penalty of death that no one was to run any sort of heater or burn any kind of fuel to keep warm and alive during the blizzard since so many people using warmth all at once would cause global warming. The result was that an estimated twenty eight million people froze to death during the blizzard and another forty six million developed severe frostbite of various limbs and extremities which required in home amputation by family members since there were only two hospitals in the entire world. Since most people were not able to receive proper medical treatment, the majority of those with acute frostbite later developed gangrene and died. During the following spring, the daunting task of burying the millions of thawing corpses fell to the general public since the WSEC did not have approval from itself to conduct affairs with fatally frozen individuals. Instead, society took its natural course and the WSEC continued issuing self esteem boosting drugs while millions of blizzard victims rotted in the streets.
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A solid, jarring knock reverberated from the heavy black door which marked the end a long, narrow hallway. "Who goes there!?", demanded the irritable sentry. "It is I, Links", replied long winded, musical voice. "What's the password?", asked the sentry. "Fitzpatrick's ears", the mutant at the door retorted sarcastically. A peephole in the door slid open with a sudden squeak and a pair of small green eyes peered angrily at the mutant. After a brief silence the sentry replied, "You just can't get enough can you? When are you going to quit makin' fun of my ears!?" "When we win back the world", answered the mutant. The sentry mumbled something under his breath and slammed the peephole shut. A moment later, the sounds of locks being thrown back gave way to a loud creak as the heavy door opened. "Guess what's for dinner tonight?", asked the sentry with an impatient anticipation of sardonic retaliation. "Let me guess? hotdogs?", said the mutant in a fed up tone. The sentry's smirk changed to a mild frown as he brushed past the mutant to lock the door. The big mutant strode down the long hallway to the opposing door as the sentry went back to his lonely post and began to have a nearly inaudible conversation with himself.
Upon reaching the opposing black door at the end of the hallway, the mutant immediately opened it and entered with the least bit of concern for what might be happening behind it. " Links! How are you old friend?", exploded a husky bouncer seated at an archaic roll top desk. "Good enough. I'll be better once things are underway", replied Links. The stout bouncer rose up quickly, sailed over to the wall behind him, and hammered on it with his fist four times rapidly and then four times slowly. A moment later, the wall emitted a loud groan as a section of it , approximately five feet tall by a foot wide, slid back several feet almost as if a poltergeist somewhere nearby had caused it to happen. The husky man returned to his desk to continue mulling over a stack of arbitrary paperwork as Links swiftly stepped into the secret passage.
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Links was a man of singular appearance who boasted an impressive resume. He was born in the winter of 2015 to parents who were professional athletes that prided themselves at being independent and strong. From an early age he was taught Kung Fu, wilderness survival, sky diving, torture enduring techniques, yoga, and masquerade etiquette by his uncle who owned and operated and traveling circus called The Leviathan. By his early twenties he had developed into an exceptional athlete, soon becoming a marginally successful powerlifter. There was, however, something not right with his life; it could be described as the sort of general malaise that eerily precedes imminent personal downfall. Fearing that he would let down his family and all those who looked up to him, he sought assistance from an ever growing then new establishment in order to turn himself around. This establishment, none other than the WSEC, took notice of his case, authoritively declaring him in need of their services. They declared that in the realm of self esteem, he was a paraplegic, a man who had striven for to long to please others rather than to fulfil himself. They instructed him to read their special issue self esteem pamphlet which contained the steps to follow for someone suffering from self esteem deficit disease or SEDD for short. They also implored him to regularly receive injections of an experimental new self esteem serum which would cure this supposed disease. Although skeptical, Links finally agreed to the treatment and began receiving the injections in the winter of 2039. The experimental serum, made primarily from okapi DNA, Chinese industrial waste, jellyfish proteins, anabolic steroids, ethanol, and red lake #40, soon took effect and did indeed turn around his life... for the worse. The combined effect of the ingredients in the serum was such that Link's body was terribly mutated: his joints shrunk to a very small size and his muscles grew abnormally large, giving the impression of a man made out of sausage links joined by their casings, hence is unfortunate nickname. Links, born Antonio Bantamterrace, soon became one of WSEC's most outspoken opponents, a distinction which placed his safety in great jeopardy and forced him to literally move underground. A year later, after the terrible Reaper Blizzard when the PCP were developing, Links became instrumental in their organization, second only to the Crooked No-Face. By the winter of 2041, the PCP had amassed a large number of followers dedicated to the cause and was becoming a force to be reckoned with. They maintained a nearly religious culture of secrecy and cryptic ways in order to protect themselves from infiltration and arrest at the hand of the ever watchful World Self Esteem Corporation.
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"I have the perfect plan to defeat them all...", said the Crooked No-Face, responding to the edgy mutant's question. "We...", No-Face was interrupted by four rapid bangs and then again by four slow bangs from the secret door. A burly mutant standing watch by the entrance slid back a huge bolt which kept the sliding door firmly closed, and evenly pulling two semicircular handles on the top and bottom of the door, and slid it back several feet. Although the crooked mutant atop the makeshift platform had no face with which to convey emotion, one was hardly needed to immediately perceive the immense joy which lept into his heart when he saw (through a surgically implanted robotic eye where his forehead would have been) his long absent partner in revolution enter into the room. After a hearty welcome by all present and an ecstatic albeit awkward embrace by the Crooked No-Face, Links pulled a small chair up onto the platform next to No-Face with the angular motions of a powerlifter and sat with his tubular chest pressed firmly against the backrest. "I trust that you have been entirely successful in your missions?", asked the Crooked No-Face. "Absolutely, but we must take action by the morrow or never at all.", replied Links. "Now most of you have already heard the details of our plan to overthrow the WSEC, but to make certain and as well as for those who have yet to be made aware, listen carefully. ", said No-Face. "The leaders of the WSEC, the World Police Faction, and nearly all of their cronies are dependent upon several certain medications in order to carry out their tyrannical duties: a mental super stimulant and two different kinds of antidepressants. Our spies and informants from all over this district have brought back the same story for months of how the WSEC cannot function without their own share of medication", stated No-Face. "But hey! If they take their own stuff, why aren't they all messed up like we are?", cried a mutant in the crowd. "That's because they save the real medication for themselves. These self esteem meds that they force on us are meant to keep us weak and under their control. The reason that we will be able to fight them is that we've gone underground and stopped taking their drugs. This makes us a threat to them and they fear us! And their fear is legitimate, for tomorrow we take back our world!", cried the Crooked No-Face. After the cheering ceased, No-Face continued, " Now here is where our good friend Links made the whole plan possible..." "Thanks", interjected Links. "Let me explain. The medication which the vast majority of the corporation's leaders and employees rely on is not manufactured in the great pharmaceutical plant to the east that makes all of the self esteem drugs and products for the entire world. There is a secret WSEC factory not far from this hideout of ours which manufactures the real medication that they rely on. Thanks to a clever diversion carried out north of here earlier today by our good soldier the Sponge, there was a requirement for extra world police officers in that area. As a result, most of this secret factory's police guards were called north to respond to our diversion. This, my fellow mutants, was when we set the framework for our plan here tonight. Me and several dozen skilled mutants, some of which are here with us tonight, infiltrated the plant and surprised and overpowered the remaining police guards as well as the employees and delivery personnel. We then removed the real medication from the bottles set to be shipped to the WSEC and world police headquarters and replaced it with identical looking pills of our own which will render them weak and incapacitated for roughly one week's time. This should give us enough time to infiltrate the WSEC and world police, subdue most of them, begin destroying their big drug plant to the east, and free and recruit as many drugged mutants as possible from the general population. Tomorrow morning when the WSEC and the world police all over the world and make their medications, they will soon fall weak and ill.", said Links. The Crooked No-Face spoke up once again, "We must move very quickly if we hope to succeed. Our hope lays in recruiting more soldiers in places where our allies are stretched thin; we must amass more allies who can subdue and keep subdued our enemies all over the world once they are temporarily incapacitated. If we can gain control of this continent, we will be strong enough to take back the others one by one, but recruiting mutants from the general population may prove difficult or even dangerous as the WSEC has brainwashed them into believing that those like us are evil and a menace to society. But in light of recent events, it is reasonable to assume that that only the insane would continue to stand with the WSEC. But we now believe that most mutants are merely afraid and divided; they are waiting for us to liberate them, and liberate them we shall! We shall, beginning tomorrow morning, begin liberating them and the world too! I cannot guarantee the survival of anyone here, but I do guarantee that those who prevail will live in a free and prosperous world! Tomorrow we take back our world!"

~~Chapter Four (A Sponge, aka A Bold Plan Of Action Requires Exceptional Leadership) ~~

"Believe me my friend, the part which you will play in our mission is as every bit as important and instrumental as the main assault which I and the Crooked No-Face will carry out in the morning.", said Links. "Now...", said Links, this time addressing both the Sponge and the other forty one soldiers present with whom the Sponge would carry out the diversion. "Tomorrow morning is not the beginning of the battle to take back our freedom. The battle begins tonight at one of their distribution plants, not far from this safehouse." Links continued, "You may be surprised to learn that this particular distribution plant is of no real value to the enemy. But what is of great value to them is a heavily guarded secret factory which we will not move upon tonight. If you are wondering why you will attack this particular insignificant factory, the reason is because of its close proximity to their vitally important factory. When all of you attack this distribution center this evening, we will intentionally let "slip" via CB radio that our mutual leader, the Crooked No-Face, is about attack the center, which of course, is not true. For the first time that evening the Sponge spoke aloud, "When they hear your phony transmission they will believe that they have the perfect opportunity to kill or capture the leader of our resistance. They will undoubtedly throw nearly everything that they've got at this little distribution center in order to completely surround it." "Our intentions precisely.", replied Links. "The massive secret processing and distribution plant of which I'm sure that most of you have by now heard about houses nearly a thousand world police guards. Only something as important to them as the opportunity to kill or capture the leader of their only opposition will be sufficient to draw away the secret plant's guards to reinforce their assault upon you once you are inside the small plant." The Sponge spoke, "My fellow revolutionaries, tonight we will raid this trivial distribution center, take its workers hostage, and prolong the standoff as long as possible in order to give our hotdog man enough time to sneak into the important factory nearby and carry out his drug swap mission. You have all volunteered for this mission here tonight and are well aware that it will be your last one. Once we are surrounded in the small center by the world police, we are all as good as dead." The Sponge sighed dolefully and stared blankly into the opposite wall of the safehouse which was lit by a lone lightbulb suspended from a twisted brown cord which protruded from the green, peeling ceiling like a dead snake. "My fellow revolutionaries!", continued the Sponge. "The sacrifice which all of you will make tonight will come to be remembered as one of the greatest acts of selflessness and as the prologue to the revolution which won not only freedom and future for our generation, but for all generations to come!" The Sponge's forty one subordinates yelled. They yelled, they roared, they growled, they raised their weapons in the air, but they also thought. They thought of how life would be after the revolution for the survivors of the resistance, and they were happy as they left the safehouse on their suicidal mission. They were happy, not because of the sacrifice that they had freely chosen to make, but because they were simply free to make a decision. Most of they volunteers for the mission had been born and raised in and then rescued from a system where they had never been allowed to make their own decisions or practice or express independent thought. The sheer sadness of watching the forty one plus the Sponge go off to their deaths with this strange happiness derived from their being able to chose for themselves their own fate and perhaps give the world police a piece of their minds was almost to much for Links to bear. Having grown up as a child in a relatively free society and having eluded the tyrannical clutches of the WSEC for most of his life, the emotionality which he was witnessing was something that he thought that he shouldn't understand, but believed that he in fact did.
After the speech from Links and the Sponge, the two parted ways, forever. The Sponge's soldiers were irreversibly committed to their mission and their capable leader would see to it that they carried it out flawlessly. As Links swiftly set off to gather his own troops in preparation for his secret factory mission, dark clouds stirred ominously in the sky, as if a sign of things soon to pass.
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Sponge, a Sponge, the Sponge; an obviously unusual and interesting name for a man, even a mutant. Reflecting upon this name, one might understandably assume that a mutant bearing such a name would possess the ability to comprehend and absorb large amounts of knowledge or rapidly and new skills or abilities. I am afraid to say that in this particular case, however, the meaning of the name is in fact far more literal. With the WSEC's horrendously extensive inventory of drugs containing an outrageous number of highly questionable ingredients, the possible mutation outcomes from just a few different drugs were nearly infinite. This mutant the Sponge suffered from a mutation which caused the excessive dilation of the pores in his skin. After digesting this explanation, one might have the side effect of a few nightmares or at least a few uncouth shivers. But rather than sink into the depths of despair and self pity, the Sponge had learned to overcome his physical deformity and possessed mental strength and a will matched by few. This mutant might still seem a poor choice physically for the leader of the diversion mission, but the Crooked No-Face would not have chosen an incompetent weakling for such an important task. The outcome of the Sponge's mission we already know, but of the great battle the next morning, I know little. My account of the viewing is at near end, and I have but a few fragmented of memories which remain of what happened in the future towards the end of my viewing with the savant. The pivotal moments of the revolutionaries' battle for freedom are but a blur, although I am familiar, as we already know, with the crucial events leading up to the battle. We know that the Sponge's pre dawn diversion mission, although a suicidal, was a success, and we know that shortly after this diversion mission, Link's drug swap mission nearby was also a success. Now of the massive uprising which took place the morning after, trying to remember what took place is like trying to view one's reflection in a mirror which been fogged over by hot steam. One may catch a glimpse of the blurry outline of their face, but any details are obscured beyond recognition. The suspicious savant's herbal drug had taken effect and sent me drifting into unconsciousness by this point in the viewing. I believe, however that the early stages of the uprising were a success, but after that, I have no opinion. Had the rebels managed to recruit enough followers during the uprising? What had happened when news of the uprising spread to the four corners of the earth? Had others seized the opportunity and risen up as well, or had they simply continued to cower under the shadow of oppression? Had they subdued enough of their enemies, or had the uprising been crushed before it gained control of the continent? Will, I have asked myself many a sleepless night, this abominable WSEC be crushed and scattered like ten thousand pieces of worthless chaff into the wind, or will it prevail?

~~Epilogue~~

What if the future, this future, could be changed? What if the World Self Esteem Corporation is never formed? What if no wonder drugs are ever created and no one is ever mutated by them? What if we take the future into our own hands and strive towards what really matters? Society that caters to progress and change just for the sake of as well as dysfunctional, self centered living will ultimately end in dystopia. Additionally, we must not place our trust in, or pay attention to the hair brained trends, useless trivial inventions of the electronic nature, and most of all, we must not allow idiotic fads to govern our thoughts and actions. Also, fools, whether malicious or facetious, must not be allowed to govern us; they have no business running anything. It is up to us to be vigilant of who we allow to hold office.
Now, having neither the closure of a clear ending nor the luxury of a complete account, our story is nearly at its end. Although my account is finished, the story does not quite, in fact, end. For my story is of the future and the future never ends. My lone knowledge of the particular future in our story has tortured me for years, but casting off the burden which sole knowledge carries with it will undoubtedly have consequences. I will be called crazy and a lunatic. I will be ridiculed by many and listened to by few, but few may be sufficient, for in due time, the resolute strength of few can conquer the fear and ignorance of many. Perhaps the future is in our hands and within our control. Perhaps this culture of shallowness and triviality can be averted. Sold to the masses and spoken of like a beautiful palace, this façade should not be our future. This beautiful palace decorated with hanging gardens and precious metals is nothing but a façade; a hollow, worthless façade devoid of happiness and prosperity.

Great! I mean it...
I also have a suggestion. Why don't you delete the posts containing the additional chapters and instead edit the OP and post it there? Then, even if further chapters are added, each and every one of it will show up in all pages of the thread...

@akshobhya I'm glad you liked it. Don't worry about the OP thing, I doubt that this thread will have a second page ever.

@KatPryde I'm glad I was able to entertain you. 😂 Can you please, if you have the time, point out the typos? I proofread this thing like five times and couldn't find anything.

@KatPryde bloody hell, how did I miss all of that? Thinks for helfing mee ouut. 😂