Suveron, Prologue (Part 3)

Attila's heart took a pause from its usual behavior for just an instant. The beating of muscle tissue, to take a backseat to the beatings of muscle tissue, separated by distance. He watched in horror as his allies, one by one, were violently beaten until resistance drained from their figures. The Sentizens, incapable of civility, continued their robo-rampage with impunity. What was the purpose of all this, Attila wondered? Would it have not been simpler to simply subdue the sapiens with Sentinels? A few precise strikes from the arsenal of the gravity-defying terrors would have ended Attila and his freedom seekers in a flash. Attila knew what this was about: sending a message. Subsistence was granted by those with means, not a given. He tapped his right temple, which zoomed his vision back to normal, as his ocular implants readjusted to the new parameters. He knew the Sentizens would be scanning his direction, if they hadn't been already, so he wrapped his cloak tighter to ensure his heat signature would be missed.

Attila, and his people were some of the few who just wanted to be left alone. They carved out a new path in wake of the old: nature, the has-been frontier. He knew, in his heart, that the old could not stop the means of the new, and that progress was, inevitable. Technology had to be met with technology, and yet, there was value in some of the old ways. He had spend the last 2 decades with his people, the like-minded, trying to build a new micro world away from the tyranny of the old. It would be a world that didn't rely on massive supply chains, or highly centralized authority. It would be a world where anyone could have a chance at survival. Attila, knew that the dream posed in this land, the settlement of Eleutheria, was likely nearing its end. He readjusted his vision, and reluctantly returned to surveying the atrocities.

Screams pierced the air, unheeded by the circuitry of its inflictors. Like their masters, the machines were incapable of feeling empathy. One by one, his bruised brethren were herded into the Eagles. Each Eagle came equipped with powerful vertical accelerators, and plenty of space for captives. They were, first and foremost designed to be prison vessels. Attila, the temporary resident of a mighty tree, watched in horror, as he could do nothing more. It had been timing that had spared him from this cruel fate, at least for the time being. Had he not been out on scouting detail, he would have been alongside his comrades, stuffed into the massive mechanical monstrosities.

Though an advocate for the old, Attila was a student of the new. His people were off record. They had been found, despite being erased from all databases. His compadres, and their predecessors, had seen the writing on the wall for the future and knew they needed to remain off the radar to survive freely. It was, a valiant effort, while it had lasted. Attila tapped his left temple, which began to augment his visual perception to display the information he needed. The information: a map of the surrounding area, recalled from his own experiences. The augmentations of the unnatural allowed the enhancement of the natural; the strengthening of memories and abilities. This approach was not without risk, however, which is why Attila had disabled the interlink system. Enhance your own abilities, and share nothing with others when doing so, as you never know who else could be interested and attentive, he reasoned.

Eagle after Eagle abandoned the ground, and Attila the vigilant, was left alone. He'd masked his heat signature appropriately, it seemed. It was survival, but at what cost? For what? He was, as the rest of his peers in what had remained of humanity, alone. Attila, was graying, and he contained knowledge of the way things once were. He recalled a time of great optimism, when decentralization once looked like a beacon to save his species from existing in total captivity. It was naiveté; a failure to understand the psychology of those who would seek power over their peers, as well as the psychologies of the vast majority of those peers. The tech optimists gave way to the tech realists as Attila, once part of the former group, had few options but to watch as his personal fortune was eroded by the gasps of an organ of a civilization in decline. Cornered animals have little option but to strike, he recalled. In the encounter he had just finished witnessing, however, the cornered animals lacked the claws to pierce the armor of their foe. Perhaps this needed to change, he thought.

Attila wiped the accumulating beads of sweat from his forehead before his eyes could experience their sting; one of the few stings he could still avoid. It was unclear how to proceed. "Sophia," he thought out to his personal internal assistant. "What should I do now? How can I save my people?" "The probability of successfully doing as you suggest is estimated at below 1%," the internal voice rattled off coldly. Attila was not one to accept these poor odds. Attila needed a purpose, and the purpose would need to defy probability. "If I wanted to indulge such a low probability outcome, what action would I take next?" Attila asked. "Remaining in your current environment guarantees that you will not engage in behaviors that would be conducive to your desired outcome. You must return to the world of your attackers, or find others to join with." Attila agreed. He hit his temple again, this time to map himself to the location of the Helipod one of his peers had stored away. It was time to leave this paradise lost.

--image, not writing created with help from LeonardoAI--