the final compromise

Part 1

Excerpts from the journal of Dr. V. Ferguson (Translated to English)

Date 5023.0002.0001

THE CURRENT WORLD

Year 5023

Current population: 1,974,612,082

World controlled by single government

Global Knowledge Organization in complete power of government

Universal currency and language

3 independent regions

Southern region owned by Global Knowledge Organization

THE RESURGENCE

Resurgence in full efficiency slowly on path to a perfect race

↳ Commonality examined for useful brain at ages 20 & 80

If found positive, a dying body goes through cell & gene regeneration

If found negative, is given pill of death

Brain Advancement put in place 5022.0021.0012 in full efficiency

↳ An expedite to Resurgence adjusting the prefrontal cortex of the brain

HOWARD

A crisp wind cuts through the evergreen trees lining the sidewalk of this monotone, humdrum town. Everyday folks walk in opposite directions, all with inconsequential expressions on their faces. They go about their way, not minding the briskness or stopping to admire the soft rustle. A tall building lies ahead, as plain and meaningless to the people on the streets as the psithurism of the trees. A trickle of rain starts to fall, but we won't be out here for much longer. We close in on the third window from the top, where a wide desk sits to the right of a panoramic window. An old man around 80 years old with dull, grey eyes and matching hair sits in the chair behind and reciprocates an almost lifeless action with no interest and no motive. Who we see here is Mr. Daniel Howard, a man who has been working for Resurgence for the past 102 years, a man subconsciously longing for salvation.

Ignoring the table, the square room is quite empty. A fake plant stands by the desk, providing the only source of color. Mr. Howard's face holds a fatigued expression that blends in nicely. The white walled room is identical to every other in the large building, no one interested enough to care about status. The stale quietness is interrupted by a knock on the large wood door. In comes David Waltham, on his daily routine of walking into Daniel Howards room with an irrelevant stack of papers. The indistinguishable speech ceases as the door closes behind him.

"Good afternoon Mr. Howard," Mr. Waltham says, walking over to the desk.

"Same to you David,"

"Strange weather today, isn't it Mr. Howard."

"Yes, strange," Daniel murmurs without looking up.

"It's hardly ever rainy this time of year."

"Hardly ever, that's right."

"Well, good day to you sir."

And with that, Mr. Waltham leaves and the silence settles back in. Mr. Howard continues with the somewhat recycled procedure he does most days. He takes the top page from the stack and scribbles something on a dotted line. The paper is then moved to a box on the other side of the desk. This process is achingly repeated until the box is empty and the sky starts to turn purple.