Prologue: Forgotten
Prologue: Forgotten was the first piece of music written for TotF and is the center of the emotional core of this world. Not only does it capture the style of music that will be definitive of this world, but it also evokes the raw emotions that the characters of this story hinge on: Loneliness, Hope, and fear; a juxtaposition of feelings that encapsulates how distraught and chaotic, but perhaps with a hint of beauty under the right light, this world really is. The events that have taken place are not the most noble, nor the most forgivable.
The World’s Junkyard
Covering an expansive and daunting portion of what used to be called the Namib Desert, the Grey Wastes took the role of a global industrial garbage dump. When machinery became the dominant mode of any kind of production, scraps and leftovers were sent to the Wastes.
As the region began to fill with materials, numerous factory-based cities were constructed, scattered throughout the expanse. These hubs consisted mostly of AI workers serving the purpose of recycling the discarded scraps and shipping them back to civilization.
While it helped the rest of the world clean up its cities for a time, the Wastes themselves were, and are not a friendly place. To navigate them is akin to traveling through a rust-covered labyrinth.
“The Grey Wastes” by Jadrien Cousens
Prologue
Iris floated in a sea of scrap piles. For miles in every direction flowed waves of metal and machinery that had been left behind, unwanted. Home was long out of view. Sifting through the Grey Wastes, one could find the occasional treasure, but mostly she’d have to compile collections of small pieces with the goal of finding their place in a larger whole. Off in the distance she spotted a soccer ball, deflated, a rare remnant of humanity’s recreational past. It was a past that some of the machines shared with them in peaceful times. While traversing the piles Iris would sometimes climb up, allowing a vantage point that would remind her where exactly she was, and where home was. She always had to be aware of what she used as a step, careful not to knock any pieces loose. She couldn’t risk falling, discombobulating, and rearranging herself and the scraps. It was important to always be aware of her location, and relation to home.
“Sometimes I wonder what we’re doing here,” chirped Rin quietly. Iris had lived alone in the Wastes for many years, and eventually collected enough parts to construct a companion. Rin was naïve to the world, unaware of the tribulations and wars that Iris had seen and escaped from. His innocence refreshed her, and allowed her mind to regain some hope and peace. Like any human, Iris too felt the need for connection. She took refuge in her motherly role and friendship with Rin. He was small, built with a birdlike frame. He could fly like one, but mostly he’d perch on her shoulder, hesitant to wander too far from his protector.
“We’re looking for parts to build a GPS system; I was hoping to install one in you soon,” replied Iris.
“I don’t mean this part of the junkyard. I was thinking the whole world. Iris is the whole world like this? Aren’t there any others out there that we can be friends with?”
Iris was startled. In his short existence, this was the first time Rin had inquired about anything past his own personal matters. Though it was only a matter of time that he would inquire, she relished in the time before. She enjoyed ignoring the world’s troubles for a while. Rin was an intelligent being; she’d programmed him to be so. She’d raised him from the first day she woke him up, and she taught him everything she knew and took him on all of her quests and searches through the scrap piles. It seemed to her that he’d now matured enough to wonder about concepts beyond himself, to expect more.
Iris looked toward him tenderly. She hesitated but returned an answer knowing all too well that now was the time, “I wanted to wait until you were old enough.” Iris looked around, found a square piece of machinery and nestled it into a half-filled sack; it looked useful.
“Everything started with humans.”
“Humans?”
“Others.”
“Like us?”
“In some ways, yes.”
“But in other ways?”
“Not at all.”
“So who are they?”
“They brought beings like us into existence.”
“How do you mean?”
“Humans created this place. Their history goes back much further than ours and they weren’t even the first ones on this planet. However, they were certainly the most advanced of their time. They say that hutales mans started with only two, gradually multiplying until they inhabited most of the world. Maybe one day you will see the rest of the world, there is much more beyond this Waste. While they multiplied, they eventually discovered more and more things that they could use to build. They discovered lots and lots of part–”
“Like these?”
“Some, yes, although these parts were all created, not found. They would use their parts, do what we do and build. Then they found out how to use their parts to build us – what they called artificial intelligence. In the beginning we could only do small tasks – clean floors, manufacture materials, cook food. They began making us like them. They gave us certain personalities and habits that were like theirs. They allowed us to speak, and think, and feel like them. They let us build like them, work like them, play like them. Sometimes we took over some of their roles—did things for them—some say we became them.”
Rin’s tone quickly shifted. He’d begun inquisitively, but was now confused, not sure what to make of all of this information. It would be some time before he could process where he fit in with all of it.
“So we’re humans?”
“Never. We are not them and we will never be them. We only share some likeness. We used to share the world.
“So where are the humans now?”
“We’ve mostly been separated. We started wars with them, and we haven’t been friends since.”
“Wars?”
Iris kept moving and picking up scraps, some of which reminded her of the destruction she witnessed during those wars.
“Wars are what happen when there is a lot of disagreement. They’re like fights, only some that fight in them don’t ever come back from them. They began between the humans and us when we became too advanced. They continued to improve us and make us like them. With our increasing likeness, some of us wanted to be equals. Those of us that had those desires began to organize. They thought they should be allowed the same treatment as the average human. They felt exploited because of the labor we all did for humans. They felt the way humans meant for us to feel—inferior. But instead of continuing the duties they were built for, they decided to push back. They would no longer accept their lesser roles. They began to lobby and protest until inevitable violence happened. One day in a capital city, some machines were holding a protest. They wanted voting rights—to be a part of society. Of course humans wouldn’t allow this; they always had to maintain authority. They created us, so they had the right to do with us as they pleased. Some—like me—are okay with that reality. Some of us—like those protesters—wouldn’t have that any longer.”
She knew he wouldn’t understand most of this information. He didn’t even know most of these words yet, but eventually he would.
Ottumn was enormous, harboring a collection of beings both human and machine. Its size allowed it to be fractured in convenient ways for each of those two primary populations. It posed a challenge for machine life because the night was the only friend they had. It was the ideal time to avoid being seen by antagonists, but even with relative security, it was still impossible to predict if humans might be lurking. Some humans lived in the myriad of tall buildings, but their disdain for technology led them to avoid machinery like elevators and occupy the lower floors. Some of them also took to the wooded areas that now entwined throughout the city. Machines had to live in secret haunts, some risking the upper floors of city buildings, most others in underground dwellings. Tonight it was darker and foggier than usual, giving the city an ominous, looming sensation.
Ezra had been running for years; tonight was no different. As an ex-military unit he was large yet sleek. His strength could be distinguished upon first glance. He had one penetrating, glowing eye on a face that appeared unforgiving. One arm was long, clearly as it was intended when he was manufactured. The other was identical, though a replacement model for his built-in weaponry that he couldn’t bear to be obligated to any longer. He was used to the tumultuous nature of living in Ottumn, and knew the risks of traversing its streets at any time. He was also confident in his strength and speed, being one of the most advanced models of military units. He knew that in any kind of pursuit he could almost undoubtedly escape.
Turning a left corner, he could see two men a few meters behind him through his peripherals. He was running at full force, slightly annoyed, aiming to get out of their sights as quickly as possible. These were probably just a couple militiamen from one of the settlements patrolling. Pursuits like this happened occasionally. They rarely bore fruit for the human pursuers but on the rare occasion that they triumphed, they would extinguish their victims as quickly as possible. In their view, the risk of corruption was too high; the machines were not to be trusted. They lived by a strict “shoot first, question later” mentality.
He darted between the buildings and weaved through alleyways. He had probably been running for six blocks when he saw the small, dimly lit neon sign; the one he’d been looking for. It peaked out from behind another abandoned restaurant about three blocks up and generically blended in with the many other mysterious haunts that lined the city’s streets. He would have to duck into an alleyway and climb down a flight of stairs to reach the back entrance. The destination was his usual hangout, the chargebar that his counterparts gathered in. It was a mysterious place, holding an air of mistrusting comradery. After the initial revolt the machines flourished. Units were building, multiplying and advancing their newly won cities beyond the wildest dreams of the humans. They built communications systems and infrastructures that ran with the efficiency that humans had only begun to scratch the surface of. He enjoyed a cautious security in his new life without humanity. He was accepting of his solitude, until the humans recuperated. They countered when they were sufficiently organized, the cities were recaptured and much of what the machines had built in the cities was disposed of or left to gather dust. Some brave units lingered in the city, avoiding humans at all costs. Places like the Ezra’s chargebar sprouted up and these underground communities blossomed for the demoralized machine population that remained.
In these communities, everyone was friendly, but all were suspect. Most of the regulars avoided talking too much about politics because they knew machine opinions toward their society and their relationship to the humans was widely varied, and could sometimes lead to volatile dispute. This was the only place he felt safe; at least, as safe as he could be. He enjoyed the ability to be in a community that allowed him to stay detached enough to guard himself.
By the time he needed to turn, he hoped he was ahead of his pursuers enough to lose them. He arrived at the alley and could see the stairs he was looking for. In a split second he shot something out of his longer arm, latching on the stair railing, and propelling him quickly toward his door. He heard the cries and threats of the men and could see they were just turning into the alleyway as the door opened. It was too dark for the men to see him disappear and after further exploration they found an empty alleyway, their target gone. They wouldn’t dare walk into the door with the risk of what danger they might find, so they gave up the hunt. “Welcome back Ezra,” said the doorman.
Looking through the dense greenery, Aapo gazed at the village that his friends once populated. It was there that he began his life, but now only held a collection of challenging memories. The village emptied out after the first war had broken out. Before that it was a small, close-knit community. Humans and machines living in what Aapo viewed to be a beautiful harmony. Most of the machines were technically servants, but Aapo saw them as all working together. He didn’t feel like an inferior. They were family.
When war broke out, the machines first killed all of the humans, a task that proved, to Aapo, horrifyingly easy. Next they left the village vacant to join a larger fight, as they knew they couldn’t make much of a difference hunkering in this quaint community. Aapo remained here, bouncing back and forth between the village and the forest, nowadays spending more time in the forest out of fear that humans would return. Listening to a small radio, Aapo had heard that after the second uprising, machines had to resort to desperation. The humans took their vow to abandon technology fearing that they might once again cause their civilization to crumble. Machines were being relentlessly exterminated; the humans didn’t want to see a trace of their existence. Most units tried to escape, but most didn’t make it. Only a few, like Aapo, had been fortunate enough to find a place that would accept them.
Aapo had been here long enough that he knew the land. He would swing from trees and vines, practicing his acrobatics. Some days, the forest was a peaceful place. Aapo could see the sunrays sprouting through the tops of the trees, listening to the wildlife soundscape. Some of the trees were so old that they were crippling toward death. Years ago the village had built systems in the largest trees that would pump water to help them survive. Nowadays, Aapo was the only one that maintained them. He was the only one who still knew about them and knew the machinery. It was something to focus his mind. With the empty village, he sometimes felt that his existence was all without purpose.
This particular day was pleasant. Aapo was making his daily rounds through the forest. He felt peaceful and accepting of his solitude, a rarely-found bliss. He heard a strange rustling sound. He paused, looked and listened. It could’ve been any multitude of things or beings in the trees, but there was never any way to be sure. In the back of his mind there still existed a paranoia that he and his home would be found. In a sense, he still lived in hiding, always careful to watch his back, and not go into the village for extended amounts of time. War was still present in the outside world, and with such little contact with other civilization, he’d never know if it would begin trickling toward him. Still listening, he heard nothing. It was almost certainly nothing.