The Future

Prologue: Welcome!

A tumbleweed was rolling along some trash and sand, covered in rust. This was truly a disgusting place. A cracked and olden highway, it was mostly dirt, it ran a seemingly endless route. A vehicle was running along the road quickly, a mass murderer drove it. He ran into the tumbleweed, and the mass of thorns stuck into the radiator. It blocked airflow to the engine, and the vehicle soon started to smoke.

The driver lost his grin, as he pulled to the side of the road. His passengers roared as he stopped. He hit the man riding shotgun, Irv, upside the head. "Shut up!" He growled. He got out of the would-be truck, and grabbed the tumbleweed. He wrenched his hand back with a shout of pain. Being in Phylaca for so long would take away common sense, as it did. Phylaca was one of the Latin translations for prison, the government thought it was funny.

He looked at his bloody hand, he held it in front of the Moon. The Moon shone in the daytime, ever since 2103. The government was testing an atomic missile, one containing twice the megaton of Big Ivan. There goal was just to shift the Moon back onto its natural course, but the end result was the Moon getting thrown off course dramatically. It was thrown right by the Sun, and was no longer pulled by gravity. It stayed there. It was truly black at nite, except for in the cities.

Christianity wasn't dead, not yet. It was dying, though. Through the many years, people lost faith. I wish there was a better or more convoluted way of saying it, but there just isn't. People either swayed down the path of Atheism, Agnosticism, Nihilism, or became part of a would-be cult. The Faith of The Departed, which was a sophisticated form of reincarnation. When one of the followers of this religion died, they believed they remained, forevermore to walk the earth.

Music had changed drastically (more like stopped), and reverted. People of the present involved themselves in the music of the 20th century. The Heroes, or lower class (they didn't like to refer to themselves as belonging to a certain class, but the government classified them so. Don't ask me why they referred to themselves as heroes, maybe it's because they believed themselves to be the foundation for America, or what was left of it), listened to music that came from the Eras of Soul, Psychedelia, and Rock and Roll. The Formals (or Upper Class), listened to Jazz, mostly.

The idea of an intelligent cybernetic system had always been there, ever since the 1950's. People who thought themselves as some sort of Archaic units started fiddling with it ever since. Robots themselves hadn't became realistic until sometime in the 2020's. The government first used them entirely for wartime purpose. It was perfect, really. A literal killing machine, designed, owned, and operated by the United States government. Sometime in the 2050's, an intelligent cybernetic mind was created. It was fully intended for aid of the people.

Eventually, in 2156, the first cybernetic being was put on trial for murder. They became self-aware. The government, instead of shutting down every last one of them (which was roughly two million), built a giant dome for them. It had everything something that didn't eat, didn't drink, and didn't die, needed. Absolutely nothing. They were put under strict surveillance, and left be. Around the turn of the century, roughly fifty years being kept under watch and solitary confinement from humans did something to them. It made their brain abnormal, maybe it was time. They were outdated and maybe they knew it. Just to think something that looks, speaks, and acts like a human, would also go insane like one. The only thing segregating them from humans, was that they were made out of corrugated steel and thermoplastic. After the first murder committed by a cybernetic structure, robots became a curse word.

Everything changed, the person drying his blood in the heat of the Sun thought. He would've liked to have lived in the 20th century, any other era of time where prisoners weren't left to their own means. That was meant with every sense of literalism in the world. The government sealed off the state lines of Nevada, the hottest, cruelest place that the government owned, with miles upon miles of guarded electric fence. The generators were somewhere in California, and ran remotely. The fence never shut off, and was constantly watched by the National Guard.

They shut down Las Vegas, and claimed eminent domain. They left all of the money in the slot machines and in the count rooms. It was a sly trick, because even if the criminals were to break the slot machines, what would they use it on? They were in Hell, where no amount of money could get you out. Delinquents of all sorts would kill off the weak for that almighty piece of worthless paper. Among killing each other, no food or water was distributed to the prisoners of Phylaca. They would all die slow, horrible, sometimes agonizing deaths, at the hands of themselves. Agents of law enforcement everywhere were laughing their sick, sadistic heads off.

The government had also changed. Ever since their shift to Oligarchy in 2093, everything changed. They amended, bastardized, and raped the constitution to their own wants and needs. The secret service was no more, simply because it wasn't secret. It was known everywhere, and was the strongest form of law enforcement possible. Handpicked by the government, they were the best of the best, truly. Marines, Navy Seals, Green Beret, and agents from the Central Intelligence agency made up this elite force.

They closed the borders, in 2100. It was absolutely impossible to enter or exit the country. Many people were deported, still. It was the government's form of exile, saved for terrorism and mass murderers. They just couldn't be in Phylaca, they would create a socialistic empire in days. They threw them into South America, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, they didn't give a damn. As long as these select group of subhuman understood that under no realistic circumstance, were they ever allowed back in. Those whom wanted to leave were either executed on sight, or in some rare cases, granted their wish. They soon found out that America may not have been free anymore, nor safe, but it was certainly better than anywhere else.

There was one, who allowed himself free roam of the world, of the galaxy. He was hated by the government, the residents of Phylaca, the Formals, and the Heroes. He liked to call himself Legend, Tobias Legend.