Hi, Barclay here. Because my older hippy parents who had me late decided at the bar that I would be a potter like my mom. If it hadn’t been for Harry Potter, it would have been potter. I didn’t rebel. I loved my parents artistic life style and adopted it as if it was the only way of life to live. Homeschooled, naturally, by humans, not AI. Given my own studio and wheel in part of the barn and use of both the inside and outside kiln. I believe my parents would have acted differently given a different time so gave me a very insulated, protective place to grow up to find my identity in this crumbling uncertain world.

  I love them for that. And now here I am, here in this old city library among fellow artists facing god knows what. It feels as though we’re in the middle of a must see dystopian streaming series, the plot still not quite clear. Of course, this one is after the one of the Great Science Revolt and before that that, The Great Attempt at the Take Down of Democracy.

  There are definitely unseen forces that clash above us, vying for the writers hand in all of this. We were the resisters that went after the Oligarchy but now it seems there is a new breed of resisters fighting against what they say is an alien take over. This new resistance we think is being led by a few of the trial subjects that had incomplete growth leaving them acting like evil graphic comic heroes vowing revenge on their back in full cousins even though they accepted the risks.

  A spokesman for the Consortium, six Nodes now on top of six mountains, the nearest being in the Adirondacks, have begun to send messages through a medallion that came with a drop, assuring us that this resistance is the focus of their elaborate developing defensive strategy which could change quickly into an offensive posture if ever need be. Also, lights indicating shield status and a flashing red if there’s danger. This was the first direct message from the rebooted Oligarchs into benign overseers of Restoration and very welcomed by us, hoping they continue to keep us informed.

  Destiny and I have just been accepted as residents of the newly opening B & B and although we have both just taken spit during our own spiritual ritual which we created for such a profound decision in our lives, they have allowed both human and ‘V, this, even though it puts our new residence in harm’s way. But with the new reinforced shield and an army of stealth drones at the ready, all thought it was safe.

  So, the big news this week that surprised everyone was the search party finding a small group of older people held up in part of a large warehouse converted into office space near the river. They are mostly in their sixties and seventies who had quit the protest early. Despite looking old and haggard, they’d managed to plant a garden and build a large stock of canned and dried food. Destiny and I went with a mixed group to have a sit down on getting acquainted and seeing if there were any mutual things we could do together. Here’s Destiny.

  Destiny, artist parents like Clays, poster of digital images or vids that made people think about what was going on. Also decoupage and sculpture created from junk found on the streets and abandoned buildings of my city home with environmental theme. Clay and I meeting was truly destiny, especially during this time. Working together and living together feeding off each other is beautiful and intense! You have to know yourself inside and out as well as be strongly motivated for a higher purpose, in our case, the planet and its future as a self-sustaining biosphere for humans and other species. Life!

  We consider taking spit as a sacred act, one of the most profound changes humans have gone through since becoming agrarian. The most difficult part is during the first month while karma is erased and enhanced senses draw us into the Mesh of Nature with an added sense that allows us to experience more than one sense simultaneously. There are micro flash blackouts and overwhelming feelings of loss and betrayal. The body adapts by using filters to prevent the noxious scents of man’s corruption from interfering with those that may be important for our immediate survival. When all are fully engaged, we have a security buffer of about a half mile and a mile or more with auditory. A bright scarlet or fiery orange flash is warning of some danger.

  We both went with others to meet the small group of older adults. On first discovery, they seemed to be happy to see someone else but with everything now, we are extremely cautious and on full sense alert. Clay and I are only a month in, relative newbies but maybe because we both have deep intuition, have been able to read others earlier than usual. There are twelve of them divided equally in sex which to my mind is a good thing and after a few survival stories we only felt sincerity and dedication to the cause. They were extremely interested in our story and how we’ve all been able to survive and were eager to pass on new information about another group of younger street warrior refugees a mile down the river.

  Clay’s hand squeezed mine tighter than usual. We have developed a language while holding hands over the past month that continues to grow. I knew what it meant even though he added some finger stroke details. I just signaled that I knew.

  Their message was the clearest one we’d heard so kept on interrupting and sometimes going down rabbit holes that had totally escaped us. The story was more unnerving and yet thrilling, more epic and dangerous and above all was the one thing we needed to put all of what we knew into a meaningful framework.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  To condense, the Oligarchy exploded like a super nova moment when technology reached its seeming nadir, creating money so fast that it became meaningless demanding so much energy opening up new oil and coal reserves that scientists took to the streets, women refused sex and a world weary of so much corruption and ice cold greed joined them. Finally without competition, with the quatrillions, they disarmed, had a super-secret planetary Conclave on a Greek Island where they set down the principles which would guide them through what they called Adaptation & Restoration, the main overriding protocol, being that everything and anything was on the table. And they knew what a lot of those things were due to what the scientists had been demanding but weren’t quite ready for the surprises. Ethics, standard protocols, dyed-in-the-wool testing methodology, all out the window.

  And the surprises were many. The triggering of the third strand by a regime of injections over a week that had previously been regarded as unsafe with too many risks. I’ll say! So, ways of cleaning humans of genetic defects and anomalies, cleaning the air of CO2 that would take too much energy, bio-shields that would also drain power reserves and hybrids both animal and plant that would survive the next few hundred years of a harsh climate. Also, a whole industry for adaptation, saving what’s left of humanity, beneath shields and underground. The answer was LUNA.

  We had a ton of questions, mostly about them and the ‘V’s. Destiny asked where the collective pain originated. Not the one she really wanted to ask. Jason fumbled a little, shrugged and Helen took the question. She was surprised by the question, wiped a tear from her cheek and told us about the unmarked grave site where they had buried their dead, their husbands, hers, their wives and close friends.

  Mary brought in a few bottles of wine, another distributed glasses and a toast by Sydney for a widening community of fellow climate refugees. I consciously avoided Harold but I could tell Clay wanted to engage and would have, if Zenith hadn’t finally gotten up, walked over and whispered in his ear. They left the room together.

  Clay. Harold's story resonated with us like a tuning fork, staying in our ears for too long until it finally began to fade. One of his friends was a renowned genealogist, one of the research team administering the drug regime to the twenty four trial subjects, him being one. After a month of constant tests and monitoring, he and nine more escaped the island because they felt different from the others, not growing into full immersion with the rest of nature. Their strand grew enough for enhanced senses but stopped so felt that it was over while watching the rest continue to evolve. All they knew was that something unforeseen had occurred but only partially to them, leaving them feeling more like pariahs then exceptional.

  Since then, the other two have become bitter and found a wealthy bitter patron who has marketed their brand into an avenging force against an alien invasion. They felt manipulated by a secret consortium that made a deal with the devil, an extraterrestrial that hacked LUNA into turning them into what actually had been desired from the get-go, no unintended results as reported. The Alien project begins because humans had their chance and blew it, oops, our turn.

  The patron saint as he’s been called, is located in an undisclosed northern location also on a mountain top, has a vast network of SATS circling the globe offering free Wi-Fi and Cells to a growing cult following and has created a weekly series for the fans on their ongoing stealth drone assaults on the enemy with established camouflaged bases on six continents. The message is always, give the people control of LUNA and eliminate the alien copies. We are under assault! Harold told Zenith that as a trained scientist, he understood what happened and never thought of turning to the ‘dark side’ to get revenge. We accepted the risk, we signed a waver, we gave our lives to science and to the continuity of the human race and all other species. This isn’t what they say, only more lies for more control as its always been, what we finally thought we had left behind.

  So, Harold went through the metamorphosis on his own, shacked up in an abandoned apartment complex in Ft. Myres with enough food and potable water to get through it, used the neighborhood to acquaint himself with his up booted senses and began a long incredibly journey home to his native city. He decided early that he would hide himself in plain sight, never letting anyone know who or where he was. Zenith impressed on him that he should record his journey for posterity which she would help him with. As far as divulging his truth to his small community, he confessed that he would have if he had been there when their deaths were occurring to give them immunity because even his spit at least offers immunity from any disease.

  Zenith pushed back but he remained firm. He said that they wanted him back, were searching for him, would rather have him dead than alive. He helped a lot, offered creative solutions and guarded his community through his senses, always deep listening. He was glad that they had made contact and would share in projects that would benefit both.

  Zenith finally told him that no matter what, his presence would be detected by the other ‘V’s. In fact, they probably knew but the good news was that those like him didn’t have the capacity to read him and the shield was up with constant surveillance. He may eventually feel safe enough to let his people know.

  Destiny. But the bigger picture to all of this is that we now have a larger community of kindred spirits! They remind us of our parents who were rooted in a time that saw huge changes, from the best of democratic principles to the utter lack of, with accomplices in every office, disabling the guard rails while creating a no hands barred playground for the manipulation of money. They were the witnesses of Meltdown when there had been the time to do something but forgotten in the dizzying accumulation of wealth for their precious.