Scanning the horizon the hunter glided over the terrain barely touching the blades of grass wet with morning dew. It was a typical start to the day with the temperature hovering around 150 degrees Fahrenheit. The humidity was a pleasant hundred percent. This allowed the plants to cling to their prized water droplets longer than on a dryer day.
On the horizon were the gray concrete windowless headquarters of the super banks. Guards walked atop the barbed wire walls that kept the rift raft out of the easy living central core reserved for precious global manipulators. Those on the outside were relegated to live with the aftereffects of the tri-governmental monstrosity. Consisting of these banking megaliths, lobbyist intermediaries, multinational businesses, and governmental hacks who massaged the rusty gears of autocracy the system was an efficient perfectly tuned machine of pillage and destruction.
Hunters were everywhere. They were the last defense of the gold totting crowd. Holed up behind their impenetrable wall these descendants of bankers, investors, government stooges, and business executives were the amoeba drained from a cesspool long ago forgotten. Concentrated refuse from a short-term oriented oligarchic dynasty these squash brains ruled with the finesse of sadistic brutes.
Lapping against the shoreline was the toxic ocean that merged with other poisonous dead waters. Now days few troublemakers could be found scouring the beaches for rotten carcasses. Most had long ago collapsed on patches of sand or dirt, been picked at by vultures, and left to contribute their bleached white bones to the piles that lined the shoreline. When the piles started heaping up in small hills that obstructed the view of the pleasure kings they’d send out bone-collectors that would crawl to these sites to scoop up the remains.
Further down this rotten patch of an otherwise miserable planetary test tube were the equally noxious factories run by the Orient tribes. Not many emerged from there cavernous bellies only those who no longer served their master’s needs. Gigantic smokestacks spewed thick black soot filled with combinations of poisons that would stump a chemist if one could be found.
Universities were no longer needed in a world that had been devoid of ideas, promise, and hope way past the ‘shelf-life’ of decaying memories. Anyway, the princely crowd resting their fat asses on their fluffed up pillows inside the wall were ravenously gobbling up the few remaining resources. These princely dynasties spread their gangrenous sores too any rare healthy bud daring to bring legitimacy to a cinder long ago erased from sentient contemplation. Intent upon perpetuating the wastage of all that surrounded them their course was set on autopilot.
Mush brained grunters who’d abandoned coherent language because it was deemed too much work, just a painful exercise of the lips lounged their lives out like oversized sloths dreading the effort of each breath. They’d not left a single piece of literature, art, or other important contribution that wasn’t the byproduct of a sensational overvalued lump of tripe. Gone were the passionate dabbling’s in the either of the broad unknown.
Only the charcoal pits beckoned. At least their final resting place wasn’t going to be commingled with those nonentities rambling on their shores or with the labor slaves who produced the junk that ultimately wound up at bursting dumps. Mutant rats and voracious vultures were the only beneficiaries of this twisted primate species.
Reviewing the annals of the Galactic Assimilation Registry we’ve found absolutely no justification for enlightening this degenerative race.
So why was there such a furor over not contacting these sentient beings before they’d chiseled their destiny to the rock of extinction? Possibly it’s because prior to slipping into uncontrolled decadence they had promise. They were only two of the rare primate tree capable of fusing celestial inspiration with boisterous passion. If only they had utilized these gifts to benefit the many instead of the few.