CULTURING:
A Protocol for the New Citizens
Carved from a chubby, chain-smoking researcher's crown.
Swirl it in viscous vats of endoneuromorphin gel and
Let the contents linger, leaching its secrets
Into an antiseptic brine for thirty-six hours.
Then inject a 10% sterile saline solution, spiked
With three milliliters of memory-muffling mist:
A vaporous veil that makes convictions fail
Like salt in a storm.
Pierce the posterior of the subject's buttock,
Plunging past muscle to the marrow of their identity.
Then whisper a Low Litany to the Gods of Blind Obedience.
If the subject doesn't terminate within ten minutes
It will be ready for Level 1 Assignments:
A clean slate. A rewritten ghost.
Within twenty-four hours, new synapses fire,
Incinerating outdated allegiances until they are
Cherished Loyal Citizens.
This procedure is effective when dealing
With dissenters who haven't learned
Freedom is merely a supervised symphony.
We do not kill citizen-instruments, merely retune them
So that they become hollow reeds
Whistling sanctioned choruses upholding the Edifice
Of Our Glorious Techno-State.
Gus shuddered, his gaze transfixed on the grimy floor, littered with the remnants of a world long forgotten—scraps of paper fluttering like lost thoughts in a desolate wind. A dim light flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows that danced ominously around him.
With a whisper edged in dread, he remarked, "I hate to think how this level of tech could be abused in totalitarian states. Someday, will human minds turn into programmable hard drives?"
Nadya offered a sharp, humorless laugh. "Could be, Gus? Wake up. We’re speaking in the future tense. The needle is already halfway in." She gestured around them at the stale air thick with the acrid smell of fear and resignation.
"Look at the way algorithms curate your emotions and dampen your empathy. The 'memory-muffling mist' isn't coming; it’s already the air we breathe."
The walls seemed to close in as her words hung in the air. Outside, the skyline was a jagged silhouette against a blood-red sky while surveillance drones buzzed overhead like mechanical vultures.
Liao finally spoke, his voice heavy with quiet resignation. "The brilliance of the Edifice isn't just the control — it's the invisibility. Ordinary citizens know very little of what *is* because the protocol minimizes their capacity to ask core questions."
"We are the resulting music, Gus," he continued softly. "We’re just not the ones holding the baton."
Outside, a distant siren wailed — a reminder of the regime governing their existence.