Prologue
This is a message to the People of the Ancient World.
One thousand years ago humanity was made desolate. We surrendered to the clutches of disease and nuclear fallout and we almost became extinct. Thanks to the brilliance of our technological evolution however, a select few created a new world on Mars, able to sustain life as we knew it before The End. Here we have thrived and avoided the troubles that faced those who were unfortunately left behind.
That is who we are today, The Elite, and we live in peace on our little red planet. Although disconnected from the Old Humans, we are very much the same. We would like to share our peace with you, we would like to bridge the gap between our worlds and end our thousand years of isolation.
Built on the edge of the world is a marvel of human ingenuity, a portal that will connect our two societies and bring the human race back to its former glory. We can travel between both planets as need be and unite the Ancient Earth and New Mars as one.
We have watched you suffer for years from a distance and have long desired to help. Now we have the means to do so. On our side of the portal we have the cure to your afflictions, all you need is to simply ask.
Before you pass through the Gateway I have one request, that you lay down your arms and leave behind your desperate and primal ways. The horrors of mutation and modification are barbaric and no longer necessary for survival. With the continued practice of self-infection you allow a dangerous disease to thrive when it should have died out centuries ago, and you threaten the vitality of our people. That is why we cannot return home, why we cannot live in peace until you end this practice of self-mutilation. Only then can our dreams of connecting the two worlds become a reality.
If you wish to share the utopia we’ve created for you on Mars, you may pass through the portal as you please. If infected we will treat you, if injured we will heal you, if broken we will fix you. You only have to reject the Tribes of Old Earth and prepare yourselves to be made anew.
I will personally--
The glass screen cracks straight through the Minister’s face, his blue cloak shattering into pieces and then disappearing with the rest as the footage explodes into tiny bits of refracted light. A scarlet soaked hand picks up the now-empty and lifeless glass, staining the slim edges with crimson rivers that drip off and down the wrist of the beholder.
Within its depths smile two halcyon eyes, one stained red and the other bright and clear. The glass dips down to reflect two perfect lips and rows of shining, sharp teeth. A rusty jaded voice splits the air in the place of the sickly-sweet tones of the transmission.
“Dirty Martian scum,” it growls. “Mark my words Minister, there will be peace. But not until your blood is on my hands.”
