The world had fallen silent, a quiet surrender to the ever-present eyes that watched over every street, every home, and every thought. In the U.S., once a beacon of freedom, now a police state, there was no longer a sense of individuality or autonomy. Cameras perched like vultures on every corner, drones patrolled the skies, and surveillance systems monitored not just actions, but intent—analyzing heart rates, expressions, and conversations for the slightest hint of dissent.
People moved through the day like shadows of their former selves, wary of stepping out of line. The streets were lined with propaganda, bright posters proclaiming unity and obedience, all under the pretense of keeping order in the chaos that once was. A single misstep, a word out of place, and armed enforcers would descend. Compliance was expected, demanded, and noncompliance met with immediate and severe consequences—disappearances in the dead of night, forced labor camps, or worse, execution on the spot.
The tech that once connected and freed people now shackled them. Algorithms determined who could access resources, where people could go, and what they could say. Privacy was a distant memory, a relic of a time when humanity thrived, when there was still a sense of self. Now, no one was sure where their thoughts ended and the programming began.
Humanity had become a shell, hollowed out by years of oppression. No one dreamed anymore, no one questioned. Freedom was a myth, and any spark of rebellion was quickly extinguished before it could ignite. The world had been pacified, not with kindness, but with the iron fist of control, and in the end, it was not fire and blood that brought humanity to its knees—it was fear.
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