“All our hopes rested on him. One man, with one idea. He was better than the best of what we had left, and so we gave to him the best of what we had left. He was the great hero we had waited for ever since the dark cloud covered our sky, and he would go on to blow that cloud away, country by country, until our planet was ours once more.”
“And then he failed.”
“He took all that we had left, and disappeared with it. His valiant actions, if he ever even made them, left no dent. We saw nothing from him, heard nothing about him. We had nothing left at our disposal but to surrender, completely, and pathetically. He betrayed us; he betrayed the world. We may have had a chance with him. We may have had a chance had he never existed. But now we have no chance.”
“Mankind is a slave race now; our planet a farm. If someone were to awake from a thirty-year coma, at first glance he would think the future is not so different: most of our original industry remains exactly the way it was before. But all that we produce, we produce for the invaders, and where they take it, and what use they have for it, we know not. To this day we still have no idea who or what they are; they make no effort to communicate beyond what is necessary to acquire their plunder.
“Within the walls of cities, and once off the iron fist of the punch clock, we are free, but free to do what? Every moment is monitored, every pitiful rebellion quashed before it starts. Recreation exists, meager though it is, and more and more each day are giving in to the fact that this is life, and that we must try to do the best we can with it.”
“But we cannot do the best we can anymore. The best we could do was done, and it failed us.”
“Because of him.”