From a dusty file: Chao Ab Ordo

It is in the unknown future that we hold our fears, and with that, we find that today slowly drifts into yesterday.  It is in these times that the end of days seems to be so close. It is in these times that we embrace the religion we were so quick to denounce in better times. It is in these minutes so thoughtfully wasted we remember those precious memories that we have cherished above material wealth; our thoughts on our loved ones and all those we hold close to our hearts.

It is in this time we plug into our radios and televisions and await the reports of conflict, disaster, strife, and loss. We hear our officials, in the early stages, attempt to quell the public's fear with their prestigious lullaby. We hear our officials, during the trouble, report that everything is in hand, and that help is on the way.

We hear our officials, after losing hope, say that our efforts put forth will not be enough, and that nothing more can be afforded. They will hide amongst their civilized comrades, these heads of state, and watch as their empire crumbles and falls to ruin as the distressed citizens await with hands stretched out for relief and salvation.

These lambs, stricken with an incurable disease, are forced to survive on their own means. It is when the flock is torn asunder by these lambs, which have become ravenous wolves, willing to kill for what they believe is right. They separate and begin their unholy destruction of what civility is left among those they transformed from. They abuse and neglect those not strong enough to fight back, those who know better, and in turn warping their souls and making them into creatures far from those they once were.

Days turn into months, months turn into years, and those years turn into centuries of corruption and vile transformation. These centuries of destruction and chaos create a massive shift in the human perspective, numbing the general masses to murder, hate, greed, and lust. Mass murder, torturing, orgies, gladiatorial death matches, all these become the general public's entertainment, and no man is held above being put in the arena full of wild beasts, drug driven savages, and the most sinister weapons created by the twisted minds of The Order of the Beast.

The youth of the masses are taken from their parents at the age of three to go to schools created by The Order. These schools teach the children to hate all that oppose their beliefs, and kill those that will not bend to the will of The Order, even their own parents. These parental exterminations are closely researched and studied by the children, and are highly encouraged by their school masters to do so if they have any doubt in their parent's loyalty to The Order and its rules.

Technology has perverted into a sick and twisted form so far from what our forefathers in the early 20th century had envisioned for their future. The science of war and torture has far outpaced that of the science of peace. The Order created ziggurats of science and technology to research and develop improved ways to break down and destroy human life all across the habitable world. These ziggurats are full of prisoners destined to become the test subjects for the atrocious acts committed by the priests of knowledge. They conduct their research during all hours of the day, ensuring that they have full knowledge of any and all effects upon the human body and spirit by their weapons and tactics. Sleep deprivation, starvation, water torture, and isolation have become so intensified that it can even be fully grasped by any sane man. They have indeed perfected the art of war and torture to such a level that nothing is left of the human spirit, leaving the body a hollow vessel in which the brain has no control of.

This is the world that Frank Gelland lives in. Frank is a low level data entry technician at the Vault of Research in the outskirts of the capital city of Dysterin. Frank has worked at the Vault since his graduation from Basic Education seven years ago.  He hasn't been in much of a valued position, even in BE, where he never received high scores in any field that he attended. Frank has always been looked upon as a lower form, almost not even human in some cases by some of his peers. He has been chided all throughout his life, but never paid much mind to it since he always seemed to disregard anything they said about him, and continued his work. Not much of a thinker, he never aspired to become anything more than what his superiors put him in charge of; which wasn't much.

Continuing his work day after day, and never tiring of the monotony of paper and computer screen, logging and re-logging entries that were cited by his superiors for extended entry, Frank pushed through his minimal existence with minimal drive. He went home to a small apartment allotted by the Vault, where he lived and commuted with fellow peons day after day. Sparsely furnished and monotone, the apartment has no windows, and a single door. The rooms are separated with sliding curtains; the only light in each room is a single bulb, hanging from the center of each area. The kitchen is a small corner with a microwave on top of a refrigerator full of frozen meals and assorted bottled beverages.