Shackled

Prologue

In the eyes of a majority of mankind, freedom is an irrefutable right. Many have shed blood; collapsing in a field of those who grasp onto the same hope, drowning in blood, pride encircling them as a result of clenching onto their rights despite the ease of simply releasing their grasp. They allow the prospect of being liberated render them blind, causing them to commit even the most egregious of crimes; the antithesis of the moral code that had once been imprinted into their minds. These morals are lodged like a fossil deep within the earth, but like fossils, they are soon to be abandoned, eroding until all that remains is the rubble, bearing no resemblance to what once was. Men have been willing to climb any mountain that comes within their path though an imminent death remains hanging over their heads.

However, bestowing freedom upon man is no different from bestowing a birthday present upon a small child. They treat the first few days, months, or even years as though the gift had allowed them to reach nirvana, but shortly after, the allurement of it has faded, leaving the men greedy for more, leaving them with the will to abuse what they had, for their insatiability has overtaken any gratitude they once had, and inevitably, it will only lead to another crisis.

As a matter of fact, this led to a global catastrophe. Tension rose among varying countries, World War III had commenced, and in a flash, in one instant, the world as everyone knew it vanished. One choice had changed everything. The leader of a country had just unleashed most deadly of weapon -- nuclear warfare. As one country pressed the button that had never meant to be pressed, enemies and allies began following the action.

Where once lied homes housing parents nurturing their children with love became a nuclear wasteland. However, humans have always been exceptionally skilled at adapting to the most desperate of situations. The small pool of humans remaining on the planet were evacuated to places that never had to deal with the wrath of obliteration. The already small pool of people were divided once more. It was up to fate; half would go to a developing colony in Antarctica while the other half would go to an already thriving colony on the moon.

While the Lunars enjoyed the luxuries of lavishly embellished homes and a government built upon democracy not entirely different than that of the earth, the Antarcticans did not bear a fate that was nearly as pleasurable.

While the colony itself made what once was a quixotically concocted utopia of science fiction a reality with the temperature being altered to be habitable for humans, the productions of food through farming was made possible with genetic modifications, and the prospect of electricity being powered solely off of solar and hydro sources, the government was an absolute dystopia with free will being robbed before the people could even gain the strength to fight against it. The alliance that was once bound between the Lunars and the Antarcticans began to suffer until it was built solely off of the exchange of goods.

The leader of Antarctica ruled with an authoritarian grip upon the country, not even trusting her closest advisors of the atrocities she committed to her people, keeping them as indoctrinated automatons, doing her bidding, worshipping her as though she were a saint.