Jarick frowned at the tiny robotic bug perched on his fingertip. It called to memory the legends of his childhood – of everyday things made of earth and blood and bone.
Since CORP had become the official world government, they had mined and chopped and burned their way to a barren planet. Until the era of Operation Nightingale, that is. Now every tangible object – from the astro-turf beneath his feet to the pressed foam and plastic “trees” around him – could claim a factory origin; the earth made into a giant organic echo.
Sighing, he pinched his fingers together, crushing it, and wondered – if it had been a real insect – would he have felt its sting?
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