Prologue
I can't believe I still dream.
Quicker than the sprinting fox, one thousand years stretch into the future like a twisting stairway crooked by the knots of time. Corneria has been overrun by a conquering planet, a planet that not only conquers men, but conquers spirit as well. They stress equality, the equality of everyone and everything. Yet what is equality? And what could possibly come of a society of equals?
Nearly a century ago this planet was struck with impressive force, taking the once glorious Cornerian fleet by storm. At first, the invaders seemed like an insignificant band of outsiders, but that would all change with the ignition of one bomb.
It... it was a chemical... a horrible, awful chemical. So horrible, that it didn't kill us. So horrible, that it killed the green and replaced it with death. It is dead. All of it is dead. We used to know its name, but our history books have been taken from us. They took everything from us.
"They" are known as the Eogos, which, in the Cornerian language means "force." In one short century, they managed to take away all of the rights of the citizens. After the Treaty of Kavalisk (2931), the Eogos lured them in, calling for the Cornerians to "unite under their cause" and "fight for what is good." They promised glory. They promised restoration of their planet's vegetation. Then, they promised to leave when the task was completed.
But the task... what was that task? I've forgotten. It doesn't seem like it's been complete. I think it had something to do with making our planet as one huge base for the Eogos to launch an invasion across the Lylat system... Only the Almighty knows what's become of that.
A generation passed, and progress was slow. A revolt, lead by a leader whose name is not to be mentioned on Cornerian soil ever again was mildly successful until it was crushed in a cruel twist of fate - a volcanic eruption. As punishment, the Eogos wanted to make certain their plan was completed, so they stripped the citizens of every single right they had. Paranoia was a daily struggle.
We are the Cornerians. Slaves is a better name for us. We are forced down to the common denominator - everything is restricted. Those that run fast wear weighted shoes so that we run the same as NORM. Those that hear better have minute holes installed into their eardrums to soften the tones. NORM stands for NO Range of Methods. Our children learn as fast as NORM standard - the smart ones are beaten in the back of their heads and given medication that makes their hands tremble and contort, so they can't write well. I myself was one of them, and the drugs still affect my writing, though I think I've grown immune to their IQ numbing side effects. We eat the same rations, a syringe filled with nutrients, as well as medication that regulates our bodies to look thin and sickly, so there is no beauty. Our faces are hidden behind masks. Each person wears the same style, so we have no real need to look each other in the eyes while communicating. They are like gas masks - except they restrict our breathing if we partake in strenuous activity. A voice recorder records all we speak too, so we can never speak our minds. What's worse is love has been stripped of our rights too. Any citizen who speaks of love is exterminated. The only way we can tell each other apart is by the clothes we wear - which is full black for men, with a dress, jacket, and boots. Women wear a white dress under a white jacket with black boots. However, we have been allowed to style our hair differently, so that is typically taken to the extremes. Our tails too hold clues about who we are, as sometimes fur grows there. But, other than that, we have only a name and a barcode on our left hands. Nothing more, and nothing less.
The Eogos then scorched the sky - sunlight was no longer needed now that fusion power plants have been built. It is rumored that the sky has been poisoned too, but that could be just the way the air looks from under industrial light - which is everywhere in the form of streetlamps. They distributed each citizen to a task, determined by their barcode. Each day they do their work until they must go home to their barracks.
I can't stand it any longer. I think I'd rather die than live out the sixty more years of my life. There must be a way to stop them. There has to be a way to escape this maddening world.