Indistinguishable from the background noise of termites or the convection of tectonics, the machinations of humanities cumulative peak of civilization could easily be missed from just beyond our sun's warmth. Bound to the dirt of a single sphere, existing on the thinnest margin of its surface. Contented in our blind mastery of none of it in our niches. Surviving, off the land, and each other. We live in a society, one that if scored on the possibilities conceivable from within our electrified hovels would not even score a whole number in its classification. Civilization Type: Zero incapable of even harnessing a fraction of the planetary energy spinning beneath our feet, still at the mercy of our native atmosphere stripping us and our constructs from the surface like so many termites. What if this wasn't always so? What if we were so much more? What if we were? What if we could be again? What if the reason we have not advanced technologically beyond hot water heaters to generate electricity, poisons as medicine, and ignoring the ability to feed every starving human is not profit but a plan. One not entirely of our own making, but perpetuation. A penance, a pound, exacted by another type from within and without a single regard to its malice to exploit humanity, and our divides to its end, and our own.