Princess Scorpio

Landing in this place had not been easy. She had not hesitated to entrust her security to her robots. When she left her residence, she took her processors, her servants and her personal guard with her. All she had to do was disconnect them from the centralized surveillance system. Her rank allowed her access to this level of information. You don't monitor an heiress of one of the thirteen families.

So Joan had left her world of wealth and opulence for the dust and grime of the out-of-control areas. These areas were perfectly identified, were subject to close surveillance, but the globalist troops did not enter them. The order was given to let these areas flourish. They were breeding grounds, a kind of natural conservatory of humanity, a reserve of DNA that had to be preserved at all costs. Paradoxically, this human waste had become indispensable to the New World Order. By dint of genetic manipulation and industrialized human breeding, the herd of slaves was becoming too small. We had big problems. Some were dying too quickly, too easily. Others were committing suicide.

And for the dominant caste, the problem was even worse. Most of the elites committed suicide young or proved to be psychologically unviable. Half were succumbing to dementia. The process of management by artificial intelligence had been taken too far. Humans were not machines. It was not enough to remove bacteria by sanitizing environments and bodies, these humans lacked love and hope. They simply did not want to live anymore.

The solution for the slaves was to eliminate them all and replace them with "wild" (and healthy) elements that had thrived in the out-of-control areas. But the individuals who had grown up in these areas did not necessarily have the skills and psychological profiles that were expected of hyper-class slaves. And they were not as numerous as those who would have to be replaced.

For the elites, there was no solution. It was inconceivable to replace them with the very people they had wanted to eradicate and who were proving resilient. The group of old men at the top of the pyramid were dying of rage at seeing their dream of world domination shattered. They were so fanatical that they were willing to blow up everything to take the rest of humanity with them. 

Joan did not understand or accept this. Joan's ancestors had come to this planet with a slightly excessive sense of entitlement, but they had a certain affection for their creations. These grotesque old men had developed a morbid culture. They had failed in their mission, dug their own graves, and taken all the reptilian families with them. 

The humans of the free zones were inferior creatures, but Joan respected their desire for freedom. They had fought the New World Order because it signed their death warrant as free creatures. It was only fair, even if it meant crushing these homunculi.

Joan despised the elites because they had planned their own demise, sacrificing everything on the altar of inadequate technology. Men were made of flesh. They had emotional needs, emotional feelings, just like the reptilian bastards who dominated the world. The latter had wanted to reject their biological part, the emotional needs. They had invented robot-men, thinking they were getting closer to their alien ancestors.

However, the aliens themselves had been beings full of emotions, capable of laughing, enjoying, crying, getting angry. They were not emotionless robots, soulless humanoids.

Joan could no longer live in the circles of the elite, in those families filled with hatred, ready to destroy all forms of life out of spite or ignorance. That's why she had left these privileged places. Her husband, her daughter, her family, she didn't care. She wanted to live her life freely, no matter how much time she had. 

So she moved to a high spot in the Black Rock Desert in Nevada, where the Burning Man festival had been held for years. "Anyone can be a part of Burning Man. We welcome and respect the stranger. There are no prerequisites for participation in our community." That's what this festival was all about. Joan didn't give a damn about these human delusions. She didn't like anyone and didn't want to be bothered by these outsiders.

She had settled in the area, with her army of robots. She practiced self-sufficiency and imposed the respect of the refusal of physical contact, by brutally eliminating all individuals who tried to impose themselves on her. After a certain number of days, the surrounding inhabitants learned to make a detour when approaching her house...

She lived there for a long time, like an exiled princess. She lived there for a long time, like an exiled princess, and it was surrounded by her robots that she died, after forty years in the desert, stung by a black widow who had imposed herself on her and whom she had thought she could tame. 

Aside from this notable error in judgment, Joan had managed to live a perfectly self-sufficient life, cultivating a garden in the middle of the desert and staying fit. She had been almost happy with this Spartan life, the solitude in the desert. 

No one came to see if she was alive or dead, her robots were on alert for centuries and would have slaughtered any intruder. But if someone had braved the danger posed by her protective robots, he would have been surprised to see a radiant smile on her dying face.