[ IP ] It 's who we were .

[ read in Donald Sutherland ’ s voice ] 
 
 It ’ s who we were. A proud race, an unstoppable force, speeding towards unknown knowledge. 
 
 Inability was simply a setback. 
 
 Our thirst was insatiable. 
 
 Eyes to the sky, we thrust forward, never regarding the turmoil of the aged ground, too enthralled with the uncertainty of the void, the unspoken promise of worlds beyond. 
 
 In reality we were conquerors. Our scientists were warriors, our politicians their divine rulers. 
 
 Machines churned through the sky, breathing fire and sparking the thirst within the hearts of hundreds of thousands. 
 
 They called it a spirit of exploration. 
 
 It ’ s who we were. 
 
 When Pyrex rolled out in the late 50 ’ s, we had been on Mars for almost thirty years. The company ’ s debut was ultimately our demise. A bullheaded entry into the market led to a public IP and a boost into the limelight. Absolute domination of the spacefaring industry was ushered in with applause, everyone overlooking the clear monopoly that had been established. 
 
 Organized chaos ensued. Pyrex had stakes in several genetics startups, with an extreme focus in modified organisms. Their research was revolutionary, and coupled with the influence Pyrex had to offer the implications were phenomenal. The dawn of altered respiration stock seed quietly entered the market without so much as a single protest. 
 
 They didn ’ t know what hit them. While the world slept, the crops worked. On Mars, the atmosphere became breathable, the plants taking to the soil and thriving in the hostile conditions. On Earth, we suffered a severe loss. 
 
 Nothing grows here now. 
 
 Shortly after the epidemic, Mars shut off communication. Rather, it was Pyrex that enacted the embargo, enforcing it relentlessly. They left us to rot, dying here with the stark clouds as our sole witness; even the sun turned its face away from our withered state. With no knowledge of the industry and no efficacy to generate the means of escape, our wings were clipped. 
 
 A lone scout out on the freezing wastes might pass by the monolithic relic of progress. The scout would look for any sign of life here, this place that once gave us hope. He would find nothing. Just dirt and grime and despair. 
 
 This is our world, beleaguered by those that occupied the unseeable heavens. 
 
 This is our world, a shadow of who we once were.
