When you came here, to this city, your goal was simple survival. But the longer you stay here, the more certain you are of two things:

You are being guided somewhere and . . .

This place holds a terrible secret.

The memories have lead you and the child to a vast, dark building with a towering elevated dome raised high above the rest of the city in the center. The words “Primary Data Bank of The Technocracy of Telodor.” Are crossed out. Someone has scrawled “Memoratorium” below.

“Do you know this place?” You ask the child.

“I remember only what you remember and little more,” the child says as he shrugs. “But I do feel him. Up there.” It raises its finger and points towards the enormous, intact tower rising from the middle of the building.

The sunlight disappears behind you as you pass through the rusted doors and into darkness. A light comes on ahead, flickering like foxfire. Your steps echo as in a vast, empty space as you approach the light source.

The light is coming from a terminal. The text on the screen (which you can read, as you now remember it), says “welcome, citizen of Telodor. What knowledge do you desire?”

“What do I do?” You ask the child.

“Ask!” The child says, smiling.

After a moment of contemplation, you type - “what happened to this city?” The terminal flickers and you hear a blast of memory-static.

You remember sitting across from a haggard man in what you recall to be the robes of the ruling Council of Telodor. His hands shake as he meets your eyes.

“It is no use. He no longer listens to us. His core programming is corrupted beyond repair. Our request for new iterations were all denied. We were deemed . . . ‘unworthy’. And . . .” He bows his head. “He is directing all rain inside the cities instead of out. This is further evidence that we must iterate, but with the invention of the memory transmitter since the last iteration . . . Forgive me if this sounds dramatic, but he can peer into our very souls. He says . . . He says we do not understand pain and hardship, and he will teach us to be worthy. Insanity. At this rate, the surrounding farmland will dry up and we will all starve if the Sentinels do not kill us first. If you are remembering this, perhaps not all is lost. If you can iterate . . . If he lets you . . . Perhaps there is hope. The new unit will know what to do. May the Master Control Computer have mercy on you. Forgive us. We told him to make us better.” The memory ends.

You kneel down to look at the child. “Did you see that? Do you know what he meant?” The small creature smiles. “Yes.”