Chapter 281: A Little Twitch

Eliot's head twitched a bit; slowly, but very forceful. It was not easy, doing just that. His biological mind is fighting the electrical impulses of the main controls of his mechanical arm and body. For a moment, he automatically thought that he was able to do it, however daunting it may seem.

Yes, he is a cyborg.

But being a cyborg in this part of the universe is not something to be celebrated about, primarily because the See of Dunster, the Renaissance Society itself, is being inflicted with the pain of chaos and unidentified suffering, many of the circumstances of which are answerable to the many culpable acts that has been correlated to the acts of this cloud of slumbering evil.

But sooner enough, that sleeping evil will make itself known. It will awaken at once; rough as well as it is perilous. Maybe not in its exact form, but still reminiscent of the dangers of the manifested errors in the presented moral options, and the consequences of the choices that has been made in its wake.

He could not remember much of what has transpired before this very moment because the history contained in their books started its narration in the banning of literature during the Last Days (as encoded in his information system), while everything else that adversely happened after that was completely obliterated in complete memory through the artificial intelligence and the computing programs available that has been encoded in the minds of the population with the help of advanced developments in cognitive psychology and neuroscience.

But he was here trafficked as a mule, and that is his main purpose. It was his mechanical impulses that have brought him here, right in this very place to fulfill certain things that will give President Algebra more power to control the Renaissance's immense power. The Parallelogram Office has been tough enough in ensuring that all parallels related to this story (and on to the next, a sequel) must be preserved, and Eliot's role so far in this clandestine operation seems to be transpiring as carefully as it was planned.

But a certain evil at its very core cannot be contained in a singular mold, as much as it was eternally pliable, and very much capable of another form of power, the power that has been defined in many inquiry of philosophical dualities. These dualities can only be emphasized in strict literary endeavors and this is the fundamental error in the blinding pursuit of the favorable conditions in the situation for a more perfect order.

Because only in the emergence of chaos and disorder that this perfected order can be found, and this is simply the paradox of life that must be fully embraced.

Eliot's way to full consciousness is now beginning to unfold. Soon, a new order will come regardless of its eternal source, may there be scientific mayhem or not. His role may be over before danger finally settles.

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