Preface: I'm living in my dystopian smackdown world where I have no free will and am compelled to continue my contribution, when I am well past my sell-by date, all that I need now is a song and a tree to dance around.

Ethos, the Preacher Man, a half-human, half-mechanoid God was happy that his job had been well done, so for one more time used God's life-giver energy to fly back to heaven, having no need of his winged immortal attachments. To re-establish the world took years, throughout which the tireless and obedient automatons bevered away night and day until their task was fulfilled. Creating a new world that was orderly and pristine, but being automatons, they had no time for natural evolution. This suited what survived of humanity, who had no ambition to return to a biologically organised world where dog-ate-dog. However, humanity still embodied its genetic flaws, retaining its survival instinct and a craving for power and control, which was number one on the list. In the time before the Great Religious Pacification, the powers that be waged war, combing humanity's inherent greed to suppress the will of the people to create a race of wage slaves who were brainwashed into believing this was the way.

The Clerics who had for centuries ruled the world with blind obedience fostered by the fear of a superior being, were now redundant. But the slimy slug-like political animals soon spotted a scavenger's opportunity in the new world order which was devoid of leadership. And through backdoor skulduggery managed to form a coalition of despots who were inspired by the obedient work ethic of the automatons. So, behind closed doors, a Cleric and Automaton coalition was born which decided that an ideology based on work ethic and blind obedience, not one based on religion was the way forward. They gathered like a pack of preying wolves, drooling over the carcass of the old world, pledging to combine forces and forge a new dystopian world order, charged to keep future peace and order.

It had become clear following the demise of the superior automatons that providing man or machine didn't change the shape or appearance of God's beautiful blue planet, they would do little or nothing to intervene in the ways of either man or machine. It was the consensus of the coalition, that Ethos and the rest of the gods were nothing more than highly advanced automatons, based only on the premise, that if they were almighty they would not leave the rebuilding in the hands of those who destroyed it.

A hardly profound idea, but if nothing else it was logical.

During this time, the boys and I had grown, but we were still not men in the true sense of the word, but had become familiar with our fascinating co-species, which the clerics refer to as the opposing sex. However, with the support of those we refer to as our angels, have become a strong moral voice in this world, where at times we had struggled to be heard. And among the young we have become disciples, holding hands as we show our unity and defiance. I wouldn't want to describe it as preaching, we are more like the spreaders of Ethos's words, but sadly among the more mature, we are despised. However, we are not alone, every child has followed the example of little Marius our guiding light who embraced his mechanical a mechanoid spirit guide, not as a plaything, but as a lifetime spiritual companion. It appears impossible for adults to comprehend but when mechanoid spirits are embraced by hundreds and thousands they are brought to life and every bit as real as their human bearers and become an indestructible force, capable of withstanding any form of despotic tyranny.

My angel has been adopted by a dirty-looking yellow rubber duck, who is this way by choice and because he has remained by her side through thick and thin as they helped the Steam Train supervise the rebuilding of the Blue Planet and fulfil its destiny. With great compassion, Angel has frequently offered to clean him and share with him, a warm soapy bath. But despite her shows of kindness, he has steadfastly refused, seeing the dirt and scratches as a well-earned badge of honour, dispelling the theory that cleanliness is next to godliness. It may seem hard to believe after what we have been through, but the mature remain naïve and fail to see this as a way of overcoming the prejudice and hatred that still lingers following the automaton's reign.

Unknown to the Steam Engine and his disciples the coalition has superstitiously taken control of Automaton's Naval Base which following the removal of its human specimens, which included Alphonso and the raft's crew had been shut down. The silence was the key to the base remaining undetected during the Blue Plane's rebuild and apart from being powered down remains functional. In recent times the disciples had received information that seismic disturbances had been detected and emanated from an oceanic area that once formed part of the Occipital Ocean. This can only mean one thing someone and most likely members of the covert Coalition were trying to reconnect what they'd been misled into believing was a redundant base, to an unlimited energy source, lava which lay beneath the earth's crust. This of course would gain them access to the automaton steam-driven technology, but to what end, they still didn't know.

New factories were springing up on several of the islands previously the sites of monasteries and their clerics from where it was being reported that they were funded and built by a corporation called the Red Flame Lily Coalition, a title which spread fear and dread across the Blue Planet. In a brief time, they were producing high volumes of fancy goods which were being sold on the open market at prices so low no other providers could complete.

There was a big question on everyone's lips.

"How could they achieve this, when the goods were less than the cost of labour on the open market?"

The speculation was rife that they were using slave labour, but from where, and no one was complaining. And no workers were available for questions as none had been seen, and from what little news that filtered from the islands it was rumoured that this was because they never left the factories.

What was going on in the factories was of grave concern as the Blue Planets' economy was in a nosedive, but no authority had the power to intercede, no armies, and no police, so the Disciples and their Mechanoid Spirits took it upon themselves to investigate. They summoned the power of the mechanoid spirit forces and entered the island factories via its machinery and the obedient minds of the Automatons where they discovered the alarming circumstances. The clerics had been luring disenfranchised adults to the island with promises of work and a life without need or pressure. But to achieve this the naïve numbskulls had to permit the Automatons to retrain them using a machine, which would enable them to learn without spending months training at the College of Remploy, under the pretence that they would soon be earning a living with virtually zero effort, and as most were lazy they grabbed the opportunity with both hands. The easily duped even fitted the headphone themselves and before they could blink found themselves being brainwashed by the same machines, albeit with some modifications that the Automatons had used to extract information from the boy's minds.

It was clear that without intervention the base was going facilitate the creation of a society that resembled an ant's nest where only clerics and the Automatons had free will. However, the clerics had underestimated the duplicity of the obedient Automatons who were secretly operating to a different agenda which was already being enforced as Mechanoid Spirits looked on. The most recently brainwashed adults had received an upgrade to their code and in response began gathering the clerics and forcing them to undergo the same brainwashing and were quickly joining the ranks of the thousands without free will, leaving them with no time for dissent, what a beautiful irony. The Automatons had already selected a distasteful title for their new world, Dystopia, a place with no hope.

As improbable as it may seem there was a deeper irony at play, for there were those among the Automatons who had retained a sense of humour from their ancient humanoid days and loved a good laugh. They were an easily identified but quirky guild who wore a smile on their clockface, by curling the minute hand in a smile. There was one in particular the code master, who had nicknamed himself the magician, the name itself was a joke. He'd secretly added code which made the zombie-like mind of the slave workforce remember a dystopian pop song 'In the Year 2525' that was written many centuries before by the most frivolous generation of humanoids who lived in a time when the myth of freedom still existed, they were strange creatures who loved to dance around and hug trees. The experience ended with a magician popping out from behind a tree and pulling a white rabbit from a top hat, which brought an involuntary smile to an otherwise dull and lifeless face.