The motor coughs and stutters. The engineers, with wrenches and oil cans, crowd round in agitation. Stern sentinels patrol the city walls and, beyond, a dark beast bays in the night.
“All will be as it was,” the engineers promise. “in the eternal city.”
“Build back better,” the citizens beseech.
“We are of nature,” says the seer. Crowds gather round. “But not everything we choose to do is natural.”
“What must we do?” asks a woman.
“Go back,” some scream. Others yell, “Go forward.” A chant begins, “String up the engineers.”
Down the plaza, a crack dances like lightning and widens.
Me, I wonder what might be coming for us. And whether we will recognise it as kin.