Prologue

It was surprising, really; something out of a Greek tragedy. By the end of the 21st century the Homo sapientes were poised on the brink of self-annihilation. Globalization had not been as smooth as intended. The fires of international political disputes were fueled by religious zealotry, and fanned by coalescing weapon manufacturers. As they would say: money makes the world go dead.

The less myopic inhabitants' attempts to stem society off of addictive and destructive power sources seemed as a David vs. Goliath fairy-tale—only if David had forgotten his slingshot. Atmospheric CO2 levels continued to skyrocket throughout the century, correlated with 'big oil's' net profit margin. The little blue sphere's climate was changing; sea levels were rising; we started seeing less and less of other species, and more and more of ourselves.

Everything was perfect. Humanity: the ultimate Rube Goldberg self-destruction machine.

It was surprising, really. They named him Perses, after the Greek titan of destruction. Faces were to be alight with his glow on December 24th 2104, and at that time he was called C/2094 C1. He was to pass very near to earth, but scientists agreed the light show would be harmless beyond minor retina stimulation.

No one is entirely sure what happened. The devastation made finding records almost impossible.

We know that X/2094 C1, 'Perses,' made an unchartered course alteration. Wiping out the International Space Bay as it passed near the moon was the first sign of trouble. Within mere hours it had closed the remaining distance and entered Earth's atmosphere.

We know that the already damaged asteroid fragmented under the pressure of atmospheric entry. Meteorites ranging from pebbles to the size of skyscrapers riddled the Earth's surface. The destruction killed hundreds of thousands, and what was previously 'Perses,' became 'Perses 1,' 'Perses 2,' and 'Perses 3.'

Perses 1 was the smallest of the three main fragments, and impacted somewhere in Russia.

Perses 2 landed a few thousand miles off the coast of Morocco.

Perses 3 stuck relatively close to Perses 1, and impacted not far off the southern coast of Japan.

Initial estimates put the death toll around 4 billion. Entire coastlines were consumed in the waves. With only a few hours notice, most evacuation attempts were fruitless. The figures of those who couldn't get out in time swamped the paltry millions who managed to escape inland. New York, Washington D.C., Los Angeles, San Francisco, Hong Kong, Sydney, Tokyo, and the entire Hawaiian island chain—any place that was anyplace was under water. Tsunamis reached the Celtic Sea, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Sea of Okhotsk. Earthquakes erupted across Eurasia due to increased tectonic activity.

When the water finally receded, humanity stumbled back into the light. Over 50% of the global population was believed deceased, all in the span of a few days. There was no contingency plan, no second-string chain of command. It was estimated that millions more would die from starvation and disease in the following weeks.

But humanity hadn't come this far to be stamped out in a few days. We mourned the dead. Heroes emerged from the rubble, standing tall against the odds. Communication between international command structures—or, what remained of them—began. The initial information was disheartening. We had underestimated the damage, but not by much. Billions were gone. Infrastructure was decimated on a global scale. It didn't appear any country capable of handling the rebuilding process was untouched.

But communication led to collaboration. Old hatreds were forgotten. Under one creed—survival—humanity united. We bounced back.

It was surprising, really. Who could have guessed? It was a little under a year before we knew. Perses 2 and Perses 3 had struck in relatively shallow waters. The impact caused the ensuring mega-tsunamis, and also vaporized the seabed sediments, releasing huge amounts of CO2 and sulfur into the atmosphere. The effect was quicker than we could have anticipated. Water levels began to rise permanently, slowly engulfing some rebuilding efforts; temperatures began to rise as the sun's potency increased globally; we began to see mass extinction of many sea creatures due to oceanic temperature changes.

We looked beyond old divisions. States, political parties, religion, these were antiquated tools of social lubrication. The only boundaries became intercontinental boundaries. 'Global collaboration' was a pipe dream; every country for herself. We had enough problems here, no reason to add more survivors to a lifeboat riddled with holes.

When the tides finally settled, the coastlines had shifted to include Philadelphia, New York, Washington D.C., most of Florida; the Pacific coastline resembled a collection of large islands, water settling all around what were once the Rocky Mountains. So we moved inward. The 'bible belt,' once amber fields of grain became sprawling mega-cities—Obiturbs—inhabited by millions who had survived the destruction. The vast space between cities held nothing but transit rails or Conservatoriums—huge, solar powered greenhouses.

Over the course of the coming decades, humanity began to see the disaster for what it truly was: a clean slate, a chance to start over. You see, parasites have a strange way of adapting, either themselves or the environment around them, to fit their needs. And that's exactly what we did.

Here in America, we adapted. Here in America, we survived. Here in America, we became Obicians.