Because of you, because of what you have done, I know now.
I am told that I was a murderer. I do not remember my victims anymore. I am told that I was a proud father of two children before I was incarcerated. I have been shown pictures of them; they have the faces of strangers. I am like this because I was escorted into a room and told to drink from a cup. I am like this because I know now.
You ask me questions about weaponry, propulsion, metallurgy. I cannot tell you these things. I can only tell you of the culture that made them, and you have no use for that information. I could speak to you for days about the Exarchs, their histories, the long wars they fought, the sacrifices they made in the name of a greater good than their people could ever know. My words would fall on deaf ears.
You will destroy yourselves. I know this. I can see the fear in your eyes, fear of things beyond your comprehension. The Exarchs knew such fear, and it led them to burn their cities, kill their people, and salt the ashes. They were better men than you, and their enemies were no less terrible.
I wonder now, if someday, there will be another like me, recounting –your- history. Trying in vain to explain to –his- captors that they too will fall. I wonder how far that is from here, how much time will pass before you too are desperate enough to try and save your history, your failures and triumphs.
It amazes me how foolish you are, searching for weapons. The society which made this history, the society which I now know, prized their culture above all else. If they had weaponry, it did not help them against what was to come, and neither will yours. You refuse to acknowledge this of course. It is beneath you to even ponder my words. Your arrogance will not permit it.
In a way, you deserve what is coming. How many did you throw away like garbage before you got to me? How many were sacrificed, in vain, looking for weapons and technology that does not exist anymore? And when they only learned of songs which have not been sung in millennia, of the steps of a dance to thank the gods for a successful childbirth, did you consider for a second the value of this knowledge? Or was it like the memories you sacrificed; so much useless data.
I know you will kill me. Not today or even tomorrow, but soon enough. The fear I see is deep enough that one dead man is no great loss. No, the fact is that most likely the loss of your humanity is by now something you can no longer remember. Am I right? Yes? It appears you and I have something in common then, except… Your humanity wasn’t given away. It wasn’t sold for a dream of ancient schematics. You weren’t thrust into a room at gunpoint. And you do not know.
I shall be silent now. The memories of what once was shall comfort me, until you kill me. And then they, and I, will be gone. Another body on the pile.