It all winds up frozen, you see? Stagnant, halted. Stopped. For all intents and purposes, dead.

Blind to the world then?

Simply unable to interact with it. They have rejected that which does not conform. The tall figure
indicated a specific section of the vast circuitry with a slender finger. The blues of the vast network
seemed to shine through the transparent skin. As if on cue, the entire section pulsed and flared many
different colors. Riotous oranges and vibrant reds erupted into existence, and in a brief microsecond
clashed with deeper greens and grays. Then, as one, died. Snuffed out. Purged for being different.
A silence settled over the two figures as the circuitry continued to shift and shimmer in the darkened
room. Dark blues and light cyan flowed across the banks of electronics, periodically disturbed by the
explosion of rainbows that were all snuffed out and replaced by the old blue patterns.
Self-regulation to the natural extreme. It is life that is anything but alive. The shorter figure seemed
slightly deflated. The Rautmon have failed to pass the threshold of independent thought. The
limitations on the collective intelligence have shackled its ability to evolve and progress without
external interference.
It would appear so.
They turned without another word, and left the vast circuitry playing upon the wall. Chambers
stretched before the pair, yawning and empty. Motes of dust floated in the sunlight filtering through the
vast windows. Outside, a city stretched far into the horizon and reached high into the sky. Dusk was
settling, yet the city was not illuminated. Silence ruled.
Upon a balcony far from the flickering circuitry of the Core, the two emerged onto their final sunset.
Their skin was red in the dying light of their star, purple and blue as night descended across their
figures. Two boxes, ornately carved in the finest white wood, sat open upon the balcony's balustrade.
What if we removed the shackles? Let the program free?
In a word? Apocalypse. Hyper-intelligence. It would surpass our own.
Can we not cap it?
It would be playing God. They would circumvent it or strangle themselves on the leash. Selfregulation is the only manner by which they can be controlled.
Then they will forever be dependent upon us for change and stimuli. If they do not shut themselves off
from the world, they will be slaves to it. Stagnated. Husks. No ability to develop culture, art, music. No
reason to further the cause of science. And if we-
We are the dead, the taller figure interrupted. The last of a dead world, a dead civilization. We have
expended the last of our time. Whatever will be, will be. Without a word, he withdrew a slender blade
from the white box. His counterpart did the same. They turned to each other, one last time.
We are the dead.
We are the dead.

It came to pass that the world fell under darkness, passed into silence. Deep within the Core, the blue
lights continued to flicker and flow to a non-existent audience. It spread tendrils through the dead
world, a silent conquest of a forgotten civilization. Blue lights illuminated empty rooms, filled empty
streets, crowded out the night skies. Blue was everywhere and everything. Eons and eternity passed.
Machinery whirred to life, and fell silent, then came to life again. Construction resumed. The sound of
bending steel and moving parts filled the earth. And the light that filled the cities was every shade of
every spectrum of light.