like i stipulated previously, the novel is onpause , vecause i have difficulties obtaining accurate informations about the 17 th century....
🧠Breaking down the "Idiocracy Doctrine"🛩️ Ads in the cockpit
Pilots distracted by pop-ups for energy drinks while dodging missiles?
"Before you launch that missile, here's a quick ad break…"
🪖 Ads for ground troops
"Sponsored by Nike Tactical: Just Shoot It."
Soldiers scanning QR codes on ammo crates for loyalty points?
🚢 Naval soldiers
Submarine sonar screens interrupted by crypto investment ads?
"This depth charge brought to you by Red Bull."
đź’Ł Strategic consequences
Cognitive overload: Combat requires focus, not dopamine hits from ad algorithms.
Security risks: Ad networks are porous — imagine malware embedded in a targeting HUD.
Moral collapse: Monetizing war trivializes sacrifice and turns soldiers into brand ambassadors.
🧨 Satire or prophecy?
The Saga of the Luminary Cult
In a valley of perpetual twilight lived the Luminary Cult, a society built entirely on the principle that the speed of light, c, was not merely a constant, but their sacred Mount Meru. They believed that all truth radiated from it, and every aspect of their lives was dedicated to its veneration. Their great library, "The Hall of c", was a circular edifice where scholars spent lifetimes tracing the path of light, meticulously re-measuring its speed to the 15th decimal, as if a single stray digit might cause their world to unravel.
The High Luminar, a man with a beard so long it was measured in furlongs, spent his days pondering the great riddle: why was the world so chaotic? "It's the impurities," he would declare to his acolytes. "The noise. The doubt. If we could only purify our lives to match the perfect, unchanging speed of light, we would achieve perfect order."
The cult's tragicomic flaw was its rigid adherence to this principle. All movement was a series of quick, choppy steps, a "stuttering walk" as they called it, designed to imitate the way light particles supposedly "jumped." They wore reflective robes, not for warmth, but so that any stray light would be bounced back to its source, preserving the purity of their sacred constant. Their food was a bland, colorless paste, for color was just a "disruptive frequency," a distortion of their perfect Mount Meru.
One day, a stranger wandered into their valley. He was an observer, a quiet man who had spent his life in the "cult of doubt," and he saw the world not as a perfect equation, but as a vibrant, messy process. He noticed that the plants in the valley were a lush, beautiful green, a color the Luminary Cult ignored as a flaw. He looked up at the sky and saw the stars, not as distant points of light to be cataloged, but as something to be cherished.
"Why do you not look at the flowers?" he asked a young acolyte.
"Flowers have an unstable frequency," the acolyte replied, reciting his catechism. "They are an enemy of the Mount Meru."
The observer simply laughed. "But the light that gives them their color is still light, is it not?"
The acolyte stared at him blankly. He had no protocol for this question.
The High Luminar, hearing of the disruption, summoned the observer. "You speak of a falsehood," he boomed. "You propose that light is not the beginning, but a mere side-effect of a 'centrifugal force' that 'generates void undulations.' This is heresy. Our Mount Meru is pure."
The observer simply took out a small crystal and held it up to the sun. The light hit the crystal and fractured into a stunning rainbow of colors. He handed it to the High Luminar. "Look," he said. "The light is not a single, pure thing. It is many things. It contains a beautiful spectrum that your mountain has never allowed you to see."
The High Luminar, holding the crystal, was faced with an unbearable truth. His entire life was a lie. The mountain he had built, his entire society, was based on a flawed premise. In a final, tragic moment of realization, he shattered the crystal against the ground. The fragments scattered, each one reflecting a small piece of a truth he could not bear to comprehend.
The Luminary Cult, however, could not be saved. The High Luminar's final act was seen as an act of divine judgment. Believing they had failed their deity, they began to scatter. They ran in all directions, their stuttering walk becoming a frantic, panicked dash as their faith, and their Mount Meru, crumbled into dust.
In the end, all that was left of the Luminary Cult was a beautiful valley of colorful flowers and the scattered, broken pieces of a crystal that had shown them a truth they were not ready to comprehend. The observer, the one who saw the world as it was, simply walked on, leaving behind a civilization that had been consumed by its own obsession.