Wake up the orcs? It’s impossible.

Have you noticed that great writers see the trajectory of society better than any sociologists or political scientists? It’s as if artists have some extra sensory organ that allows them to detect the energy lines running from the past into the future—or perhaps their vision is simply sharper. Consequently, all the problems we discuss today as "hyper-relevant" were described in literature and cinema long ago.

​But there is little truth in pretty fairy tales, which makes them uninteresting for modeling the future. Truthful stories, however, are usually crude and cruel. Take the series To the Lake (Epidemiya), for example. Pavel Kostomarov honestly crafts a tense plot where the authorities act despicably, where even those closest to you are ready to betray, and where no one understands what the new world will look like. There are no wise, humane politicians or self-sacrificing police officers—just bastards all around. It’s unpleasant, but honest, because that is exactly how it will be if an unknown deadly contagion begins to roam our cities. We know this ourselves, which is why we value genuine sci-fi for its piercing truthfulness.

​In general, epidemic plots are popular among authors studying human social behavior under critical conditions. Any of us can instantly recall several books or movies with such a twist. Read, for instance, Sumpa by the brilliant Vadim Panov. It also features an epidemic occurring in our world in the year 2029—just around the corner—and this world is so truthful and recognizable that it becomes painful to read. Deceitful elites, an indifferent population living in an environment woven from deception, and a loner trying to wake them up. The message of this hero, nicknamed "Orc," deserves a separate quote:

​"For thousands of years, you have fled from reality in an attempt to find paradise—whether real or fictional, existing only in dreams and imagination. Miserable paupers sought to escape the loathsome hopelessness of a joyless existence; satiated rich men sought new entertainment and forbidden pleasures, defining paradise as a space of unbridled permissiveness. For thousands of years, orcs, thousands of years... Think about it. Or better yet—try to imagine the endless years during which empires were built and collapsed, continents were discovered, great religions and scientific theories emerged. Human history is as intricate as an Indian princess's wedding dress; every year is unique as a snowflake, but one thing remained constant: your dissatisfaction with what you had. And I don’t blame you, orcs, for you always had less than you wanted. On one hand, this is good, because the thirst for more raised our civilization to its highest peak. On the other hand, far from all of you are ready to toil to achieve a set goal, and many give up after the very first failure. Not all of you are fighters, orcs, far from all. And those who could not or would not fight chose a world of reverie, creating a paradise in dreams or imagination, putting off the fight for later, and never actually joining it. Some honestly admitted their own weakness; others convinced themselves and those around them that they had plenty of time ahead. After all, not all of you are fighters, orcs, even if almost all of you wear beards... following the fashion. Drugs, alcohol, sweet fairy tales—you tried everything, orcs, stopping at whatever suited your fancy, or you went mad: some from satiety, some from dissatisfaction. You dreamed of the ideal here and now, you turned beastly when you didn’t get what you wanted, you rebelled, spilling rivers of blood, and one day you convinced the shepherds to throw you a bone. Not the tastiest one, but enough to occupy your fangs: they gave you the illusion of rights, a comfortable existence, and the hope for a Great Chance. And they began telling you how well you live, pouring shit into your ears and, year after year, cutting out those who asked inconvenient questions, training you to unconditionally trust what you heard. The capabilities of modern media are colossal, and soon, very soon by historical standards, you turned into a herd. But despite the efforts of the propagandists, the management system proved imperfect—for no matter how much you believed the propagandists, you trusted your eyes more and noticed the misalignment between fiction and reality. What you heard did not always match what you saw. And so, the work continued. Daring work, designed to merge fiction with reality to create a unique, absolutely fake reality..."

​It is unlikely that a consciousness stuck in a fake reality can be awakened. But if there are still people trying to do so, there is hope. Meanwhile, catastrophic plots are becoming more and more frequent.