Overtaking the Horizon

"If no one comes from the future to stop you, then your decisions aren't so bad."

"When a person's last mask falls, it begins to rain outside. When hope fades, the world grows dim and still. Moscow is famous for its slanting rains and gray everyday life that drags on mockingly long…"

From time immemorial, Humanity has been afraid.
Feared fires and droughts, diseases and crop failures, large animals, higher powers, volcanic eruptions, the fury of the oceans and the wrath of the earth. Everything unknown…

But most of all, people feared their own kind. They feared the Others. Those who speak a different language, pray to different gods, see the world differently.

And only now has it slowly, slowly begun to bury these fears. To toss them, like old junk, into the dustbin of history. At first, the simple, primordial ones. They were buried deep, beneath the foundations of new cities, and gardens now grew on the site of ancient fire pits.

Technology bestowed upon people the gift of Babylonian understanding. "Strangers" disappeared—and suddenly, interesting conversationalists appeared nearby, their speech, filtered through invisible neural networks, flowing like a clear and pure river, preserving every nuance of intonation, all the warmth of a living voice. People began to talk. Neighbors. Nations. Continents. Xenophobia, that age-old rust of the soul, was eroding, disappearing into the sand.
It seemed a golden age had arrived. An age where there was nothing to fear.

The euphoria was wonderful, but short-lived.
The nature of fear proved as tenacious as a weed. It didn't disappear—it mutated.

In a world of total goodwill and openness, those who were only angered by this openness came to the fore. Deceitful and hypocritical. They didn't wear masks—they were the masks. In the new, transparent world, they learned to maneuver with sophisticated grace. They dodged the spotlight, hid in the blind spots of sincerity, clung to the good-natured and honest like burrs. They couldn't be defeated in a fair debate—they didn't engage in one. They couldn't be caught—they masterfully played by rules not written for them.

And in the soil of the new world, new fears sprouted. More subtle, but no less tormenting.
A burning fear of being deceived. Not in small things, but in major ones. To give up trust—and see it trampled.
A bitter fear of disappointment. In those you considered your support. In ideals that seemed to have finally triumphed.
A paralyzing fear of taking the wrong step. Of making a mistake and, with your mistake, letting down everyone who believed in the new, fragile world.

It was a quiet, underground war. A war of algorithms against human meanness. And AI, that cold intelligence, offered its solution: absolute transparency. Mechanisms for instantly recalling those caught in lies. A contract that everyone signed upon coming to power: your entire life—from thoughts to actions—became public property.

And it worked. Masks became unnecessary. No one could play a role 24/7 in front of all of humanity. New fears, before they had time to take hold, followed the old ones. To that very dustbin of history. To their symbolic grave.
The world didn't become paradise. It became... more honest. The battlefield shifted from external barricades to the human heart.

The hardest part remained—to stop being afraid of yourself. Of your decisions. Of your power. Of your responsibility.

And then it became clear: the future is not for the naive and indifferent.

It is for the brave, the intelligent, and the utterly determined.

For those who, having buried their last fear, have finally truly straightened their shoulders.