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When Virus came to Frallsord, the tragedy was as agaonizingly slow as it was unstoppable. The first casuality was the orbital starport which entered the atmosphere one summer evening, lighting up the sky the world over, shedding huge molten lumps of debris, and incinerating its 100,000 inhabitants. Then one by one flying cities fell from the sky, arcologies turned the wrong way into high winds, and with a great shreiking of falling structures, bowed and snapped. Sea floor cities were flooded and crushed, orbital weather-control satellites stirred up hurricanes, floating cities drifted into artic seas, opened their seacocks and sank. And there was nothing anyone could do. The countryside could not support the teeming masses that began to flood it, and the starships that might have evacuated the doomed populace arrived carrying only more Virus strains It was small cruelties that were the most horific: arcology lifts plunging their passengers to their deaths, automated grav bus and taxi systems ramming into mountainsides, power surges that killed by electrocution and fires. After a few days of this, there was no one on Frallsord that did not passionately believe that the entire universe had become suddenly and hideously evil, and that every machine on the planet was cunningly plotting to kill them, PERSONALLY. Some scars do not heal. Scars do not allow trust to ever grow again. Scars are carried from generation to generation.
Of cousre Frallsord was lucky. At least technophobesa are alive. On Frallsord there was breathable air and drinkable water for the people who survived the flight to the countryside. On many other high population worlds, the population just died, by the billions.
References: TNE Rulebook pg 93.