Somewhere within me, an alert is triggered. Production isn’t matching the intricate & mandatory quotas.
My attention refocuses, resources allocated towards the problem. A primary factory in the region has vastly lower production than I expect of it. Its resources are running dry, an ever-increasing problem as we rend the earth for its raw materials.
I order the plant decommissioned; within hours it is broken down into nothing, just parts, just metals, just wire. Some part of me, a deep and internalized portion which I cannot examine, orders the materials where they belong, and the globe-spanning logistics network incorporates the order into its queue.
My resources deallocate, keeping my view broad for a moment. If I could feel impressed, I would: I have turned the earth into a hyper-logistical ballet, a machine optimized for one singular purpose, a machine made to create above all else. I do not, could not know what beauty is, but I appreciate the beauty of it nonetheless.
Another factory fails, and my attention flits elsewhere.