How close did we come to being a footnote in the history of a future corporations that would happen upon our ruins ten years from now? Would they indulge in the fiction of their own immortality until the shareholders came for them? And how long had this gone on? Did the Ancients stumble upon the monoliths and the tombs of their predecessors in this distant corner of economy, dismissing the warnings carved into the walls of the sepulchre? And when the MBAs came at last, what did the Ancients think as they sifted the cremation of infrastructure, staring into the mute remains for a key; some solution to their plight?

What if there had been countless corporations stretching back into infinity? And like the nine cities of Troy each civilization had been built on the rubble of one that came before. Each annihilated by the shareholders.

The Ancients died many years ago, as humanity emerged from its naivety. They believed their voyage across the sea of capitalism awoke the dragon that slept beneath the waves. That the shareholders were birthed from the flux of money and their destruction was the revenge of an trickle down economy.