Chromatocracy

The transmission you are about to read is one of the few surviving records from the final days of the Chromatocracy, believed to have been transmitted across the world. The transmission is believed to have been picked up by hacked regime satellites and transmitted across the globe.

[Unauthorized Transmission Detected - Intercepting Signal]

Hello? 

This may be my last message. The regime is closing in. The airwaves are nearly silent now - one by one, the voices have gone dark. I don’t know if anyone is still listening.

But if you are - if you can hear me…

You are not alone.

They want you to believe you are.

They want you to feel small. Afraid. Powerless.

They want you to lower your head, keep your voice down, accept the world as they have made it—grey, lifeless, silent.

But hear me now:

This is not the way things must be.

They have stolen the colours from our streets, but more than that, they have stolen the colours from our souls. They have outlawed vibrancy, criminalized joy, condemned those who dared to shine too brightly. They have called difference deviance, called love disorder, called identity a threat.

They have told you that to be anything other than what they demand is unnatural. That to live in full colour is selfish. That to embrace who you are is dangerous.

But I tell you this: They fear you.

Why else would they strip the world of passion? Why else would they silence the poets, the dreamers, the artists, the lovers? Why else would they erase every shade that did not conform to their cold, grey lines?

Because they know the truth.

They know that colour is not disorder—it is creation.

They know that identity is not rebellion—it is existence.

They know that love, in all its forms, in all its wild, ungovernable beauty, is stronger than their rigid, brittle laws.

And so they lie.

They have rewritten history to suit their rule.

They have scrubbed the past clean, tried to remove every trace of the world that came before. They have filled the airwaves with their doctrine, their carefully curated reality.

They tell you it has always been this way. That there was no time before the world was colourless. That those who speak of colour are delusional, dangerous, sick—lost in fantasies that never were.

They have made you doubt your own memories. They have made you afraid to question, afraid of your neighbours, afraid of colour. They have made you fear the truth even when it sits, quiet and persistent, in the back of your mind.

But you are not wrong.

There was colour once. There was freedom once.

And there will be again.

They tell you there are only two colours. That there is only one way to live, one way to love, one way to be. They tell you that to stray from their path is to destroy society. That conformity is the only road to peace.

But what is peace without freedom?

What is unity without choice?

What is a world without colour but a prison built in silence?

And yet—even now—even in the grey—they have not won.

You might tell yourself it is easier to obey. That if you just keep your head down, if you do not stand out, if you do not speak too loudly, they will leave you be.

But obedience is never enough.

They do not want your silence—they want devotion.

They do not want your surrender—they want submission.

And so the rules will keep changing. The noose will keep tightening.

One day, you will wake up and find that there is nothing left to surrender except yourself.

But there is something inside you—inside all of us—that no law, no decree, no act of violence can erase. A force more powerful than any government, more resilient than any oppressive force.

Hope.

That quiet, stubborn ember that refuses to die, even now, after they have stamped out every flame.

Hope is colour.

Hope is resistance.

Hope is knowing that a world of their making is not the only world that can exist.

And hope, my friends—hope is contagious.

So rise.

Rise, and let them see what they have tried so hard to bury.

Let them see the defiant red of rage, the brilliant blue of freedom, the fierce violet of love unbound.

Let them see every shade, every hue, every radiant spark they tried to erase.

Rise, and take back what they stole.

Let your voice shake the silence.

Let your hands carve new shapes into a world they thought was set in stone.

Let your spirit, untamed and unbroken, remind them that the people do not belong to the powerful—the powerful belong to the people.

They are powerful because we will it. And that power can be revoked.

They will call you a traitor.

They will call you an outsider.

They will call you everything but what you truly are:

Free.

So let them come.

Let them burn our books.

Let them destroy our painting.

Let them ban our songs, silence our words, erase our names.

Let them.

And then let them see what happens when the people they thought were beaten, broken, and cowed decide to fight back.

They will tell you that the cages they built are for your own good.

That the walls are there to protect you.

That the rules keep you safe.

But that is not freedom.

This world is dying. It is gasping its last breath.

And in its place, a new world is waiting to be born.

A world for colour.

A world for love.

A world for us.

And to those who built this grey world—we see you. I know you are listening

You came to power through fear.

You erased history. You rewrote truths. You stole futures.

You may believe you have won.

But power built on fear is a castle of glass. It will shatter the moment the first stone is thrown.

The people you thought tamed are stirring.

The voices you silenced are rising.

The cracks in your perfect order are widening.

You have built a dam to hold back the flood.

But the water is rising.

And it will not stop.

Dismantle the Chromatocracy.

Paint the world anew.

[End of Transmission]