You return to the faded billboard.

You return to the faded billboard.

Look at the faded image.

Amid graffiti and peeled paper, two figures point at a space rocket climbing towards the sun. The scene is awash in still-vivid red and yellow.

The couple's faces, although half-erased, radiate pride and awe.

The lettering on the man's t-shirt, although barely legible, reads: '¡TODOS SOMOS NESTOR!'

Down below: glass towers lean over cobblestone streets and emerald parks where hibiscus, plumeria, and jacarandas bloom in impossible abundance. Every path bends towards a luminous dome, glowing like a promise.

A vision of a future stillborn.

You have stumbled upon a relic of Project AUTONOMÍA, Portofiro's defunct space program.

Remind me -- what happened there?

The rocket exploded before it reached orbit. The city-state sank deeper into debt, and Nestor was exiled -- again. The Pitol Tract was abandoned soon after.

Big rocket go big boom-boom.

Read Nestor's message again.

'Here grow the seeds of our collective GLORY! Soon, our Pitol Tract will bloom, and Portofirans shall grasp the firmament together. See not foundations, but the dawn of triumph. See not construction, but a long-overdue historical correction.'

'Prosperity and autonomy beckon; children not yet born are already grateful. The Developed World will gawp at our triumph. Mourn not the past, for what awaits is our DESTINY. NESTORISMO TO THE STARS!'

Uh... (Look around.)

A desolate expanse of half-built concrete shells and narrow streets winding to nowhere.

No planned space for greenery either. No building was ever finished other than the silo itself.

Keep reading.

When was this written?

The date reads, 'Deuteros 75'.

A few months, at most, after EMTERR offered Portofiro the chance to develop their own space program -- and the funds to do so.

A giant coup for Nestor himself, framed as a major win for his people.

Six months later: The clearing of the Pitol Tract began. Over 20,000 residents were displaced, never to be relocated.

The city staked everything on this space program...

Amid the half-eroded paragraph, the words 'destiny' and 'historical correction' endure, as if untouched by time.

Had the launch been an official success, Portofiro would've become one of the big boys of the Developed World.

Pray tell, who are these boys, and how is their largesse thus declared, amongst developed people?

Inevitably, it is reflected in the grandeur of his space program. At present, such grandeur belongs to but three nations: Capoblanco, Ansaunne, and the Kingdom of La Plage.

The sole members of the 'Post-Orbital Club'. High-status, high-funds.

And what of La Luz?

La Luz has never acknowledged the existence of any official space program.

Everyone else simply assumes they have one.

Stage separation events and plum signatures were observed fourteen times above Luzian airspace in the past decade alone.

And the People's Republics? How great is their grandeur amongst the boys?

First to reach orbit, with the Cosmo-Future Initiative's inaugural launch in 51. Capoblanco followed in 54. By then, the Superbloc had close-up photographs of the lunar surface.

PORTOFIRO COULD HAVE SHARED IN THE PEOPLE'S GLORY, HAD NESTOR NOT SPREAD-EAGLED FOR FOREIGN BANKERS.

I think I got the idea.

On the billboard, the rocket is forever committed to the horizon. Nothing has exploded yet. Nothing has failed.

To quote a great mind: 'Space lore, who gives a shit?'

Portofiro would've become one of the Big Boys of the Developed World.

Is there a version of the past where it succeeded?

And the truth's been buried here, this whole time...

Look at something else. (Go back.)

The bushes sway in the breeze. The decaying panel groans.

They did make it to the stars -- technically.

Under the old ruler's message, someone drew an exploding rocket and the word, 'SAUDADE'.

For the people of Portofiro, the stars receded; austerity remained their orbit.

Historical ironies, I detect them.

Next to Nestor's words: a hastily-drawn stick man with a prominent moustache performs fellatio on a figure in a top hat.

TRANSNATIONAL CAPITAL DOESN'T GET THE LAST LAUGH, IT GETS THE LAST INVOICE.

More like Nestorismo to boom-boom.

Next to the old ruler's words, a graffiti reads, 'TRAIDORISMO!' Another reads, 'BUCCO DE MIERDA'.

After the rocket exploded live on the world's television screens, Sweet Nestor made bold televised speeches blaming 'foreign hands'. By the time he boarded the helicopter that would ferry him to exile, he'd accused at least half the Developed World of engineering the disaster.

If the story were that simple, Hauzmann would have no interest in it.

If the story were that simple, the heartless man would have no interest in it.

And then he fucked it.

Hard to be impressed when you've seen the man take a spectral dump.

Next to the old ruler's words, a graffiti reads, 'PIECE OF SHIT LIAR'.

Historical figures never live up to the tyranny of the mundane.

'Nestorismo' -- Nestor's personal brand of politics. Its meaning was whatever was most beneficial at any given moment.

Read the text in the corner.

A message to Portofirans, attributed to Sweet Nestor himself.

It begins with a proclamation: 'BEHOLD! HERE STANDS THE FUTURE OF PORTOFIRO!'

Sweet Nestor, Portofiro's supreme leader from the years 28 to 80.

[Leave.]

All around you, the vegetation of the Pitol Tract slowly triumphs over the follies of men.

An old billboard, half-collapsed into the dirt. A faded illustration dominates the frame. In one corner, a jumble of text and diagrams cling stubbornly.