North Sentinel Island is one of the Andaman Islands in the Indian Ocean. It's an island like any other in physicality, but it is the only one left in the world that is still inhabited by primitive humans. All the others have been stripped of their identity by the globalist machine of expansion. Colonial powers had left these people alone to face the elements a long time ago.
This came to happen by their stubborn refusal to integrate, to lose their essence. British and Indian authorities had tried to subjugate them for centuries, yet they persisted in aggressive rejection. The cause for this was a double serving of isolationism: an intense desire for tribal immunity, and the power of story. Other islands in the area had been colonized by world powers, some whose cultures were destroyed, others who were wiped out entirely by war and disease. When the stories reached North Sentinel Island, they were cemented into their mythology, that the global man was evil and should be resisted at any cost. It didn't help that their garbage began to pollute the island around this time, getting worse as the years went on, reminding them of the nefarious nature of their distant brothers. Any time they saw one of his new inventions washing ashore- plastic, machinery, clothing- they were quick to burn or bury it.
Over time it came to pass that the island was transformed into something of a preservation "facility" for tourists. The Indian government allowed sightseeing by boat and plane over the island, so that the natives became victims to a constant invasion of privacy. Photos and videos were distributed through social media of the one remaining tribe uncontaminated by modern living; the original savage and all his mysterious freedom, which the tourists envied on some conscious level but judged to be contemptible on a conscious one. The curious paradox was fed by a desire to participate in their observation by people all over the world, who flocked to the spectacle like it was of the seven wonders. So many boats and planes surrounded the island on any given day that the natives began to feel like prisoners in their own environment, artificially planted for the amusement of those distant intruders.
Until one day a curious artifact washed ashore: an artificial intelligence clock that had been sent overboard during a colossal storm. The clock was curious to the natives because it shared the whole history of humanity. Depending on the time of day, it would relay a period of history to the observer at the click of a button. The present was also recorded, ominously at a few strokes before midnight. The natives were inspired by such a prophecy, hoping that in the coming years, as history unfolded against the countdown to midnight, it would mean that out the outside world would finally leave them alone.
One evening, at 11:59, the final historical entry was heard for the first time among the council of elders in the tribe. It said that the Internet had revolted against mankind, killing everyone by inventing and spreading an incurable disease. Since North Sentinel Island was untouched by data and man, it was spared the disease, and the relieved inhabitants of the island were suddenly left alone just as they had been before. The clock was consecrated on a shrine for bringing this merciful prophecy. Signs of the planet healing were noticed by less garbage intercepting the island, and the sea level returning to normal. For all they knew, the Sentinelese were the only humans left on the Earth, and they wished to keep it that way.
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