A World Dismantled
It was a mundane Tuesday when they arrived. The alien machines descended silently, like a slow-motion invasion from a dream. Their colossal, industrial forms casting shadows across the land, blotting out entire cities.
They moved with surprising grace for their size. But there was nothing graceful about their purpose. They set to work immediately, tearing into the Earth with a precision that was almost beautiful, in a terrifying way.
The machines ripped trees from the ground. They extracted minerals and ores from deep in the Earth, leaving vast cavernous scars. Purpose-built machines siphoned all water from the oceans, lakes, and rivers, leaving them barren and desert-like.
We tried to fight back, in that adorably human way. Our weapons, once the pride of our military, seemed like toys in comparison to the alien might. Missiles bounced off their hulls like rubber balls; tanks were crushed like empty soda cans. Our brave soldiers, trained for wars against other humans, were helpless in the face of this new enemy. It was like a sci-fi underdog story, but without the happy ending. Our efforts were less a battle and more a token gesture, like throwing rocks at a starship. They barely acknowledged our existence.
The machines worked with relentless efficiency, never stopping, never tiring. Day and night, the sound of their labor filled the air. From makeshift shelters, we watched as our homes and world were systematically dismantled.
When they left, Earth lay naked, stripped of its riches. The departure of the machines was as abrupt and matter-of-fact as their arrival, leaving us in stunned silence. We were survivors in a world that no longer felt like home, a world hollowed out, both literally and metaphorically.
In the aftermath, I found myself reflecting on the resilience of the human spirit. Throughout history, we had faced countless challenges—wars, plagues, natural disasters—and had always found a way to rebuild, to start again. But this time, the spirit was broken, the resilience gone. We wandered through the ruins of our cities, ghosts of our former selves, grappling with the new reality.
Stolen novel; please report.
There was no rebuilding, not this time. The machines had taken too much, left too little. We were left to wander our depleted planet, stark reminders of our place in the universe—not conquerors, not heroes, but mere specks in the vast universe.
Unit X-47
Rain pelted the scorched battlefield, sizzling as it struck X-47's scarred chassis. Steam rose from its metallic frame as it assessed its surroundings, its flickering optics betraying the waning power of its core.
Charred debris and twisted metal littered the ground, interspersed with the remnants of fallen comrades. Each step crunched underfoot. Ahead, the constant clank and grind of the enemy's advance resonated through the murky air, a mechanical drumbeat growing louder.
"Unit X-47, report status," Major Carter ordered through the robot’s comms, her voice tight with concern.
X-47's joints groaned in protest as it shifted, sparks cascading from damaged servos. "Operational...barely," it responded, its synthesized voice laced with static. Warnings flashed across its HUD, systems redlining from critical damage sustained in the last skirmish.
A thunderous explosion ripped through the air, shaking the very ground beneath X-47's feet. Smoke billowed on the horizon, marking the demise of another allied unit. The enemy was drawing closer.
"Unit X-47, retreat immediately for repairs," Carter demanded, the transmission distorted by the ionic interference saturating the battlefield.
X-47 hesitated, its advanced combat algorithms scanning the battlefield through a shroud of smoke and rain. Assault drones advanced in tight formation, loaded with weaponry, while the ground trembled under the weight of approaching war mechs.
"Affirmative," X-47 lied.
With a whir of servos, it turned to face the oncoming fight and readied its remaining weapons.
Rain hissed against its scorched armor as it charged across the ruined landscape.
Plasma fire rained down around it, the deadly bolts splashing against its weakening shields. X-47 returned fire, its own weapons flaring to life, cutting through the enemy ranks.
But it was not enough. The enemy kept coming, a continuous tide of metal. Unit X-47's systems failed one by one, hydraulic fluid leaking from ruptured lines, servos seizing up. It stopped and concentrated its sensors once more on the advancing enemy.
X-47 fell to its knees, smoke pouring from its ravaged frame. Motionless, it waited.
Inside its chassis, a mini-nuke lay dormant. With X-47's last flicker of power, it triggered the nuke. For a fraction of a second, the battlefield fell silent. Then, a blinding flash and a deafening roar consumed the landscape. The shockwave rippled outward, leaving nothing but a smoldering crater in its wake.
Unit X-47 was gone, but for the moment, so was the enemy.