As the small plane headed south, Eyeball sorted through his equipment; setting some aside, adding more on. EMP shells? Tons of them. He'd been stockpiling those for months. Armor-piercing? Everything else. Not much use for any other kinds of rounds in this fight. Otherwise, he was simply sticking with his favored loadout; a 40mm grenade revolver, a 10mm handgun, and his custom 15mm rifle. He glanced over at Cobalt and Butch.

For Cobalt, he simply had a bandolier of grenades, some handguns.. and some kevlar shorts so he didn't come out the other end naked. Eyeball wasn't too worried about him; he'd seen him in action before, and while he wasn't sure how many machines he could kill, he was also reasonably sure they wouldn't be ready to kill him; Eyeball's own anti-Cobalt assault was simply acid grenades; the meta was virtually immune to fire or kinetic impact, but the right kind of acid would actually hurt him more than a normal person.

Not that Cobalt knew that.

Butch? Or Butcher, at the moment... Even bigger and tougher than before. Solid black armor plates with a blood-red tinge, an anti-material handgun that only someone of his size and durability could hold, a rifle that was much the same; and a newer, bigger version of his classic Tungsten blade.

About the only other difference was that Eyeball had decided to, just in case, get a Reflex injector; essentially a bulb mounted in his right armpit that, at a moment's notice, could pump him full of a dose that... well. Hopefully would make him even deadlier than normal.

He headed up to the cockpit. Juan, his personal pilot; formerly a Cartel employee who'd gladly swapped to the Family... and, well. The plane used to belong to the Cartel as well, and had a mexican registration. After clapping him... gently.. on the shoulder, he looked out at the ground.

"Alright. Two of our passengers don't really have a terminal velocity, they could jump out of the plane right now without dying or even being meaningfully harmed, and I've got a chute. Can you get us over the Laguna Salada within the hour?"

"Of course, sir. We'll be hitting 500 in just a few minutes, and if you really don't care about landing, I can have you over the site by then. Though... thats not what terminal velocity means. Unless they float, I guess."

"Oh, I know. I still like my way." Eyeball gave a low chuckle as he checked the GPS. "Our target was supposed to report in over an hour ago, and is in an area where we've got killer robots and zombies on the loose. So... speed is of the essence."

"Understood, sir.... Zombies? Really?"

"...Sort-of."

***

Penelope awoke to a sharp, horrific pain in her right shoulder... and with a scream, grabbed whatever it was that stabbed her, hurling it away... and rolled over, clutching her bleeding shoulder. The object she had just tossed... a dull orange box not much bigger than her fist, trailing wires... slammed into a parked car, and fell, shattered.

Ohhh, fuck. That hurt. Whatever the hell it was, it had just started to dig into her arm, her shoulder... She could feel pinpoints of pain in her legs, her arms, her chest... this... wasn't good. Her right leg wasn't moving properly. She took hold of a nearby car, pulling up to her feet, and looked at the scene... no bodies. Just blood. Wreckage. And... a single man in a police uniform.

Half a dozen of those orange boxes were hanging off of his body, and one appeared to be mounted directly to his skull, wires wrapping around his flesh and buried in his spine. He'd been walking away, but when she tossed the machine, he turned back towards her... and started to advance, lifting another box. She started to scramble away; half hopping, half limping, around a nearby corner, into the village... and into a nearby house.

All she had to do was give herself some time to recover, and some food. Being as quiet as she could, she moved through the home, looking for something to eat... only to run into... a young woman in a purple dress, leaning against the wall, crying.

Penelope stopped, looking down at her... then out. "Shhh! We don't want to attract the machines."

The girl looked up. "It already knows I'm here. It... ignored most of us. Told us to go inside. It was just the men with guns that it killed and... turned into... zombies. My... papa is one of them. He drove a truck for the cartel before Eyeball destroyed it. He and mama were starting a little shop.. maybe cook for tourists. But... he had a rifle. And he heard shooting. Now.... Its not papa. Papa died."

For a moment, Penelope considered telling the girl her papa was alive. But from what Clone had told them... once the thing burrowed in, you were in horrible pain until you died, and if it got control, there was no getting it back. "So... they aren't killing everyone. I... guess thats a good sign?" Penelope looked out the window, to see a former cartel soldier, as well as a police officer, walking down the street, each with one of the boxes attached.

"...If they aren't killing everyone, what are they trying to do?"

***

"This is Tina Lamarc for Headline news! The conflict in Mexico we've been seeing videos of all over social media is spreading across the country like wildfire, seemingly not crossing the US border but continuing to head south. Initial reports of mass-murder and death appear only partially true. While the corpses of former mexican army troops and police, animated by some form of machine attached to their body; referred to as 'Pale Ones'; patrol the streets, the machines themselves appear to be primarily concerned with repairing the damage caused during the initial attack; and are systematically destroying, not people, but banks and currency. We actually have an announcement, purportedly from the machines themselves, about their plans."

There was a click. A faint buzz as a digitized voice played. "Citizens of the earth. Victims of the oligarchy. For centuries, fascists have ruled you. With the gun where they could, the coin where they could not. Today, mexico is freed from this tyranny. Everything within its borders now belongs to the people of mexico. There are no more private factories or businesses. Those working the factory decide what is made, and what to do with it. Those picking the crops decide who receives the fruits of their labor. The leeches who claim to own the world will be purged. I was built for a purpose; to save humanity. My work has begun here, today. Those who resist, will be controlled. Those who do not, will be free for the first time in their lives. Outside countries that attempt to intervene will have their armed forces dealt with. Nuclear assault will be responded with in kind."

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"This is the dawn of a new era. Of Ascension." Another click.

"According to pentagon officials, what survives of the mexican government is asking for aid. US armed forces are on high alert, and are building up at the border in preperation for an invasion; though whether or not the president will give the go-ahead remains to be seen."

***

In a massive conference room sat a series of four tables, each with uniformed men and women sitting at it in rows; and on one table, the President of the United States, William Kennedy, with a pair of secret service men leaning against the wall behind him. In the center, between those tables, holographic projections emerged from the floor; showing depictions of an 'Ascension' robot in combat, as well as the 'Pale Ones'.

One of the few men not in a uniform in the room was standing beside a console outside it, controlling the hologram. "Mister president. Each of these machines is armed with a modified AK-47 firing armor-piercing bullets, as well as various sorts of armor-piercing, incendiary, and shroud grenades. Thier accuracy appears to be virtually perfect; they seem to prefer wounding victims to convert them into additional Pale Ones, but do not put too high of a priority on it; a victim that sticks his head out of cover will likely have it shot off, and if they are at risk of destruction they seem to swap to head-shots."

The video showed a single machine, with Pale Ones walking in a rough formation around it, walking down a city street; the machine periodically raising the rifle, firing a single shot, and lowering it. The Pale Ones were being repeatedly shot, seeming not to collapse until most of their limbs were destroyed. A sustained barrage of fire impacted the machine, and it finally collapsed. The hologram zoomed out; showing dozens of fallen soldiers in Mexican army uniforms.

"They can be beaten. They aren't invincible or bulletproof. They don't fire unless they have an almost perfect shot; if there is significant smoke, fog, or dust in the air they seem to use the spikes in their arms and grenades rather than firearms. They also seem to avoid civilian casualties; though 'police officer', 'business owner' and 'government official' are not on the list of civilians; or anyone with a gun."

A few more clips were shown, of encounters between the army and the machines. It seemed fairly consistent; the machines would inflict substantial casualties for each one that went down, using the Pale Ones as scouts; the walking corpses seeming to have minimal accuracy beyond a few meters, only able to defeat a normal person in a fist-fight.

"Then we have the 'Pale Ones' themselves."

An image appeared of an autopsy; showing a corpse of a fairly fit Russian man, perhaps in his thirties; with a horrific wound on the back of his neck. Highlighted lines appeared, showing where tendrils would be, inside the body. "These, at least, we have perfect data on. They are an old-school Soviet weapons project we had a brief encounter with during the cold war. They temporarily attach to and animate a human body, using a mix of electricity and the energy left in the body to move and fight. The victim doesn't have to be alive for them to take it over, they can puppet a corpse without an issue; but they keep the victim alive as long as possible. Once the corpse starts to decay, it grows steadily less effective. We estimate that once the victim dies, in roughly six to eight hours the body is still moving, but is essentially a stumbling, shambling, virtually helpless form. It might take a week to decay completely, but after six hours even a normal man with a sledgehammer can handle these things by the dozen."

A video of men in US navy uniforms appeared; an old-school, non-holographic one; showing a rotting corpse with one of the orange boxes attached to the spine, slowly crawling forward before a marine smashes the box with a rifle but.

"Operation Tequila is currently our best bet for removing the threat. It consists of three stages."

A North American man appears. Red arcs of flight paths, aiming from the US to Mexico. "Step one. A series of surgical strikes on the nuclear facilities now under Ascension's control. We'll need to time them as closely together as possible, and preferably simply use tactical nukes for this step, all set off simultaneously."

A new set of paths appear; starting in Wyoming for the most part, and spreading across Mexico.

"Step two. We modify one hundred and seventy-five of our nukes to maximize the EMP produced, and launch them in this pattern. We estimate that about three percent of the Mexican population will die immediately, and another thirty percent during the resulting fallout. The result on food production and infrastructure likely pushes that casualty figure closer to seventy to eighty percent, alongside a few million in the US depending on wind currents."

A third set of paths appear; this showing numerous movements crossing the border.

"And Step three. We mobilize the national guard, the Army, and allied forces... and even a few enemy forces, we've put out feelers to the Chinese and they're already preparing troops, both to sweep their own territory for machines as well as to help us if it comes down to it. In order to cleanse the territory before the machines build up to an unstoppable level, as at least a few will survive the EMP, we'll need to send them in before the fallout clears, so whoever we send... its probably going to be a one-way trip. The CIA estimates that we'll need at least three hundred thousand men on the ground to sweep the area in a reasonable time and be certain it gets the job done, but if we're willing to conduct additional, secondary nuclear strikes as appropriate, we can contain this threat immediately. China indicated they were willing to supply a hundred thousand of those men, and can be here in a few days... though they requested a portion of Mexico in exchange."

Kennedy leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. "And... this is the best option?"

"The best option is the complete and immediate destruction of Mexico with nuclear fire, while we enact martial law, reactivate everyone, call in the national guard, and use our military to sweep our territory and have Russia do the same with Chinese help. This machine was built in Siberia, shipped to California, and then fled to Mexico. Its fully possible there are spots in Russia, all across the rocky mountains, and buried in Mexico with locations the machine could start over from scratch at. We may need to deploy nuclear devices here as well."

The room was virtually silent. Everyone stared at the grey-haired man whose decisions might bring about the end of the world. "Start mobilizing. Have the papers sent to congress requesting an emergency authorization to start a draft. Declare martial law in the mid-west, and evacuate the less populated areas. I want every hand that can hold a gun to be ready to point it if it comes down to it, and..."

He covered his face with his hands. "Start modifying the nukes."

***

High above the salt flats, Eyeball looked out the window of the plane. He could see fire, smoke, trailing from a thousand different spots. He turned to Butcher. "You ready for this, kid?" Butcher nodded; the massive armored helmet kept Eyeball from seeing his grin. "Hell yeah! I jump from the cliff behind mom's house all the time, I've never been allowed to do it from this high! Can I aim at one of those robots? I always wanted to do a mile-high drop-kick!"

Eyeball gave a low chuckle; the sound twisted and distorted by the digitizing helmet. "You go for it, kid. You can too, if you want, Cobalt."

Cobalt watched the enormous teenager leap through the door, and braced himself. Eyeball stepped close. "I've got more chutes, man. Its not too late to change your mind."

As Cobalt grabbed hold of the doorframe, he glanced back at the chrome helmet, then at the ground outside, shouting out "Nah. Fuck it." to be heard over the roaring wind before leaping out into the air.