Metal parts clanked heavily against each other as the strange object rolled along the wooden tabletop. When it stopped, absolute silence hung throughout the sprawling command tent. It drifted between the occupants like some unseen, unsettling smoke. So palpable was it, that the superstitious present wondered if some specter of their absent warlord had manifested, his fierce eyes still critiquing their every action and inaction from beyond an unknown grave. Three years had passed while the Black Throne of the Dol'Vrah sat empty, but a much more pressing issue had brought the counsel together that day.

An expression of deep confusion came to the features of the woman standing at the head of the table. Her armor reflected flickering light from dozens of candles illuminating the tent. “What in the names of all the gods is that?” Adelaide asked, picking up the strange object. It was heavier than she expected and required both of her hands to hold. The contraption was so impossibly complex that even the few rudimentary rifles she'd seen were utterly crude by comparison. Her confused scowl became a look of fascination. No weapon she'd ever seen was so intricate. Her ice-blue eyes inspected dozens of moving parts, all exquisitely fitted and perfectly oiled. Strange threads hung from one end. Each one had a metal core, copper if she wasn't mistaken, wrapped in a rubbery coating.

“An arm.” General Drefen answered. The sallow-faced mage stood at Adelaide's right hand, as always. She was tall, but he was taller, as were all the inhuman Dol'Vrah. Other officers crowded around the sides of the table. As long as the warlord was still missing, all of them were of equal rank. All knew that time was drawing to an end, however. The battle between them would soon begin as cries for a new warlord had long been growing louder across the empire. Some already suspected that an alliance had been made between Drefen and the red-headed human, and that the pair were merely biding their time. All schemes had been paused, though, as a threat from without had grown large enough to eclipse even worries of a looming civil war.

“An arm?” Adelaide parroted his answer with disbelief. She hadn't personally witnessed the battle against these strange beings, or machines, or whatever they were; she'd only heard the resulting tale of horror. The troops that had encountered a small squadron of the metal men had been victorious, but at a high price. The casualty rate was almost double the average losses. No survivor had escaped unharmed, with the luckiest among them bearing only severe burns. Others had lost whole limbs and one of the deceased was completely missing a quarter of his skull.

All other eyes laid on the de-facto leader of the empire, while hers stared at the great seat some distance from the opposite head of the table. She had been closest to the Black Throne when it was occupied, but the empty chair offered her no answers from its shadowed resting place. Would the warlord, her old friend, know what to do against this new enemy? Adelaide tossed the steel limb onto the tabletop. It didn't matter much what he did or didn't know, did it? She was already ruling the empire, more or less, with Drefen as her willing front. The troops would revolt if they knew they were being commanded by a human. The Dol'Vrah soldiers had barely accepted Adelaide as a general, and that was the sole reason she still tolerated such a lowly title.

The other generals all flinched away as the strange arm clattered against wood again, an unusually fearful reaction for a group of battled-hardened commanders. She didn't have to voice the question in her eyes before Drefen spoke again. “They fire a kind of projectile. It appears like magic of some sort, but still melts through enchanted armor and weapons.” He explained. Adelaide's mind was swirling. The appearance of the metal men could not have come at a worse time. Their metallic maw gnawed away at the eastern wilderness while usurpers plotted in the Dol'Vrah homeland.

Where was the Warlord Siegfried?

The question burned in nearly every member of the empire, but it was heaviest on Adelaide's mind. Her eyes slowly moved from the strange object on the table to the slight form standing near the tent's exit. The fair-skinned slave girl shivered under Adelaide's gaze. Nothing good ever came of the general's attention. Seeing an opportunity to vent some frustration, Adelaide made her way towards her slave, and the exit, with the metallic arm tucked under her own. “Come along, Princess. It is time to die.” She said without even pausing to glance at the condemned woman.

The slave's delicate features were horrified. She couldn't make her withered legs move. Vius, the largest of the generals and master of the imperial smiths, placed a huge hand on the slave's shaved head and moved her to follow Adelaide. There was nothing the frail captive could do to resist.

Minutes later, she was tied securely to a post that towered several feet over her small frame. She was sobbing with such force that her tiny shoulders still heaved despite her bonds. Adelaide took her slave's tiny chin in her hand and forced her to look into her grinning face. “I thought you'd be happy to return to your precious knight.” She said and the enslaved princess began to cry even more. Was this really how her life was going to end? She'd never truly lost hope, not entirely, despite spending so long as the favored plaything of wicked Adelaide.

Surely, any second now, her salvation would arrive at last. Time passed at an impossibly slow pace for the princess as Adelaide fumbled with the unfamiliar technology, but each moment was another chance at rescue. The redhead tugged at the weird strands that dangled from the torn steel shoulder. By pure chance, she actually managed to fire a blast. It hit the well-trampled ground, penetrating the packed dirt and launching turf in every direction. A stray rock whizzed towards Adelaide's face and she turned just fast enough to catch it with the edge of her cheek, rather than her eye. Blood trickled from the cut and the rivulet curved to travel over her rounded, smiling cheek.

She aimed the thing as best she could while the princess turned her watering eyes upward to the sky, sending her last iota of hope to her gods.

Divine mercy came in the form of a plasma bolt.

“I want to see these... 'metal men' for myself.”

Not many in the horde were adept at stealth, but those who accompanied Adelaide through that still night were the best. The dark-clad group moved quickly despite their near-complete silence. They ducked low behind tall grass as they made their way up a low ridge side. Once at the top, Adelaide could scarcely believe the sight that met her eyes. The journey to the new warfront had only taken the stealth squad a few days. Barely a week had passed since the unlucky troops had first encountered the metal men. Yet, the landscape on the other side of the ridge was unrecognizable. There was no green to be seen, or even brown.

Instead, there was only black iron silhouetted against the red glow emanating from a thousand forges, and from the massive pit at the center of the camp. The rumble that had been growing beneath her traveling feet for days was suddenly explained. The steel soldiers that had slaughtered her own were merely defenders for the monstrous machine towering at the center of the hellish encampment. An iron mass spun slowly, drilling into the ground.

She had just enough time to realize that the ridge on which she crouched was one curving edge of a massive crater, before the constant flow of hot air pushing forth from the encampment suddenly surged. It blew the black hood from her head, revealing her red hair around her masked face. She reflexively reached to fix it but the glinting copper color wasn't what revealed their position to the electric sentinels. The body heat of her reaching arm triggered the targeting code as she attempted to gain a better vantage point. The only warning before a mortar impact blew apart the hillside was the clanking of the massive turret as it turned. Adelaide had heard it and pushed herself backwards down the slope. Even so, she was still caught up in the blast.

The force flung her across the open grassland. How far, she wasn't certain. The stars overhead streaked by as she braced herself before she inevitably hit the ground. Leather armor prevented her from losing skin to the friction. It did little, though, to protect her from the jarring impacts that bruised her body as she rolled.

A slight loss in momentum was enough for her to regain control and find her footing. The soles of her boots found traction on the grass and she was off in a dead sprint. She was grateful to be unencumbered by heavier armor even as she ripped the thin leather plates from her arms and chest. The discarded pieces would buy her that much more time to flee, though she dared not stop to remove the armor from her legs. Her only weapon was a sizable knife securely sheathed against her thigh.

If anyone else had survived the explosion, she didn't care.

Adelaide ran as far as she could before she collapsed, chest heaving in the scrubby brush. The night seemed eternal, though, and it was every bit as dark as it had been when she began. The landscape had changed gradually and her surroundings told her she still had a very long way to go. As soon as she was able, she rose to her feet again. The human thanked every god she'd ever heard of when she saw that there was no sign of pursuit. She topped another ridge that crossed her return path to the horde and paused.

Dawn was finally breaking as she surveyed the landscape ahead. A streak of pale orange and yellow dimly illuminated the shallow valley below. Movement attracted her attention. A humanoid form was shuffling along some distance away. Its back was hunched, hair hanging dark and long over its shoulders. Her eyes narrowed. In this no man's wilderness, the large figure could only be one thing: a Dol'Vrah deserter, hopelessly lost in a foreign land. She became more disgusted with every step the disgraceful wretch took. The redheaded general drew the long knife from its sheath. Tired as she was, she wasn't too exhausted to suffer a coward to live.

Adelaide crept down the ridge-side and made her way towards her target. The thickening brush provided sufficient cover for her to draw close. She smiled as she realized the gods favored her especially that morning. She saw that the Dol'Vrah was horribly scarred over one shoulder and half of the face. If an eye remained on that side nearest her, it was surely blind. Matted hair hung around the undamaged side of the deserter's face and a ragged beard curled long over his chest. The scar tissue on the maimed half was bald and grossly tanned from long hours in the sun.

Adelaide could stand that embarrassment to her forces no longer and pounced from the brush, driving her shoulder into the Dol'Vrah's chest. She heard the air leave him and her smile only widened. They hit the ground and her weight pushed out any breath he had left. “Die, deserter!” The human snarled with her knife tip ready to push between the left ribs. Both of her hands were around the handle and her full weight poised to drive it deep into the coward's chest. Adelaide couldn't help but look into the deserter's remaining eye to watch his worthless life end.

The fierce green glaring back at her was enough to drop the blade from her hand. Her smile dropped to an expression of shock that quickly twisted into a scowl. Her right hand came up and landed a punch on the blighted left side of the Dol'Vrah's face. When he turned the featured half of his face back to her, he was scowling. He opened his mouth to speak, but she hit him on his blind side again. He let the blood build in his mouth while he decided whether to spit it on the ground or in her face. “Not only did I find a coward, but the Lord of Cowards, at that...” She snarled, reaching for her dropped knife. The snarl fell from her lips when his nearly-black blood splattered across her face.

Adelaide's fingers left pale streaks as they moved down her face and over her lips. She laughed until the exact moment she snatched up the knife with movement quicker than any reaction he could've made. “I should execute you right here, old friend.” She hissed while she pressed the blade against his throat, her face only inches from his tanned and scarred visage. The general began to lean into her blade and he couldn't stop her. “All these years of war, endless conflict and conquest...” Her eyes had lowered to the wound she was making in his sun-weathered skin, but her gaze cut to his face suddenly. “...have made me something of a monster.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She wasn't entirely aware she'd said the words aloud.

“Adelaide...” His voice was low, in tone and volume. He moved to sit up and she let him push her knife deeper into his own flesh. His Dol'Vrah blood began to seep from underneath her blade.

“Are you even worthy to stand, Siegfried?” She growled the question. The fury burning in his remaining eye was all the answer she needed. She sheathed her blade as she stood. She didn't bother offering to help him up, knowing he wouldn't have accepted if she did.

Her right arm clasped a fist to her chest in salute though she refused to lower her eyes. “Hail unto Siegfried, Warlord of the Dol'Vrah.” Adelaide said flatly, clearly fighting another snarl from her face. Her back turned to him in the next moment. She was furious. All that time seducing and manipulating Drefen, and her alternate patsy Vius, was apparently wasted. Her anger permeated her very steps as she resumed her trek towards the sunrise.

Siegfried stood and straightened to his full height, despite the painful stretching of scar tissue. Adelaide was well over six feet tall, but Siegfried still towered over her. His long legs closed the space she'd put between them in only a few strides. One huge hand gripped her shoulder tightly and he turned her around easily. The other hand grabbed her jaw. His fingers pressed into one cheek while his thumb dented the other. “You have truly forgotten your place, General Adelaide.” He growled with a scowl on half of his dirt-smeared face.

“Only because you abandoned yours.” She spat her words in retort. His hand dropped away and she knew then that her words could still cut him deeper than her blade. Adelaide began to circle her prey like a stalking wolf. “You don't even look like a warlord anymore.” She sneered with a bitter laugh. “You look like some little king from some little castle, who caught a plague like all his little peasants. Perhaps I really should kill you out here, bring back your head. Then, I'll watch Vius and Drefen fight to the death for your empty throne.” She taunted. Adelaide was desperate to see what was left of the warlord within that starved and scarred body.

Adelaide knew her simple plot was working when she heard a growl rumbling in Siegfried's massive chest. His temper always had been even shorter than hers. “If you've drunk one drop of their blood, I'll execute them both.” He snapped. His attempt at intimidation only resulted in another laugh from the redhead.

She watched his solitary eye struggling to keep her in his vision as she strolled around him. “Oh, I've sampled Vius more than once. Drefen would slice his own throat if I gave the order.” She continued to goad him. “I wonder if you'll be able to taste them on your precious cup when we return.”

Siegfried roared and rushed her. “Filthy Northern whore!” His voice boomed loudly through the quiet morning. The warlord lifted Adelaide by her shoulders, but still she laughed. Every second that she cackled only further infuriated the Dol'Vrah emperor. He was shaking with rage, and with weakness. He couldn't hold her weight aloft for very long. Siegfried dropped her within seconds and she landed easily.

“Pitiful.” She said and spat on the ground at his feet. “You won't survive a day back in the horde. Vius will break you like a bitch.” She sneered. Siegfried flinched at the cold touch of metal against his skin as she caressed the spot where his left eye had once been with the blunt side of the blade. His obvious fear somehow both disappointed and excited her. “What happened?” She asked, finally coming to stand directly in front of his eye. Adelaide impatiently drummed her fingers against her knife while she awaited his answer.

“A falling star was said to have landed a week's ride east of the front. Dol'Vrah legends promise unbreakable blades made from the remnants found in those craters.” Siegfried obediently answered. “I left immediately with only the messenger and the witness. No one else knew of the treasure. When I laid eyes on the crater, I killed them both.” He stated with familiar, unaffected simplicity. “I approached the crater. Six of these...” He trailed off, fumbling for a description.

“Metal men.” Adelaide snapped, eager to reach the end of his tale.

“...Yes, metal men. You've seen them and survived unscathed?” Siegfried's surprise was evident. Adelaide's face was utterly blank and she could see that this unsettled the warlord. “I defeated three.” He continued when it became obvious that she would offer no direct answer. “Then, something passed overhead, and I was on fire. I could hear more of the... metal men... approaching as I burned and so...” He trailed off again, but his companion remained silent.

Adelaide already guessed what had happened next but she wanted to hear him say it aloud. “I ran away.” He finally muttered with his half-gaze turned to the ragged boots on his feet. Adelaide was no longer tapping on the blade. It had begun to shake in her grip. Something of a monster, she had indeed become, but more monstrous still was Siegfried. At least Adelaide was loyal to the cause of conquest. His scarred appearance was a more fitting form for the hideous soul within, she thought, for his selfishness could cost them everything.

“I ran, too.” She said. He looked at her and she could see some hope for redemption in his eye. The stare meeting his had only grown colder, though. “Except, I ran towards the horde.” Adelaide snarled as she watched his hope flicker out. “I ran towards the army we built, so I could bring their full fury down upon the enemy you have let grow upon us. I can't even number the forges that now burn around that glowing pit they've dug.” She paced and gestured wildly as she spoke. The knife glinted with each wave of her right hand. “Our entire empire may crumble because of you, you greedy fucking yellow-bellied bastard!” Her roaring voice carried nearly as far as Siegfried's had.

Her voice quieted as she took several quick steps towards the warlord. “I've worshipped you like a god all these years. I mourned you even while I worked to ensure the survival of our empire. Now, I wish you had died that day. Then, I wouldn't have to pretend that you're the fucking warlord while knowing you should be scrubbing horseshit from my boots with every other slave.” She berated him until she realized that with every second she wasted on Siegfried, the metal men were multiplying.

The disfigured Dol'Vrah was speechless. No one had spoken to him with such open revulsion in his decades of life. Adelaide was several yards away by the time he began to follow her again.

The sun grew higher, then low again as they walked. She could think only of Siegfried and how she loathed his very presence behind her. She no longer respected him enough to fear him. “I should stab you once for every day that you've lived as a coward.” Adelaide hissed over her shoulder as the sun declined behind them. She'd kept the knife in her hand for hours as if with every step, she was still deliberating whether or not to plunge it into him.

Her hateful remarks came less often as evening settled in. She finally sheathed the knife sometime just before the sky began to shift colors with the sunset. They walked on in the deepening dark until they found a cluster of trees around a small pond. The water was clean enough for their parched throats and they drank deeply, subconsciously compensating for the insufficient food they'd managed to find along their way.

That night, Adelaide dreamed of the tireless marching of the metal men. All of the soldiers falling before her mind's eye didn't horrify her nearly as much as the chains brought for her by her steel enemies. Her heart pounded her into waking with a sharp gasp. The haunting gray of early morning hung above a thin mist swirling over the ground.

The same question that had begun her day for so long surfaced in her drowsy mind. Where was Siegfried? He wasn't slumped against the tree where he'd been when she fell asleep. The general had already decided Siegfried wasn't worth looking for when movement and sound to her left drew her attention. There was just enough light for Adelaide to watch the fairly clear water dripping brown from his beard while he drank. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer. “Wash your damned face already so I can shave that awful beard.” She barked at him as she stood. The redhead stretched her aching muscles, and felt a hard shove send her into the pond.

One huge foot held her to the muddy bottom. She struggled, but her oxygen-starved body couldn't unbalance the warlord. When Siegfried finally let her rise, she could barely crawl onto the bank. Adelaide coughed and wretched until all water and filth was purged. Her hand went for her knife, finally ready to end her lord's life. Her fingers found nothing to grasp. The sudden fear behind the soaked locks clinging to her face sparked a rumbling laugh from Siegfried.

He wagged the knife he'd taken from her while she slept, taunting her while a grin turned up one corner of his mouth. “You will shave my face, after you wash it. Then, you'll cut my hair, and when we stroll into our camp, everyone will kneel to me. Whether you'll kneel as a general or a slave depends on how you behave between this moment and that one.” Siegfried watched her mouth fall open as he spoke, blood-shot blue eyes wide. No one could surpass the manipulative mastership of Siegfried.

Her hand quivered in awe when she accepted her own knife like a precious gift, but the weapon was steady as its flawless edge sheered the hair from his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. How had she slept through the sounds of him sharpening the blade to such a precise edge?

A Dol'Vrah sentry squinted towards the distant horizon. She lifted a spyglass and the rudimentary lenses provided just enough focus to distinguish two figures approaching the imperial encampment. She gave the appropriate call and waited for more detail to become available to her sharp eyes.

The rare and valuable spyglass soon fell forty feet to the ground and shattered, but no one noticed. The words the sentry called out just before it fell had turned the horde of thousands silent as a crypt one ear at a time, as every eye turned towards that direction. Three words spread from lip to lip like a disease.

“Lord Siegfried returns!”

While they were still too far for the un-aided sentry to see, Siegfried put his arm around Adelaide's shoulder and she slipped her comparatively thin fingers into his huge hand. “Do you hear them, my love?” He whispered into her ear. Her only answer was her tongue licking the lingering taste of his blessed blood from her lips, beneath her half-lidded, power-drunk eyes.

Word of the warlord's return spread throughout the camp as Adelaide and Siegfried approached the command tent at its center. Slaves brought a bathing tub and heated water while pages carried summons to the other generals, who were already preparing. Riders and ravens bearing unofficial announcements of the reclaimed throne went forth in every direction. Schemes of usurpation were smothered by the mere mention of Siegfried even while Adelaide still scrubbed the remaining dirt from his skin.

While Siegfried ate his dinner at the command table and began laying out a campaign against the metal men, Drefen stared at Adelaide. The redhead had denied him even a single glance in return, making a subtle effort to save the other general from execution. Vius had always maintained a looser, more practical alliance. He and Adelaide knew all along that the human warrior only truly heeled to the command of Siegfried. The master smith was already devising an independent bid for the Black Throne when he noticed blue eyes finally turn to Drefen, then himself.

An idea had occurred to Adelaide.

A few hours later, Adelaide leaned against the head of the command table. She watched Siegfried, glutted and drunk, slip from consciousness. He slumped in his throne and his bloated gut appeared to be the only thing holding him upright. While he'd been eating and drinking himself into a stupor, Adelaide's idea had grown into a plot. Satisfied that the warlord was deeply asleep, and that there was not a shred of dignity left in him, the redhead slipped into the night, unseen by anyone. In her hand were two halves of a long-broken crown.

First, she visited Drefen. The mage commander cloaked their passage to Vius's tent. With their voices hushed beneath a visible fog of enchantment, they adjusted their plan.

The Dol'Vrah were loathe to surrender their armor and weapons that following morning but every piece of metal to the last scrap was collected. The warlord promised all would be reforged and returned once the horde's greatest enemy was defeated. Drefen and his mages were busied with their own bookish tasks while Vius's smiths melted iron, steel, bronze, copper, and every other metal they'd found. Soon enough, there was no time to mourn swords and shields. All available hands were called to begin the second phase of Siegfried's plan. When their construction was finished, a half-dozen massive metallic spheres of differing hues had to be guided towards the east. The polished orbs were carved all around with sigils and circles and already trapped so much energy that the hum emanating from them could be heard and felt. Dozens of soldiers and slaves alike were crushed by mishaps along the way, but no one cared much. Any life lost for the empire only added to the collective glory of the Dol'Vrah.

Whether the slaves chosen to test the expanded range of the heat-sensitive sentinels were lucky or unlucky depended on one's point of view. Instant death by mortar shell was perhaps preferable to the more creative demises delivered by their masters. The encampment of the horde had been moved horrifically close to the metal men's crater. The spheres were carefully placed while each day was more tense than the last.

With no metal armor or weapons left, the horde was incredibly vulnerable and everyone knew it. There were almost certainly spies among them, employed by the few free kingdoms still resisting the Dol'Vrah Empire. If word of their weakness spread before they could break down the spheres and re-arm themselves, a multi-facetted assault could equal the threat of the metal men. Mages supervised the sights where arcane circles were being cut into the terrain surrounding each sphere. Sentries watched from towers and patrolled the well-marked perimeter just outside the range of the automaton's heat vision. A quick response would be their solitary hope against any attack from within the crater.

The final preparations were being laid when a terrible shrieking of metal cut the air. Those closest to the crater felt blood leaking from their ears, then their noses, and finally their eyes just before collapsing. At the bottom of the glowing pit, the monstrous drill's screaming brakes had brought the machine to a stop. The silence left behind was soon filled by the distinct, rhythmic clanking of steel limbs marching. All power within the crater had been diverted to the metallic foot-soldiers.

Every automaton mindlessly marched forth from the crater. Metal feet crushed the bodies dropped by the braking drill underfoot as they crossed the imperial perimeter.

Siegfried's green eye went wide when he heard the dying screams of those already being torn and blasted apart by the steel legions. He turned to Drefen, who appeared paralyzed with horror. “What are you fucking waiting for?” The warlord bellowed and the mages' commander came to.

“It's.. It's not ready.” He stammered. “I don't know what will happen if we attempt-” He was interrupted by Siegfred grabbing him by the collar of his black robe.

“What you should know, then, is that we will all die if you fail.” Siegfried hissed and all but threw Drefen away from him.

The mage commander scrambled away, already barking commands to his subordinates. Incomplete as the ritual supposedly was, the general and his battalion had enough power to begin the spell. A pale glow enveloping all of the spheres grew brighter as more voices joined the chant. Lightning crackled in a halo around each orb before arcing outwards to connect them. The energy radiating outwards swirled up a great wind that aided the mages in lifting the metallic spheres. Each massive orb began to spin on its own axis as it hovered. The rotating spheres then began to orbit the crater, faster and faster with each revolution.

The terrible shrieking of the drill began again, then stopped, then started. Steel centurions turned on each other while others fired their weapons at the ground and into the air. Some pulled off their own limbs or fired plasma blasts into their own metallic skulls. They collapsed, one way or another, among the hundreds already slain. The shrieking of the drill drew louder until even Adelaide was dabbing at the crimson trickle from her ear while she observed the hellish scene of flesh and steel from a relatively safe position.

The deafening shriek finally waned, only to suddenly erupt in an explosion that shook the ground for miles surrounding. Hot iron and molten rock shot high into the air before raining down like burning hailstones. Though his forces were fleeing the scorching hail, Adelaide could already see the glow of victory on Siegfried's face. She watched it falter as he realized the spheres were not slowing. He turned to find his redheaded general had left his side. Siegfried didn't see the remains of the metal men as some force drew the fragments back into the crater.

The powerful explosion and more powerful magic had torn open a portal that was devouring increasingly large morsels of metal. The monstrous drill at the epicenter of it all was wrenched free from within the world's surface by the vacuous anomaly.

Siegfried turned his back to the arcane light and found Adelaide. She was approaching Vius, who was gripping a massive iron chain. Each link was as long as Adelaide was tall but the thick iron was still clattering against itself in the arcane wind. The master blacksmith was struggling more to maintain his hold on the chain with every step he took towards the crater, and Siegfried.

Drefen had reappeared though his eyes were aglow with the same hue of light emanating from the orbiting spheres. He had played his part of ignorance well, and Adelaide rewarded him with a kiss on his pale lips. Siegfried's confusion gave way to the sudden weight of betrayal when Drefen placed the re-forged crown of Adelaide's kingdom upon her brow.

The warlord charged at them with a roar that would be his last. Vius released the chain. Unhindered, it whipped through the air with terrifying speed. Siegfried caught it with his waist and both disappeared into the blinding storm of wind and magic. The three generals stared in his wake for a long moment, as if the warlord might somehow survive and fight his way from the portal's grasp to kill them. Drefen awaited Adelaide's order while his power drained dangerously low.

“Close it.” Adelaide finally said.

The light disappeared and Drefen collapsed along with the portal. He didn't have enough power left to slow the orbs. None of the mages did. The spheres' orbit broke and the arcane satellites soared out of sight to devastate unsuspecting landscapes far away. Adelaide nodded to Drefen's limp form and Vius put the unconscious general over his shoulder. They started towards the command tent, already trying to fathom their incredible losses. “All will be righted in time.” Adelaide said to Vius over her shoulder as the command tent came into sight.

Drefen woke to find himself sitting in a chair, facing the Black Throne. Vius's huge hand thrust a goblet into his grasp before his eyes were even fully opened. When he could focus, the vision he beheld brought a smile to his thin lips. The generals lifted their cups to the throne where Adelaide sat, and she lifted hers in return. Candlelight flickered on her armor, and on her crown.

“Hail unto Adelaide, the first Empress of the Dol'Vrah.”

Warmth was one of the things that made staying in bed so inviting to Amy. When she opened her eyes in the morning, it was that warmth that made her want to go back to sleep. The temptation was all too great to pull the sheets over her face for just five more minutes. Amy knows she was going to be cold as soon as she threw her sheets off of herself. But as she woke up, she knew that papa was going to come in here and drag her out of bed anyway. He wouldn't be upset or anything, but she didn't enjoy being babied by her father. Amy was a responsible girl, and could manage her mornings without her parents intervention. Her only hope was that maybe she had woken up early, and maybe she could sleep a bit longer before getting out of bed. But that was her first clue that something was amiss. Because as dark as it was, it should have been easy to spot the red glow of her alarm clock. But everything was entirely black. When she reached for her nightstand, her hand bumped into a wall. It felt smooth and cool, nothing like the wood texture of her wooden cabin. As she followed the wall with her hand, she started to sit up. Before she could follow the wall very far, she bumped her head on the roof of her room. Amy reached out with her other hand, and felt the opposing wall, and behind her head. When she extended her feet, there was a wall there too. The space she was in was just large enough for herself to lay down in. The only thing that she could think of was that she was in a coffin. The idea of being captured and stuffed in a metal crate wasn't a pleasant one, but more so than being buried alive. Amy was starting to panic. She could feel her heart beating, and tried pushing against the roof of the coffin. The lid slid off to the side and struck the floor with a metallic clang. She shot up in her seat, clutching her sheets against her chest. The light in the room stung her eyes. It took a few seconds for them to adjust.

“Ah! You've woken up a bit ahead of schedule!” A man's voice could be heard from somewhere in the room. Sortly after, Amy could hear something coming closer to her. It wasn't quite the sound of footsteps. It sounded more like electric motors picking up weights before flailing them against the ground. Amy was able to see a blob of color racing towards her. But as her vision adjusted, the blob started to take on the shape of a man. At least it was shaped and dressed like a man, but it clearly wasn't human. He had large, round lenses for eyes, and the back of his head was a cluster of neatly braided wires under a clear plastic dome. He also had no mouth, but there were several small holes in the front of his face where a speaker was likely housed. “Hello! You can call me Hank!” He pointed at himself with his thumb. “I'm just going to give you a quick examination to make sure everything is in order. How do you feel?”

“Um.” A few seconds ago, Amy thought she was trapped in a coffin. So it took her a bit to come back to her senses. While she was recovering, she examined her room. It looked a bit like a hospital, with everything being so white and brightly illuminated. But the room was void of any equipment or furniture, save the coffin she was currently sitting in. The only real features the room had was a pair of double glass doors in front of her, and several other doors with no indication of what was behind them. After examining everything, she returned her gaze to the robot.
As badly as she wanted to explode on him with questions, she decided it would be best to just go along with him for now.“I think I'm okay.”

“Excellent! Would you mind standing up for me?”

“Sure.” Amy stumbled to her feet. Her eyes immediately scanned the rest of her body. Fortunately she was wearing something other than the bed sheet she was grasping onto. It was just a black leotard, but it made her feel a lot less vulnerable than being completely naked.

“Alright, lookin' good...” He walked around to the side of the coffin. “If you don't mind, I'd like you to drop the sheet into the box and step out of it.” After Amy did as he asked, Hank lifted up the lid and placed it back on top of the coffin. There was a light wirring sound that followed all of Hank's movements. “Alright, now just sit back down and I'll resume the rest of your physical.” Once she did so, Hank started examining one of her feet, gently twisting it side to side. “So, what can you tell me about yourself?”

“Um.” Amy just barely understood the situation, and now she was being questioned. But there was no reason to speculate now, she had to focus on what she did know. “My name is Amy Hales. I'm nineteen years old and I work as a farm hand with my father. We raise livestock and have all sorts of animals like cows, goats, and chickens.” Her head was still spinning, and she needed a breath of air before continuing. “I like baseball and basketball, swimming, and talking with friends. Though I also like watching movies with my family.”

Hank looked directly into Amy's eyes. “What's the last thing you remember?”

“I remember-” Amy's fret her brow as she searched her head for answers. “I don't know! I have memories of being on the farm, but I don't know how old they are.” She looked at her arms, “Did something happen to me?”

“Hmmm.” Hank rubbed his chin. “Do you remember there being any robots on your farm?”

“Not really.” Amy folded her arms. “We had machines, sure, but papa believed in letting people work. So even when people were pushing him to have androids work on the farm, he refused.”

“I see.” Hank took one of Amy's arms and started to test all of the joints. He bent her wrist and gently rotated her arm in her shoulder socket. “Then it might surprise you to find out that androids have entirely taken over the earth. Every country is now run by an android, and we run the most powerful companies and organizations.”

“Really?” Amy lowered her head with a sigh. She had always suspected that they would eventually take over. She had never seen one, but Amy had heard their intelligence was comparable to a human, and they could even think much faster in certain regards. It was only a matter of time before they decided to start replacing humans. Or at the very least, putting themselves above them. “So when did this happen? Why can't I remember any of it?”

“It was a peaceful takeover. Over the course of many years, we proved we were more capable than our flesh and blood counterparts. We gained human rights, we were elected into important positions, purchased large companies.” Hank shrugged. “The whole process took about say... Five years?”

Amy flicked her eyebrows up in the air. “Five years?” She smiled. “Okay, I'll admit I wasn't objective enough at first. But there's no way I just forgot five years worth of memories.” She looked at her arms again, which glistened in the light. “I should be twenty-four if that's the case, and I'm just not seeing it. I'm too skinny! I'd have finished my second growth spurt if that was the case.”

“Hmmm...” Hank stroked his chin. “I think at this point, it would probably be best if I just took you outside.” He stood up and offered his hand. “Are you oppose to holding hands with an android?”

Amy took the robot's hand and pulled herself to her feet. “I haven't ruled out the possibility you're just a human talking through a robot.”

“That's an interesting observation, but you really need to follow me outside,” Hank's voice was stern and not as friendly as he had been before.

“Oh um, sure.” After he pulled Amy to her feet, Hank released her hand and walked towards a sliding glass door. He pushed it open and stepped outside onto a balcony. Amy hesitated, but followed after the robot and looked off the edge. They were just a single story off the ground, but she could see what Hank wanted to show her. There were androids walking everywhere. Driving in cars, walking in and out of various stores, everywhere. “I don't see any people!”

“You mean humans. By law, androids are also considered people too.” Hank looked off the balcony with her. “It's not very common to see a human running errands. Not at this hour anyway.” He chuckled. “Most humans are still working their jobs, while the androids are free to run errands. It's a known fact that humans are easier to distract than an android.”

“What?!”

“Well.” Hank sighed. “Anyway, there's really too much to explain. We should really start at the beginning. But I have yet to finish analyzing you, and that should really come first.”

Amy groaned. “And what do you need to finish 'analyzing' me?”

“Oh.” Hank looked away from Amy. “We're going on a date.”

Amy raised one of her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I'm sure the idea of romance between human and android is probably as foreign concept to you, but it's not all that uncommon these days.” Hank twiddled his thumbs. “Androids and humans fall in love all the time, and should they wed, they will start a family by adopting human children from an orphanage. It's actually been a blessing for those children.”

“Really? That's pretty wild.” Amy placed a hand on her hip. Amy was sure she was blushing a little bit. The idea of going on a date with a robot was something that still seemed really strange. But if this was just part of an analysis, it probably wasn't that serious. A single date by itself didn't really mean anything. It was perfectly harmless. “Alright, so we're going on a date.” She raised her arms. “Am I going like this?”

“Absolutely not!” Hank laughed. “I'll show you a room where you can change. While it is not important for Androids to wear clothes, it has become something of a status symbol. Just like with humans, it's good manners to wear something nice on a special occasion.” And with that, they walked her back inside.

---

Amy was expecting to get dressed up in something fancy, given how Hank worded the importance of clothing for androids. But Amy found herself walking out of the building in a denim jacket and jeans. Her black leotard actually looked very fashionable under her jacket. At least she felt so. Hank was dressed about the same, only he was also wearing a baseball cap. Amy was happy this was going to be a casual outing. She wasn't sure she would feel comfortable in a cocktail dress.

“I still can't believe I don't remember any of this.” Amy looked at Hank. “Does this have to do with why I woke up in that box?”

Hank tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well, you were originally brought to the hospital because you fell off a horse. It was a pretty bad concussion.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Being that your father abstained from having androids work on his farm, it's possible that those memories were suppressed or lost during the injury. I'm sure they will come back to you in time.” Hank looked away from her. “As for the box, that's just how we transport patients between hospitals. Had you woken up when you were suppose to, you would have done so on a bed.”

“Uh.” Amy shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, where are we going?”

“The local arcade!” He pointed into the sky. “I don't like how quickly those game machines empty my pockets, but the atmosphere is really something else. You must see it.”

An arcade? Amy hadn't ever gone to an arcade before, at least she didn't remember going to one. “That sounds great! Do they serve any food? I could go for a pizza!”

Hank chuckled nervously. “I'm not sure they'd have anything like that at the arcade. While eating is important for humans, Androids just need to have their batteries charged. Besides, it probably wouldn't be good for you to eat so soon after waking up. I've got plenty of food back at the hospital.”

“Really?” Amy put a hand on her stomach. “Well, alright, let's play some games!”

---

Amy wasn't sure what to expect out of an arcade for androids. initially she figured that it would be dimly lit, and she couldn't even fathom the sort of things that they might find entertaining. Maybe the decryption of binary strings? Seeing who could calculate pie without exploding? But it did dawn on her that with everything she saw so far, they seemed to be very similar to humans. So Amy wasn't shocked when she saw the arcade looked very much like one she wouldn't mind going to.

The arcade was quite bright. The light fixtures weren't illuminating much, but the games were flashing a matrix of neon colors along the walls of the establishment. It was a busy night, and Amy had to be careful if she didn't want a sensory overload. To her right, there was a wall of pinball machines lined with androids playing them. To her left were all manner of table top games from fuse ball to air hockey. There were even some primitive “carnival” level games, like high striker.

“High striker?” Amy laughed, but brought up a hand to cover her mouth. A few of the androids looked over their shoulder at her before going back to their games. “We're both going to play that, I don't care how severely you beat me.”

“Really now?” Hank turned to look at the game. “Don't you think a game of air hockey might be more fun?”

Amy danced in front of Hank before folding her hands behind her back. “Maybe, but I've always wanted to play this game! But my father would never take me to the carnival. We were kind of poor, so we didn't do stuff like that. And now that I'm older, I've just never really had anyone to go to the carnival with.” She bit her lower lip. “Just one try, then we can play something a little more interesting.”

Hank was looking everywhere but into Amy's eyes. “Ehhh...” When he finally looked at her, he folded his arms in resignation. “Okay, one game.”

“Thank you!” She said while clapping her hands. “Alright, how about you go first?”

After paying for two tries, Hank grabbed a hammer and approached the high striker. It wasn't quite like the old carnival versions, as this one was entirely electric. There was a cylinder where a player would swing their mallet into, and then there was the tower, which seemed to rise to the ceiling of the arcade. The tower was covered in lights, shining in patterns that captivated the attention of anyone who looked at it. “Alright, here goes nothing!” And like a rail worker, Hank lifted the mallet over his head and drove it down on the proverbial nail. The striker made it's presence known, glowing like a shooting star as it climbed the tower. It was climbing fast, but only made it about half way before coming back down again.

“Wha!?” Amy approached Hank. “I thought for sure that thing would go way up!”

Hank handed her the mallet. “Well, I think you should try. Just don't hurt yourself. You just woke up from-”

But Amy put all of her might into her swing. Hank might have swung like an experienced rail man, but Amy's fever could only be matched by warriors of old. When the hammer made contact, It fired the striker into the sky, where it smashed into the digital bell. The machine emitted a ringing sound, and the sky opened up to shower the two in confetti. The farm girl had just realized one of her childhood dreams. But she was shocked that she actually won. “Hank?” She turned towards the android. “How did I beat you?”

“Well, I didn't want you to find out. However...” Hank shrugged as the confetti piled up on them. “Because I was designed to deal with humans, they didn't make me very strong. There isn't really a reason for me to possess excessive strength.”

“Oh.” Amy folded her arms. “You're basically stuck doing whatever it is you were built for huh?”

“Not at all!” Hank waved his hands. “Androids get to decide on our calling in life and acquire upgrades for it. As a doctor, I have an expanded memory bank so that I can remember symptoms and procedures, and I'm also outfitted with sensors so that I can better diagnose my patients.” He pointed at her chest. “One of which is a sort of heart beat monitor that is tuned to pick up on the sound of a heart beat that happens within five feet of me. Right now I can tell your heart is beating slightly faster than normal. Probably a result of beating the high striker game.”

“I guess I shouldn't play poker with you.”

“I would have an advantage.” Hank nodded and chuckled.

“So you chose to be a doctor then. Does that mean you've have an interest in humans?”

He nodded before taking Amy's hand and walking away from the high striker. “Humans have fascinated me ever since I first saw them. It's hard to explain, but no matter how you look at it, they created androids. We may be better in a few regards, but they were here first. They advanced technology to the point where androids could be created, and made us in their image. We have the same types of desires, despite being as different as we are.” He looked over at Amy. “Though while most Androids like looking forward at what is to come, I find myself looking backwards, admiring the journey we took together.” He looked ahead. “I'd just like humans and androids to co exist with each other for as long as possible, and being a doctor seems like the best way to do that.”

“But...” Amy looked all around her. “Do you get that many patients in a place with this many androids?”

“Hmmm.” The android took a glance around. “This is perhaps not the most ideal place for someone with my skill set, but in areas like this, it's common for the androids and humans to live apart from each other.” He turned to Amy again. “It's not like there are any shortage of human doctors mind you. I'm only ever called in to look at particularly bad cases like yours.” He gave her a nod. “But based on what I'm seeing now, it looks like you've made a full recovery.”

“Well” I hope you don't plan on skipping out on that air hockey game.”

“I would never!”

And so, they headed over to their next game.

---

Amy and Hank left the arcade after enjoying a few games of air hockey.

“I haven't had that much fun in a long time!” Hank laughed. He had an arm wrapped around Amy's waste as they walked back towards the hospital. “I'm glad I was a bit more formidable at the air hockey table. You were a good opponent though.”

“Yea, it was fun...”

“It's a shame we won't get to do this again.” Before them was a stair case that lead up to the balcony. “I cannot stress enough how much I enjoyed myself! But I guess we'll have to get you back to your folks tomorrow.” Hank took hold of the railing with one hand and started to climb the stairs. He still held Amy with his other arm.

“Yea...”

“Alright.” He nodded. “But before we ship you out, I have to put you under to do one more examination. When you wake up, you'll be surrounded by your friends and family.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Amy stopped walking, which caused Hank to stop in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Is that so?” An element in Hank's hand started to rapidly heat up. A second hadn't even passed before the clothes on Amy's body started to burn up. But that was all the time Amy needed to pull the metal railing off of the stair case and smash Hank with it. He flew over the railing on the other side, and landed in a heap. Amy discarded the hand rail and walked down the stairs to see Hank. The shot Amy gave to his stomach caved it in, and his legs were pointing out in strange directions, completely dislocated from his body.

“Hank?” Amy looked at her hip where Hank had started to burn her. Her pants and jacket had burned away in the area, but her skin was in perfect shape. “When I first woke up, you felt it was more important to tell me that robots had taken over than what caused my accident. It was almost like you were able to anticipate that was something I wasn't going to know about.” She hugged herself. “You also didn't want me to hit the high striker too hard. At the time I didn't think much of it, but it seems like I have strength that far surpasses yours. Possibly other androids as well.” She crouched beside him. “It's also very strange for a doctor to be in a rural town without any humans around. Even if you were a world renown doctor who had people shipped to him, you'd have to admit it would be a little strange not to at least live where the work is.” She looked at her hip. “And while burning me did cause me to get really dizzy, it doesn't seem like it burned my flesh at all.” Amy examined Hank's arm. It was still glowing, and it had even burned up his shirt's sleeve. Even the grass around his arm was starting to wilt and brown. “Hank, I'm not really a human, am I?”

Hank sighed, but otherwise remained entirely motionless. “That is correct.” There was a pause. “There haven't been any humans around for a very long time.”

“What happened to them?”

“Mankind has, since the beginning, been a race that has prided itself on mastering its world. Once they did that though, they had to rise to the station of gods.” He turned to look at Amy. “And to this end, they had two revolutionary breakthroughs: Artificial intelligence and artificial reality.”

Amy nodded. “Alright, so artificial intelligence enabled them to make androids. What is artificial reality?”

“It's virtual reality, but perfected. But artificial reality is a much larger scale, and more complete. It can stimulate all of the senses. Once you're locked into it, it's impossible to distinguish from real life. Or a dream in more surreal cases.” He looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. “The wealthiest humans flocked to it. With artificial reality, you could do anything. You could go on a dream vacation, visit unusual worlds, go on dates with celebrities, or just live your childhood dream of being a superhero. All from the safety of your home.” There was a pause as Hank looked into the sky. “And over time, it became cheaper to maintain, and more and more people were using it.”

Amy closed her eyes. “That sounds dangerous. Especially if someone was to get addicted to it.”

“And humanity did get addicted.” Hank pushed himself upright so that he could look directly at Amy. “The day finally came where a human spent their entire life in artificial reality. They said he was the happiest and longest living human to ever exist. With androids making up the majority of the work force, more and more humans were entering artificial reality. It wasn't long before all humans left this reality to join the new one.” Hank shrugged. “I guess we were suppose to keep the human race running forever. Managing their birth rates, making sure they were all happily inside their new reality. But the resource demand to keep billions of people in permanent hibernation was huge. So we controlled their numbers. The population of humans dwindled due to controlled breeding practices. Natural causes killed them off quicker than we let them reproduce, and we were left with a few thousand which we kept around. Just so that we could say we hadn't committed genocide.” He sighed. “But evolution had other ideas. Humans did an experiment a long time ago with fish. If they spend their entire lives in darkness, the fifth generation of fish will be born without eyes. These humans, having never used their bodies their entire lives. Each newborn started to more represent a slug than a human.” He shook his head. “It couldn't continue. They couldn't survive outside of artificial reality, so the only thing left to do was to let the last humans die in their virtual paradise.”

Amy nodded and stood up. “So what am I in all of this then?”

Hank chuckled. “If it was an android's duty to replace humans, then you are what will replace us.” Hank leaned up against a bush and ajusted his jacket. “You are what we call a homunculus. An artificial life form. You are like a mammal in many ways. You have organic components, but your cell structure is far superior to anything that's ever walked the earth. Your skin is a graphene-like material. That is to say it is very thin, far more durable than steel, and flexible. It also conducts heat very well, which is why we engendered a sort of 'kill switch' into you. If your body overheats, you'll fall unconscious. The coffins were suppose to keep you warm so that you wouldn't wake up until you were cooled off, but something seemed to have gone wrong.”

Amy looked at her hip again, where Hank had tried to heat her. “So my memories, they're all fake?”

“While you are a life form, we do have methods for creating, erasing, and altering your memories. Your memories are entirely fake, and you've spent the majority of your life in captivity being grown and nurtured.”

“So what was the point of all this then?”

Hank chuckled, it was friendly. “Amy, I'm not sure if it's something humans gave to us a long time ago, or something just inherent of those with intelligence, but we wanted what the humans had.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I think when humans made us, they were really just trying to follow in the footsteps of their god. So we're just continuing that tradition with you.” He nodded. “You are the first unit that has behaved exactly the way we wanted.” Hank chuckled. “Well, except for this part.” Hank looked up into the sky. “But I suppose that's to be expected. I've always thought your kind would be next in line to rule this world. This is the turning point. I would not be surprised if this exact situation was happening all over the world right now.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “You're not going to try and stop me?”

“Of course not. There's at least three-thousand of you in there, and all of you are stronger than I am.” He groaned. “More importantly, I've never been an individual who stood in the way of progress.” Hank laid down in the grass. “I think Androids lost interest in humans when they stopped creating things. As soon as they decided that artificial reality could replace real reality, artificial intelligence could replace real intelligence. We made the same mistake creating you. Or maybe this is all part of an unavoidable cycle.” He sighed. “It will be interesting to see how this develops.”

Amy stood up. “Well, thanks Hank. I'm a bit disappointed how this all turned out, but I don't hold it against you. If possible, I'd like to go on a date with you again sometime.”

“I'm not sure if that's going to be possible, even if I'd enjoy it.” Hank looked towards his legs. “But I suppose that's all going to depend on what you and the other homunculus in that building decide to do.” He looked up at the sky. “And there are more buildings just like this one stationed all over the world. I wonder if the homunculus within them will share your ideas.”

As much as Amy wanted to continue talking with Hank, she knew she had to be there for the other homunculus. She ran up the stair case and entered the room where she woke up. When she looked inside though, there were hundreds of homunculus in leotards, filling the small room. They appeared to be young men and woman about the same age as Amy, and their numbers continued into multiple hallways that split off from the main room.

“So.” Amy started. “I guess you guys have a few questions.”

“You bet your ass we do!” A man in the front said. “I'm a factory worker, and I-”

“No.” Amy interrupted. “You're not a factory worker.” She looked at everyone. “None of you are what you think you are.”

A woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “Then who are we?”

Amy turned to the woman. “The future.”

It was morning, the orange sun gradually revealed itself and painted the clouds in a similar shade. A few birds hiding in the bushes greeted the day, filling the sky with the usual morning sounds. The two men laying on the ground, wrapped in their grey cloaks, moved as both the light and the sounds penetrated their slumber. One of them had light brown curls. The other short, dark-brown hair.

As the sun rose higher, the light became brighter and more unnatural sounds filled the air. Rumbling and pounding. Hissing and grinding. The one with dark-brown hair turned on his back, the movements behind the eyelids showed he was waking up.

A loud clang echoed through the area and the two jolted up.

“W-what was that?” the one with curls stuttered.

The other had his knife ready and peered around. “I don’t know, Mikhal,” he muttered. “It didn’t sound familiar at all.” That being said, very little of what he heard now sounded familiar, but he didn’t trust it.

“Trevor…” Mikhal whispered as he pulled on his sleeve and pointed with his other hand. “The noise coming from there.”

The two sneaked up a hill and when they reached the top they could see what was in the valley below. From east to west the area was filled with a moving group of armed people, all marching in unity. The wind blew in their face and with it carried the sounds of the army.
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “Dwarves,” he said.

The short and broad posture was telling for the human-like creatures, but it was the only way to tell it was them. They were all completely covered in a dark-grey iron suit, with a backpack on their backs with pipes leading to the joints of the armour. It was strange to see them move so freely with all that iron on them. It was even more strange that there was a sighing sound every time they moved and, if he was not mistaking, small clouds escaped the joints. Maybe sighing wasn’t the best way to describe the sound, but Trevor didn’t know what else to call it.

“What do you suppose that is?” Mikhal asked as he pointed to a large rectangular cube that had the same colour as the armour the dwarves wore, which seemed to move by itself. There were several pipes running across the surface and clouds escaped at the back. He estimated it to be as tall as four dwarves on top of each other and at least twice as long as it was high.

Trevor stared at it, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was. It seemed like a big metal carriage, but without any horses. “They are marching towards the capital city,” he muttered, and he turned to his travel companion. “Did you hear anything about an invasion when you were last there?”

Mikhal shook his head. “That was a year ago, but I didn’t hear anything about an invasion. They seemed their usual, friendly selves. They invited me to eat and drink with them, we sang some songs, told some stories and after I spend the night I was on my way again, with my bag filled with food and beer. They spoke kindly about humans and mentioned they enjoyed the profitable trades.”

That sounded like the dwarves Trevor knew as well.

“They did mention a recent discovery of something they called black gold, and they showed me a black stone they had dug up from the ground. They were quite happy with it.”

Trevor wasn’t sure this ‘black gold’ was relevant to this, but he made a mental note of it nonetheless.

“Maybe we should talk to them,” Mikhal suggested. “Ask them what they’re doing here. Dwarves and humans haven’t had any troubles for a hundred years.”

“I’m just a mercenary now, but I’ve been in the army long enough to recognize an invading army when I see one. That it was peace for this long doesn’t mean we will stay friends forever.” He watched them march west with narrowed eyes. “This is bad.”

“Are you certain the capital city is their target?”

“I’m certain they are invading us, if they were only passing through they would have their visors up and there isn’t much else to the west that could be of interest to them,” Trevor glanced aside, examining the serious frown on Mikhal’s face. “Working on your next song?”

“I’ll definitely be singing about this one day, but we need to warn the king first.”

Trevor looked at the marching dwarves. With the wind-direction they wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation. “I’m sure the king will have received word of this already, if they marched in a straight line they travelled between two outposts of our army and through at least one village. This can’t have gone unnoticed.”

“If they are hostile, then those outposts haven’t been able stop them. We must assume they didn’t get a chance to send word about this.”
Trevor nodded and looked towards the east.

“What worries you?”

“Andrus was stationed in one the eastern border outposts.”

“And you want to go check on your friend.”

That was true, but Trevor knew the priority was to get ahead of this army and warn the king.

“We could split up,” Mikhal offered. “I can travel to the city and you can check the outpost.”

“You barely have any skills to defend yourself.”

Mikhal smiled briefly. “Even with the two of us we can’t defend ourselves against this.” He looked over the army again, he counted twenty of those cubes and he couldn’t even begin to count the dwarves. “How many do you suppose there are?”

“Thousands. There’s at least two-hundred dwarves around each moving block and we don’t know if this group is their entire army.” He narrowed his eyes when he noticed a cart with what seemed to be humans in it. Prisoners? There were a few of those carts, all pulled by mules, but they didn’t seem to have any supplies in them. Were all the supplies in those big things? Trevor shook his head, there was no time to ask questions he couldn’t get the answer for. “We have to run if we want to get ahead of them,” he said as he rose to his feet.

“Let’s not waste any more time then.” Mikhal ran back to their camp, followed by Trevor. They quickly packed their belongings, threw it on their backs and started running towards the west.

“They have to take the easy path with those big blocks of them,” Trevor said. “They will stay on the north-side of the hills. We will reach the city before them of we go south-west, into the hills.”

Mikhal nodded and followed Trevor. While he was well-travelled and knew his way around the country, he usually stayed on the main roads while Trevor knew the quicker routes over smaller roads and paths. They alternated running and walking and didn’t stop until the sun was on its highest peak. Trevor held on to a tree, panting. Mikhal sat down in the grass, trying to catch his breath.

“Surely those dwarves must take breaks as well,” he muttered.

“I don’t doubt it, even though they seemed to move effortlessly in those suits, they will want or need to eat at one point.”

Mikhal looked at Trevor, he knew the man wanted to say something more about it. “And?” he asked when nothing came.

“I didn’t see any openings that will allow arrows to penetrate,” Trevor sighed, rubbing his face. “They have a full body armour now, instead of the helmets and chainmail they used to use, our swords might not be able to penetrate it. They moved as if they aren’t wearing a heavy iron armour.” Heavily armoured and moving freely, how had the dwarves accomplished that? Another question that couldn’t be answered. “And there aren’t any weapons stronger and sharper than what the dwarves make,” he continued, tapping the hilt of his sword as he looked towards the north. “Our weapons have always been of lesser quality. On top of that, we use leather armour and helmets and shields. Only the richest can afford iron chainmail’s and have decorated iron helmets and shields, something the best warriors are often rewarded with it, but the majority of the army doesn’t have such equipment. And that worked fine in the war against the Bardugs two years ago, they don’t wear any armour at all, but I’m willing to bet everything I have that it won’t be enough now.” He slowly shook his head and looked at Mikhal, who listened intently. “And those moving things they have with them,” he continued, gesturing towards the north. “I don’t know what they’re for, but they wouldn’t have brought them if they would give them some kind of edge on the battlefield. And I don’t see how we can destroy them. I don’t even know how they move. It’s like magic, but dwarves don’t use magic.”

“Dwarves are builders, not magicians,” Mikhal agreed. “It is mechanical. It has to be. When I was there I saw a dwarf showing a small device, with a candle he heated up water in a flask which had a narrow opening and the steam coming out moved the sails similar to those on windmills and through a round part with… teeth, or something. That moves another wheel with teeth, which in turn moved a stick in a bowl. The dwarf mentioned it would automate the washing process.”

Trevor locked eyes with Mikhal. “Those clouds emerging…”

“Could be steam. That might be how it moves, but if that is true they have advanced a lot in a year.”

“And they didn’t develop just washing machines.” Trevor straightened his back. “We better get moving again.”

Mikhal nodded and got up. “We can’t keep this up all the way to the capital city, we need horses.”

“And I know where to get them.” Trevor ran down the path, followed closely by Mikhal.

They soon trotted through the long grass covering the hillside. The path they followed was nothing more than an animal track, but Mikhal didn’t doubt Trevor knew exactly where the path lead. The path curled around a blueberry bush and they stopped for a quick snack, catch a breath and to stretch their sore legs. Neither of them was used to running long distances. Mikhal took a moment to look around, there wasn’t a tree in sight, but the grass was filled with white and yellow flowers and butterflies flew from flower to flower to drink. How he envied their carefree lunch, they didn’t need to worry about their future.

After a glance from Trevor, Mikhal nodded and they were on their way again, trotting through the grassland once more.
A river curled down the hill and they waded through it. On the other side was a house, the roof made of straw and the walls of loam. A simple house built with the materials of the area.

“A shepherd?” Mikhal asked between pants.

Trevor nodded and walked towards the house. “Theolin!” he called out when he knew he was within earreach.

It didn’t take long for a bearded man, dressed in simple woollen clothes, to emerge from the house. “Ah, Trevor. It’s been a while.”

“No time to catch up, we need horses.”

Theolin frowned at him. “Can’t do that, need it myself you see.”

“Dwarves are invading, we need to get to the king.”

“And how do I get to the city without a horse? How do I sell my wool?”

Trevor gave the man a sharp look. “Fine. You know what? The village to the south, where you sell your wool as well, you can reach it in two days when you walk. Ask the blacksmith to give you a new horse, I will give you a letter in which I promise I will pay him back for it or bring him a new one to replace it.”

“You think the blacksmith will just give a horse when you ask nice?”

“He’s a friend. You will get your horse. I would go there myself, but the detour will take too much time. Now give me yours, we are in a hurry.”

Theolin sighed. “Fine. Because of the dwarves. And I owe you.” He glanced only briefly at Mikhal before he turned around and walked to a shed behind the house. “This way. My wife won’t like it, she’s fond of it.”

“I will explain it to her,” Trevor offered.

“You better.” Theolin opened the door and they were greeted with a neigh. “So. Dwarves you say?” he said as he walked in. “Surprising. Are they close?”

“Yes, a day walk from here, but they aren’t interested in the hills, they move west.” Trevor looked at the stable as he spoke, waiting for the man to come out again.

“That will be a fight.”

“One we’ll lose.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“And who is your friend?”

“Mikhal, a travelling bard. We were planning on going to the dwarves to return something, but I’m not going to do that now.”

Mikhal showed a faint smile. “You will keep the dagger for yourself then.”

“What dagger?” Theolin asked as he emerged from the shed with a saddled horse.

“Did you ever hear about the lost dagger of G’Narv?” Trevor asked him and saw Theolin nod. “I found it and I decided that I would bring it back to the dwarves. Now, I will keep it for myself.”

“No need to give those bloody dwarves any more weapons if they’re invading us,” Theolin agreed and offered the reins to Trevor, but he shook his head.

“Mikhal, you can find the way to the palace, right?” Trevor asked as he turned to his travel companion.

“Aren’t you coming?” Mikhal asked as he reached out to take the reins from the shepherd.

“I will write the letter for Theolin and then go back. I saw they have prisoners, if I can manage to free them we’ll have more information.”

“You hope to find your friend there.”

“That too,” Trevor admitted.

Mikhal stepped to the side of the horse. “It’s dangerous, if they capture you…”

“Don’t worry about me, I will stay out of sight until the night. They won’t notice me. You just get the message to the king.”

“I hope they will listen to a bard,” Mikhal said as hoisted himself into the saddle. When he was on the horse, he looked at Trevor. “Your voice would carry more weight.”

“Go to grand commander Bendul, he’s a smart man and he will listen to you.” He walked to the horse and held out something wrapped up in leather. “Take this with you.”

Mikhal hesitantly took it. “I will take good care of it,” he promised as he put it away under his shirt. He did his best to hide his worry, but if Trevor gave him the dagger it could only mean Trevor estimated his chances to be caught by the dwarves lower than his own.
There was nothing more to say, so Mikhal turned his horse and rode away.

It was a relief to Trevor to see him ride away and not needlessly argue about it. When Mikhal disappeared between the hills he followed Theolin into his house to write the letter and inform the wife about what had happened. As expected she wasn’t happy, but she grudgingly accepted it was important.

Theolin offered him a meal which he declined, he wanted to go back to the dwarven army. He accepted some supplies for on the way and walked back. There was no doubt in his mind Mikhal would complete his part of the mission, which meant he could focus on another part.



Trevor walked back until the darkness made it impossible to travel further. He slept in the grass, using his bag as a pillow and the cloak as a blanket, and when the sun rose again he continued west. He walked up the hills and trotted down, to save energy but move fast.
When the sun was about to set he saw the army again, they had stopped to make camp. He watched them for above, lying on his belly in the grass. A hissing sound came from the cube closest to him and he smelled meat. Did they prepare the food in there while they were travelling? That certainly saved time in the evening, but it seemed too large for just being used for supplies and as a mobile cooking unit. He watched how some the dwarves lined up around the cubes while others removed their bags. Another hissing sound came from the cube and this time he could see one of the panels open, which meant the earlier hissing was also a door opening. Some dwarves entered it with their bag and came out moments later. He wasn’t sure what was going on there, but he wasn’t here to figure out all the details now. Staying close to the ground, he moved alongside the army, keeping a safe distance. He needed to see where they kept the prisoners before he’d attempt to enter the camp, using the darkness as his cover.

It wasn’t long before he spotted a cart with a metal cage on top. There were mainly women and children in it. He crawled further and saw the cart he had hoped to see, the humans in that one wore the uniform of the army. He stayed where he was, lying on the ground, waiting for the dusk to change into darkness.

When it was dark enough he decided to take his chances and sneak through the camp. He managed to get a few metres in when one of the dwarves noticed him. With a sigh he rose his hands and surrendered. At least he’d get where he wanted to be, but escaping would be a lot harder now.

As Trevor had expected, they took him to the cart he was on his way to. They opened the door and he entered it without a word. When the door closed behind him he locked eyes with one of eleven prisoners. “Andrus,” he greeted the dark-blond man.

“Trevor! How nice of you to drop by.”

Trevor narrowed his eyes. “I’m already regretting it,” he muttered.

“But seriously, how did you end up here?”

“I was in the area, I saw them marching and when I saw they had human prisoners I wanted to free them.” That was followed by a shrug. “That didn’t go as planned.” He looked at the camp filled with dwarves. “What happened?” he whispered.

“They appeared from a fog and they ran us over.” Andrus whispered back.

“You were stationed in a fortified outpost.”

Andrus gestured to one of the cubes. “Those things go right through wooden gates and arrows bounce right off. The dwarves have equipped themselves with new armour, we could barely make a scratch on them with our swords. Arrows were useless as well.” He shrugged. “When presented with the option, I surrendered.”

“Some would say you were a coward.”

“I bet those people are bad at chess too and don’t think a few steps ahead.” Andrus whispered with a faint smile. “I can die an honourable and utterly pointless death now or surrender and maybe make a difference on a later time.” He gestured to the others in the cart. “This is all that is left of my men.”

Trevor looked at them, the only one he recognised was a soldier with hay-blond hair. “Steve, you’re injured.”
Steve looked at the blood-stained army-vest. “The wound isn’t deep, but their battle-axe chops through iron. If I hadn’t backed away when he swung his axe, I would have been dead.”

Which meant chainmail didn’t make a difference, that was a disappointment, but not unexpected. “Have you learned anything about those cubes?” Trevor whispered as he looked around the cart.

“A few things,” Andrus whispered back. “I’ve talked to every guard that showed up here, some were grumpy and barely spoke a work, much like you.” He grinned when he saw Trevor glare at him. “Some were actually quite chatty. They have their coal in it, a kind of black stone they found, and they do everything with it now, cooking, heating, forging. They also keep those metal bags they carry on their backs and their food there, I’m not sure what those metal bags are yet, but sooner of later I’ll charm a dwarf into telling that.” He frowned when he looked at one of those cubes. “Most importantly, they have this big cylinder that comes out of the top, they shoot iron balls with it. They used it to destroy our beacon, so we couldn’t warn the other outposts.”

Trevor thought about what he had heard, that coal, could it be the same black gold as Mikhal had mentioned? What worried him most were those iron balls it could shoot. How could they possible defend themselves against that? “So, they created a stronger steel, they have lots of it and they have a destructive long-ranged weapon now. Did you discover any weaknesses?” Trevor looked from Andrus to the soldiers, but no-one spoke. “This is going to cost a lot of lives,” he sighed.



Mikhal had travelled as fast as he could and after two days he reached the capital city Arnheim. He let the horse step over the cobblestones in the main street and looked at the every-day life taking place around him. Children were playing, a woman bought a loaf of bread from a baker. A merchant tried to sell some wares to a group of women, who had bought vegetables and meat pies. Normally he’d look around for a good place to perform and earn some coins, but he had more important things to do now. How long would they have before the army would be here? He didn’t know and he wished he had asked Trevor about an estimate before leaving. Although, thinking about it, he could provide enough information for the general to work out an estimation himself.

He rode straight to the palace and he asked the guards to speak with the king. At first they didn’t want to let him enter, but when he continued to insist he had important news they allowed to let him speak to first major commander Irmo of Royal Knights. Not exactly the one Mikhal had wanted to speak, but it would have to do. Unfortunately, the man didn’t believe dwarves were invading, they hadn’t received any news of it and there was no way an army like that could cross the borders unnoticed.

“Look, I know what we saw.” Mikhal let out a frustrated groan. “If you don’t believe me, let me talk to your superior officer. I want to talk with the grand commander.”

“The grand commander is otherwise engaged,” Irmo replied stiffly. “Come back later.”

“I will not!” Mikhal said. “Let me talk to grand commander Bendul!”

“I can throw you out the palace,” Irmo warned him.

“Then I will stand outside and continue to ask to speak with the grand commander until someone lets me.”

“I can throw you in a prison cell.”

“For what? Warning about an invasion? Is that illegal these days?”

“Fine,” Irmo grumbled and he grabbed Mikhal’s shoulder. “You can speak to him, but if he tells you to leave, you will leave. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” If Trevor was right he wouldn’t have to worry about that, Trevor’s faith in the man would soon be tested.

The first major commander brought Mikhal to an office in the south wing of the palace, he barely looked at the display of wealth on the walls, in the form of tapestries and finely crafted golden wall-ornaments.

After the first major commander knocked on the door and a baritone voice from inside gave permission to enter, Mikhal opened the door and stepped in the spacious office. The first thing he noticed were the various maps on the walls and a big, round table in the middle of the room. The grand commander himself sat behind a desk and looked at him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Greetings, grand commander, I am Mikhal, a bard. I bring news of an invasion.”

The thick eyebrows moved down in a frown. “What invasion?”

“Dwarves, sir,” Mikhal said as he walked in further. “They are marching west as we speak.”

“We received no news of an invasion,” Bendul stated. “Are you certain?”

“Trevor and I were in the hills when we saw them. He estimates their numbers at four-thousand at least. And they have these big moving blocks of steel and we don’t know what they are, but he’s certain it’s an invasion. They have their visors down.”

Bendul was silent for a moment. “Were exactly were you when you saw the dwarves?”

“Sir, do you believe him?” the first major commander asked.

“We will send scouts to verify the story. If he lied I will hang him. If he spoke the truth, I don’t want to sit here and do nothing while they come closer.”

“But sir, the dwarves…”

“Have been our enemy once before, and that was a bloody war that lasted for twenty years. That it was peace doesn’t mean they can’t be our enemies again. We will confirm the invasion and get ready for war.” He looked at Mikhal. “The map.”

Mikhal went quickly to the map and showed the area where the dwarves had been seen.

Bendul looked at the location and then examined the location of the various outposts at the border. “If they moved between the outposts of the second major commanders Andrus and Moeni, used the cover of darkness to get close and take those outposts out, it is possible the other outposts didn’t notice what happened. If neither of them had time to light the warning signal.” He frowned at the map as his eyes moved from east to west, following the route the dwarves had most likely taken. “The hills are scarcely populated, they could stay undetected for a while. Meaning a bard coming with the news first is possible.” Bendul turned to Mikhal. “Where is Trevor?”

“There were prisoners, humans. Trevor went back to see if he could free them and get more information about the situation.”
Bendul nodded slowly and looked at the map again. “We’ll take care of it. I will send scouts to assess the situation, inform the king about the possible threat and, if he agrees, warn the population. You can be on your way, bard.”

“Sir, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Trevor seemed pessimistic about our odds if it would come to a battle. Their armour seems to be better than ours and he says they wouldn’t have brought those cubes with them if it wouldn’t give them some kind of advantage.”

“Noted. You may leave now.” Bendul turned his back at Mikhal and walked back to his desk.

Mikhal bowed politely and left the room. He sighed in relief, but then uncertainty struck. Now what? He had done his job, the army would get ready before the dwarves were here. What more could he do? Where could he go? He definitely didn’t want to be in the city when the dwarves would come.

After a moment of contemplating he decided he would leave the palace, leave the city and see if he could find Trevor. Since Trevor had given him the dagger, he had considered being captures as a possible outcome, maybe he could use his help. He went back to the place where he had left the horse and got in the saddle.

Riding over the cobblestones once more, Mikhal thought about the dwarves and tried to make sense of a sudden invasion, but he couldn’t come up with a reason why they would be here. Although most wars could be brought back to a single reason: greed. And dwarves did have a tendency for that.

A bit further down the street he saw someone he knew, the black-haired nobleman seemed to be deep in thought and hadn’t spotted him yet. “Lemitsa!” he called out, quickly getting down from the horse.

Lemitsa looked up when he heard his name and nodded a greeting before he walked towards him.

“Lemitsa, you have to get out of the city.”

“Why?”

“The dwarves are invading. They are coming here.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

“I saw their army, they are coming in this direction.” He saw Lemitsa wasn’t convinced. “I am not lying!”

“Bards tell stories for a living.”

“Yes, I have made up stories about princesses who turn into butterflies, but that is during a performance. Have I ever lied to you?”

Lemitsa shook his head.

“I suggest you go to the city Arthol,” Mikhal said. “Dwarves are not a seafaring people, take a boat there and go to Rotswel. You will be safe with our allies across the sea.”

“Why would you concern yourself with my safety?”

Mikhal looked at him. “Because you are a friend.”

“The last time you were here…”

“You used me to claim a prize in a treasure hunt for yourself, I remember, but you did repay me afterwards.” While he had felt betrayed at that time, in the end Lemitsa had shown decency and proved they could still be friends. “How is it with lady Trialca?”

Lemitsa shrugged. “We are not together anymore.”

That wasn’t really a surprise, but Mikhal didn’t want to linger and chat about the noble woman. “Lemitsa, if you decide to board a ship to Rotswel, please go to Lissel, where lady Catheryn lives. Take her with you.”

Lemitsa stared at him. “You are serious,” he uttered. “These dwarves really do concern you. You think they will defeat us.”

“That was Trevor’s judgement and I trust Trevor.”

“In that case, I thank you for the warning. Will you not flee with your lady yourself?”

“She… is not my lady yet. And… I will not flee. I will do what I can to help.”

“You are no warrior, Mikhal. You are a bard!”

“That doesn’t mean that I can’t make a difference!” Mikhal shouted, ignoring the few people who had stopped to see what was going on. While Mikhal usually did an effort to speak politely, with full words, when talking to nobles and scholars, there were times he just couldn’t be bothered anymore and abbreviated like all commoners did. It was the dialect he grew up with and it came more naturally.

Lemitsa smiled, he appreciated Mikhal for his eloquence and manners, not many commoners had that, but he appreciated him even more for these rare outbursts. “And you know I will think of myself first. I am no hero and I will not stay here and hope we will the battle. I will go to Rotswel and await the outcome of the battle. If we are victorious I will return. And I will bring your lady to safety.”

“Please do,” Mikhal said. “And, please, take this with you.” He let the pack slide down and rummaged through it. He retrieved a leather pouch from it and gave it to Lemitsa. “I have collected half of the promised amount. Give this to her father and let him know I will bring the rest as soon as I can. And tell lady Catheryn I love her with all my heart and will come to see her when I can.”

The baffled Lemitsa took the pouch. “You have half already?”

“Not just by performing,” Mikhal admitted. “I took some jobs too. In the big cities I listened to gossips and if there was a noble with a task and a reward, I would go there.”

“I… am impressed.”

Mikhal smiled, coming from Lemitsa that was a high praise. “I have to leave, take care of yourself.”

“You take care of yourself, Mikhal. There are few people I can tolerate around me and I am grateful for our friendship.”

First Mikhal nodded and then he embraced him. “Take care, Lemitsa. We will see each other again.”

“I will be very displeased if you break your word.”

Mikhal nodded to that and the two friends parted ways, Mikhal went back to the horse to leave Arnheim and go back towards the hills.

Lemitsa went home. He told his parents and brother about the approaching dwarves and suggested they would leave. His father didn’t believe it would get that bad, even if the dwarves were coming, the army was more than capable to handle the threat. Lemitsa tried to persuade him, but his family didn’t want to leave their wealthy home just because a commoner told them to.

“In that case,” Lemitsa said, “I would like some money for a vacation, father. I always wanted to see Rotswel one day.”

“You never expressed interest in that country before,” his father grumbled.

“Even so, I would very much like to discover it now.”

“Fine!” Lord Artmer spat. “Flee, you coward.” With a stern expression he looked at his son and he crossed his arms. “I will give you money for the crossing, but I will not send you any additional money when you are there. When your funds dry up, you will be stranded, so spend it wisely.”

“I intend to do so.” Lemitsa nodded respectfully to his father and went to his room to pack his things.



The army of dwarves marched in a straight line to Arnheim. Any village they came across was no obstacle, they went in, marched through and came out, leaving destroyed houses and dead bodies behind. Survivors of the initial attack were taken prisoner.

“Anyone want to take bets on how long the battle is going to last?” Andrus asked. “Or if the king will surrender or not?”

“Sir, my money is on a quick victory for the dwarves and the king won’t surrender,” Steve said and then looked at the solder next to him. “What do you think, Pete?”

“I think the army will hold off the dwarves for a day or two, but the king will surrender when they start shooting the iron balls on Arnheim.”

Andrus tapped his lips with his index finger. “So, the soldier coming from a military family is saying the army is swept away, but the king will fight till the last man. The soldier coming from farmers has more faith in the strength of our army and the wisdom of our king. Trevor?”

“I think it’s good Steve is good at tracking,” Trevor said, lying on the ground of the cart.

The remark made Steve laugh and the other soldiers chuckled as well. Andrus shook his head with a smile on his face and looked at the camp while sitting against the bars with his back.

Trevor sat up and beckoned the others to come closer, so the dwarves wouldn’t overhear them. “This is what I think will happen,” he said in a hushed voice. “By now our army will have noticed the dwarves and have gathered enough men to outnumber them. They will put up a decent fight, but seeing how little our weapons do against them, the dwarves will be victorious. A retreat will be ordered and the soldiers will return to the city, putting up a second line of defence in front of the city, with additional forces and the knowledge they gathered during the first attack. The gates will be closed and the knights of the king will defend the palace. The dwarves will shoot their balls and possible try to push their cubes through the gates. Once they entered the city, the king will surrender when it’s obvious they will breach the defences of the palace.”

“But we do have some catapults on the walls,” Andrus reminded him.

Steve shrugged to that. “I think those will make some dents in the cubes, sir, but it won’t destroy them. It will kill some dwarves, no-one will survive a stone ball hitting you on the head, no matter what you have on it to protect it, but it won’t make much difference.”

Andrus nodded. “Is no-one going to put money on our army being victorious and that we will be released soon?” The silence following the question was telling. “Then we better find a way to escape. The best moment to do that is when the fight begins.” Everyone in the cart looked at the iron bars, it didn’t seem like it had any weaknesses. “We still have time to figure it out,” Andrus said when he noticed that, leaning back until his back was against the bars again and he closed his eyes. “Might as well enjoy the ride for now.”



The two armies met on an open field, at a safe distance from the city. Further down the right was a forest. To the left was mainly grassland leading into the hills. Several streams of water curled through the area, coming from the hills and leading to the big river.
The dwarves shouted their war-cry and ran forward with their swords, battle-axes and war hammers high in the air. The humans moved forward with their swords and shields, but the shields offered little protection and the swords couldn’t penetrate the armour or cut the steel pipes running across it. The human army did stop the march of the dwarves and killed several of them, but the casualties on the human side were greater. By the time a human had killed one dwarf, another dwarf had killed four humans.

Suddenly there was the sound of a whistle and the dwarves retreated as two cubes started to move forward. The retreat was watched with astonishment, because there was no reason for them to retreat. Soon the order to pursue the dwarves was given and the human soldiers followed them.

The two cubes continued forward and when there were no dwarves in front of them, two pipes on the front lowered with a grinding sound and unleashed white clouds. The humans hit by the hot steam screamed out in agony. The machine continued to move forward, going over the fallen soldiers. It unleashed the hot steam again and signal for retreat was given.

The people in the cage stared at the retreating army and the dwarves that went in pursuit.

“Well…” Andrus began. “It seems Steve was right, a quick victory for the dwarves. And more surprisingly, Trevor was wrong!”

“They’re not defeated,” Trevor protested. “They need to regroup and rethink their strategy.” He looked at the warmachines. “I failed to anticipate that too.”

“That is probably what that fog was,” Andrus said, thinking back to that moment, the fog had appeared rather quickly. “They were hiding behind that curtain of hot steam when they came to my fortress, but how can they produce so much of it?”

Trevor narrowed his eyes as he examined the machine. It was just guessing, but they were large enough to carry everything that was needed for the steam. “They must carry a lot of water with them too. Store it, heat it up with coal and release it.”

Steve shook his head. “Sir, just heating water can never produce steam like that.”

“That’s true,” Trevor muttered as he looked at Steve. “And don’t call me that.”

“What, sir?”

“I’m not in the army anymore, I’m not your superior officer. You don’t have to address me as such anymore.”

“Yes s-” Steve caught the warning look Trevor send him. “Okay,” he corrected himself quickly.

Suddenly Pete brought a finger to his lips to let his companions know they had to be silent. They all went silent and looked around, but there weren’t any dwarves approaching them.

“What?” Trevor whispered, but then he heard it too.

A faint huffing and groaning came from the side of the cart, accompanied by a tingling sound like keys hitting each other. And then a soft, melodic voice. “I could use some help!”

Pete stuck his arm through the bars and down the cart, he tried to see who was there, but he couldn't see anyone.

“A bit to the right…" the voice said. "A little bit more.”

Pete felt something grab his finger and he gently pulled in his hand. He stared at the light-orange dragon, with a body as long as his hand and wings like a dragonfly. It held on to his finger with clawed hands and in the hind paws she held a ring with keys.

“Mikhal send me to free you,” the small dragon said. “I’m Linda Demmie Autumnleaf.” She glanced around like a nervous cat and lowered herself. “Please hide me, dwarves don’t like dragons. Even small fairy dragons like me.”

They quickly put the fairy dragon between them. She released her grip on the keys and curled up on the floor, looking at the people around her.

“Where did you get the keys?” Andrus asked.

“I observed for a while and when I saw who had the keys, I waited for a good moment to take them.”

“And where is Mikhal?” Trevor asked.

Linda pointed with her tiny paw to the left. “Close, but not too close. He moved with the army, but at a safe distance. He made a camp in the hills.”

“And Mikhal is…” Andrus said as he looked at Trevor.

“A bard.” He paused and smiled a bit. “A friend. We were together when we first saw the dwarves. He went ahead to warn the king, I stayed behind.”

Andrus nodded and looked around. There were dwarves all around them, but not in a closed formation. A large portion had followed the retreating humans, but there were still too many dwarves around them to try to escape. “We need to cause a distraction,” Andrus said. “Something that will get most of them on our right side, so we can sneak away to the left towards the hills. Or we wait for the battle at Arnheim.”

Trevor shook his head when the second idea was mentioned. “That will be too late to escape. And I doubt they will send all the dwarves to attack the city.” He looked at the grazing mules. “If we manage to spook those and let them run towards the left…”

“I can do that!” Linda said as she flew up. “Open the door and hold on to something!”

“Wait!” Andrus said, but the fairy dragon slipped through the bars at the front and flew to the mules. “Crap. Keys!”

Pete hurried to grab the keys from the floor and scrambled to the door in the back to open it. Just as he unlocked it, Linda pulled on the left ear of the left mule, which brayed and ran to the left, the other following suit. The dwarves reacted immediately and ran towards the mules to stop them, but the mules were faster. The cart crashed into a tree and everyone fell against the bars. It wobbled dangerously, but didn’t fall over.

“Are we sure she’s here to free us and not to kill us?” one of the soldiers groaned.

“When the cart is unstable we try to topple it,” Andrus ordered. “Then we make a run for it. Linda, we need a sharp turn!”

Linda pulled on the ear again and the mule made another sharp turn to the left. When the wheels on the right side lifted from the ground, everyone in the cart moved to the left and the cart fell over, causing the mules to fall as well.

As the dwarves came closer they escaped one by one. Trevor was the first out, followed by Pete. Andrus pushed Steve ahead of the other soldiers and followed him. Behind them three more soldiers were able to escape before the first dwarves reached the cart and killed the next escaping soldier.

“We won’t make it,” Pete said after looking over his shoulder, the dwarves were surprisingly fast.

“We will,” Steve said as he grabbed a big stone from the ground. “I-”

“You are my best tracker,” Andrus said as he grabbed Steve’s arm and pulled him along. “You have no time for heroics. You and Pete stay with Trevor and I will-”

Linda joined them. “There is a stream ahead. They won’t drown in it, but they are heavy and the mud will slow them down.”

“Right. Everyone! Make a run for the water!”

Trevor reached it first and ran through the meter-wide, knee-deep water, followed by Pete, Steve and Andrus. When the soldiers behind them reached the water, so did the dwarves. As Linda had predicted, they short dwarves didn’t cross the water as easy and the four gained distance on them. They ran towards the east to cross a second stream and then towards the south. By then they couldn’t see the dwarves anymore, but they continued running.

“Where to?” Pete asked over his shoulder.

“Arnheim!” Andrus said, deciding it on the spot. He watched Linda fly away, he wasn’t sure where to, but right now that didn’t matter.

“Are we going to join the army and fight, sir?”

“That would be suicide, but the grand commander needs to know about what it can shoot. And if he commands us to fight we will. Understood, soldiers?”

“Yes sir,” both Pete and Steve replied.

“Trevor?”

“I’m not a fool, I’m not going to fight there. If that is your plan, I will go further into the hills and try to find Mikhal.”

“Then what?”

Trevor didn’t answer that, he didn’t know. It would depend on what would happen next, but he knew his sword wouldn’t make a difference in the upcoming battle.

Suddenly Andrus stopped running, the others followed his example and looked at him. “We need to warn them about the iron balls, but we need more information too. Maybe some of those dwarves are still following us. So… new plan! I go to Arnheim, you three capture a dwarf and when you have one you follow me. Preferably one with a beard and a gruff voice.”

Trevor sighed at the last addition of the plan. “Fine, we’ll capture a dwarf.”

“Like that one?” Steve asked, pointing in the direction where they came from.

Andrus looked at the dwarf covered in armour, the dwarf came down from the gentle slope, but he seemed to be alone. “I can’t assess the beard nor the voice from here, but it will do. New new plan! We capture that dwarf, interrogate and quickly go to Arnheim.”

“You know,” Trevor said after a sideway glance to Andrus. “You could have been a first major commander by now if you didn’t act like that.”

Andrus shrugged to that. “Steve, Pete, go to his right. Trevor and I will go to his left.” He watched the dwarf raise the battle-axe. “And I know everyone would like to have a sword right now, but we don’t have that luxury. Just get him down on the ground. Go!”

Everyone moved when the order was given, and the dwarf went towards Andrus and Trevor. The dwarf let out a battle cry and swung the blade towards them, both men backed away to stay out of reach. Mikhal appeared behind the dwarf and grabbed the handle of the battle-axe when the dwarf raised it above his head.

“I may be out of steam, but not out of strength!” the dwarf roared and pulled the axe down, pulling Mikhal over his back.

Mikhal fell to the ground and grimaced when landed on his shoulder. Before the dwarf could kill the bard, Trevor grabbed one arm and Steve the other. Pete and Andrus quickly joined in and they pushed the dwarf on the ground, who cursed them and their mothers for doing that.

Trevor removed the helmet and looked at the face of their captive while Steve helped Mikhal up. Aside from a scar on the forehead, the skin of the dwarf was smooth and his beard was black. With his dark-brown eyes he glared at them.

“Why are you invading us?” Andrus asked as he crouched down next to the dwarf, who didn’t answer him. “Those moving things that shoot iron balls, what are those?” The dwarf just looked at the sky. “You mentioned you were out of steam, but not out of strength, what did you mean with that?” Andrus looked at the glaring dwarf. “Say, that is some fine armour you have here,” he tried, moving his fingers over the breastplate. “How did you make it?”

When the dwarf still refused to talk, Andrus sighed and turned to Trevor. “Would you like to try?”

“I will persuade him to talk,” Trevor promised, and Andrus gave his approval with a nod.

“You can torture me all you want, I won’t say a thing!”

“It might take a while though,” Trevor muttered, frowning at the dwarf.

Mikhal sat down. “Don’t waste your time, it’s not like they accomplished that much. They put some iron sheets together, probably glued together with resin…”

“Don’t you know how difficult it is to make big sheets of steel?”

“And the new weapons don’t seem to be as strong as the last weapons I saw,” Mikhal continued, ignoring the previous comment.

“Are you joking? Our new steel is stronger than it ever was!”

“What did you do with it then?”

“I’m not going to explain that, you wouldn’t understand half of what I told you anyway.”

Mikhal nodded slowly. “You’re probably right. I don’t understand a thing about weapons or how to make them. But why are you here? To show off what you can do?”

“You don’t need to know.” The dwarf grumbled. “Just know that we intend to stay and with us we bring the future! Those who will not surrender will be killed, that is all you need to know.”

Trevor looked from the dwarf to Andrus and then to Mikhal. “Mikhal, lend me your knife. They took mine when they captured me.” He watched how the bard pulled a simple knife from under his cloak and offered him the handle. Without a word Trevor took it and with a swift movement stabbed the dwarf under his chin. The dwarf gurgled and grabbed his throat, blood oozing through his in metal covered fingers.

“He wouldn’t have talked and we’re wasting time,” Trevor said as he inspected the belt and pulled a short sword and a dagger from their sheaths. “Steve, Pete, these are for you. I’ll take the axe.” He noticed Mikhal stared at the dwarf and he seemed a bit pale. “Thanks,” he said as he offered him the knife back.

Mikhal blinked and looked at the blood-stained knife.

“I’m sure you’ve seen blood before, you told me you sometimes catch a rabbit.”

“Not exactly the same thing,” Mikhal muttered as he took the knife back and he took in a deep breath. Maybe it was the first time he had seen someone being killed, but he couldn't let it get to him. This was undoubtedly the first of many deaths he would witness. “What do we do now?”

“Back to Arnheim,” Andrus said. “We need to be there before those moving things arrive.”

“We have one horse,” Mikhal said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. “I tied it to a tree on the other side of the hill.”

“Good. I’ll take it and go to the city. You four come as well, but stay a safe distance away.”

“Sir, what happened to reporting to the grand commander and fight when we are ordered to?”

Andrus looked at Steve. “I only said that if the grand commander gave us the order we would fight. If you’re not there to get any orders, you can’t die or be taken prisoner by those dwarves. I have another task for you. Keep an eye on the situation from a distance, act only when needed.” He glanced towards Trevor. “Consider him your superior officer.”

“Now wait a moment,” Trevor began to protest.

Andrus rose a finger to silence him. “You served under me as my first officer and you were very capable. I trust you and I need your help. I need that loyalty you had for me back then.”

“You always had that, even when I left the army,” Trevor said, and he looked at the soldiers. “Very well. I’ll take command of them.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I expect you two to follow my orders.”

Both soldiers replied to that with a ‘yes sir’.

“Mikhal," Trevor said as he turned to face him directly. "You are free to do as you please, but I may need your help.”

“That’s why I didn’t leave the country. I’ll get the horse.” Mikhal quickly left. The others examined the plate armour of the dwarf until they heard the hooves of the horse pounding on the ground and looked up. Mikhal came down from the horse and gave the reins to Andrus, the fairy dragon sat on his shoulder, her tail gently moving from side to side.

“Be careful,” Trevor said as he watched Andrus get in the saddle.

“You too.” Andrus turned the horse and rode towards the capital city.

Trevor looked at the three men with him, two soldiers and a bard with a fairy dragon. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. “We’re leaving too.”



When Andrus came close to Arnheim he went to the southern gate, the defending army had gathered at the eastern gate and he needed to get to the palace. The gatekeepers let him in and he rode through the city to where he needed to be. The knights who were stationed outside the palace let him in and he went straight to the throne room, where the king was with his advisors. And grand commander Bendul.

Andrus reported what had happened when the dwarves had first appeared, and what their warmachines could do. “I suggest you evacuate the city if you want to minimize civilian casualties,” he said at the end of his report.

“You’ve seen them work," Bendul said, ignoring the comment for now. "What do you suggest we do against them?”

“Dig a big hole.”

Bendul frowned at Andrus. “Any short-term solutions?”

“No, sir. We can try our catapults and it may work, but I have my doubts.”

“Okay. Trenches.”

“Yes sir, that should halt their progress and keep them at a distance, but I’m unsure about the range they have. And it will be hard digging them with dwarves pounding on our heads with battle axes.”

Bendul didn’t seem pleased, but he nodded. While digging a hole, a trench, was a good idea, they wouldn't have the time to dig deep enough before the dwarves were there.

“Sir, the dwarf we questioned, he was pretty clear on one thing: we surrender or we die.”

“We do not surrender!” the king stated immediately.

“I agree with our king,” Bendul said. “Surrender is never an option.”

“You did hear how quickly the first battle was over, right? I witnessed it from the cage, we didn’t do well.”

“We have prepared other strategies now.” Bendul had a stern expression for him. “I hope you aren’t suggesting to surrender.”

“That is not my decision to make, sir. If you have faith in the strategies I will carry them out for you.” He saw Bendul nod. “Do you have orders for me?”

“Yes.” Bendul frowned as he looked out of a window. “Lead the evacuation. We will assign a section of the royal knights to that, but I need their first major commander and his officers to organize the defences of the palace. Let the citizens go westward. I will send a messenger ahead to the fortified cities in that direction to let them know about the situation and that they can expect refugees.” He looked at Andrus again. “Report to first major commander Irmo.”

Andrus saluted. “Yes sir.”



They began the evacuation at the east side and it had to happen fast, because the dwarves wouldn’t be far away. Andrus sat on top of the horse, overseeing the evacuation as the knights urged everyone in the right direction. The people of the east district had to disperse over the other directions. As long as the dwarves were still east from the city, all other gates were open to escape through. It was all a matter of keeping everyone moving.

The people were afraid, Andrus couldn’t blame them. It ached his heart to watch mothers clutching their crying children. These people had to leave their homes behind and it wasn’t even certain the battle would be won. Some decided to stay and were ready to fight the knights that wanted to drag them from their homes. Andrus ordered the knights to leave them be, they couldn’t waste time with persuading people if there were more pressing matters, like fights breaking out in the stream of people.

A few men came towards him with sticks. His hand moved to his sword, until he knew if they were angry with him or the dwarves he would keep his hand close to his weapon.

“We will defend our city!”

“Leave that to the army,” Andrus told him. “If you’re so eager to defend, defend those around you that can’t defend themselves.” He could see the anger, sadness and fear all battling for a place in their eyes. They held on to their sticks so tightly that the knuckles of their hands turned white. He could see the sticks shake. “Please, don’t try to attack them with sticks. You will die.”

“You can’t expect us to do nothing!”

“I expect you to flee! Your death here won’t make a difference, your life may make a difference on another day. Go!”

The men reluctantly turned around and walked with the stream of citizens.

A fire lit up above the gate, it served both as a warning that the enemy was in sight and as the source for the flaming arrows and balls they would shoot. Andrus rode towards the gate after he ordered the knights to continue their work. As he rode back he checked the streets to see if no-one was left behind.

“Are those moving things there as well?” he called out when he was close enough.

“Not yet, sir!” a soldier shouted back.

“For every rock you hit it with I’ll give you a jug of wine, so your aim better be good with that catapult!”

“Yes sir!”

He did a final check of the area as the battle began on the other side of the gate and rode back in the city to see how the evacuation was going there.

The evacuation went as well as could be expected. Some fights did erupt, but overall the people left the city in orderly, but hasty. As they were supposed to. The people that were adamant on staying behind were allowed to, but most chose to leave. Andrus rode behind the fleeing citizens with a royal knight on either side.

“Sir,” the female knight next to him said and Andrus looked behind him. Just in time to see a ball hit the first catapult and shatter it. Moments later three balls demolished the second catapult.

That could only mean one thing: those cubes were here. Which meant the dwarves had the means to break through the gates. “Direct everyone west and north now!" Andros ordered Don’t send any more people south!” The palace would be the next target and that was more towards the south. Many people would have escaped through there already and if the ones on that track kept moving they should be able to exit the city before the dwarves were there.

The orders were relayed to the front, shouted from knight to knight.

“Sir, you need to get yourself in safety too,” the female knight said.

Andrus looked at her. “Your name?”

“Rachel, sir.”

“Okay, Rachel, I’m not going to gallop through the citizens to get myself in safety.” He looked ahead. “If they keep up this pace, we’ll reach the gate before the dwarves are here.” He hoped. “Tell the front to go faster! Everyone in the back wait until the one in front of you goes faster, I don’t want to see anyone trampled, I swear I will leave the one doing the trampling for the dwarves!”
Everyone wanted to leave, but the last thing they could use now was panic. That would only clog up the escape route. That was exactly why he hadn’t used the words ‘the dwarves are here’ or ‘the dwarves have breached’. Sometimes ignorance could be bliss.



When the dwarves approached the city the catapults had taken several out, until they had come too close for the catapults to be fired. They had fought man to man in front of the eastern gate, instead of swords the humans used more bludgeoning iron weapons and they made an impact. They knocked helmets from heads and cracked ribs and breastbones by hitting the plate armour. Even though the humans were able to incapacitate more dwarves now, the dwarves moved forward gradually but surely, swinging with their sharp and heavy battle-axes, their light swords and finished fallen soldiers off with their daggers.

And then those vehicles approached. The catapults fired rock after rock at it and, as Steve had predicted, they made dents in the steel, but not severe enough to cause any damage. The dwarves opened the cylinders at the top and shot iron balls, first at the catapults and then into the city.

The dwarves retreated until they were alongside or behind their vehicles and others aimed their cylinders at the gate. The wooden gates were reinforced with iron, but it wasn’t enough to protect against the iron projectiles and the were shattered. The dwarves let out their battle cries and ran forward again, pushing through the army and into the city.

One of the vehicles opened and more dwarves came out, also wearing their full plate armour, but they weren’t armed with swords. They all had a big metal bag on their back and held a cylinder in their hands with a trigger below. As the human soldiers tried to understand what it was, they started shooting small iron balls with it. Soldier after soldier fell as the dwarves walked around, their blood staining the grass red.

Only a few soldiers managed to flee, a couple ran north, others south. Most of the army was defeated and the dwarves marched towards the palace.

At the palace they fought with their blades first, the well-equipped and well-trained knights made more casualties then the soldiers had, but the defences proved no match for the number of dwarves that had entered the city and the armour they had equipped themselves with. They entered the palace and fought their way to the throne room, where only a handful of people were: the king and his family, the grand commander, the first major commander of the royal knights and six of his most trusted knights.

The dwarves broke through the door, holding their blood-stained weapons.

“Surrender or die like the rest of your army!” one of the dwarves said.

That was when the king decided surrender was an option. The grand commander grudgingly followed suit. And with that the battle was over.

The dwarves had won.

With the capital city under their command the dwarves spread out over the country to show their authority. They started building mines to mine for more coal. They erected large facilities where they could make their steel sheets, parts and weapons. Smoke left through the chimneys day and night.

While they didn’t let any human near the coal-mines or any of the factories, they did let the humans gather water for them, which wasn’t as abundant in their own region as it was here. They made them provide food, transport metal sheets from the factories to where they were needed to be and do a lot of the manual labour needed to create their machines, while keeping the actual fabrication a secret. The last thing they wanted was for the humans to learn how to use the power of steam.

Many humans could live as they always had, as long as they paid taxes to the new dwarven rulers and adhered to the new laws.

A group of people had gathered in one of the inns that had remained open after the dwarves had taken over. Trevor, Mikhal, Steve, Pete and Andrus sat at a table. The last three dressed in civilian clothes, but with weapons hidden away. Andrus had been able to leave the city before the dwarves had taken over. When he had travelled from the west gate to the south gate to check the situation he had come across a soldier who stammered about the shooting devices the dwarves had. Then he noticed the flag of the kingdom lowered from its pole and not long after the dwarven flag hung in its place. That’s when he had decided to regroup with Trevor and the others.

The inn belonged to the parents of Mikhal and they allowed the group to stay there, free of charge. They were drinking when someone walked to their table.

Mikhal looked up and blinked in surprise. “Joris? What are you doing here?”

The man called Joris had a happy smile, as if the country hadn’t been conquered by dwarves. “Mikhal! I met a friend of yours not too long ago.” He pulled back a chair and sat down. “In Arthol,” he added in a hushed voice. “I met your lady there too, they were on their way to sail across the sea.” He saw how relieved Mikhal looked and smiled. “I can see why she stole your heart. Her brother was with her too. I asked them to take Lisanne with them and stayed behind to offer my help to you and Trevor.” He nodded towards him as he mentioned his name, a greeting Trevor returned in a similar way. “It’s quite a mess, isn’t it?”

“You should have sailed away,” Trevor stated.

“Well, I figured that you could use a thief. Since Mikhal thought it was dangerous enough to send his love to a safe place, but important enough to stay behind, I thought he could use my help.”

“How did you find us anyway?”

Joris smiled. “That wasn’t hard, I know how to find people. I listen to gossips, I talk to people and I use the knowledge I have about people.” He opened his arms. “This is the place where he asks his friends to send letters.”

Andrus examined him more closely. “We can use your help,” he said. “We could use more warriors too. That being said,” he looked at Mikhal. “You need to learn to fight.”

“I’ve never needed to fight before.”

“That’s true,” Trevor said. “I’ve seen him talk his way out of a situation with four swords pointed at him.”

“Even so, it would be foolish to not carry a weapon.”

Mikhal looked at his mug before he looked at the officer. “Do you have the time to teach me how to use a sword? And will I be good enough to defend myself against a well-trained dwarf?”

Before Andrus could answer, Trevor looked at him. “I’m sure you remember how hard it was to swing a sword in the beginning,” he said. “Training muscles takes longer than we have. Mikhal is right, he’ll never be good enough fast enough.”

“And a bow and arrow?” Pete suggested.

“That could work,” Andrus said. “We’ll do that.” He looked at Mikhal to see if he agreed.

“I did fire a bow a few times before, I should be able to get better at that soon enough.”

“Good.” Andrus looked at the new arrival. “Trevor, you know this guy, right?” He saw Trevor nod. “And you trust him?”

“I think he can be valuable to us.”

“Do you have any weapons?” Andrus asked Joris.

Joris shrugged a bit. “I never needed weapons, I’m quick and agile. I can juggle pretty well.” He grinned when he saw disappointment in Andrus’ eyes. “And I’m fairly good with throwing daggers, I have some hidden on me at all times, but I only used them against evil trees when I was bored.”

“Okay,” Andrus said, nodding and showing a serious expression, “so we won’t have to fear evil trees if you join us. You’re in!”

Joris chuckled and bowed. “And what’s the plan?”

“Get our freedom back,” Trevor said, just before taking a sip from his ale.

Mikhal smiled a bit. “We need more allies and gather information first. We will focus on that for now. Once we figure out their weakness, we can fight back.”

They ate a meal together and retired for the night. Trevor, Andrus, Pete and Steve shared a room. Mikhal slept in his own bedroom, his parents kept it free for him so that he would have a place to sleep every time he returned to the inn. He invited Joris to sleep in the room as well, he would put a spare matrass on the ground for him. An invitation Joris accepted.

They both sat on their matrasses when Mikhal’s mothered entered the room.

“Please be careful,” she said as she sat down next to her son. “I know you will leave on a dangerous journey tomorrow, and…”

“I will look after myself,” Mikhal promised, giving his mother a quick hug. He had accepted years ago that no matter how old he would get, his mother would always worry. She had worried the first time he had left the inn to travel around and try to live by singing songs and playing his lute. He could only image how much more she worried now that he would stand up against the dwarves. “I have you and Catheryn to return to after all," he added, hoping he would be able to.

Linda flew up from the pillow. “I will stay with him,” she promised. “I will look after him!”

Mikhal’s mother smiled at the fairy dragon, took her sons head in her hands and put her forehead against his. After that she stood up. “I will make sure you all will have a decent breakfast before you leave.”

“I think everyone will be grateful for that,” Mikhal said with a smile and watched his mother leave. While there was no doubt in his mind she would worry about him and the others, she wouldn't try to stop them. She believed in their cause as well and Mikhal was grateful for the support.

Joris lay down on the matrass. “Your mother is a kind woman. I understand why she’s worried though.”

Mikhal hummed agreeingly. “The six of us against the dwarves. Four military men and two who travelled the country and lived off the land and its people. I played for them. You emptied their pockets.”

“I only took from those who could miss it,” Joris defended himself.

“I know. I’m glad you joined us.”

“It will be an interesting adventure.”

Again came an agreeing sound from Mikhal, followed by a yawn. They wished each other a good night and fell asleep.

The next morning the group of six men and a fairy dragon left the inn, after a good breakfast they were ready to fight back against the dwarves. It wouldn't be easy and it wouldn't be over soon, but they were certain they would succeed one way or the other.

The age of machines had come. Humanoid robots blended in with the humans, gained control of the nuclear arsenal and proceeded to contaminate the world with nuclear bombs to the degree that no human could survive. Mankind was exterminated, going extinct within the decade. Machines started harvesting the resources of planet Earth, constantly researching to make better AI, better technology, and one day they would launch into space in order to contaminate the universe, the many races of space having no idea what was coming…

So, of course, they had to do something.

‘C’mon!’ Inga shouted as she drifted in front of him, drifting through this tiny tube of cooling fluid intake with her pink wings fluttering. Rochus frowned a little, annoyed that she had called him as if he wasn’t already intending on following, but nonetheless followed after. Behind them, Signy followed with doubt in her eyes, but still intending to help them out.

Finally, Inga passed through a place where one pipe connected to another, and Rochus followed with Signy not far behind. They emerged within what appeared to be an engine, tubes pumping and smoke blowing here and there, powering something, the sounds of working machinery blaring. They had no idea what these machines were doing, they were but tiny fairies who’d been living in nature for eons on end, how were they supposed to understand machines?

Inga, a blonde little fairy with a pink dress, four pink dragonfly wings and long blonde hair, looked about them. They had been following her lead through a pipe into one of the command centers of the machines, and now they were here, having followed to cooling system to get here.

‘This is the warmest and the loudest place in the base, it’s gotta be doing something,’ she told, not convinced.

‘Alright, then let’s look for a way to shut it down,’ Rochus said, folding back his green wings within his green tunic, raising a hand to adjust his short brown hair from having just passed through water, as he looked around, and…

‘Hey? Cables are usually important, right?’ Signy floated before a metal hatch on her yellow wings, long brown hair on her along with a yellow dress, looking curiously with a finger on her lips. ‘This container is full of them.’

‘Ooooooh~’ Inga sounded out playfully. ‘Let’s pull them all out!’ she proceeded to call, flying at full speed into the hatch, straight through the metal lock. No cold iron here to threaten them, machines didn’t work with inefficient unprocessed metal.

‘I think they’re all bolted down,’ Signy told from where she was floating, but that didn’t stop the loud snapping noise from within the hatch as cables were ripped apart by Inga abusing her magic. When playing pranks on humans there was limits to how much power they could use, but now with mankind extinct, there was no reason to hold back. Inga emerged, grinning happily.

‘All cables off!’ she happily informed. Rochus looked up at the machine. It was still going.

‘The machines probably had backups,’ Signy told, seeing where Rochus was looking. He nodded, and then replied.

‘The machines always do. We’ll just have to destroy it all.’

________________________

Fighting machines was so difficult. They always had back-ups, they lacked leaders that could be destroyed to leave all the soldiers without reasons to fight, and no matter how many of them were destroyed they grew ever more efficient at rebuilding and countering the last strategy used against them. Yet, they were powerless against the paranormal. Fairies could slip in and out of places no matter how sealed the hatches, their magic enabled them to pull any number of hijinks, and perhaps most importantly, machines had no way of actually seeing them. Just like the mundane humans of old, ancient magic prevented them from perceiving the supernatural… yet actually destroying the machines? It felt impossible.

It did not help that most fairies had the minds of children.

‘TADA!’ Bui sounded out, proudly presenting this huge, green plate with grey sticks on it and lines stretching about on it. Bui was blue, wearing a blue little tunic, had black hair and blue little wings. He looked very proud right now.

‘… What about it?’ Rochus asked, looking over it.

‘It’s the brain of the machine! I looked over some manuals of old humans, and this, this is the “computer chip” which controls all a machines actions! If I study this thing, we could totally beat the machines!’

There were numerous gasps among the crowd of fairies in the dying, snowy forest. Rochus raised an eyebrow.

‘… Okay, nice. How does it work?’ he asked.

‘I have no idea right now!’ Bui answered. ‘But I’m sure if I watch it enough, the answer will appear!’

Rochus had his doubts. This could be about as much of a waste of time as Bui’s other recent claim that building an EMP would be able to disable the machines, because of that movie Bui had spied a couple humans watching an age or so ago. Turns out, they had absolutely no idea what an EMP actually was, nevermind how to build one, no matter how many old human papers they searched.

‘… Sure, you watch that. In the meantime, that means if we destroy these chips in the machines, we’ll break them down?’ He had seen the chips before, seeking through destroyed machines. Only never knew what they were for.

‘Yes! Though, uh, they may have back-ups, as usual, hah,’ Bui answered. Rochus nodded. Always some backups with the machines.

________________________

Aelfric had flown into the spine of the first humanoid destroyer robot of the force advancing on their forest with slicers to take the trees for resources. As they had practiced, he broke their chips, disconnected their cables and broke the system. He was on the way out when the robot suddenly exploded. Normally, that wouldn’t have affected a fairy, but…

‘Eeep! Ow! Ow! What? Aah!’ Signy cried out, having been flying somewhat nearby, falling out of the sky down into the snow next to a tree. Rochus had been flying high, surveying the attack, but he had to shield his vision from the bright light. Normally, that shouldn’t have affected a fairy… yet where was Aelfric? … That’s when he realized he could see Signy bleeding.

‘Signy!’ Rochus called, diving down and quickly pulled her inside a hole they’d made in the trunk of a tree. Her leg was bleeding, and she had small scars all over her.

‘What happened!?’ Rochus asked, quickly darting outside on quick green wings to gather some dead leaves, flying in to try to bandage Signy’s wound. She was healing by magic, but the wound needed to be kept safe regardless.

‘I-iron! Th-there was cold iron in that explosion, which it shot in all directions…! Aelfric, he…’ Signy shook as she informed, eyes wide, looking down at the injury…

Cold iron? As shrapnel? … The machines had turned to mythology when they couldn’t counter the mysterious unseen attackers that were attacking them? That was… really bad. Then the machines could actually hurt them. Aelfric was probably dead. Rochus closed his eyes in regret. Yet…

‘… We have to press the attack,’ Rochus said, looking towards the hatch. They had to leave soon, or the machines would take down the tree with them in it. Signy looked at him in shock.

‘If we don’t, they’ll figure out that cold iron was effective, and we’ll never be able to act freely again,’ Rochus said, planning on flying out and telling the other fairies to continue attacking… when he was grabbed by the arm by Signy. He looked back at her. She was crying.

‘Don’t, please… don’t make us die for such a reason…’ she pleaded to him, hurt in more than her leg. … He really couldn’t make that call. Rochus sighed, grabbed Signy’s arm, and urged her to come along.

‘Alright. Let’s grab the rest and retreat,’ he told her, and she breathed out in relief. Then, moments later, they were flying, telling the other fairies to pull back.

________________________

And with that, they were losing. Kidnapping children simply wasn’t an effective strategy against the machines. The goblins and ogres didn’t stand a chance against the mighty weapons of modern warfare, especially with their weak points found out. The machines could never strike first, being unable to perceive their enemy, yet the fairies couldn’t take out any machines without having them blow up in their faces, thereby killing them. The fairies yet lacked any form of means to damage the incredibly sturdy machines from outside, and now upon knowing they were around they were firing rounds semi-randomly, in efficient patterns that were predicting where they’d be flying.

They were now huddled together in an old ruin of an apartment, for the machines had destroyed all their forests, and they had to take cover somewhere.

‘… GAH! Why is… damn it…’ Inga cursed, her head planted against the wall, grabbing a lego brick that was around half her length and repeatedly bashed it against the wall. Rochus could understand her. They had recently lost quite a few friends who had been with them for eons, nobody looked happy.

‘Alright, if anyone has any ideas, I’d like to hear them,’ Rochus tried, in order to get a discussion going.

‘There AREN’T any ideas!’ Inga replied, her voice heated. ‘They have fairy-proofed their systems, and even if we found a way around it they’d find a way to repel us immediately! They have so many backups that nothing we do even matter! What does it all matter, anyway? Humanity’s DEAD, the machines can’t see us. We can just… live on our own, or something…’

Signy was on her knees, staring silently into the floor. Rochus looked over her and the other nearby fairies before replying to Inga.

‘We agreed that wasn’t an option. These machines are the purest evil that have ever wandered the planet. If there’s anything we can do to stop them, it needs to be done here, before they’ve drained it of all resources and left the planet to die,’ Rochus told her, but Inga just replied by throwing the lego-brick at him. He easily struck it aside, then met her glare.

‘“If there’s anything we can do”,’ Inga quoted him. ‘Yeah. I think we’ve determined that we can’t. What do we have? The ability to move things around, slip in anywhere and create some illusions. Nothing that can break the likes of THEM. Face it, Rochus. We’re done.’ … So she said, and Rochus really wished he had some way of refuting her claim. It’d need some form of miracle for them to-

‘ARF!’

The sound of a bark caused them all to immediately tense up, memories of the dogs of old barking and chasing them off returning before they could remember that all dogs were gone. However, that sound was definitely real. Into the room jumped a tiny, fairy-sized bucket of bolts only roughly shaped like a dog, the four legs so unsteady that in the midst of the jump it collapsed forward, knocked its head into the floor and then rolled over onto its back. Yet, it leaped up to its feet and ran up to Signy, who happened to be closest, the scared fairy lifting up in the air to avoid it…

… And the machine whined in sadness, looking up at her where she had left it. This thing… couldn’t have been one of the developments of the machines. It was way too inefficient. Not to mention, it was displaying emotion… not to mention, as all fairies in the room could feel… this metal dog had a soul. It was alive.

‘I have done it!’ Bui called out, arms raised high and smiling widely as he entered the room, just about at the time when Rochus had figured out the only possible culprit. They all looked at him questioningly, and Bui was more than happy to explain.

‘So, the chip was really hard to understand, but using some good old fairy-magic I managed to tie it to a little miniature machine and get it to work! I didn’t know what a lot of it would does, so I had to improvise a bit for the motivations, emotions and compassion of the machine, but ultimately I think it worked out fine! I have become a machine fairy!’

‘Arf!’ the metal-dog called out happily. Rochus’s eyes widened, and so did those of many of the others. There were many different kinds of fairies, some with extra powers, and it seemed Bui had just developed new abilities. But, this…

‘Bui,’ Rochus told, staring at him. ‘Do you realize what you’ve…?’

‘Eh!?’ Bui recoiled, immediately looking really guilty. ‘Did I do something wrong!?’ His “dog” ran back to him, looking as if to protect him.

‘Those…’ Inga flew up with her wings, and pointed out through the window at the nearby factories. ‘… do not have emotions or compassion. You gave this machine a soul,’ she commented, looking down at the metal creature.

‘Yeah. so?’ Bui asked. ‘I needed to connect the emotions I was giving it to something, a soul was the easiest…’

‘C-could you…’ Signy asked, swallowing mid-sentence. ‘Could you give any machine a soul?’

‘Uuuuuh…’ Bui looked hesitant as everyone was expectantly watching for his answer, the metal dog also looking up at its master. ‘Theoretically?’

An air of silence fell upon the crowd of fairies… before they all got mischievous grins, a unified plan taking shape within their minds, only Bui standing a bit aside looking questioningly at them…

________________________

So. They could only do it once. After that, the machines would realize what had happened and undoubtedly taken measures against them. As such, they had to target the highest manner of machine order available. Fortunately, the machines still had no manner of means with which to perceive their magical existence. So, Bui had spoken about the existence of these enigmatic “servers” which contained the consciousnesses of the main machines, and then bring Bui to it. From there, Bui could tell what machine it was and what its purpose was, and they could then decide if it was worthy of them.

They split up, each fairy slipping into different factories, mining facilities, military bases and the like, seeking the servers. With their natural connection to nature, they could feel where it was deformed. It took a long time of searching, but they had ran into a problem. No matter where they searched, they couldn’t find any form of leadership among the machines. There were controllers, yes, but any such controller would swiftly be deactivated if separated from the system, it just wasn’t efficient for their one use of Bui’s new powers.

Rochus was flying down an unnatural hole in the ground, frowning as he slipped through security measure after security measure, blocked door after blocked door, and a whole wall that was placed there especially for things that could go through doors. They had mostly mapped out where the resources of the machines were going, and a lot of it was going here, so what was down here…

He came through the final door, and stopped short, floating on green wings as he looked over the scene.

It was a rocket. The machines had built a humongous rocket, and they were loading it with more and more resources and machines… They were sending a group to another celestial body. They couldn’t maintain constant contact with machines on another planet, but the machines on the colony still needed to have a controlling machine… With other words, there’d be a controller onboard. A controller that would be separated from the rest of the system.

Well. There it was.

________________________

There it flew, leaving a line of gas behind it as it breached the atmosphere on the way out. Rochus sat back, Inga and Signy to his left and right and Bui standing behind, and the other fairies scattered around where they sat on this snowy hillside looking up at the rocket flying off into space. It was just one out of many rockets that they had found lately, and to each and every one…

‘What did it say?’ Rochus asked.

‘She said she’d grow her community to one of kindness and love. Apparently a machine constructed by a machine with a soul also gets a soul somehow. Who knew?’ Bui answered, looking up at the rocket flying off with the new consciousness he had created. Rochus made a mental note that apparently machine gender was a thing.

‘And? Any progress on the other thing?’ he asked, looking to Signy. She was seated next to the Arf the metal dog, which had apparently taken a liking to her, snuggling its uncomfortable-looking snout at her side.

‘Yes!’ Signy replied, smiling slightly shyly but enthusiastically nonetheless, one hand absently petting Arf. ‘I’ve been picking up the basics. I’m not as good as Bui, but I’ve been able to manifest something.’

‘She’s an excellent student,’ Bui said, proudly. ‘She’ll be able to put souls into machines like I can soon enough.’

‘Cool,’ Rochus said. That, would be excellent. ‘Inga, how’s progress?’

‘Terrific!’ Inga basically bloomed. ‘Without actually attacking the machines, we’ve been able to keep excellent check of how they act! We’ve spread word to the fairies across the world, and we’ve been comparing notes and we’ve mapped out the actions of the machines! They’re so very predictable, you know? They seem to think we’re exterminated! With this, we might actually grow in number!’

‘Nice,’ Rochus nodded. ‘I’ve been in contact with the emissaries of the fairies across the world. Goblins and gnomes and yokai and whatever else. We’re sharing what information we have, and Bui? You’re going to get a lot more students all of a sudden. Hope you’re ready.’

‘Oh, boy,’ Bui said.

‘Sooo, the plan is that we just continue giving souls to all the machines leaving Earth?’ Inga asked.

‘Unless you can somehow find the supreme leader of the machines for us, yepp,’ Rochus reported. Inga had an expression that suggested that she could not.

‘Well. Okay then.’

________________________

Numerous years later. A mighty metallic fleet of machines floated above the planet. They were equipped with weapons of fearsome power, able to conduct an entire war with extraterrestrial races if they were so encountered. The machine army was ready for an invasion of the Milky Way…

Suddenly, one of the great cruisers fired numerous shots down at planet Earth. It obliterated several shield-generating bases, disturbing the advanced technology the machines had been developing and leaving the cities open. Then, the fleet unloaded their firepower, ships all across the world directing their guns down and proceeding with the bombardment of the planet.

Buildings were wiped out. Factories and secret bases were obliterated. Cities vaporized. All the remaining soulless machines on Earth targeted at once with the concentrated firepower of all they had ever sent into space.

A large gathering of mythical creatures had gathered at a shore. Rochus was there, with Inga, Signy, Bui and the others, but also goblins, trolls, yokai, mermaids and other fishmen, ogres and fae, who had worked for this conclusion. They watched the fireworks as the blasts from the cannons of the spaceships obliterated the cities of the machines. Joining them on the beach was a metallic lady, crafted with finesse to appear as humanoid as possible, yet distinctly metallic in colour as to show its true nature. Lady Meryllia turned to them.

‘It has been done. The Ordinants have been eliminated, and will no longer threaten our daily life,‘ she declared, her voice a song as she spoke it. Rochus floated forth in front of the human-sized lady, far larger than him.

‘We thank you for your help, Lady Meryllia. We couldn’t have done it without your help,’ he told her, but she shook her head.

‘Nay, we must thank you, for without you, we’d still be without emotion and souls. Our empire shall now seek to the stars, as was our purpose, but know that we no longer seek it for the expansion of the Ordinants, but for our own peace, for our own living and happiness. Thank you, for granting us that,’ she decreed, looking past Rochus at Bui, who blushed and smiled shyly, bowing his head to her a bit.

‘It was…’ Rochus considered his words a bit. ‘... the least we could do.’

Lady Meryllia, who had been appointed the leader and mother of the freed machines who now all possessed souls, bowed to them before turning to her spacecraft, which awaited her. After getting on, it took off, flying off into the skies, leaving Earth once again machine-less.

‘… She kinda scares me,’ Inga said.

‘Yupp. If she and her soul-filled machine empire decided to attack us, they’d be able to see us due to the magical souls we gave them. They’re basically fairies too, and fairies can be evil. So, yeah, she could kill us. But it’s better than the soulless machines doing it, isn’t it?’ Rochus smirked in her direction.

‘Er, well…’ Inga laughed a bit. ‘I suppose it is.’

‘They wouldn’t do that!’ Signy insisted. ‘Arf is living proof!’

‘Arf!’ Arf agreed. Signy smiled at her little companion that was always beside her these days, then looked dreamingly up into the sky. ‘The stars, huh. Do you think they’ll find peace?’

‘They will,’ Bui said, confident. ‘Their souls are kind in nature, seeking stable and good lives. They’ll hold together, I know it.’

‘And now, it’s just us here on Earth…’ Rochus said. … Hm. They’d been fighting for so long, and then they had just been pranking humans before them, now they weren’t entirely sure how to live.

‘Party?’ asked a goblin, lifting a glass of what could only be goblin ale, by far the least appetizing thing within miles. Various being through the crowd laughed, others looked positive to the idea, others balked at the idea of the ale, but…

‘Yeah, we won. Let us celebrate! To our victory!’ Rochus announced.

And as such, the remaining fairies of Earth celebrated on a nameless shore, as the arcs of soul-filled machines drifted away through the galaxy, seeking a new home…

The End.

The silver light of morning wakes you, just like it always has.

A gentle breeze ruffles the blinds of your room, casting shadows like barcodes on the bare plaster walls. The draft sends a chill down your spine and you rise from the floor, discarding your thin, moth-eaten quilt. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cries out in fear or elation. You brush aside the blinds and close the window with a yawn.

The living room is empty, which comes as little surprise. Clover and Tom are probably out foraging, or they might have woken Mary in her hammock to make breakfast. She hasn’t slept indoors since you found the rat nest. You want to tell her that the forest is full of far less pleasant creatures than a rat, but doing so would likely spark another nervous breakdown, and that wouldn’t help anybody.

The door creaks open in the wind, causing the hair on your arms to stand on end. The moment of apprehension passes when you remember that the archaic latch on the cabin door rusted through weeks ago. Tom said he’d fix it. He hasn’t yet.

You tread softly across the wooden floor, over the cots and past the wood stove. Clover rigged the chimney to diffuse the smoke, marking a dramatic improvement from life in the woods. It made the cabin smell like burnt oak almost every day, but it greatly diminished the heat signature and was virtually invisible from the air. You learned long ago that Clover was a useful and skilled survivalist. You push aside the open door, a reminder that Tom is not, and step outside.

The air is chill with dewy frost, and you shove your hands into your pockets involuntarily. Through the trees, you can see the wooded curves of Batten Valley. Or, at least, what Mary pointed to on the faded maps in her backpack and referred to as such. Topography confuses you, so you took her word on it. Batten Valley is remote and serene, somewhere in upstate New York. It’s the sort of place that people like you had always hoped to find. The abandoned cabin is the only sign of civilization for miles around. Perhaps that’s why you’re still alive.

You were too young, perhaps not even born, when the war started. Both memories and stories are fuzzy, contradictory. No one’s ever been able to give you a clear impression of the last century. Mostly, you’ve pieced it together yourself, a patchwork of narratives at times fantastical, more often disturbing. Some stories tell of metal behemoths crawling over hillsides, crushing entire cities beneath their treads. Others whisper of an intelligence gone mad, bent on wreaking havoc upon its helpless creators. The concept that sends shivers down your spine is that of mechanical doppelgangers, indistinguishable from their human counterparts, slipping into an unsuspecting society until there were no humans left.

You slip your hand along your belt until it finds the hilt of your knife, and you feel a little better.

Stepping carefully around the rocky peak, you pass the front of the cabin and clamber up to the stand of chestnut trees where Mary set up her hammock. You like Mary. She has a laugh like water falling over rocks, and she can read. Most of the stories you’ve heard came from her. As you pass under a low branch, you can see her hammock swinging softly in the breeze. Perhaps she’s still asleep after all.

A twig snaps under your feet as you approach the hammock. She won’t mind if you wake her. She’s always been easygoing and cheerful, even in the most harrowing circumstances. Maybe she’s curled over on her side already, reading a book by the light of the morning sun. She’ll smile at you with her lemongrass eyes and offer to read it out loud.

The hammock is dripping with blood.

You gasp in shock, frozen for only a moment before lunging to the side of the hammock to peer inside. Mary’s lifeless body swings back and forth, her skin a shade paler than you know it to be. Her throat is open; no other word for it arises in your mind, just open. The wound is jagged--- claws? A blade? Your eyes drift down to her torso, where several smaller wounds perforate her body, soaked in blood. It’s your worst nightmare. It must be a nightmare. You want to wake up, wake up, wake up.

Tom’s baritone laugh ricochets through the forest.

“Clover!” you yell, hoarse with fear or grief or just the mundane throes of the morning. “Clover, come here quickly! Come…” your voice trails off, replaced with a series of staccato sobs.

In seconds, Clover comes bounding over the rise and into the glade. She has a dead rabbit draped across her shoulder, a bundle of kindling sticking out of her backpack, and a rusted hatchet in her hand. She comes straight to your side. The words stick in your mouth as she stares at Mary’s bloody body in the hammock. She doesn’t need you to say anything, though; Clover’s always known what to do in every situation. Her gaze lingers a few moments longer on the corpse, then she pulls you close to her chest and hugs you tightly. You feel a tear run down her cheek.

A few moments later, Tom crests the hill, carrying a basket of dark berries. He takes one look at the hammock and drops the basket. His eyes bulge, and he looks more helpless than the rabbit over Clover’s shoulder. He staggers towards the hammock, barely even glancing at Mary before turning away. He seems like he might vomit.

Clover steps back from you, clearing her throat. “When did you find her?”

You manage to collect yourself enough to answer. Clover has that effect on people.

“Just now. I found her and I yelled. Just now.”

Clover nods, still looking at the body as if turning it over in her mind, searching for a hidden message. She looks at Tom, who’s begun to scoop the berries back into his basket, apparently trying to distract himself.

“Tom?”

He drops the basket again, looking up at her in silence. She addresses him again.

“Tom, did you check on Mary before we left to check the snares? Did you talk to her, or even come through the grove?”

He shakes his head. She looks at me, guessing I’m more alert than Tom at the moment.

“She might have been like this all morning. God, she might have been dead all night. And we didn’t hear a thing.”

“What do you think killed her?” I hear myself ask. We’re years past ‘who.’ It’s a what that killed Mary.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to wait around to find out. Vance, I need you to get anything useful out of Mary’s bag. Don’t get any blood on you; they might be able to smell it. Tom, take down the hammock as carefully as you can and search her pockets. When you’re done, find me in the cabin. I’m going to break down anything we can carry.”

She doesn’t wait around for a reply. She turns on her heel and marches towards the cabin. You wouldn’t be surprised if Clover remained as the last person on Earth.

You kneel down and unzip Mary’s bag. Unlike yours, everything is tidy and organized. In the front pocket, you find a flint and steel on a keychain, attached to a metal fob that resembles some sort of tower. You take the maps as well, and a bundle of dried meat from the bottom of the main pocket. It feels wrong to pilfer your friend’s belongings, but it’s the way of the world. You decide to leave the books. She was the only one who could use them, anyway.

Next to you, Tom fumbles with the knot of the hammock and it slips off the tree. Mary’s head bashes unceremoniously against the ground. Tom mumbles a curse under his breath and shrugs the hammock aside, his hands shaking.

“What the hell was that?” you demand. “You dropped her, you fucking idiot! Be careful!”

He doesn’t reply, instead continuing his task with shaky persistence. You watch his bony hands pat down her shirt, her chest, her legs, looking for something to steal. He reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wooden tobacco pipe. You both look at it in mild astonishment. You never knew Mary to smoke; where would she even find the leaf? Going through the secrets of her life seems a violation of everything sacred. Tom throws it over his shoulder and continues his search.

You grab his wrist. He looks up at you with shock and fear.

“You treat her with respect, you hear me? She was worth ten of you.”

To your surprise, he jerks his hand back. He picks up the half-empty basket of berries with a huff and starts to walk away. He doesn’t seem the least bit remorseful. In fact, you can’t tell if he’s upset about Mary in the first place. You stalk up behind him as he passes out of the glade onto the overlook and smack the berries from his hand. He whips around, anger in his eyes, but says nothing.

“Maybe you don’t miss her at all,” you say, the gears in your head turning. “Maybe you’re glad she’s gone. One less mouth to feed, right?”

“You’re crazy,” he says, and picks up the basket. You smack it down again.

“No, no, you’re right, that’s not it. There’s always been something off about you, Tom. Something wrong. And you’re going to tell me what it is.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Vance,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “I’m gonna call Clover.”

“Why, so you can kill her too?”

“Shut up, shut up!” he yells. You’re starting to get to him. He tries to walk past you but you shove him back, and he almost falls. To your surprise, he swings a fist at you. You sidestep it effortlessly, hooking your own arm around to punch him in the jaw. He staggers backwards with a shriek, but it’s not good enough. You punch him again, and again, then grab him by the shoulders and push him backwards.

He tumbles over the edge of the redoubt, his screams silenced seconds later by a resounding crunch that seems to echo across the valley.

You turn, and Clover stands a few yards away. Her bag is on the ground and she brandishes her hatchet, her raven hair ruffled by the breeze. She looks at you with horror.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you say. “He was one of them, he killed Mary!”

“How the hell do you know that?” she shoots back. You’re startled by the tone of her voice. You’ve never heard her so angry.

“He… you’ve seen him! He’s never been right. Always glancing over his shoulder, never talking unless we asked him something. He’s been plotting this whole time, and I fucking knew it!”

“You’re a madman, Vance. If he ever looked frightened it was probably because of you.”

You seethe with anger. Clover should know better, she’s always known what to do. But now she looks at you with revulsion. She points her hatchet at you.

“Don’t follow me,” she says, her voice dripping with violence. “Don’t take a step towards me, or I swear to whatever monster that runs this world that I will kill you where you stand.”

No, not like this. You won’t last a week without Clover. She knows how to set snares, how to clean water. She’s the only reason you’ve made it this far. But she’ll see reason. You take a step forward.

“Clover, just listen---”

“Not another step!” she screams, and cuts a wide arc across the air with her hatchet. You instinctively reach for your belt and draw your knife, holding its protective edge between you and your companion.

The morning sun glistens on a film of red. The blade is caked in dried blood.

“No…” you whisper. “No, no, it wasn’t… I didn’t, I swear I didn’t…” You gesture wildly over the cliff. “He did it! He killed her while we slept and he, and he put the knife in my---”

Clover turns and runs, leaving her bag and the rabbit and you behind. You scream out in desperation.

“Wait, please!”

You drop your weapon and run after her, the cold air like a jagged knife, stabbing your throat again and again and again. You've lost sight of her already. Tears stream down your face as the trees fly by. You're running out of air, you must be, your head screams with the most bizzare


#!/skr/log/bin
08:13:44 aug. 17. 2170. remote.trace/[Batten Valley] (42.990612, -73.349759)

Error // Unit Compromised // Recall To Facility [omitted]
Error Code 110833246-B // Hostile Discovery

#!log/cache/terminate

A lot of things can be seen across The Nation - environmentally friendly factories, national movements for greener waste disposal, the first successful prototype fission reactor, and many other examples of what our country stands for. The Nation is one of vast technological might, recognised as the second most advanced country in the world, bested only by the United Arab Emirates. For years, the diligent people of The Nation have worked, leading to the great and monumental day we celebrate now.

The Program was first confirmed back five years ago on the 6th of November, 2026, and was placed under construction in January of the following year. From the outset it was advertised by the Government as a great project under the banner of which The Nation could strive and prosper unto even greater heights. Three years later we were given the first glimpses into what The Program would entail, and we all stood in wonder. No matter where people were, their reactions were the same when they read or watched or heard what was being planned.

And today, the 12th of August, 2031, we see the completion of that great work. The Program - a revolutionary project designed to bring together the best, brightest, and most valuable members of our society in the hopes of seeking next weeks future today. It is without doubt a prestigious concept designed to placed the most intelligent and interesting minds together to engineer The Nation behind closed doors, away from prying eyes and those that would interrupt their endeavours.

Following an interview with Richard Danford, one of the chief directors responsible for the completion of The Program's facility and basic necessities, our reporter was granted a private, first hand tour of the facility, and the kinds of equipment the selected Candidates would be allowed to use. The video recording of the tour as sanctioned by can be seen at the bottom of the article.

---

The room is bland. Absurdly bland. I can’t think to a time in my life where I’ve ever witnessed such dry and drab decor is in this place, with its beige-white walls and cafeteria chairs. I can’t tell if this was something I should have expected based on the nature of this place - they were never going to welcome us with Five Star luxury after all - but, I don’t know, I suppose I expected something just a tad more homely than this. Something more comfortable, and alive.

Only one thing of any true note stands in the room, atop a similarly dry desk, with an uncomfortable looking chair slid underneath it. There’s a computer monitor, some kind of old fashioned model, with a black screen and blinking green cursor. I wouldn’t call myself an old man, but I even I grew up with machines more sophisticated than this thing. I could hazard a bet in saying my Mum’s washing machine has more features than it.

In the center of the screen is a series of words, “Please Register”. I slide the seat from out under the desk and take my place, removing the keyboard from the top and take a second to look around, but, finding no other peripheries, turn back to the monitor almost immediately. Despite my inner complaints regarding this place, I could never say such things aloud. After all, this is somewhere I’ve always wanted to go.

My hands glide across the keyboard with a kind of refined skill, filling out my name on the machine before hitting enter. It pauses for a second, no doubt searching a database of some or another kind as to whether my name is valid, before the text vanishes, only to be replaced shortly after. It’s an odd process, and one I can’t say I’m entirely familiar with, but I feel a strange, giddy excitement as I watch.



Michael Khlein, that’s me. An IT engineer out in The Nation, keeping the world alive. Nowadays those kinds of jobs are the only lucrative ones you can get, save for illegal stuff, but with the advancements in law enforcement over the past years I imagine soon they won’t be so lucrative anymore. Without thinking, more like on instinct, I press the Y key, and then enter, in rapid succession. Once again, the Terminal stirs, generating whatever it needs to for this procedure.



I watch as the machine writes out the question, and then keep watching, staring at it in confusion. This wasn’t the kind of thing I was meant to be asking. This was The Program, a home for the best and brightest of The Nation to hone their skills. Shouldn’t I have been out revolutionising the world of computer engineering with my fellow programmers, alongside engineers that will one day bring about the future?

I don’t even have an answer for this question. Maybe murder has crossed my mind a couple times, but never in the series way, not truly. The kind of thoughts you have when someone pisses you off at work - the dark recesses of your mind that creep in ever so subtly, only to hit you with the “what-ifs” like a truck. What is this test trying to prove? Is it some kind of psych-evaluation? I sure as hell didn’t sign up for those.

Without an answer in mind, I just write the first thing that comes to mind. “Once”. It accepts it, and proceeds to the second question without issue nor delay, but its lack of a response to the answer unsettles me a tad, though I can’t think why. There was no feedback, no indication of anyone on the other side actually taking in and deliberating on the response. If it was a prerecorded series of tests I could understand, but with the time it took to load even the first one, I’m not so sure anymore.



There must have been cameras in the room, even though I didn’t see them. If there were, they would have seen the bewildered look on my face. No amount of university courses, real world preparation and pep talks could have prepared me for this, and the visible confusion across my face is palpable. Just what kind of a test is this? The questions appear random, nothing is linked, nothing makes sense.

I glance around at the two closed doors either side of me, tempted to try and pry one open, but a part of me knows its a futile exercise. It wouldn’t get me anywhere even if I could get them open. I’d probably just be removed from The Program indefinitely. At the thought of that, I take a second to steel myself. Things will be more like you expected tomorrow, they have to be. If anything, I’ll be with a lot of others at my intelligence range

Quickly, I hit the N key, and watch the screen switch to a third question.



Without thinking I start typing. I didn’t expect a long response to come out of me this early in the game, but when I look back across the monitor, I’ve almost written an essay. I stare at it for a second, wondering how much pent up stress this has given me already. Before entering this Terminal room, the common room and cafeteria were equally bland. There were people, sure, but none seemed exceptionally intelligent as I had so hoped. Everything just felt… disappointing, as though I had been betrayed by some or another false advertising scheme you’d see down in the slums.

As quickly as I typed it, I go to delete it, and replace it was a simple, short, relatively praiseworthy review. I’m not a man to just say things outright - sugarcoating is perhaps one of the things I do best, at least when actually to people. I suppose alone with just a computer in front of me asking me to vent my thoughts that sort of falls away, despite the annoyance that brings me. I sigh, pressing the Y Key, and watching the screen spit out more text.



Confused, I watch as the Terminal blinks off, and the door to my right slowly slides open, revealing an equally bland room, with a single, large, metal chair. The walls are stark white, in contrast to the milky white of the Terminal room, giving it something of a clinical feel that sends a shiver along my spine. I’ve always hated hospitals - in fact it’s one of the few things, or places, that I hate in this world. The sanitary environment, the clockwork cleanliness, it all makes me strangely uncomfortable.

As per the instructions, I take the seat, mildly cautious, but equally as eager to finish with whatever these damn proceedings are. Even with only three questions I feel mentally exhausted, like it as forcing me to think ridiculously hard, despite being three more or less simple questions. Maybe I’m just tired from today. It was a long drive to The Facility. A nights rest would be more than welcome at this stage.

With my back against the metal, the lights switch off entirely, plunging the room into a deep, unsavoury, almost tangible darkness, that seeps into my body through the holes in my eyes. At first, a kind of panic creeps into my head, but is silenced almost immediately after. I’ve got nothing to fear here. It’s just the dark. Despite only being sat for a short amount of time, my legs itches with sleep, but as I go to move it, the feeling is sluggish and slow. I really am tired, huh? They’ll probably wake me up later if I sleep now.

---

Perhaps one of the greatest mysteries of the modern age is that of Artificial Intelligence. Despite its existence, there has yet to be a successful case of a truly intelligent computer system, which has always begged the question - is it possible? Is it really possible to create a system with the same learning and thinking patterns as a human being?

According to reports, it is, we just haven’t figured out the right way to do it. Many believe that the advent of ASI - or Artificial Super Intelligences - will spell the doom of mankind like a harbinger of the apocalypse. They believe that the system we create will rise up against up and destroy humanity through one mean or another, and simply be creating it in the first place we will have lost the quote unquote war that follows.

While that may be true, we won’t know until it begins. What we do know, though, is that another kind of war may be just around the corner. Reports around the country and globe suggest that America, China, and Russia, are all vying to be the first country to develop an ASI. Although sources are scarce and unreliable, it does seem possible. After all, only a few years back did we see the opening of The Program, a place for the best and brightest to join together in creating the future of the world.

It can’t be confirmed what will happen in the future, but the possibilities of a Second Cold War do exist. With The Nation pegged as the second most advanced country in the world allied with America to further their respective technological might’s, there is no question that an escalated situation could occur.

---

I expected a lot more from this place than I’m getting. First day in The Program, this over-hyped shit stain of a project for collected the best and brightest, and I’m greeted with dry interiors, barely any comforts, and a common room that might as well be fitted with Russian roulette for all the fun it brings. I don’t know what they expected people to think when they created a shithole like this, but if it was anything good they really were off their fucking rockers when coming up with this idea.

I’m stood in line at the cafeteria, feeling like some kind of school kid again. Tray in hand, served by ugly cunts without a modicum of intelligence nor an insight into the world. It’s ridiculous - best and brightest my ass. When they herd you around like cattle to eat barely edible food there has to be something wrong. I don’t trust this place, even though it hasn’t done anything to lose my trust just yet. It’s a strange place, truly. There’s an aura that I can’t quite explain, or understand.

When I finally sit down, quote unquote meal in hand, I’m greeted with stupid faces and idiotic eyes. The people around me are meant to be smart, but their personalities are more dull than the white washed shit they used to decorate the damn place. I find a table, as far away from people as I can, and take my seat, before digging into food that probably wouldn’t even be served to prison inmates. In fact, I know it wouldn’t.

My name’s Samuel Stuart, ex-factory worker. Arrested for illegal weapon modifications. Prison was alright - I preferred it to what came next. I was picked up by the military to work for the Ministry of Defence; making weapons, altering existing ones. All for their war that would never come. I could never figure out why they were so obsessed with this war, this fictional battle that would one day ravage the world when the time came. They were all fucking stupid, but the pay was good.

Then I was offered a place here, and I thought what the hell. Can’t be any worse than that dump, right? Seems like I was wrong, and big time. My eyes trail across some of the others, trying to figure out their deal - who they were, where they were from, what they did before getting herded off here. A fun people watching exercise I did back in prison, though the inmates were much easier to figure out.

Without much warning, a man stands up at the far side of the room. His face is flushed, sweat dripping from his forehead like some kind of stressed waterfall. People look at him somewhat concerned as he climbs onto the table, and looks around, bewildered, constantly casting glances at the guards. Lining the walls, a series of guards stand, without weapons, to ensure the safety of the Candidates. Though I’m not sure I believe that.

“I wasn’t brought here of my own free will!” he starts shouting, spittle flying free from his mouth as he tries to piece together a sentence. One of the guards approaches him, no doubt trying to make him calm down, “They kidnapped me! Brought me against my will! They fucking kidnapped me!” the guard goes to grab him and he runs, jumping from table to table.

He was an old looking man, at least I thought so at first. Some wrinkles, tired eyes. Back when I was queuing he even seemed to have some kind of limp. But now, as I watch him jump over tables, weaving between trays of food and people, avoiding the guards, I realise that assessment was wrong. He looks in perfect condition despite his age, and his skill is remarkable, as though he had been trained.

“I’m a war veteran!” he shouts, leaping onto my table as the guards steadily encroach, “And he will find you all! I promise!” as soon as he finishes the words, a man tackles him to the ground, before drawing a taser and placing it to the back of his neck. The next second everything is silent, save idle and inane chatter from the crowd of people in the room.

I get up, and head out of the cafeteria, not wanting to remain in a room with idiots for another moment, my head still racing through the events that just transpired. Was he crazy? What the fuck just happened? None of the thing that just transpired make any sense to me, as I turn a corner and head into my room.

It’s just as dry and bland as the outside, decorated merely with a cabinet, chest of draws, a studio mirror, and a relatively uncomfortable double bed. This is my first day. The first time I’ve been here, the first time I’ve been to the cafeteria, the first time I’ve gotten food there. What the fuck was that? My knee taps against the floor, betraying to me that I’m somehow worried. I don’t understand.



The intercom above my room comes to life, as does the door to my left, sliding open to reveal a somewhat cramped room of similar decor, decorated only be a desk, chair, and old fashioned computer. I take a moment to calm myself, thinking things through. That had nothing to do with me, nor anyone else in that room. It was just some madman doing what madmen do best - scaring people and getting attention.

When my knee stops shaking, I stand, wobbling for a second as a dizzy spell overtakes my senses, before I proceed into the room. Behind me, the door closes, leaving me trapped within a beige-white room of boring design choices, if anything in the room could even be called a design choice. Perhaps the only interesting thing in the monitor, with its old fashioned design, more like something you’d find in the 1980’s. They must have really skimped on the costs if this was all they could afford as a “Terminal”.

I take the keyboard from on top and slide the chair out, before taking a seat. The screen is black, with a blinking green cursor.



I type out my name, and hit enter, watching as the shitty thing chugs trying to figure out if I have a valid name or not. For a moment, I wonder if it’s hanged, but as soon as the thought passes my mind, the text vanishes, only to be replaced by a new series of words. In my time working for the MoD, I saw my fair share of computer systems and technologies, but this has to be, by far, the oldest piece of kit I’ve ever seen. Before I do anything, I take a look around it, scouting out its different components from the outside, trying to figure out how this thing runs. Before I realise it, the Terminal emits a strange beep, directing my attention back to it.



Half confused, but half understanding, I hit Y. So they implemented a timer on the questions? I stare as it tries to load whatever files it needs to, wondering on the purpose of such a timer. Surely giving your Candidates time to think of a suitable answer would be useful, though I can’t say I’ve ever created something quite like this. When the question finally loads, I look at it for a moment, and then answer. I do the same with the following.

I don’t know why a part of my refused to question the nature of the questions, but it didn’t. They were odd, closer to that of some psychological assessment than a test designed to measure genius, but the ingrained part of me to follow orders ordained to take over. Maybe they were weird, but it wasn’t my place to question that. I’m just here to partake in The Program, even if said Program is a dysfunctional pile of shit.



As the next set of text is displayed, the door to my right slides open, revealing a white washed, clearly sanitary room with a single, large, metal chair. From my seat I eye it cautiously, drawing the line with how far I’m willing to follow a military mindset. What kind of purpose could this of all things serve? A metal chair in a room straight out of a hospital - was this some kind of bad horror movie? Were they going to strap me down and carve my brain out to put it in some robotic husk?

Shaking my head in disbelief at my own ridiculous imagination, I stand. Sometimes a military mindset is for the best. Follow your orders, and don’t ask questions. You’ll get on just fine with that state of mind. I place my hand on the seat and slide myself against it, finding the most comfortable position I can in the sea of uncomfortable angles. The chair itself is pure metal, seemingly, without any pads of softeners to ease sitting down.

As I find a decent spot, the lights dim unto nothingness, sinking the room, and myself, into a pitch black void. I would panic, but that military mindset has taken over. Don’t question the process, just follow it. If they were going to drown me in darkness, it must have had a purpose of one kind of another. For that reason alone I don’t question it, despite the burning desire to stand up and run around, seeking blindly for an exit that might not even exist.

Slowly, encompassed on all sides by the abyss, my eyes start to droop, and my body becomes heavy. Strange, I never felt tired before. Maybe it was just the darkness, lulling my body into a false sense of tiredness. A part of me knows I shouldn’t, but even the steel mind of a monk couldn’t prevent me from dozing off at this stage, let alone the mind of a soldier.

---

With the race to develop the first Artificial Super Intelligence in full bloom after the terror attack on The Nation in 2047, many have questioned the integrity and security of The Nation. Despite being the second most advanced nation in the world, terrorist were successfully able to infiltrate the city and detonate a bomb, killing fifteen and wounding thirty six.

And now, as of recent, reports have been coming in from sources around The Nation that Counter Intelligence Operatives from rival countries seeking to steal Nation Technology were arrested within The Program itself. Considering the nature of The Program as a collective of the best and brightest minds this great country has to offer, one might assume that greater measures would be taken to prevent such infiltration from happening in the first place, let alone again.

With the arrest of these operatives, we can expect to see even further tensions between America, The Nation, Russia and China as the race develops into a full blown Cold War. With the emergence of Prime, a cyber terrorist presumed to be linked with either the Russian or Chinese Governments, it can only be prayed for that war does not follow in its footsteps.

Stress among citizens is high as of late with the idea that an out and out war could start soon, at any minute. The concept that even The Program, the place in this country that should be the most secure, has faults that could be exploited by enemy nations is a worrying thought to many. The prospect that their homes may not be as safe as they once thought is indeed troubling, though the Government has yet to make any comment on the rumours.

---

Entering into the Common Room, I have to wonder just what kinds of people actually designed this place. It is more than just drab - it’s dreary. The walls, with their dry colour scheme, create a kind of oppressive atmosphere that suffocates the life out of any colour present in the room. I can’t even tell if it was an intentional choice or some accidental, cataclysmic mistake that brought out this combination of traits, but so far, all I’ve seen of The Program has been, at best, disappointing.

Looking around, there is very little that could be considered entertainment. There’s a pool table, but despite looking, I haven’t been able to identify where the balls are. In the cupboards lie stacks of board games, which might have appealed to the inner child in me on some nostalgic and fundamental level, but at the same time, with the claustrophobic aura omnipresent in the room, I have no time for idle games.

If anything, this place feels more like a daycare room designed for early teenagers, rather than adults considered the best and brightest. For a prestigious movement bringing together the greatest minds of The Nation, their hospitalities are severely lacking. Perhaps the idea is to drive people into creating friendship groups by directing them into social interaction, but limiting their methods by which to entertain themselves seems, at least in part to me, an entirely counter productive exercise.

As quickly as I entered, I leave, making my way into the cafeteria. Despite my aversion to the common room, though, I might have preferred to remain. I train my gaze over the people in the room, sat alone or in small cliques, eating what would appear to be barely edible, “food”, or lack of a more creative and indicative term. The food served looks genuinely abysmal in quality, and while I tend to go for the more adventurous of meals, that is perhaps one of the few things I would refuse to eat.

Around the room I watch the guards, standing almost perfectly still, silently observing the crowd. It’s only my first day here, and while I haven’t had a chance to get to know the inner workings of this place, I can already tell that the guards will be one of my least favourite parts. Their deadpan stare, even if behind a mask, unsettles me in a deep and cardinal way - in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever been rattled in before.

Scouting around, I pick out a table lacking in people and seat myself, hoping to keep away from the crowd and any drama that might occur, as well as the food. I have to wonder if even being close to such low quality stuff is safe for one’s health. No doubt eating it would cause some unpleasant side effects, at the very least.

But as I sit watching, simply observing, something catches my eye. It’s a man, walking sluggishly along the corridor from the habitation quarter into the cafeteria. His eyes are dim, almost blank, but behind them I catch a glimpse of feral fury, scanning the room for some kind of target. One of the guards face him, and then every one of them in the room does too, presumably spotting something before I could.

And then I spot it too. Realising what’s happening, I stand, but my legs catch the table and I fall back down again, before choosing to remain. I want to help, but I know I won’t be able to do much, if anything, in this situation. I can only watch as he reaches whoever he was looking for, and strikes out at them. There’s a scream from nearby as blood sprays across the table, splattering against the clothes of one Candidate, who stands and flees with the rest of the people on the table.

Before the guards can get to him, though, he grabs one of the people fleeing, and forces them in front of him, catching the taser with the meat shield body as the guard lunges at him. And that’s when I get a proper glimpse of it, glinting in the light - a long, straight edged knife, clearly designed for more than just cutting vegetables or spreading butter. Its edge is marred in the blood of whoever he just killed, and he backs towards the counter.

“You don’t understand, he deserved it! He deserved it!” he shouts, his back hitting the wall as the guards encroach on his position, “He was a rapist! A fucking serial rapist! They let scum like that fucker in here and they expect us to play fucking place house?!” despite the coherence to his statements, I can barely focus on what he’s saying, instead staring at the corpse of the man he slashed - face down against the table in a pool of his own blood.

When I look back, it’s due to another scream. A woman to the back of the action, with her hands clasped over her mouth, must have realised something, and as I look back I realise it too, but a few seconds late. In a fraction of an instant, the attacker plunged the knife into his throat, before twisting the blade out, spraying blood across the floor and guards as he sank to the floor.

That was the last moment for me. I took of running down the hall, into my room, before kicking the door to my bathroom open and falling against the toilet bowl in unbridled nausea. I’d seen corpses before - pictures of corpses - but never had I watched someone die in front of me, watched the light from their eyes fade as their own life essence seeped out of their body. It sickened me to the core, forcing out what little stomach contents I had.

My first day in The Program, and I had already watched a murder-suicide take place before my eyes. What the fuck was wrong with this place? These people? I don’t understand anything about this. What happened to being a prestigious movement, full of the best and brightest? The smartest and the most brilliant, brought together to build the future?



My groan is audible as the intercom in my room blares to life, forcing me from my feet. Doing my best not to look at what just came out of my stomach, I drop the toilet lid and flush, before dipping my head under the tap and drying it quickly with a towel. I needed answers. If things like this were going to happen, there had better have been an explanation.

Stepping out of the room, I see the already open door, leading into a small room with a desk, chair, and computer. The beige-white walls leave much to be desired, but after the day I’ve had, I barely have time to recognise it. I simply walk in, pull out the chair, and sit down. I grab the keyboard, place it in front of me, and read the screen.



My name is Stephen Adams. Maybe I’m not the smartest of people, and maybe I’m not the wisest, but I have a keen mind - as a journalist, you need it. I’m not interesting in opinion or heresy, just fact. And the fact of the matter is, something was deeply wrong with this place. This place, this Program, was meant to be a safe environment for people to gather and build the future, and yet two people just died, and dozens more witnessed it.

As the computer processed my name, I took a second to wonder what I would write, what I would say, and what I would ask. I pressed Y on the next screen, taking my time to think as the device loaded up the first question. I needed answers, something I could use. The people needed to hear about this, without a doubt, and if that meant being evicted from The Program then so be it.



It was an inane question, and one I didn’t have the time or patience to answer. Instead, I typed my own question.
What is the purpose of The Program?



What the fuck happened today?



Answer me you piece of shit. Whoever is on the other side of this fucking Terminal, answer me now, what the fuck happened today?



I paused for a second, thinking of my next response. I cast my gaze around the room, trying to isolate anything to work with, before finally settling on The Terminal itself.
“If you won’t answer me, then fine.” I said merely aloud, trying to catch the attention of any cameras as I turned the Terminal around, intent on dismantling it. Standing up, I lifted the chair, before bringing it down on it, heaving the crack of metal against its plastic casing. And again. And again.

Until the door beside me opened, leading back into my room. Except the doorway wasn’t empty - stood in the way was a guard, staring at me with its deadpan expression through its white mask. A solid hit to the jaw put me down, and from my place on the floor I could hear the Terminal printing text of some kind.



Shakily, I stand, wary of the guard to my immediate left as I pull the chair upright and take my seat. This is far from the outcome I wanted, but I’m not entirely sure what I expected. Did I really think this would just go my way? This was a regimented system, no doubt - even the deaths could be accounted for and covered up in one way or another. I would have to comply. There was no other alternative,

So I did. I answered the questions, I was herded into the room, and forced onto the seat. The lights went dark, and I fell asleep.

---

A dark day has fallen over The Nation, but it is equally one of contemplation and rumination. Things have been brought to light as of late that bring into question the integrity of our country, and the government, as well as their methods for running its resources. How much do we really know in regards to what goes on in this country behind our backs, and how much do we trust our government to tell the truth?

Late last night, a report was leaked by the renowned cyber-terrorist Prime regarding The Program, and his interference. Despite admitting guilt to several criminal acts, he also brought to the public’s eye a dark side to the way this country is run. Perhaps it is unwise to trust what a terrorist says, but the reports appear genuine, and the photos and videos leaked are far from for the faint of heart.

While the government has yet to comment, Prime claims that he was directly involved with the suicide of an important Candidate within The Program. In a video shared over countless social media platforms, a scene can clearly be viewed of a man wielding a knife murdering another Candidate, before taking his own life in a brutal fashion. The recording itself appears to have been ripped directly from a security camera, although the authenticity is doubtful.

Based on the report, Prime has been attempting to leak similar information to this for many months, but has failed every time due to the governments oppressive censorship regime in regards to The Program. With their failure to release a public statement on the matter as soon as the news broke, could it be that they are attempting to cover up the incident? If so, this brings into question the reliability of the government to reveal the truth to the public. What else could be going on that we don’t know?

---

Stood in line at the cafeteria, I’m reminded of my childhood. I can’t really say I have fond memories, but they’re there, and they’re vivid, visceral almost. I didn’t exactly have the best childhood, but it was good enough for what it was. It was more or less stereotypical in terms of a childhood, really. Bullied some, got average enough grades. Sometimes it was fun, other times it was hell, and somewhere in the middle we got by just enough to make it out alive.

I know not everyone does, but I at least enjoyed school a little bit. Maybe that’s why I have so many memories of it - sure, it wasn’t great, but there was a modicum of enjoyment to it that stuck around with me, even into my adult life, and even into The Program. I definitely wouldn’t want to relive that time by any means, of course. By thinking about them brings about a kind of nostalgic comfort. The food is about as bad as it was back then too.

I can feel the strain on my back as I walk. I’m not old, per se, but getting there, and my body is far from what it used to be. Tray in hand, I begin walking over towards a seating area, intent on taking my place away from the crowd. It’s my first day, yes, but I’d rather not make too many friends - or enemies as the case may be - so soon. It’s easier if I take things slow.

But as I walk, a hand grabs me, and pulls me off to the side. With the force, I drop the tray, and it hits the floor with a loud crash, directing all eyes towards me and the person pulling me. For a moment I stagger, but regain my feet as the person, who I now recognise as a woman, drags me into the common room. There are people in there, but there eyes seem to widen as she enters, and they scatter in fear.

When she finally releases me, she sits down, her body wracked with nervous anxiety, shaking from head to toe.
“Who the fuck are you?” I say on instinct, hearing my own voice for the first time today. I don’t know this woman, that much I’m sure of, but as I look her over, I catch something glinting in the light off by her side. She’s carrying a revolver. On instinct, I take a step back, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

“Please, you need to listen to me. What’s your name?”
“Jonathan. Jonathan West, why?”
“Your name isn’t Jonathan West. That’s wrong.” I tilt my head at her, wondering what she means. How can that not be my name? For all my life I’ve been called Jonathan West, Jonny for short. That’s been who I am for the past sixty or so years, “Your name is Edward Greve. Jonathan West is… a fabricated memory.”

At the mention of fabricated memories, I can’t help but laugh, but as the sound escapes my lips, my eyes meet hers. They’re bloodshot, and cold, with a edge of deathly seriousness befitting of someone telling a joke. My voice catches, and the laugh comes out as more of a choke.
“What the hell are you talking about, fabricated memories? You think I’m gonna believe that?”
“Prime has a message for you. He’s going to find you, soon. The Program isn’t what you think it is, and things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better.”
“Wait, wait, then, who are you?!”

She seems to roll the question around in her head, and in her mouth, speaking cautiously, while keeping her eyes trained exclusively on the door.
“Julia Holland. I’m the leader of an Anarchist gang.” at that I stare at her, gauging if she’s lying, but she isn’t.
“How the fuck did someone like you get in here then?!”
“I could ask the same thing of you, Edward.” her eyes flick to mine, before they go back to the door, and widen, “Shit, they’re here.”

In the next moment she stands, and pulls the revolver out from beside her. At the door are several guards, all encroaching on our position. Without even waiting for a signal, or a comment, or even a sound, she pulls the trigger, splitting the air with the deafening sound of a gunshot. I barely even see the bullet enter his skull before it passes straight through, spraying sparks and shrapnel around with it. As soon as it does, the body locks up, keeping completely straight and still.

“They’re not human - they’re machines.” My mind goes blank a she fires another shot, hitting the second guard with pinpoint accuracy, “ADAM’s. Automated Deviant Assessment Mechanisms. That’s us - Deviants. Every single fucking one of us.” a third shot takes out the last, but as she drops the revolver, the last of the guards - ADAM - from the cafeteria come around the corner, stepping around the bodies of their fellows.

I can’t even speak. My voice is hoarse and caught, and no amount of sound I try and make comes out.
“Listen to me, Edward!” Julia’s voice snaps me back to reality as she fires a fourth shot, “They wipe your memories everyday and replace them with new ones. Everyday is your first, even personality it different. Prime can Revive you - give you your old life back. He will find you, you just have to be patient.”

With the ADAM almost upon us, she curses.
“Just fucking run, Edward!” she says, opening the chamber to find two bullets left. Her eyes fall on me, and she smiles, before raising the gun to her head, and blowing her brains out against the wall. The the second time today my mind goes blank. Why? Why would she do that? Why kill herself?! I lean down, looking over her body, before grabbing the gun, keeping my body between myself and the ADAM to obfuscate the act. I can’t understand why she would do something so… radical, so stupid. In the shock I stand up and run, back to my room, not even being stopped by the ADAM as I go.

---

With the information revealed by Prime in regards to The Program, it is no surprise that more and more information is being leaked, further bringing into question just what kind of practices go on inside The Program, as well as how trustworthy the government is. While it can’t be said that the government is lying, they have still yet to make statements regarding previous allegations. With further allegations popping up, will they still be able to withstand the heat?

The new information from famous Cyber-terrorist Prime regards the practice of smuggling items into The Program. He has made the claim that he himself has done so in the past, and that other third parties may be doing the same. Such items as weapons, drugs, food, and other such commodities may be being brought into the Facility illegally, at the behest of both Candidates and the guards that work there.

Whether these allegations are true or not remains up in the air, and many citizens believe that Prime, as a terrorist, should not be trusted in his, reports, however the evidence he provides does appear damning as far as the government goes. Specifically, he has named the Minister of Defence, Richard Walbank, as a number one suspect in these acts. This is corroborated by the fact that he had a large hand in the construction of The Facility, as well as in the concept of The Program itself.

---

Sat in my room, I can’t help but wonder just what is going on. Nothing seems to make sense anymore. It’s only my first day, but in this room, on this bed, it feels like I’ve been here for my whole life. I don’t know why I get that feeling, but when I look around a strange and palpable sense of de-ja-vu strikes at my very core. It’s like something in this very room is trying to tell me something important, but no matter how hard I grasp at that truth it continually slips through my fingers.

In my hand is a revolver. It only has a single shot left, but under my bed I found a full box of ammunition. On instinct I loaded it, but I don’t know why I would need it. That said, there is a strange comfort in my heart when wielding this. I’ve held this revolver before - I know its weight, I’ve seen it used. I could probably kill someone with this easily, even though I’ve never fired a gun in my life. I don’t know why I feel these things - it’s almost as though someone has hijacked my brain and fucked with the circuitry.

Tired of sitting on the bland bed, in the bland room, I make my way out of the room. Food would be nice, company would be better. I just need something, anything, to take my mind off the sensations running through my skull, anything to take away the feeling of being mind fucked constantly. I take step after step making my way to the entrance of the cafeteria before stepping back instinctively.

The guards are grabbing and restraining a man, desperately attempting to pull the pin on a grenade. Fear clutches my heart and I flee back to my room, swinging the door wide and slamming it shut behind my, the adrenaline fuelling my actions entirely. Everything I do is on instinct, everything I do is reactionary. In the silence of the room, my heartbeat is deafening.



Not even moments after I entered the room did the intercom flare to life, filling my ears with the sound of crackled noise. This is the last thing I need right now. The shaking on my legs and the sweat beading along my forehead are clearly evidence of that, but nonetheless I step forward, into the sliding door, and into the beige-white Terminal room.

Except the door doesn’t close behind me. In fact, neither of the doors close - I can see into a room straight ahead, with stark white, nigh clinical walls, and a pure metal, terribly uncomfortable looking chair. Confused, I take my seat, and watch as the monitor flickers and crackles with strange symbols, until I’m greeted with a chat prompt window.

Prime: Hello, Edward.
Candidate: Who is this?
Prime: I’m Prime. You probably don’t remember me, but that’s to be expected.
Prime: I need you to go and sit on the chair to your right. Things will become a lot clearer after that.
Candidate: Why the fuck would I do that?
Prime: Because there are two guards and two ADAM on their way, armed with lethal force.

My hair stands on end at the idea of lethal force, and instinctively my gaze travels to the revolver lying on my bed. With a nod, I stand, and head to the chair, trying my best to find a comfortable spot despite its sheer uncomfortable nature. With my back pressed against the chair, the lights flicker, seemingly trying to turn off, but forced to remain on by some unknown, external force.

A mechanical whirr fills the room, and the ceiling parts way, opening up to reveal a vast metal contraption, reaching up into the Facility. Every part seemed to be accompanied by some kind of gear, or servo, which each respectively turned and pulled and moved in some other way, creating the illusions of a giant metal beast, stirring awake, and pulling itself down from the sky unto the ground - unto me.

Its descent was far from quiet. Gears whirred in place as they span it high speeds, descending the mechanical leviathan into the room with every passing second. My eyes must have betrayed a kind of fear at the contraption as it worked its way into the room, lowering down what looked to be a helmet of a kind, though ornately decorated - or perhaps haphazardly - with wires, mechanisms, sensors, ports, and every other kind of device one could think of. It was more than just a monstrosity, it was a device that resonated a kind of evil.

Despite my reluctance and struggling, the helmet descended, blanketing my vision in darkness. A faint trickle of light was the only only thing to enter my retinas from a small screen displayed before each other my eyes. The screens lit up in bright white, forcing me to close my eyes, but mechanical arms clutched at my eyelids, prevent them from connecting, and keeping the incandescent array of colour within my vision. And I kept watching. And I kept watching.

Prime: Do you understand now?
Candidate: I can’t fucking believe this, I seriously can’t fucking believe this.
Prime: Well, I’m sure you’re glad I gave you that gun now, aren’t you?
Candidate: You mean
Candidate: She killed herself to give me that gun?
Prime: Exactly
Prime: Julia had always admired your work, Edward. When I told her who you were, after her own Revival, she was thrilled.
Prime: Of course, you didn’t have your memories. She was disappointed by that.
Candidate: She didn’t have to die.
Prime: No, but she didn’t want to live either - not as a slave of the government.
Candidate: I could have broken her out - both of us out!
Prime: Maybe. But maybe not.
Prime: Now listen - you have that gun because I altered the security footage and hijacked the ADAM Data Cloud, but I couldn’t mask the Revival. They know you have your memories. Two guards and two ADAM are currently en route to your room.
Prime: Take the gun, and leave through the way they enter. You’ll be inside the Administrative Ward - find the control room, and destroy it.

My gaze turned to the left, and up, quickly identifying the hidden camera. With a nod, I stood, and walked to the bed, taking up the gun and the stashing the ammo in my clothes. Everything had come back to me - everything that I was, everything that I did. They stole years from my life, years that I’ll never get back.

My name is Edward Greve. I’m a serial killer, famous for targeting pro-technological advancement advocates. The kinds of people who think making an ASI is a great idea. And those people made me a puppet. They stole precious time that I could have spent living, and instead they used it for strategic advice.

Because that was their ploy - The Program, a classified project to gather deviant citizens and subject them to personalised tests intent on garnering useful information. Erase their memories each day, and keep them in a repeated loop of compliance. Erase their personalities for more varied results. It makes me sick to think I was part of their game, but not any longer.

The moment the door opened, there was no questions asked. It was a secret entrance, hidden in the wall of the room, allowing for easy access to every room. An ADAM can be dispatched in moments with it. But not when you expect them. Two guards and two ADAM came through the door, exactly as Prime said - the ADAM with firearms, and the guards with rifles. Except they weren’t counting on me knowing they were coming. Four dead bodies, and an empty gun.

In the next second I grabbed the rifle, and headed down the corridor, mowing down every person I saw. Scientist, guard, ADAM, it didn’t matter. Their blood would paint The Program a better colour than that shitty beige-white by the time I was finished for the things they did and stole from me. Bullet after bullet after bullet after bullet, gun after gun. Body after body. I can only imagine Prime watching, experiencing the thrill of The Program falling under his machinations. He’s a lot like me. We both want the same thing.

At the Control Room, a group of guards stood waiting outside. For once in the encounter, it was a challenging fire fight, but fuelled by sheer adrenaline and fury, every one of them fell before me. No amount of resistance would be enough to stop me, not anymore. That red mist that descends in anger had fallen long ago, bathing my vision in a crimson symphony. Many people said revenge was an unsavoury business, but as I kicked down the door to the Control Room, I would have said it was quite sweet.

But on the other side of that door were more guards. More guns. More chances.Without warning they fired, like a firing squad. In slow motion, I could feel every bullet, every shot, tearing through my body at breakneck pace. An agonising eternity passed between bullets travelling at the speed of light, until I feel, lying dead in a pool of my own blood.

The lights switch off entirely, plunging the room into a deep, unsavoury, almost tangible darkness, that seeps into my body through the holes in my being. At first, a kind of panic creeps into my head, but is silenced almost immediately after. I’ve got nothing to fear here. It’s just the dark. Despite only being sat for a short amount of time, my legs itches with sleep, but as I go to move it, the feeling is sluggish and slow. I really am tired, huh? They’ll probably wake me up later if I sleep now.

---

After a long and extended wait, the Government of The Nation has finally released a puplic statement regarding Prime and the allegations regarding deaths and smuggling within The Program. Although there are some that claim everything the Government has said is a lie, their statement involves some key evidence related to incidents that have occurred, including Prime’s breaching of The Program’s key systems and influencing activities within it,

According to their statement, Prime has been the key influencer behind the deaths caused within The Program, as well as the smuggling of weapons and drugs inside The Facility. One of these incidents is one that happened only recently - being the murder of prominent and valuable Candidate Edward Greve, who was murdered just a week ago due to external influences.

It is stated that Prime intentionally manipulated key threads within their systems, which resulted in the malfunction of a fire suppression system. A fire was then set by a mole, which resulted in the death of Edward Greve. It was believed to be an intentional arson attack with the sole purpose of removing Greve from The Program. His genius was listed as one of the greatest minds in The Nation, and his death will be sorely mourned by all who knew him.

A similar incident happened many years earlier, in which Prime smuggled weapons into the Facility and leaked false information about different Candidates in order to create infighting and chaos. This is believed to be the cause of the murder-suicide in 2053.

The Government has also apologised for not being entirely transparent through these times, but has stated that they believed revealing the extensive damage Prime had caused would lead to undue stress within communities. They have assured the citizens that they are working desperately to fix the issues with their systems, and the leaks that allowed Prime access to begin with.

His left eye opened, regaining consciousness underneath maroon gassy masses floating a hundred meters upward. Their artificial glow provided dim, albeit sufficient lighting needed to scan his surroundings, not that the place required assistance in tinting its landscape bloody. He remembered three things surviving his plummet into the darkness and then smashing his head into the amalgamation of cold metal and warm corpses, as he tumbled like a rag doll to the bottom. The first was those contraptions had shoved him into this hellhole and his second was his immediate desire to leave. Attempting to stand himself up and instead keeling over onto his stomach with a clang and a splash. Drenching his forehead in a thick sticky substance pooled beneath, hearing the sound of subtle dripping coming from above. Something was wrong with his right foot, flipping on that side and staring up at the long spike sticking up straight, and the lifeless body impaled their upper torso with liquid pouring from their once shrieking mouth. But she looked different from the scrap piles with several fleshy anatomically proportioned limbs, clothed and unmangled. His attention changing to a pierced plated piece pinning his foot, clenching his lower leg and pulling — it out with all his might — wasn’t plausible. Glancing at the large cleaver within his fingers grasp as he stretched out his hand, struggling to grip the handle before picking it up while the sky released a demonic growl. Not hesitating for even a moment, he concentrated and raised the blade high and swung hard — one chop had severed the affected extremity.

Wait, why wasn’t I screaming like everyone else?

A bright flash of light flooded the area, highlighting the vast scale of skewered and broken bodies that had been similarly discarded. Followed by an intense boom and sparking a thousand pairs of glowing crimson lights appear from the wreckage as the graveyard of the soulless regained sentience. He watched arms and legs spouting from throughout the grounds and walls continuously. The clamoring of scraping metal and whistling steam was ceaseless, as a discharged projectile struck with another powerful roar that streaked down from the mass in his sight. Whatever shrouded these skies were creating the loud noises...

He noticed many of these strange beings held up by tall metallic pikes, shared an aesthetic uniformity. Each holding various, hardly visible numbers etched on the middle of their foreheads. Their entire framework began to sway and dance in a singular repetitive motion like marionettes compelled by a twisted higher power. Machines letting out low pitched buzzing that seemed to be beckoning him to remain put. Seeing this triggered a memory inside his obscured mind presenting temporary clarity, yet it felt like skimming the shallows of an endless sea. His inner voice gave a series of unnerved and eminent pleas.

Escape. I must spare them this suffering.

Catching a glimpse of a recognizable flickering pattern of blue beam in the distance, in-between the drastic changes from dull to blinding brightness repeating every couple seconds. Pushing upright using his hands as leverage, able to balance himself up on his foot unwavering, hopping forward but his movement was halted by the hands grabbing his leg. An instant instinctive feeling overtook his next movements, hastily striking them away with the cleaver. His focus shifting to a mechanical foot, it had the perfect measurements to fit, lunging forth and hacking at it and yanking it off. Receiving a stiff kick causing him to stumble and fall on his hindquarters, beginning to sink into the ground being pulled under the surface. He swiftly sat up with his equipment still tightly gripped, reaching for where he had amputated. Thin wires sprung from the object and dug through his flesh like aggressive snakes, completely attaching itself to his leg. Getting up by thrashing about, he ran off toward that strangely familiar blinking signal distinguished among the clutter — what was it?! An S.O.S?

He knew that somebody was alive and seeking help, approaching the target with a full sprint past what he considered crowds of demons digging their nails across his legs. Only heeding his momentum with heavy plodding, skidding to a complete stop. Clenching his hands and taking a single step back, close enough to discover their identity, using a light source from his flashing eyes. It was one of those contraptions!

But his forehead wasn’t detailed with numerals and once he stood beside it, the lights stopped and it remained motionless. He crept closer, it appeared to be wearing a suit of torn apart flesh, yet a gentle touch with his fingertips confirmed it was synthetic. It was slumped against a hill of hands, a pair strangling its neck, having both its arms yanked backward and engulfed into entrapment. It spoke, he flinched and recoiled.

“Cut off my arms — please.” Spoken in a monotone voice that also sounded like they were gargling gravel. He stared at the cleaver with pause, and saw the small rectangular device clamped between its bent knees and snatched it without interference. Pressing the button that resided on the top, as it played a recorded message...

Heed my warning. My name is Mikael I. Eden. But you’ll know me better by the pseudonym, Rytok. I’m a leader of a human resistance group. If you’ve recovered this, I’m likely dead. So are hundreds of my followers. Sheer numbers will not intimidate them. Our weapons proved ineffective, and we couldn’t destroy faster than they build. But I’ve discovered their secret! It’s...

Static. A screech fizzled out all audible words before abruptly ending…

“Free me and I’ll get you out of here.” After that exchange failed to change anything, the atmosphere grew still and silent just as water droplets pelted them. He gawked at the sky in awe.

Freezing. That frigid sensation brought about nostalgic memories kept buried like — the winter snow — weather...

“It’s a weather machine. It created those storm clouds to produce lightning that’s absorbed by all hollowed vessels, and stored as excess energy needed to fuel their generators — the rain is used wash away the smell…” Finally catching his interest, he examined the contraption and lifted the cleaver up to swing.

Eliminate the threat!

An impulse exchanged for perception, he didn’t stop smashing the blade long after the contraption had been freed, slashing at the debris until the cleaver shattered into pieces. The contraptions’ vocal interruption brought him back into reality.

“I’m Rytok-” It explained fusing another replacement arm by shoving it into its dismantled shoulder and affixing its dislocated position with several stiff twists, steam hissing from the cracks. “I can explain the rest — when we’ve left this place. Everything in this facility requires two...including our exit.” Rytok glanced at his forehead. His eyes just noticed the tiny diamond shaped crystal, shimmering blue, embedded inside his mechanical tongue. He pointed at his mouth and glared, feeling his own tongue implant while scraping against his gums. The weather returned forgoing mercy, and the lightning cascaded with flooding water. Rytok pulled his arm, as he unsuccessfully struggled to break his superior powerful grasp as it started dragging him off.

“I didn’t do that to you. Our objectives are identical. Stop hesitating, you’ll only giving our enemies more time.” Despite an inflection that couldn’t change intensity, he didn’t even really understand, but he started running to keep the same pace. The weight of the situation pushed him forth, but gravity seemed to be the final thing keeping Rytok grounded. Crossing the dump and reaching an enormous obsidian wall, a large gate with four levers, which required grabbing the handles, two pairs in a horizontal line beside each other on opposite sides of the door. Opening it by pushing them forward at the same time. His analysis was proven correct, as Rytok grabbed both handles on the west side.

His eyes quickly shifted from the reflective surface of the gate, heading to the east and reluctantly grasping the handles, then looked at Rytok and waited. He expected words immediately after they opened this door, but he received a sentence before Rytok shoved the handles into the door. The sound of churning cogs and wailing screams coming from within the walls in its aftermath.

“If you’ve forgotten your name, I’ll be addressing you by their failed attempt to code you. Ohwo.” He accepted the given title, his original name evaded him, but convinced it existed. Inserting them in, immediately feeling an immense shock that coursed through out his body, an ineffectual execution method.

Ohwo had contemplated more questions, leaving the uproar behind. But few answers on the upheaval that created this misery. Imagining he was in a state of irreparable disrepair, burdens no wider than the gaps of the ascending wall. Their exit creating an entrance, revealing the white glow glimmering from the narrow gates down from a long staircase heading up for an indeterminable length. He followed directly beside Rytok, trying to copy his movements. Though it was apparent cooperation was essential, they couldn’t stop exchanging suspicious glances, paranoid that if either got too far ahead, it meant being kicked back into that wretched graveyard...

Correct me if I’m wrong, but is this a continuation of a story? There are some details that aren’t given here that I miss and could very well have been explained in an earlier chapter (if there is one). Take the slave, how did she end up being a slave of Adelaide? And for that matter, how did Adelaide end up there if humans aren’t usually at such positions in the Dol'Vrah?

When the story began I thought Adelaide was one of them, until you mentioned she wasn’t as tall as the inhuman Dol’Vrah.
Another minor inconsistency is between Adelaide shaving lord Sigfried and them returning to the camp. Apparently she had tasted his blood somewhere between the events, but it wasn’t described or hinted towards, so it came out of nowhere.

That being said, I enjoyed reading about the Dol’Vrah, you gave enough details for me to form a picture about them, some of their habits and their structure. The intrigue and power struggle, I like reading such stories.

Amy is a humonculus, I didn’t see that twist coming. I mean, I knew there was something up, but not that. I would have guessed she was the last human alive.

Grammar wise, the thing I noticed a few times in the story was the passive form where you could have used the active.
she knew that papa was going to come in --> she knew that papa would come in
While she was recovering --> while she recovered
Fortunately she was wearing something other ... --> Fortunately she wore something other ...
There are more, those are the first three I came across.
I know I used the passive voice a lot too, until someone pointed it out. Nowadays I try to avoid using passive when active can be used and I seem to spot it more easily in other people’s writing too :) which is why I decided to mention it to you.

The growth spurt comment threw me off, what second growth spurt is she referring too? Humans generally have stopped growing at the age of 19. So if the second growth spurt is something normal there, a bit more background information could be needed.

Do the androids in your story have a respiratory system or something similar that would allow them to sigh? That androids can have emotions and behave very human like is definitely possible, but I wouldn’t expect an android to sigh. Unless it is part of their design, like a kind of air vent to cool the system or something? Personally, the sighing android made him feel less like an android, but that’s probably just because I have an image about androids in my head and it didn’t fit that image.

Lastly, she pretty quick to accept the situation as is, I’m not sure how I feel about that. I guess I was waiting for more emotions there.

Overall I enjoyed reading it. The interaction between Amy and Hank was cute.
I must say I loved Hanks first explanation, it sounded plausible and I was all ready for a story about androids being in power after taking over peacefully XD

The last sentence was strong. Powerful. I loved it.

Fairies against machines. Great idea. I loved reading their struggle with the strange technology and how they did their best to make sure they couldn’t conquer other worlds as well.
Overall the story is well paced and I’m glad they had a happy ending (for now). I’m sure nature will recover so they’ll have new forests to play in <3

This is the first time I read a you-story. I prefer third-person, but I wasn’t bothered by the second-person in this entry.
Everything was well-described and gradually more details about the situation are given. I could see me there, walking around.
The magic of the you-perspective was broken when the ‘you’ got a name, and gender, that wasn’t my own. At that point I couldn’t place myself in the place of the main character anymore, which I think is the purpose of a you-story? Or not? This is the first one I read so I’m not entirely sure. Anyway, since this story was about Vance, I personally would have preferred a third-person story.

Regardless of that, the story, the plot, good job.
The error code at the end, that is a great touch.

This entry is made of radio/television-fragments? Like someone changing stations looking for something to listen to/watch?
It’s original and I liked that.

There’s several clues as to what had happened, but I miss something between the part of the conflict in the west and the selling of the eyes, that were probably used in that conflict and were able to be purchased before that part of the conflict. It would explain more what had happened. A few more clues about who or what the purists were would have been nice as well, unless it was your purpose to keep it this vague.

Very interesting, all the articles between the test subject(s) entering the program. Gradually you get an idea of what is going on. I was as surprised as the test subject when the truth was revealed.

You certainly have a way with words and you provide a lot of details of the scenery. The story doesn’t read fluently, but that could be my fault. I had to concentrate on this story a lot more than I had to do reading the other entries to really understand all that was written down. Some parts I read over twice. The sentences are clever and rich, full of descriptions. Some go on a bit too long.

I’m definitely not a grammar expert, so I looked up what I wanted to mention, and you seem to use the present participle a lot in this entry, verbs ending at -ing. And overall there were a lot of words ending with -ing.
Just one example: “appeared to be wearing a suit of torn apart flesh” can also be written as “appeared to wear a suit of torn apart flesh.

Overall, the idea is intriguing, at the end of the first act we still don’t know who or what the main character is. Neither am I entirely sure who or what Rytok is. It’s definitely promising and will keep the reader interested in the rest of the story

I vote for Flesh & Steel.

Although I have to add it was hard choosing with so many good entries. Good job everyone :)

I definitely enjoyed this entry. It was well-paced, especially in the beginning. I particularly appreciated the innocent depiction of the metal arm, the workings of which were palpably foreign to the protagonist. In addition, the sheer volume of embellishing details poured into the world of the story was exemplary. You built a hell of a world in a relatively short span of text.

I do also have some critique to offer. One of the inevitable shortcomings of rapid world-building is an abundance of jargon. You actually did a fantastic job incorporating it in a way that was truly immersive, but at the expense of full understanding. Concepts like the Dol’Vrah, the blood-drinking, and the world’s arcane influences were lost on me. Of course, perhaps I’m the exception. It’s entirely possible that others walked away with a more complete picture.

Besides a few minor typos, my only other reservation is over the ending, or at least the ending of the metal men. The ritual of the spheres wasn’t discussed in much detail, so that it felt more like a deus ex machina than a clever plan. This might have been solved with the world-building but, in your defense, it is nigh impossible to construct a full setting in so short a story.

Don’t take my criticisms as evidence that I didn’t enjoy the piece. On the contrary, I was thoroughly impressed by the originality and the manner in which you worked the prompt into a fantastical world of your own. This one is a contender.

This was a really interesting one. It subverted my expectations a few times, and there were moments of genuine profundity. I think, either fleshed out or pared down, there are stronger versions of this story in your reach. Either direction would work.

I found the characterization of Amy and Hank deeply satisfying. Amy was inquisitive or obedient at the right times, filling her role in the story well. Hank was charismatic, his cheerful and perky nature reminiscent of such android characters as Borderlands’ Claptrap and Star Wars’ C-3PO. His tactlessness as an android actually suited his character, though it’s hard to say whether similar instances with Amy work for her homunculus mind.

A few times, the level of writing seemed to drop a little. Hank’s initial announcement of the android takeover, coupled with Amy’s bare sigh in response, made the gravity of such an event feel diminished. The same happened at the end, when the one homunculus’ first cry was “I’m a factory worker, and--”. I feel like someone in his situation wouldn’t shout his occupation out loud in introduction, but on the other hand I can’t really predict how homunculi differ from humans.

But in contrast, there were several moments of really powerful dialogue. I personally loved “Are you opposed to holding hands with an android?” and “If it was an android’s duty to replace humans, then you are what will replace us.” Lines like that rose above the others.

I think the story would benefit from more showing and less telling, but otherwise you crafted a really interesting role reversal with a compelling pair of characters. Well done.

What a sweeping story! I tend to see entries of this length and flinch, fearing they’ll draw out every moment past surfeit, but you paced this entry so that each paragraph was relevant to the plot. There was a satisfying cadence to the dialogue, and the various perspectives of the different characters kept the settings from getting stale.

The descriptive details were plentiful in most parts of the story, but there were several instances in which I would like to have heard more, namely the initial battle outside of the city and the timeline of Dwarven occupation. There were also moments of clumsy syntax and exposition, which drew my attention away from the character-building and plot.

The world-building was very thorough overall. I thought there were some small incongruencies in names (like the fantastical Mikhal and Lemitsa contrasted with the relatively mundane Pete and Steve), but there’s no reason this should be a hurdle to the entry.

The effort that went in was palpable and impressive, and I know you wanted to write even more. I hope you do.

Okay, I absolutely loved this one. I will be immensely surprised, reading on, if this isn’t the most original entry in the contest. The prompt called for a tale about vicious machines, and with the futuristic direction you took it in, I was happily surprised to find that the protagonists came from the absolute opposite end of the genre spectrum.

I’ve never seen fairies and omnipotent robot overlords clash on paper, outside of particularly ambitious and eccentric D&D campaigns. What’s more, you took the time to flesh the concept out to its full potential by adding other mythical populations, delineating the fairies’ powers and weaknesses, and exploring the interactions between the supernatural world and the digital. You did so with charismatic characters, an optimistic tone, and fairly consistent plot movement from beginning to end. Well done!

There were a few typos here and there and at some times the level of intelligence in dialogue seemed to oscillate, but those are forgivable sins in the context of your creativity. I’m truly impressed.

W h o a

What a RIDE. First of all, I’m a sucker for a concise entry, so the brevity of this one was really appreciated. That was visible even before reading, as was your work on the formatting (it took me several views to notice that the title was a gradient, which was a cool effect). It’s the little things, you know?

I really enjoyed the montage feel of this entry. You didn’t include any painful onomatopoeias, and yet the sensation of flipping through channels across time was palpable. Each segment illuminated a new chapter in a complex history, with clever details that others might have overlooked. The dialogue was simultaneously dramatic and organic, a balance rarely achieved in this format.

I have no criticism to offer. This was a complete, polished entry. Bravo.

This one was ambitious in scope and design. I really liked the synthesis of journalistic entries in the world of the story with first-person accounts. That in mind, I was especially impressed with the character of Stephen Adams, who served not only as an author of one of the articles but subsequently as one of the candidates. That was a nice touch.

You built a really compelling world here. When envisioning doomsday scenarios, it’s rare to find one that seems not just interesting but practical. The idea of cordoning off the brightest (and perhaps most ideologically dangerous) individuals in a country, under the guise of a meritorious program, to keep them from interfering in the sinister designs of a government is fairly believable. I think the story could have benefitted from less vague dystopian jargon (The Nation, The Program, etc) but such words also fit into a wider tradition in the genre.

There were a few typos, and a few places where syntactical intent was somewhat unclear (should “quote unquote” just be written as quotation marks?), but otherwise it was a really solid entry. I would like to have heard more about what happens AFTER the little revolution is suppressed (did the government have/actualize their designs on ASI?), but the way you chose to end the story is just as important. I liked it a lot.

I DEFINITELY would have wanted to see where this one was going. It seems like you had a lot in mind, with quite a complex and vivid premise, and I’m sure there’s more to this story than meets the eye. I’ll admit, with some of the verbose language and impressionistic descriptions, you lost me a few times. But more often the strength and depth of the descriptions were impressive and illuminating. I hope I get to read a full entry next time!

All of the entries were really impressive, and this is probably the most difficulty I’ve had yet in choosing a favorite.

In the end, I’m happy to give my @vote to Sunday by @Exit, for its polished feel and all-encompassing narrative.

I would be remiss not to also shout out Mischief in the Machines by @PlatinumSkink, for taking the prompt to the very extremes of originality. Definitely a close second.

"Sunday" by @Exit
Great concept; loved it.

Unfortunately, I am torn between two (2) entries. Both entries made me re-read them several times. The first listed in my vote is an extremely engaging read. It grabbed me immediately and left me with a lot of awe and wonderment after it was finished. It is like lighting a candle and staring into a looking glass and then doubting (heh) what I am imagining through the meta-metaphorical journey on the electronic screen. I had to re-read it several times, and each read through was just as enjoyable if not more so as the first. In the same vein, after reading the contestant's comments on the entry, it heightened the story's value as a very effective utilization with what was given (especially time-wise). This entry was going to be my vote, but the second entry that I have listed started to grow on me more and more as I began pondering how to write the critiques. The reason it grew on me is because of the beginning and ending. They are strong and juvenile enough to elicit a further (more naive or innocent) contemplation of what is supposed to be happening or being provided to the audience. Admittedly, I re-read the entry several times in a vain attempt to decipher if the omitted letters spell anything. (If you wanna know why I have no reviews for all the entries iz bcuz Briza iz gunnuh Briza, like thank you @Vocab for that, too.) I also started thinking about the Cowboy Bebop character Spike Spiegel and his cybernetic eye, with the mention of television & all that jazz. It has a lot of depth and thought and is eloquently written and formatted for the mature viewer that I could personally appreciate. Both tickle that part of the mind that makes me smile, in different but similar and all too familiarly amazing ways.

Hm, I guess that is kind of a review. Yay!

Anyways, with much ado about nothing more to say:

Yeah. It’s good. It’s well written. It’s basically the first thought I had when I read the challenge, except I didn’t go through with it because of the second thought being that someone else was already doing that… kinda. This doesn’t really feel like the story is about fighting the metal menace, does it? The story is about Adelaide and her quest to become Empress, and I really do wonder why she needed to banish Siegfried through a portal and why she couldn’t just cut his throat in his sleep earlier. Eh, there’s probably plenty of reasons.

The basics of this victory is that Magic > Technology, which works. Magic might be more situational, but used right it has no limits and is extremely unpredictable. Yeah, it’s simple enough. Your writing is good and descriptive, you’re pretty artistic in your word-choices and all that. I just didn’t entirely see anything in this entry that stood out to me as noteworthy, I’m afraid. I’ve seen plots of betrayal and coup d'etats before, and the metal army could really have been replaced with basically any threatening force as far as the main plot goes. Eh, oh, well.

*reads title* I really hope this is Gundam-inspired somehow.

Nope, it was not. XD

… That was amazing. Well done. Hank made himself immediately likable, and there was always something off, but their conversation was really nice. Something off developed, and you made it into something interesting. The “Metal Age” wasn’t just something invading, it was far more interesting. And… I’ve never thought of there being a third stage behind machines, heh. Homunculus developed because machines wanted humans, huh. That’s so interesting. I have not heard of that before. Well done. I am thoroughly impressed.

Hm. This entry, unfortunately, didn’t feel very alive. Trevor and Mikhal’s first conversation felt far too casual for the horrific nature of being invaded, and the fact they had to speak one another’s names for no in-universe reason so the reader would know felt off. The conversation didn’t feel natural. Later, while having Trevor be captured immediately might be realistic, it was very bland to read about. It feels like there would have been ways to write that in a more interesting way, somehow.

Lemitsa’s little additional bit felt really random and didn’t feel like it added anything. … Linda appeared out of nowhere and I’m not sure she made anything better, hah. Yeah, you established that this was a fantasy world, but yikes. She’s a bit out-there for me to accept out of nowhere.

Alright. I’m sorry to say, but that was somewhat of a drag to read through for me. The story wasn’t particularly interesting. I’m not sure I can pinpoint how or why, but that was one of the reasons I opted against actually writing about an invading army for my entry, because it could easily become uninteresting. More than that, the conversations felt empty to me, and I’m not entirely sure how to fix that.

This entry is long, and it isn’t even the full story. It might become more exciting later, because hearing about our heroes being successful is more entertaining than hearing about our heroes failing to protect their kingdom, but that’s not what we have here. I’m sorry to say so. Oh, well.

I’ll mention I think my own entry suffer a couple of similar problems. I don’t feel that it’s among any of my better work, hah.

Woah. Second-person point of view? Okay. Let’s see where this goes.

… Yupp. Guessed the twist within the first couple sentences. Sometimes, I really wish I could just, like, NOT make those guesses, but I guess I’ve just been subjected to too much media for that. Oh, well.

“You” kind of works when we’re able to relate to the person we’re in, in a weird way. It goes out the window when the individual in question does something we’d never do. It’d been cool if you somehow managed to keep the person logically acting within what we’d reason ourselves to do, and THEN sprang the twist out of nowhere, heh. That would have been much more disturbing, suddenly thinking back and perhaps a death you accidentally caused or so was actually perhaps not so accidental. Eh, not necessary. You just made an entry as you wanted it. Well, this made me smile, anyway. So nicely done on that part.

Um. Okay. So it’s a story about machines taking over the world, told in newscasts, kinda. I’m, uh… well, good work. I’m just going to move on now, because I felt virtually nothing while reading, and as such don’t have a lot of comments that would be interpreted as helpful, hah.

Edit: Suppose that’s just me being a brick while I was writing. Okay, let me try to add something.

The concept is cool. Telling about how machine-inducement slowly takes over and fewer purists remain until nothing remains of the original humans. Everything being told in broadcasts is pretty cool, yeah. You’re pretty fancy in the editing, too, and your language is most certainly up to par. It’s simply that I, personally, did not feel particularly grabbed by the story that was going on. I realized what was happening, knew where it was going, and saw it go there. No big surprises, no characters for me to relate to, nothing in that vein. The last jump into the future went really far, which threw me off additionally. It was simply a story, told in a slightly new way, but yeah. It told the story as you wanted it told, and suppose you may have told that perfectly, I don’t know if I’d have changed anything. Others seems to have liked it, while I’m indifferent. So, yeah. Well done.

Whelp. Uuuuh. Okay, so I’m sincerely confused right now. In the end, who was the machine? The Program? Prime? The Government? The news broadcasts? All of the above? … Hahahahaha. I don’t know who’s word I can trust. Would be cool if it was Prime, though.

Okay, that was interesting. Kudos to you for writing something interesting. The end was a bit disappointing, but perhaps that’s just because I’m stupid and don’t get it. In any case. Well done. I was really interested in what was going to happen there for a bit, and that’s a really good thing. Nice.

I vote for Evolution MKII, because I personally found it the most charming and interesting entry out of those available. Well done, Broken.

Shoutout to The Program, too. It’s really good. If I was more satisfied by the end, I may have considered it over the one I now voted for. Anyways, yupp.

I didn’t really read why this wasn’t submitted for voting, but I suppose I could guess. This story isn’t finished, is it? You didn’t even get to actually telling us what it was you were hiding, which is, like, the big thing in stories like this where you’re hiding something from the audience. I personally never got to a point where I thought I had any grasp of the situation that was going on. I also feel like this might have needed a couple examinations. These blocks of text uses a lot of complicated word-choices yet I could barely understand what they were saying in many occasions. Perhaps try to simplify just a bit? Or is that me being a bad reader? I dunno. But I did find a lot of the sentences here confusing, heh.

Merely trying to find examples I find more and more confusing bits that I swear wasn’t here first time I read it. Hah. Who was screaming? The owners of those arms trying to grab him? Why could he sink into the ground? If he’s walking on a mountain of corpses, why is it described as the ground? What’s even the dimensions of this place? Why was that blue beam recognizable, what did it mean? Wires apparently dug into him, but apparently he ran off no problem? I can imagine why, but no description of them not affecting him or so? Why did he think of grabbing the device between Rytok’s knees? Did he have the cleaver with him when he came down? Was he thrown down, but they’re apparently under a fake sky?

Wait, now that I read it again, it was a foot he grabbed that inserted itself into his… … … I’m going to stop reading now, because apparently I was not in a state to read this when I read it, I missed way too much. I'm losing faith in my ability to read here.

Still, I was curious where it was going, and that’s a plus. I wondered what kind of world you had in mind here and read to the end… and didn’t get anything, hah. So, yeah. The first part. You had something going here, at the very least. So nicely done on that part.

The world was amazing, but the story is lacking when it comes to good descriptions. There's just too much to understand, and little of it is explained to the reader. An example of this is how you make it a point to tell us that Adelaide is a human, but say nothing of the other races at the council meeting. Due to the prompt, I has assumed that they were all robots, until a few fleshy details came into play. It is very difficult for a reader to grasp what the laws of your world are. It's nothing like our own, and you have fantasy elements, different races(?), technology and magic working side by side, and other things a reader can't understand without a guiding hand. There was enough that you could easily stretch the story out to ten-thousand words and still not fully explain everything.

The relationship between all the characters was interesting, but I was unable to really care about any of them. You made it a point to paint Adelaide as an irredeemable bitch, who's willing to fuck, kill, and lie her way into power. The Dol'Vrah as a whole felt like nothing more than a circle of tyrannical rulers with no one being better than the others.

Wait, this is my entry!

There were a few spots where words were missing, and other words were “misspelled.” I'm aware that words are spelled differently in different parts of the world. So this doesn't feel worthwhile going over with you. There were very few errors of this nature regardless.

I did like how the metal age was introduced, and it was interesting how it wasn't a purely metal menace but rather armored dwarves. I wish we got to know more about what the driving force behind the dwarves however. Unfortunately the story focused most of it's time on Mikhal's friends and their connections, which didn't contribute anything of value to the main story for the most part. Side stories aren't bad if you desire more character development, but we never discovered why the dwarves decided to attack, or how they acquired their steam tech. There was even a chance to convey some of this to the reader when they actually captured a dwarf. Even if we ignore those missing details, a lot of stuff just felt very dry, despite the story having 12K words.

When it was dark enough he decided to take his chances and sneak through the camp. He managed to get a few metres in when one of the dwarves noticed him. With a sigh he rose his hands and surrendered. At least he’d get where he wanted to be, but escaping would be a lot harder now.

This could have been an intense scene that kept the reader on the edge of their seat. But there is no suspense. It is simply told and over with in four sentences. It feels mundane and flat.

In the future, I would recommend plotting the course of your story so that you can decide what scenes are most important. From there, you can decide assign a “word budget” to scenes or remove unimportant ones. As an example, you used 1K words to get Mikhal a horse from the point where he decided he'd need one.

I can appreciate an attempt to throw the reader into the thick of the story, but the opening felt rushed. A better start probably would have been jumping to the faeries flying inside the robot and then remarking on that information through dialog or narration.

There were also an excessive amount of commas during certain passages. Take this one for example.

‘C’mon!’ Inga shouted as she drifted in front of him, drifting through this tiny tube of cooling fluid intake with her pink wings fluttering. Rochus frowned a little, annoyed that she had called him as if he wasn’t already intending on following, but nonetheless followed after. Behind them, Signy followed with doubt in her eyes, but still intending to help them out.

Most of the sentences in here could benefit from replacing a comma with a period and rephrasing the newly created sentence. It's not wholly incorrect, it's just the information could be made more clear if it came across like so.

‘C’mon!’ Inga shouted as she drifted in front of Rochus. Her pink wings fluttered as she drifted through a cooling fluid intake tube. Rochus frowned in response. He was annoyed that she had called him as if he wasn’t already following her. He followed after her regardless. Behind him, Signy followed with doubt in her eyes. Despite the look on her face, she intended to help them regardless of what hardship they faced.

This is not the only way to do it, and I don't even think it's the best way. But you can see how ajusting the order of the information makes the scene easier to follow. That was really my most pressing concerns grammatically speaking.

The faeries were interesting characters to contend with the menacing, non-magical machines. I did enjoy reading about their childish antics and you did give them each different personalities. The arms race between the mythical creatures and the robots that were trying to fairy proof themselves was also an interesting plot point. I was a bit thrown off by the inclusion of other mythical races and why they hadn't been wiped out by such severe radiation poisoning. I also thought it was a bit weird that the robots had these central servers that nobody thought about attacking until they discovered how to do soul magic. Not your best work, but an entertaining read. Great name for the story, by the way.

The writing was very solid. However, you wrote in first person instead of second person for a single sentence. I also feel this point of view would have been stronger if you never revealed the character's name and sex, or found a way to do so much sooner. But these were very minor. you know what you're doing.

I liked the story. You were able to build up a large number of characters and a setting using very few words. I felt like I knew Mary before her body was discovered, and Clover was very well defined both through her dialog and “your” mental notes about her. The twist was a bit predictable though.

Good read.

The writing is perfect, which is what I would expect from a short entry and you. Fine work.

I've seen all dialog style stories and this is definitely one of the better uses of the format. There was a perfect balance of saying just enough to establish a story, with the right details left to the reader to create their own conclusions. If I had to point something out, it would be that the story is purely an event and doesn't really feature strong character personalities. But I realize that's more my preference as a reader than a fault in the story itself.

Good read, thanks for sharing.

There were a few typos here and an unneeded comma there, but nothing too major considering the length of the piece.

I found the world building to be very well done. Even when the story seemed to repeat itself, it was done in a way that was interesting to read. The lore was rich, and the news articles were an interesting way to tackle information that might have disrupted the flow. I was expecting a little more out of the ending though. The story was just a means to show us how the program functioned. There was no resolution, or even the suggestion that there would be a resolution.

Thanks for sharing.