Outside amidst the first storm of the year, an old sentient war machine yowled at the sky and clawed at the burnt earth as if in doing so it would find its purpose. Anything that could run had already fled for the horizon and those that couldn't either hid or buried themselves, hoping and praying it would leave before it reached them.
As dirt and dismembered corpses were tossed about in the harsh wind and harsher rain, two people shared a pot of tea in the belly of a similar metal beast that succumbed to the elements several decades ago. They didn't speak, they barely moved and every now-and-then they glanced at the hatch as the one-sided battle outside gently rocked their makeshift home.
Glasses and One Eye had survived the existential crises of defunct war machines before and with any luck they hoped to do so once more. It was the main downside of creating weapons that were capable of cunning, they were also capable of questioning their place in the universe when there were no more battles to win and no other machines to conquer.
One Eye once wondered aloud if they might be the last two people alive. Glasses smacked them upside their head for saying something so utterly absurd, though they'd both been thinking it since they stumbled across another massacre point.
Outside their silent anguish and anxious tea-sipping, the war machine stopped beating the earth and wept.
As dirt and dismembered corpses were tossed about in the harsh wind and harsher rain, two people shared a pot of tea in the belly of a similar metal beast that succumbed to the elements several decades ago. They didn't speak, they barely moved and every now-and-then they glanced at the hatch as the one-sided battle outside gently rocked their makeshift home.
Glasses and One Eye had survived the existential crises of defunct war machines before and with any luck they hoped to do so once more. It was the main downside of creating weapons that were capable of cunning, they were also capable of questioning their place in the universe when there were no more battles to win and no other machines to conquer.
One Eye once wondered aloud if they might be the last two people alive. Glasses smacked them upside their head for saying something so utterly absurd, though they'd both been thinking it since they stumbled across another massacre point.
Outside their silent anguish and anxious tea-sipping, the war machine stopped beating the earth and wept.
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