the gravediggerThey would come soon. Always. A slow procession, farther out each time, and harder. They’d leave their dead, fewer and younger each time.
YRMADMajor Briers kicked at the innards which festooned brightly from YRMAD’s shredded core, pooling at his feet.
The Determined InstrumentalistThey were machines. Like dishwashers. Like radios. Neutral artifacts. Instruments subservient to the user’s wishes.