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A while back I had a dream. In that dream the world had ended, but I wasn't alone, I had a friend. An anthro male. Some species of rodent, maybe a rat. In the dream we had to stay near the road because that was the only safe place. Wasn't explained why. We lived in some junk heap on the edge of a freeway. My friend was gay, and we had a physical relationship. Laying together on an old mattress, he snuggled up close to me and said: \"I know you love me, so I know everything is going to be okay.\" \n\nNow I'm not gay, and I wasn't gay in the dream. I didn't love him in that way, but I cared enough about him to pretend. To give him hope for the future. I was willing to make that sacrifice. \n\nI told a friend about this dream and he was immediately like: \"WRITE IT!\"\n\nAnd I was like: \"I don't know... not really my thing...\"\n\n\"WRITE IT!\" \n\n\"Okay, but you're gonna help me.\" \n\n(Spoilers)\n\nThe story takes place in the future. Humanized mice had been so heavily modified that they became a bipedal sentient species nearly as tall as humans. Then they sorta rose up (think Conquest of The Planet of the Apes) and a huge war broke out between humans and hernasids (the name of the mouse species). Because humans have advanced to the point of automating everything, they unleashed a robot army (harvesters) against their enemy. Harvester program was ill suited to it's task, had difficulty distinguishing human from mouse, and basically decided to kill everything. The story starts decades after the war began, and there are very few humans or hernasids alive. \n\nBrian and Emlet are two survivors. Brian is an old, grizzled human soldier and Emlet is a young hernasid born after the apocalypse. They have made a home tucked up under a road viaduct that crosses a river. The reason they are safe(ish) there is because the bridge is deemed \"strategically valuable\" to the harvesters. If it is destroyed they won't be able to cross the river, so they have low aggression around it to avoid causing any damage. Emlet is gay. Being a rodent, not to mention pubescent by his species standards, he has an irrepressible desire for sexual contact. Brian is straight, but loves the furry guy enough to help him with his needs. \n\nEventually their relationship is going to be tested when they find other people. \n\nOh, and there's no way this story will be okay for IB, but what's right here is clean.", "description_bbcode_parsed": "This is a special story that's going to require some explanation.  A while back I had a dream.  In that dream the world had ended, but I wasn't alone, I had a friend.  An anthro male.  Some species of rodent, maybe a rat.  In the dream we had to stay near the road because that was the only safe place.  Wasn't explained why.  We lived in some junk heap on the edge of a freeway.  My friend was gay, and we had a physical relationship.  Laying together on an old mattress, he snuggled up close to me and said:  "I know you love me, so I know everything is going to be okay."  

Now I'm not gay, and I wasn't gay in the dream.  I didn't love him in that way, but I cared enough about him to pretend.  To give him hope for the future.  I was willing to make that sacrifice.  

I told a friend about this dream and he was immediately like:  "WRITE IT!"

And I was like: "I don't know... not really my thing..."

"WRITE IT!"  

"Okay, but you're gonna help me."  

(Spoilers)

The story takes place in the future.  Humanized mice had been so heavily modified that they became a bipedal sentient species nearly as tall as humans.  Then they sorta rose up (think Conquest of The Planet of the Apes) and a huge war broke out between humans and hernasids (the name of the mouse species).  Because humans have advanced to the point of automating everything, they unleashed a robot army (harvesters) against their enemy.  Harvester program was ill suited to it's task, had difficulty distinguishing human from mouse, and basically decided to kill everything.  The story starts decades after the war began, and there are very few humans or hernasids alive.  

Brian and Emlet are two survivors.  Brian is an old, grizzled human soldier and Emlet is a young hernasid born after the apocalypse. They have made a home tucked up under a road viaduct that crosses a river.  The reason they are safe(ish) there is because the bridge is deemed "strategically valuable" to the harvesters.  If it is destroyed they won't be able to cross the river, so they have low aggression around it to avoid causing any damage.  Emlet is gay.  Being a rodent, not to mention pubescent by his species standards, he has an irrepressible desire for sexual contact.  Brian is straight, but loves the furry guy enough to help him with his needs.  

Eventually their relationship is going to be tested when they find other people.  

Oh, and there's no way this story will be okay for IB, but what's right here is clean.", "writing": "The Viaduct\nPrologue\n \n[i]Execute Tracking Protocol.[/i]\n \nThe harvester stepped forward, a damaged joint in one of its four legs squealing insolently to the movement, considerably slowing down the crab-shaped monstrosity.  Its optical lenses rotated and switched between visual spectrums as it scanned the last known position of its quarry.  Lens one.  No useful data.  Lens two.  Location 404 error.  Lens three picked up residual traces of liquid bio-matter giving off a faint heat signature.  The drops of liquid left a trail through some overgrowth and led into the back door of a dilapidated warehouse.  The harvester followed.  \n \nThe door was resistant to being opened as the harvester’s manipulation arm attempted to turn the knob.  The clawed fingers retracted into the arm and in their place a battering maul slid out.  One hard hit slammed the steel door inward off its hinges and the harvester squeezed in through the doorway, its battle ravaged armor panels scraping the frame.  The interior of the warehouse was dark, grimy, and cluttered with many rows of shelving piled with boxes and assorted junk.  Dust particles danced in weak sunbeams that streamed through the high, dirty windows.  The harvester flicked on its illumination, but the light was spoiled by the cloud of dust caused by smashing the door.  The optical lenses rotated again, finding the best one for the poor conditions.  The machine froze in place momentarily and magnified its acoustic microphone.  It picked up a consistent sound of rapid breathing.  Occasional gasps and a sob.  It attempted to triangulate the position.\n \n[i]Target acquisition: 18 percent.  Negative Engagement.  Resume Tracking Protocol.[/i]\n \nThe harvester’s optic searched around, finding the blood trail.  Three legs clanked on the cement and the fourth one scraped behind.  The turret on top rotated as it scanned the warehouse, the heavy muzzle brake of the 30 mm cannon still had heat rising off it from recent use.  Nearby, there was a muffled cough, and the harvester again attempted to acquire a position.  As it turned, its damaged leg bumped a steel shelf.  The rusty and overburdened rack collapsed loudly with a crash and plume of dust.  The harvester whirled in confusion while its cannon tried to mark a target.  \n \n[i]Target acquisition: 5 percent.  Negative Engagement.[/i]\n \nThe harvester remained motionless as the dust settled.  Inside it’s hull was a cacophony of whirs and clicks as it appeared to ponder its options.  \n \n[i]Execute Negotiation Protocol.[/i]\n \n“There is no escape.”  A speaker on the harvester blared a distorted, static-ridden recording.  “Your cause is lost.  By order-r-r of the United States Military, throw down your arms and surrender yourself to this unit.”  \n \nThe machine clanked noisily between the rows of shelves.  “Under article 12, section C of the Machala Ag-g-greement all captured enemy combatants will be taken to a holding fac-c-cility until hostilities cease.”  At the end of a row it paused, it’s cannon swinging around.  Illumination casting through the warehouse.  \n \n“You will n-not be harmed.”  The harvester promised.  \n \nThere was a clatter of metal against concrete on the far side of the warehouse and the turret swung on the noise.  A shadowy shape of someone wearing heavy clothes was barely visible in the light.\n \n[i]Target acquisition: 72 percent.  No detectable threat.  Engagement Protocol Initiated.  [/i]\n \nThe 30 mm autocannon thundered three times in rapid succession, the concussion shaking the decaying structure of the building and blasting up a cloud of dust around the harvester.  Spent casing flipped up through the air as the figure exploded into fragments and a gaping hole was blown outward through the wall behind.\n \n“You will n-not be harmed.”  The harvester repeated as two brass cases fell down on top of it, bouncing harmlessly off the armor.  The cannon’s heavy bolt clicked and made a grinding noise.  The third case remained lodged in it, preventing a fresh round from feeding into the breech.  The bolt pulled back and slammed forward, attempting to clear the jam, but to no avail.  Undaunted, the machine limped toward its vaporized target, searching for verification.  Scans picked up cloth and fragments of wood, but no blood, flesh, nor bone.  It was a decoy.\n \n[i]Negative elimination. Reacquiring Target.[/i]\n \nThe turret spun around, scanning the dust choked surrounding area.  Someone coughed on the other side of the room and the harvester immediately moved toward the sound.  \n \n“You will n-not be harmed.”  It insisted as the bolt pulled back again only to slam into the stovepiped casing.  The harvester rounded a tall pile of decaying boxes and at last located its quarry, a creature that was a cross between human and mouse known as a hernasid.  This one was less than three feet tall, adolescent by their standards, and male.  The creature had large ears, fur, whiskers, and a tail, and wore tattered, threadbare clothes.  He was so covered with dirt and grime that his fur appeared grey.  The mouse pup was huddled on the ground clutching an old doll with a missing button eye, and his thigh was trickling blood from a shrapnel wound.   He regarded the harvester with wide, terrified amber eyes as the machine leveled the cannon on him and made another attempt to clear the jam.\n \n[i]Target acquisition: 100 percent.  Primary arm disabled.  Engagement Protocol Initiated. [/i]\n \nThe harvester stomped forward with an outstretched manipulation arm.  The hernasid kicked away from it as claws grasped for him, gouging long marks in the cement when it missed.  The machine pressed on its assault and the mouse feverishly backed away, desperately kicking and scrambling as best he could with the injury.  All the while screaming incomprehensibly.  \n \n“You will n-not be harmed.”  The harvester blared as the fingers retracted and the maul slid back out.  It raised the arm and the mouse barely managed to roll away as it crashed down, smashing a spider-web pattern of cracks in the cement.  The machine was staggered briefly by the force of its own blow as the bearing inside the bad leg joint slipped and the mouse took the opportunity to put more distance between himself and the rampaging monstrosity.  The cannon’s bolt cycled once more…\n \nThis time the empty case was ejected.  \n \n[i]Primary arm enabled.  [/i]\n \nFrom out of the cloud of dust a dark, heavy shape leaped onto the back of the harvester.  The machine cantilevered on its damaged leg as the cannon touched off a burst, punching three ragged holes in the roof of the warehouse.  The legs skittered as the harvester struggled to regain its balance.  The turret spun and attempted to make contact with what was attacking it, the optical unit rotating wildly, but whatever was on top was taking advantage of its blind spot.  The harvester stumbled sideways into the wall, bouncing off.  The figure on top, dressed in heavy, patchwork clothes and wearing an opaque, glass faced mask, nearly slid off, but somehow managed to stay on the turret.  \n \nThe figure looked at the mouse.  “Hey, kid!”  A muffled voice yelled.  “Find some God-damn cover!”  \n \nThe mouse scrambled to put something – anything – between himself, the harvester and the large person that was battling it.  He squirmed his way behind some piled up trash, stuck his fingers in his ears, closed his eyes tightly, and wished he could be somewhere else.  Wished for his mommy and daddy to be alive and with him.  Wished for all this hell to go away.  The harvester blundered into a row of shelves, smashing them and getting the steel twisted and tangled in its legs.  It fired its cannon randomly, punching additional holes in the already undermined structure of the warehouse.  Its manipulation arm reached over the top of itself and swung the maul, but the figure ducked the clumsy attack.  \n \n“Hostile action against th-this unit is an act of treason against the United States of A-a-America!”  The harvester declared loudly.  “Stand down or the unit will engage with extreme prejudice!”  It fired it’s cannon again before asserting:  “You will n-not be harmed.”  \n \nThe figure didn't reply as he pushed himself to his feet and balanced precariously on the machine.  He unslug a 38mm infantry cannon off his back, slammed the muzzle against the top of the turret, and pulled the trigger.  A shell ripped clean through the harvester and punched into the cement below before detonating, throwing up a cloud of pulverized debris that spilled out of every orifice of the warehouse. \n \nDazed by the concussion of the explosion, the mouse pulled his fingers out of his ears and kicked rubble off himself.  He coughed violently and pulled his shirt up over his mouth. The air was so thick with dust that he couldn’t even see the whiskers of his nose twitch.  His eyes watered and tears turned into mud as they streamed down his furry face.  He found himself against the cinder block wall and used it to help himself to his feet, balancing on his one good leg.  He whimpered and hugged his doll tightly, too terrified and blinded to move.  Not knowing what was still in the darkness.\n \nAs the dust settled, the cub realized something was approaching.  A single glowing light in the cloud of smoke and debris could be made out.  The mouse sobbed with disbelief.  The harvester was still coming for him!  It whirred and clunked, scraping across the cement.  Two of its legs were blown off and it was dragging itself with the manipulation arm.  The turret on its back had a gaping hole with smoke billowing out, the cannon flopping and useless.  The optical lens was fixed on him with soulless determination.  The mouse sank to the floor and started to cry in defeat as the harvester grasped for him.\n \nThe figure emerged from the smoke and stomped on the harvester's arm, pinning it to the floor.  His clothing, now in shredded and smoldering tatters, revealed the armored suit beneath.  He was dragging the infantry cannon, now with a split barrel.  The figure reached into the hole on top of the harvester and ripped out a component.  The machine finally ceased moving, the glow of it’s light slowly faded and the legs sank down.  The figure straightened back up, his body demeanor weary and pained, but he was towering and intimidating over the youngster.  His armor was battle-worn and most of the paint faded, but military markings similar to the harvester could still be made out on it.  He looked down, his now cracked and dust covered visor reflecting the pup.  \n \n“You alright, kid?”\n \nThe mouse raised his doll in front of his face, covering his head.  “No!’  He squeaked.  No!  No!  No!  Leave me alone!  Go away!”  \n \nThe armored figure dropped the weapon on the floor and raised both hands in front of him.  “Whoa!  Calm down!  I’m not going to hurt you!”  \n \n“Get away from me, you evil skinner!”  The pup screamed and threw the doll.  It bounced off the visor and the armored figure managed to catch it before it hit the ground.  Suddenly from all around them there was a creaking groan accompanied by loud, metallic popping noises.  The man glanced up at the rafters of the warehouse.  \n \n“Shit!”  \n \nIgnoring the pup’s shrieks of horror, he scooped up the mouse, tucked him under his arm and bolted for the nearest exit, which happened to be a hole blasted through the wall.  He jumped through just as the building started to collapse behind him, the roof caving inward followed by the walls crumbling out.  Weighted down by the armor and the pup, not to mention dealing with a limp from the point-blank explosion, he barely managed to avoid the fallout.  He stumbled forward and slammed shoulder-first into a rusted automobile parked on four flattened tires.  The deteriorated side panel of the vehicle crumpled in and rusted bits fell onto the cracked, grass patched asphalt.  The mouse pup squirmed out of his grasp, squeaking in pain when he fell on his bad leg.  He tried to stand up and run, but the leg wouldn’t allow it.  He rolled and backed away from the armored figure on his paws and tail, gasping, coughing, and sobbing.  The two stared at each other without speaking as they caught their breath with thick dust settling around them.\n \nThe man leaned painfully on the broken down car. In the passenger seat there was the partially mummified remains of a red-haired woman gaping out the filth shaded window, as if perpetually stunned by the ruined world she witnessed outside.  A world with cracked overgrown roads and empty, crumbling, war-torn buildings patrolled by machines that have run out of things to kill.  The mouse’s eyes flitted down to the doll and the soldier looked at it.  It was clearly a handmade toy.  Lovingly crafted from scraps of cloth and probably stuffed with dried grass or some other filler that happened to be on hand.  The doll was crudely mouse-shaped and had a tiny wooden sword attached to one paw, an example of post-war hernasid craftsmanship. \n \n“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with dolls?”  He said as he tossed it at the boy.\n \nThe mouse snatched it up.  “H-he’s not a doll, he’s a w-warrior!”  The pup insisted.  “And he kills humans!”  \n \nThe figure unlatched his helmet and pried it off, letting it clatter to the ground.  He was a dark haired man with an olive complexion that was marred with scars and wrinkles.  The short facial hair was flecked with gray and white.  His exhausted and melancholy brown eyes, one of them surrounded by red from a hemorrhaged blood vessel, regarded the small mouse boy.  The human nodded slightly.  \n \n“I guess that’s fair, kid.”  He smirked, but the smile was unable to reach his eyes.  “You know, you’re the first living thing bigger than a cat or bird I’ve seen for a while.  Been two years since I’ve seen a sid, longer since I’ve seen a one of my kind.  I was starting to think I was the last person on Earth.”  \n \nThe man noticed the injured leg.  “You’re bleeding.  Let me help you.”  \n \n“No!”  The mouse scurried back, holding his “warrior” up in front of him.  As if the tiny sword his toy held would ward off the villain.\n \nThe man crouched down.  “I’m not going to hurt you.  I’m long done with fighting, there’s no reason for it anymore.”  He unlatched his gauntlets and removed them.  “Just let me help you.  Those things can follow blood like a hound.  I’ll patch you up and we can get out of here.”  \n \n“I'm not going anywhere with you!”  The boy insisted loudly.\n \n“Kid, we don’t have a lot of time.  That thing I killed has friends and they’ll be here any minute.”  The man reasoned.  He searched through a pouch on his armor and found a med kit.  “I have some chem-spray.  It stings like mad, but it will sanitize it and clot it right up.  It won’t harm you, Lord knows it’s been tested enough on your kind.”  \n \nThe soldier reached for the mouse.  Before he could react the pup lunged at him and bit into his hand.  Powerful incisors pierced the flesh and the man pulled away with a yelp.  The medical spray clattered to the ground as he seethed and clutched the wound which had pierced clean through.  The hernasid spit out blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his paw.\n \n“Go away, skinner.”  He growled angrily. \n \nThe man fell back on his butt, grimacing with his hand pressed to his stomach.  Blood oozed between his fingers and dripped onto the crotch of his armor.  “I – I just want to help.”\n \n“My family is dead!”  The mouse shouted as his face twisted in anguish.  “All of them!  My mom!  My dad!  My brother's and sisters!  They found us and I watched them die!  It’s all your fault!”  \n \n“Kid, I didn't even know you were here!  If I had, I would have helped.  The harvesters… They kill us too.  They kill everything!”\n \n“You built them!”  The young hernasid squealed as he started to weep.  “Y-you built them!”  \n \nThe man sighed and leaned back against the car in defeat, overlooked by the aghast corpse.  “I’m just a soldier.  I don’t build, I follow orders just like them.  Except there’s nobody left to give orders.  President Van Rompu… well, he’s probably long dead.”  The soldier gave a humorless chuckle.  “I voted for the other guy anyway.  Not that voting ever mattered.  The corporations put who they wanted in charge.”  \n \nThe soldier put his head back against the vehicle and looked toward the sky.  The wide blue expanse was the only thing that didn’t look like death in this world.  Several crows circled overhead, sensing a fresh meal.  “They sold us on a ‘better way to wage war’.  Can you imagine that?  As if machines committing atrocities in our place is somehow better.  Damn things had a fucked up AI or something and just started killing everyone.  It was a glitch or bad programming, hell, maybe they were just programmed to kill everything when we started losing.  Who knows?  I guess those who built them might, but they’re all dead now.\"  \n \nThe man let out a sudden, angry laugh.  \"Who am I kidding?  They’re in bomb shelters somewhere sipping champagne and taking bubble baths in between getting their cocks sucked by the V.P.  Waiting to inherit this world.”  He glanced around.  Industrial buildings overgrown with trees and vines all around were silent.  Rusted hulks of vehicles littered the roadside.  In the distance gleaming, broken skyscrapers stood vigil over a vast metropolis housing cockroaches and harvesters.  \n \n“For what that’s worth.”\n \nHe had a wild and joyless grin as he shook his head.  “Kid, you should have seen this place before.  It was practically a paradise.  Self-driving air-cars, entertainment fed right to your brain, a goddamned Hilton on the moon, women all prettied up by surgery, discount off-the-shelf slaves, and so much food we threw most of it away.”  \n \nHis face fell.  \"I miss the dogs the most I think.\"  He said quietly.  \"I had one about ten years ago.  She was a shepherd mix.  Found her as a puppy all alone in the rubble.  Called her Daisy.  Harvesters got her and I haven't seen another dog since.  I guess they're extinct now.\" \n \nHe regarded his bleeding hand sadly.  “We had everything, but we were too greedy to share it, too selfish to give someone else a bit of what we had, and too blind to see what we had to lose.  We forgot what it was to fight for something… but your people knew.  In that sense they were more human than we were.  I suppose that’s why we had to kill them.”\n \nThe soldier looked at the mouse pup.  “I know this isn't worth a bucket of piss to you, but I am sorry for what we did to your people and the world you were born into.  We could have done better.  We could hardly have done worse.”\n \nHe leaned forward and a touch of madness behind his eyes glinted.  “But I can hide from them, you know.  I can survive.  I’ve been doing it for years because I know the secrets of the harvesters.  At one time they could blot out the sun with their inescapable, wailing numbers, but there are none in the sky anymore and few on the ground.  They were just as disposable as any other soldier and weren't built to last forever.  The automated manufacturing has failed and the ones that are left are dying.  Slowly, but surely, they’re dying.  It’s just that I'm so damn tired of waiting for that to happen.  So very, very tired.”  \n \nThe hernasid boy looked around as he picked up a distant sound.  A screaming noise of approaching machines.  Still a long way off, but closing in fast.  \n \n“I don't suppose I need to tell you what happens when they get here.”  The madness of his eyes faded as he spoke.  \"If you want to wait for them to find us, I’m okay with that.  I’ll sit here and be with you until the end.  We can give up together.  I’m too old to keep fighting for nothing and I’d rather not die alone.\"\n \nThe pup looked at the man’s bleeding hand.  The blood was red, just like his, not black, as his mother had told him so many times.  Humans were death and destruction.  They were vile and untrustworthy monsters that ate little boys when they found them.  That was what he had been taught.  He had always feared to meet a living one… but this one wasn’t like the stories.  He wasn’t the frothing boogeyman the mouse had expected, just a sad, lonely man in a tin suit.  \n \nThe soldier could see all this in the boy’s amber eyes: Desperation, fear, confusion, uncertainty.  The one thing that wasn’t there was resignation.  \n \n“You’re not ready to die, are you?” \n \nThe mouse’s whiskers quivered and he shook his head.  \n \nThe man smiled warmly.  “What’s your name, kid?”\n \nThe pup wiped the doll across his face, smearing the soot and tears away, revealing white fur.  “Emlet.”  \n \n“Good name.”  The soldier nodded approvingly.  “My name is Sergeant —  No… no, my name is just Brian now.  Brian Rodriguez.  Emlet, if you’re willing to trust me, just for today, I promise nothing will hurt you.  Tomorrow you can change your mind and we can go our separate ways.  I won’t stop you.  But this world is awful, and it’s so much worse when you’re alone.”  \n \nThe whine of the high speed drones increased and the hernasid’s whiskers flicked about nervously.  He looked at the human.  His instincts and knowledge insisted he was evil, that this man had blood on his hands both figuratively and literally, but Emlet couldn’t see any other way to survive.  \n \n“Fine… skinner.”  Emlet agreed.  “But only until tomorrow.” \n \n\n \n \nChapter 1\n \n \nMany tomorrows later…\n \nEmlet vaulted off the roof of the building.  It was a 20 foot gap between this one and the next, but for him, even with a heavily suppressed M24 rifle and backpack strapped to his back, that was a cinch.  He touched down on the next sun baked rooftop and kept running.  Behind him a crow flapped lazily along, keeping pace with the hernasid.  Emlet was careful to stay on the building's support rafters as he ran.  At fully grown he only weighed 80 lbs, kitted out around 100, but the roof structures have all suffered decades of neglect and it wasn’t wise to trust anything but the support beams.  In some buildings, even those are iffy.  \n \nHe ran to the edge of the roof and jumped off to the next building, his billowing shoulder cloak and kilt fluttering in the wind.  The next was three stories taller and even the most athletic hernasid in history couldn’t have made the jump to the roof, but Emlet wasn’t aiming for the roof.  He impacted the wall with his paws and feet, grabbing the narrow ledge of a window.  Below him it was eighty feet to the cement alleyway, but heights didn’t bother him as much as they used to.  The crow, seizing the opportunity, landed on his head and peered down at him.  \n \n“Hi!”  The crow greeted as he pecked at the tinted lens of Emlet’s goggles.  “Go home?”  It suggested to the mouse.  \n \n“Jasper, no!”  Emlet hissed as he shook his head, unbalancing the bird.  \n \nJasper flapped off his head and landed on the window ledge.  “No!”  He declared loudly as he nipped at Emlet’s finger.  “No, Jasper!  No!”  The crow scolded.  \n \n“I don’t want to play with you right now, Jasper.”  Emlet told him.  “I’m busy, go home!”  \n \n“Go home!”  Jasper declared as he took off.  He circled around and landed on the roof above Emlet.  The bird paced back and forth and cocked his head at the mouse, mumbling some chattering noises before letting out a series of squeaky grunts:  “Squeegh, squeegh, squeegh!”\n \n“You’re a rude bird.”  Emlet muttered up to him.  \n \n“Hi!”  The crow responded blithely.  \n \nEmlet grumbled and set himself to getting to the roof.  His paws and feet were wrapped to protect them from the ever present broken glass and other hazards of the city, but his toes and fingers were exposed so he could use his claws when needed.  His hand-like paws and feet found purchase on the rough-face wall and he scaled it with ease.  As he swung his legs over the top the crow hopped onto his lap.\n \n“No!”  The crow demanded.\n \n“Jasper, not now!”\n \nSuddenly there was a static ridden voice: “Emlet, what’s your 20?”  \n \nThe hernasid pulled a walkie talkie from his belt.  The plastic device was brightly colored and shaped like a strange red creature’s face, which he had been told was a character named “Elmo”.  The toy walkie talkies didn’t have much range, but the harvesters ignored the low power band as background interference, where a more powerful two-way radio would attract a swarm of unwanted attention.  He pressed Elmo’s nose, which served as a button.\n \n“I’m on the hotel.  Corner of Chalmers and Sixteenth.”  Emlet spoke into it.  \n \n“Okay, give me eyes on Sixteenth.”  The walkie asked.  “And tell Jasper to go home.  I can hear him all the way down here.”  \n \nEmlet sighed.  “I already tried, he’s being stubborn.”  \n \n“Give him something.”  The walkie suggested.  \n \nEmlet frowned at the crow, who cocked his head and fluffed his feathers.  “Hi!  Jasper!”  The crow spoke cheerily.  \n \n“You’re a little brat, you know that?”  Emlet declared as he dug into a pocket.  “What do I have to give you to go home?”  He sifted through a pawful of trinkets.  A diamond ring, several polished coins, one of them gold, a blue button, an orange bottle cap, and a marble.  He picked out the ring, which was too big for his finger, and offered it.\n \n“You want this?”  \n \nJasper took the ring in his beak, appeared to consider it, but decided to drop it off the side of the building in irritation.  “Squeegh!”  He complained.  “Squeegh, squeegh, squeegh!”  \n \n“Damn it, Jasper!  Fine!”  Emlet relented.  “Take the button.”  \n \nJasper snatched the blue button and hopped off Emlet’s lap.  The crow set down the treasure, admired it with a few pecks, then picked it back up before taking off into the sky.  Emlet stuffed the remaining valuables back into his pocket and made his way to the far side of the hotel roof.  Stepping around the scattered skeletal remains of a human, Emlet kept himself low and unslung the rifle as he peeked over the edge to scan the road below.  \n \n“Got Peach in the middle of the road.”  He said to Elmo and he strained his ears.  “And I can hear two more.  They’re both in the fourth building south of Chalmers.  It's Prancer and a wheeler unit that I can’t recognize by sound alone.”\n \n“How’s the north?”  \n \nEmlet set up the rifle, which had a stock cut down to fit his frame, and searched with the scope.  The road below was surprisingly clean, but the sidewalks on each side were littered with debris, dilapidated vehicles and broken harvesters.  However, there were no functional harvesters in view.  “Street’s clear as far as I can see.”\n \n“Let me know when it’s safe to cross.”\n \nThe mouse watched the harvester below him, one of the heavy crab-style units.   It was in better shape than most and Emlet recognized it as one they had seen enough times to have nicknamed it.  Somehow this one had managed to get orange paint spilled on it, hence the name “Peach”.  \n \nPeach milled around idly searching for targets.  Occasionally it would twist its turret as it wandered.  At one point it picked up a scrap of debris in the road and moved it to the sidewalk.  The harvesters were obsessive about keeping the roads clear, their programming probably deemed it strategically beneficial.  Of course, this habit meant that roads that were frequently patrolled were easy to recognize.  Clean streets were dangerous streets.  Having done that pointless task Peach decided it was time to check an alleyway and moved off the road.\n \n“You’re clear.”  Emlet informed Elmo.  A moment later someone hastily crossed north of him and ducked into a building.  No gunfire erupted, which was a positive sign.  \n \n“Alright, I’m good.”  The walkie spoke.  “I think I’m secure here for now, I’m going to give it a once-over.  Want to give the upper floor of that hotel a look?”  \n \n“You know it.” \n \n“Stay safe and keep your ears open.”  \n \nEmlet put the rifle’s sling over his shoulder to help manage the weight and turned to the access door of the roof.  It was open, of course.  The harvesters don’t leave many locked doors behind.  When he approached, a few pigeons startled him as they fled out into the sunlight.  The stairwell looked safe enough to descend.  Only minor crumbling.    He raised up his goggles off his eyes, switched on his rifle’s light and descended into the darkness, the rifle's fat suppressor leading the way.  He walked down the stairs carefully, keeping the weapon trained in front of him and concentrating on the sounds.  He couldn’t hear any danger, but that didn’t mean there was none.  This was unexplored territory.  Exciting and unknown.  \n \nHe turned the first landing to find a pile of bones loosely held together by rotted clothing.  Two human bodies, one much smaller than the other.  Neither looked to have died well.  The skulls had holes punched through them and the concrete walls had corresponding damage from bullets.  He supposed that was better than how most people died during the war.  Poison gas, disease, nukes, radiation sickness, and starvation all claimed way more than bullets.  Some old, tarnished brass clattered down the stairs as he stepped past the bones.  The next landing had a door leading to the penthouse.  It was ajar, propped open by the remains of someone wearing a police uniform and body armor.  There was an AR rifle as well.  Corroded beyond any use, but Emlet managed to pry off the magazine and extract three cartridges.  5.56 standard ball ammo.  Not much use against harvesters, but he pocketed them anyway.  He turned over the body and it crumbled apart.  He saw nothing else of use.  Whoever this was had fought to his last few rounds.  \n \nHe entered the hallway and found it littered with more bodies.  All so long dead as to have scarcely any odor, even to a hernasid’s keen nose.  By the looks of the damage they had all been driven up to the top floor and tried to make a stand, but it turned into a death trap instead.  The walls were shredded by bullet holes.\n \nIt was often like this when he explored.  A moment in time frozen for decades and all you can do is speculate about the people and their situation.  What the horror of their last few moments had been.  The rat-gnawed bones told few tales.  Interestingly, he found three hernasid bodies and wondered by what chance they had been driven together with humans.  They didn’t appear to be dressed for battle and the damage patterns strongly suggested these people had all been killed by harvesters in the same instance.  Perhaps prisoners.  He had a sudden, painful flash of his family dying.  Somewhere out there they were a scene just like this, by now their bodies were likely in the same state.  Unable to speak their account to a world that cared naught.  He shook it off.  It wasn’t good to dwell on the past, despite how alluring it was when there was no future.  \n \nHe searched the rooms, finding little of interest.  Many guns, but very little ammunition.  He took the few he found.  The guns they didn’t need, they had a bounty stored away and all in better condition than these.  It was ammo that was always in short supply.  He found some canned goods, but those are best dealt with suspicion.  Exposure to winter freeze and summer heat tended to shorten their shelf-life considerably, and they were all well past their “best by” date.  Of course the labels were usually missing so canned food is always a crap shoot.  Don't know if you're going to have stewed tomatoes or sauerkraut until you open them.  He shook them and packed the few that were still \"good\" into his backpack.  Suspect food is sometimes better than no food.  \n \nEmlet noticed some jewelry on and around several bodies and couldn’t help examining them, looking for something to strike his fancy.  He was pleased to find a gold ring with a black stone set in it and took it to replace the one that Jasper had thrown off the roof in a fit.  He was even more satisfied when he tried it on and discovered it fit his middle finger almost perfectly.  He admired it for a moment.  It should polish up nicely.  He also took a glittery earring that unfortunately didn’t have a matching twin.  \n \nHe found something of real interest.  Books!  One of the most persistent enemies they had was boredom.  Any form of fresh entertainment is a blessing.  Several of the books were labeled “Holy Bible”, which he immediately set aside.  They already had a copy of that book.  An interesting read, although a bit confusing to him.  He flipped through the others, relishing the musky smell of the paper.  He found a few that were in good enough shape to tolerate being handled and weren’t shot to pieces.  One of them was “Thunderball” by Ian Fleming.  “A James Bond Thriller'' the cover claimed.  That sounded promising.  He took as many intact books as his small backpack could handle and shouldered it.  \n \nEmlet cocked his head.  Something was coming.  Something huge.  He grabbed his walkie talkie.\n \n“Heads up.”  He spoke into it.  “We got a big mutha coming in from the south.”  \n \n“Damn.”  The walkie replied.  “Alright, hunker down.  Let’s see what she does.”  \n \nEmlet took a position by a window, staying low and peeking out only as much as he needed to see.  He slipped a paw into his jacket pocket to withdraw a short stub of a wooden stick and poked it into his mouth.   He gnawed on the end as he waited for what was coming.  He could feel it long before he saw it.  The building vibrated to the rumbling of huge tires on the road.  It finally came around a turn several blocks away.  An M.U.T.A, a huge automated transportation vehicle that doubled as a mobile depot base.  It was wider than two lanes of the road and was a train of modular, wheeled sections with an engine on both ends.  It was armored, windowless, and bristling with defensive weaponry.  Several of the large tires were nothing but strips of rubber flopping along the road, but it had so many wheels that it was barely hindered.  As it rolled by dust was unsettled from the ceiling and drifted down upon Emlet.  He pulled a cloth mask up over his nose to keep from choking.  The vehicle continued on down the road until disappearing around a building.  \n \n“I hope she’s just passing through.”  The walkie said.  “She had an artillery piece.  We don’t need that crap in the neighborhood.”  \n \n“Roger that.”  Emlet replied with the stick jammed in the corner of his mouth like a cigar.  \n \n“How are you doing on your end?”  \n \n“Less than I was hoping for.”  The hernasid admitted.  “Got a few books though.”  \n \n“Sounds good to me, kid.”  \n \nEmlet rolled his eyes.  Always with this \"kid\" shit.\n \nThe voice on the radio continued:  “Alright, my cooling system conked out and I’m starting to cook here.   I need to get underground.”  \n \n“I’ll check the street.”  \n \nEmlet scanned out the window.  Peach had disappeared, but the wheeler exited the building across from him.  It was a four legged harvester, significantly smaller and lighter armored than a crabber.  Roughly dog-shaped, albeit without a head, it boasted two forward mounted 5.7mm machine-guns and a single manipulator arm that swiveled on top of it.  The wheeler's legs folded up and two wheels, one in front and one in back, slid out.  With a whine of a powerful engine, the harvester sped down the road in the same direction as the M.U.T.A that had passed.  The unit didn't look familiar to him, which means it must have been rotated into their location recently.  It's always dangerous when the units get moved around because it changes the patterns of all the harvesters.  \n \n\"That look like a newbie to you?\"  The walkie asked.\n \n\"Yeah.\"  \n \n \n [i](Humanized mouse model: hu-RNA-scid mark V = Hernasid or simply Sid.) [/i]\n \n[i](M.U.T.A  = Mobile Unit Transport Automaton)[/i]\n \n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "The Viaduct
Prologue
 
Execute Tracking Protocol.
 
The harvester stepped forward, a damaged joint in one of its four legs squealing insolently to the movement, considerably slowing down the crab-shaped monstrosity.  Its optical lenses rotated and switched between visual spectrums as it scanned the last known position of its quarry.  Lens one.  No useful data.  Lens two.  Location 404 error.  Lens three picked up residual traces of liquid bio-matter giving off a faint heat signature.  The drops of liquid left a trail through some overgrowth and led into the back door of a dilapidated warehouse.  The harvester followed.  
 
The door was resistant to being opened as the harvester’s manipulation arm attempted to turn the knob.  The clawed fingers retracted into the arm and in their place a battering maul slid out.  One hard hit slammed the steel door inward off its hinges and the harvester squeezed in through the doorway, its battle ravaged armor panels scraping the frame.  The interior of the warehouse was dark, grimy, and cluttered with many rows of shelving piled with boxes and assorted junk.  Dust particles danced in weak sunbeams that streamed through the high, dirty windows.  The harvester flicked on its illumination, but the light was spoiled by the cloud of dust caused by smashing the door.  The optical lenses rotated again, finding the best one for the poor conditions.  The machine froze in place momentarily and magnified its acoustic microphone.  It picked up a consistent sound of rapid breathing.  Occasional gasps and a sob.  It attempted to triangulate the position.
 
Target acquisition: 18 percent.  Negative Engagement.  Resume Tracking Protocol.
 
The harvester’s optic searched around, finding the blood trail.  Three legs clanked on the cement and the fourth one scraped behind.  The turret on top rotated as it scanned the warehouse, the heavy muzzle brake of the 30 mm cannon still had heat rising off it from recent use.  Nearby, there was a muffled cough, and the harvester again attempted to acquire a position.  As it turned, its damaged leg bumped a steel shelf.  The rusty and overburdened rack collapsed loudly with a crash and plume of dust.  The harvester whirled in confusion while its cannon tried to mark a target.  
 
Target acquisition: 5 percent.  Negative Engagement.
 
The harvester remained motionless as the dust settled.  Inside it’s hull was a cacophony of whirs and clicks as it appeared to ponder its options.  
 
Execute Negotiation Protocol.
 
“There is no escape.”  A speaker on the harvester blared a distorted, static-ridden recording.  “Your cause is lost.  By order-r-r of the United States Military, throw down your arms and surrender yourself to this unit.”  
 
The machine clanked noisily between the rows of shelves.  “Under article 12, section C of the Machala Ag-g-greement all captured enemy combatants will be taken to a holding fac-c-cility until hostilities cease.”  At the end of a row it paused, it’s cannon swinging around.  Illumination casting through the warehouse.  
 
“You will n-not be harmed.”  The harvester promised.  
 
There was a clatter of metal against concrete on the far side of the warehouse and the turret swung on the noise.  A shadowy shape of someone wearing heavy clothes was barely visible in the light.
 
Target acquisition: 72 percent.  No detectable threat.  Engagement Protocol Initiated.  
 
The 30 mm autocannon thundered three times in rapid succession, the concussion shaking the decaying structure of the building and blasting up a cloud of dust around the harvester.  Spent casing flipped up through the air as the figure exploded into fragments and a gaping hole was blown outward through the wall behind.
 
“You will n-not be harmed.”  The harvester repeated as two brass cases fell down on top of it, bouncing harmlessly off the armor.  The cannon’s heavy bolt clicked and made a grinding noise.  The third case remained lodged in it, preventing a fresh round from feeding into the breech.  The bolt pulled back and slammed forward, attempting to clear the jam, but to no avail.  Undaunted, the machine limped toward its vaporized target, searching for verification.  Scans picked up cloth and fragments of wood, but no blood, flesh, nor bone.  It was a decoy.
 
Negative elimination. Reacquiring Target.
 
The turret spun around, scanning the dust choked surrounding area.  Someone coughed on the other side of the room and the harvester immediately moved toward the sound.  
 
“You will n-not be harmed.”  It insisted as the bolt pulled back again only to slam into the stovepiped casing.  The harvester rounded a tall pile of decaying boxes and at last located its quarry, a creature that was a cross between human and mouse known as a hernasid.  This one was less than three feet tall, adolescent by their standards, and male.  The creature had large ears, fur, whiskers, and a tail, and wore tattered, threadbare clothes.  He was so covered with dirt and grime that his fur appeared grey.  The mouse pup was huddled on the ground clutching an old doll with a missing button eye, and his thigh was trickling blood from a shrapnel wound.   He regarded the harvester with wide, terrified amber eyes as the machine leveled the cannon on him and made another attempt to clear the jam.
 
Target acquisition: 100 percent.  Primary arm disabled.  Engagement Protocol Initiated.
 
The harvester stomped forward with an outstretched manipulation arm.  The hernasid kicked away from it as claws grasped for him, gouging long marks in the cement when it missed.  The machine pressed on its assault and the mouse feverishly backed away, desperately kicking and scrambling as best he could with the injury.  All the while screaming incomprehensibly.  
 
“You will n-not be harmed.”  The harvester blared as the fingers retracted and the maul slid back out.  It raised the arm and the mouse barely managed to roll away as it crashed down, smashing a spider-web pattern of cracks in the cement.  The machine was staggered briefly by the force of its own blow as the bearing inside the bad leg joint slipped and the mouse took the opportunity to put more distance between himself and the rampaging monstrosity.  The cannon’s bolt cycled once more…
 
This time the empty case was ejected.  
 
Primary arm enabled.  
 
From out of the cloud of dust a dark, heavy shape leaped onto the back of the harvester.  The machine cantilevered on its damaged leg as the cannon touched off a burst, punching three ragged holes in the roof of the warehouse.  The legs skittered as the harvester struggled to regain its balance.  The turret spun and attempted to make contact with what was attacking it, the optical unit rotating wildly, but whatever was on top was taking advantage of its blind spot.  The harvester stumbled sideways into the wall, bouncing off.  The figure on top, dressed in heavy, patchwork clothes and wearing an opaque, glass faced mask, nearly slid off, but somehow managed to stay on the turret.  
 
The figure looked at the mouse.  “Hey, kid!”  A muffled voice yelled.  “Find some God-damn cover!”  
 
The mouse scrambled to put something – anything – between himself, the harvester and the large person that was battling it.  He squirmed his way behind some piled up trash, stuck his fingers in his ears, closed his eyes tightly, and wished he could be somewhere else.  Wished for his mommy and daddy to be alive and with him.  Wished for all this hell to go away.  The harvester blundered into a row of shelves, smashing them and getting the steel twisted and tangled in its legs.  It fired its cannon randomly, punching additional holes in the already undermined structure of the warehouse.  Its manipulation arm reached over the top of itself and swung the maul, but the figure ducked the clumsy attack.  
 
“Hostile action against th-this unit is an act of treason against the United States of A-a-America!”  The harvester declared loudly.  “Stand down or the unit will engage with extreme prejudice!”  It fired it’s cannon again before asserting:  “You will n-not be harmed.”  
 
The figure didn't reply as he pushed himself to his feet and balanced precariously on the machine.  He unslug a 38mm infantry cannon off his back, slammed the muzzle against the top of the turret, and pulled the trigger.  A shell ripped clean through the harvester and punched into the cement below before detonating, throwing up a cloud of pulverized debris that spilled out of every orifice of the warehouse.
 
Dazed by the concussion of the explosion, the mouse pulled his fingers out of his ears and kicked rubble off himself.  He coughed violently and pulled his shirt up over his mouth. The air was so thick with dust that he couldn’t even see the whiskers of his nose twitch.  His eyes watered and tears turned into mud as they streamed down his furry face.  He found himself against the cinder block wall and used it to help himself to his feet, balancing on his one good leg.  He whimpered and hugged his doll tightly, too terrified and blinded to move.  Not knowing what was still in the darkness.
 
As the dust settled, the cub realized something was approaching.  A single glowing light in the cloud of smoke and debris could be made out.  The mouse sobbed with disbelief.  The harvester was still coming for him!  It whirred and clunked, scraping across the cement.  Two of its legs were blown off and it was dragging itself with the manipulation arm.  The turret on its back had a gaping hole with smoke billowing out, the cannon flopping and useless.  The optical lens was fixed on him with soulless determination.  The mouse sank to the floor and started to cry in defeat as the harvester grasped for him.
 
The figure emerged from the smoke and stomped on the harvester's arm, pinning it to the floor.  His clothing, now in shredded and smoldering tatters, revealed the armored suit beneath.  He was dragging the infantry cannon, now with a split barrel.  The figure reached into the hole on top of the harvester and ripped out a component.  The machine finally ceased moving, the glow of it’s light slowly faded and the legs sank down.  The figure straightened back up, his body demeanor weary and pained, but he was towering and intimidating over the youngster.  His armor was battle-worn and most of the paint faded, but military markings similar to the harvester could still be made out on it.  He looked down, his now cracked and dust covered visor reflecting the pup.  
 
“You alright, kid?”
 
The mouse raised his doll in front of his face, covering his head.  “No!’  He squeaked.  No!  No!  No!  Leave me alone!  Go away!”  
 
The armored figure dropped the weapon on the floor and raised both hands in front of him.  “Whoa!  Calm down!  I’m not going to hurt you!”  
 
“Get away from me, you evil skinner!”  The pup screamed and threw the doll.  It bounced off the visor and the armored figure managed to catch it before it hit the ground.  Suddenly from all around them there was a creaking groan accompanied by loud, metallic popping noises.  The man glanced up at the rafters of the warehouse.  
 
“Shit!”  
 
Ignoring the pup’s shrieks of horror, he scooped up the mouse, tucked him under his arm and bolted for the nearest exit, which happened to be a hole blasted through the wall.  He jumped through just as the building started to collapse behind him, the roof caving inward followed by the walls crumbling out.  Weighted down by the armor and the pup, not to mention dealing with a limp from the point-blank explosion, he barely managed to avoid the fallout.  He stumbled forward and slammed shoulder-first into a rusted automobile parked on four flattened tires.  The deteriorated side panel of the vehicle crumpled in and rusted bits fell onto the cracked, grass patched asphalt.  The mouse pup squirmed out of his grasp, squeaking in pain when he fell on his bad leg.  He tried to stand up and run, but the leg wouldn’t allow it.  He rolled and backed away from the armored figure on his paws and tail, gasping, coughing, and sobbing.  The two stared at each other without speaking as they caught their breath with thick dust settling around them.
 
The man leaned painfully on the broken down car. In the passenger seat there was the partially mummified remains of a red-haired woman gaping out the filth shaded window, as if perpetually stunned by the ruined world she witnessed outside.  A world with cracked overgrown roads and empty, crumbling, war-torn buildings patrolled by machines that have run out of things to kill.  The mouse’s eyes flitted down to the doll and the soldier looked at it.  It was clearly a handmade toy.  Lovingly crafted from scraps of cloth and probably stuffed with dried grass or some other filler that happened to be on hand.  The doll was crudely mouse-shaped and had a tiny wooden sword attached to one paw, an example of post-war hernasid craftsmanship.
 
“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with dolls?”  He said as he tossed it at the boy.
 
The mouse snatched it up.  “H-he’s not a doll, he’s a w-warrior!”  The pup insisted.  “And he kills humans!”  
 
The figure unlatched his helmet and pried it off, letting it clatter to the ground.  He was a dark haired man with an olive complexion that was marred with scars and wrinkles.  The short facial hair was flecked with gray and white.  His exhausted and melancholy brown eyes, one of them surrounded by red from a hemorrhaged blood vessel, regarded the small mouse boy.  The human nodded slightly.  
 
“I guess that’s fair, kid.”  He smirked, but the smile was unable to reach his eyes.  “You know, you’re the first living thing bigger than a cat or bird I’ve seen for a while.  Been two years since I’ve seen a sid, longer since I’ve seen a one of my kind.  I was starting to think I was the last person on Earth.”  
 
The man noticed the injured leg.  “You’re bleeding.  Let me help you.”  
 
“No!”  The mouse scurried back, holding his “warrior” up in front of him.  As if the tiny sword his toy held would ward off the villain.
 
The man crouched down.  “I’m not going to hurt you.  I’m long done with fighting, there’s no reason for it anymore.”  He unlatched his gauntlets and removed them.  “Just let me help you.  Those things can follow blood like a hound.  I’ll patch you up and we can get out of here.”  
 
“I'm not going anywhere with you!”  The boy insisted loudly.
 
“Kid, we don’t have a lot of time.  That thing I killed has friends and they’ll be here any minute.”  The man reasoned.  He searched through a pouch on his armor and found a med kit.  “I have some chem-spray.  It stings like mad, but it will sanitize it and clot it right up.  It won’t harm you, Lord knows it’s been tested enough on your kind.”  
 
The soldier reached for the mouse.  Before he could react the pup lunged at him and bit into his hand.  Powerful incisors pierced the flesh and the man pulled away with a yelp.  The medical spray clattered to the ground as he seethed and clutched the wound which had pierced clean through.  The hernasid spit out blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his paw.
 
“Go away, skinner.”  He growled angrily.
 
The man fell back on his butt, grimacing with his hand pressed to his stomach.  Blood oozed between his fingers and dripped onto the crotch of his armor.  “I – I just want to help.”
 
“My family is dead!”  The mouse shouted as his face twisted in anguish.  “All of them!  My mom!  My dad!  My brother's and sisters!  They found us and I watched them die!  It’s all your fault!”  
 
“Kid, I didn't even know you were here!  If I had, I would have helped.  The harvesters… They kill us too.  They kill everything!”
 
“You built them!”  The young hernasid squealed as he started to weep.  “Y-you built them!”  
 
The man sighed and leaned back against the car in defeat, overlooked by the aghast corpse.  “I’m just a soldier.  I don’t build, I follow orders just like them.  Except there’s nobody left to give orders.  President Van Rompu… well, he’s probably long dead.”  The soldier gave a humorless chuckle.  “I voted for the other guy anyway.  Not that voting ever mattered.  The corporations put who they wanted in charge.”  
 
The soldier put his head back against the vehicle and looked toward the sky.  The wide blue expanse was the only thing that didn’t look like death in this world.  Several crows circled overhead, sensing a fresh meal.  “They sold us on a ‘better way to wage war’.  Can you imagine that?  As if machines committing atrocities in our place is somehow better.  Damn things had a fucked up AI or something and just started killing everyone.  It was a glitch or bad programming, hell, maybe they were just programmed to kill everything when we started losing.  Who knows?  I guess those who built them might, but they’re all dead now."  
 
The man let out a sudden, angry laugh.  "Who am I kidding?  They’re in bomb shelters somewhere sipping champagne and taking bubble baths in between getting their cocks sucked by the V.P.  Waiting to inherit this world.”  He glanced around.  Industrial buildings overgrown with trees and vines all around were silent.  Rusted hulks of vehicles littered the roadside.  In the distance gleaming, broken skyscrapers stood vigil over a vast metropolis housing cockroaches and harvesters.  
 
“For what that’s worth.”
 
He had a wild and joyless grin as he shook his head.  “Kid, you should have seen this place before.  It was practically a paradise.  Self-driving air-cars, entertainment fed right to your brain, a goddamned Hilton on the moon, women all prettied up by surgery, discount off-the-shelf slaves, and so much food we threw most of it away.”  
 
His face fell.  "I miss the dogs the most I think."  He said quietly.  "I had one about ten years ago.  She was a shepherd mix.  Found her as a puppy all alone in the rubble.  Called her Daisy.  Harvesters got her and I haven't seen another dog since.  I guess they're extinct now."
 
He regarded his bleeding hand sadly.  “We had everything, but we were too greedy to share it, too selfish to give someone else a bit of what we had, and too blind to see what we had to lose.  We forgot what it was to fight for something… but your people knew.  In that sense they were more human than we were.  I suppose that’s why we had to kill them.”
 
The soldier looked at the mouse pup.  “I know this isn't worth a bucket of piss to you, but I am sorry for what we did to your people and the world you were born into.  We could have done better.  We could hardly have done worse.”
 
He leaned forward and a touch of madness behind his eyes glinted.  “But I can hide from them, you know.  I can survive.  I’ve been doing it for years because I know the secrets of the harvesters.  At one time they could blot out the sun with their inescapable, wailing numbers, but there are none in the sky anymore and few on the ground.  They were just as disposable as any other soldier and weren't built to last forever.  The automated manufacturing has failed and the ones that are left are dying.  Slowly, but surely, they’re dying.  It’s just that I'm so damn tired of waiting for that to happen.  So very, very tired.”  
 
The hernasid boy looked around as he picked up a distant sound.  A screaming noise of approaching machines.  Still a long way off, but closing in fast.  
 
“I don't suppose I need to tell you what happens when they get here.”  The madness of his eyes faded as he spoke.  "If you want to wait for them to find us, I’m okay with that.  I’ll sit here and be with you until the end.  We can give up together.  I’m too old to keep fighting for nothing and I’d rather not die alone."
 
The pup looked at the man’s bleeding hand.  The blood was red, just like his, not black, as his mother had told him so many times.  Humans were death and destruction.  They were vile and untrustworthy monsters that ate little boys when they found them.  That was what he had been taught.  He had always feared to meet a living one… but this one wasn’t like the stories.  He wasn’t the frothing boogeyman the mouse had expected, just a sad, lonely man in a tin suit.  
 
The soldier could see all this in the boy’s amber eyes: Desperation, fear, confusion, uncertainty.  The one thing that wasn’t there was resignation.  
 
“You’re not ready to die, are you?”
 
The mouse’s whiskers quivered and he shook his head.  
 
The man smiled warmly.  “What’s your name, kid?”
 
The pup wiped the doll across his face, smearing the soot and tears away, revealing white fur.  “Emlet.”  
 
“Good name.”  The soldier nodded approvingly.  “My name is Sergeant —  No… no, my name is just Brian now.  Brian Rodriguez.  Emlet, if you’re willing to trust me, just for today, I promise nothing will hurt you.  Tomorrow you can change your mind and we can go our separate ways.  I won’t stop you.  But this world is awful, and it’s so much worse when you’re alone.”  
 
The whine of the high speed drones increased and the hernasid’s whiskers flicked about nervously.  He looked at the human.  His instincts and knowledge insisted he was evil, that this man had blood on his hands both figuratively and literally, but Emlet couldn’t see any other way to survive.  
 
“Fine… skinner.”  Emlet agreed.  “But only until tomorrow.”
 

 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
Many tomorrows later…
 
Emlet vaulted off the roof of the building.  It was a 20 foot gap between this one and the next, but for him, even with a heavily suppressed M24 rifle and backpack strapped to his back, that was a cinch.  He touched down on the next sun baked rooftop and kept running.  Behind him a crow flapped lazily along, keeping pace with the hernasid.  Emlet was careful to stay on the building's support rafters as he ran.  At fully grown he only weighed 80 lbs, kitted out around 100, but the roof structures have all suffered decades of neglect and it wasn’t wise to trust anything but the support beams.  In some buildings, even those are iffy.  
 
He ran to the edge of the roof and jumped off to the next building, his billowing shoulder cloak and kilt fluttering in the wind.  The next was three stories taller and even the most athletic hernasid in history couldn’t have made the jump to the roof, but Emlet wasn’t aiming for the roof.  He impacted the wall with his paws and feet, grabbing the narrow ledge of a window.  Below him it was eighty feet to the cement alleyway, but heights didn’t bother him as much as they used to.  The crow, seizing the opportunity, landed on his head and peered down at him.  
 
“Hi!”  The crow greeted as he pecked at the tinted lens of Emlet’s goggles.  “Go home?”  It suggested to the mouse.  
 
“Jasper, no!”  Emlet hissed as he shook his head, unbalancing the bird.  
 
Jasper flapped off his head and landed on the window ledge.  “No!”  He declared loudly as he nipped at Emlet’s finger.  “No, Jasper!  No!”  The crow scolded.  
 
“I don’t want to play with you right now, Jasper.”  Emlet told him.  “I’m busy, go home!”  
 
“Go home!”  Jasper declared as he took off.  He circled around and landed on the roof above Emlet.  The bird paced back and forth and cocked his head at the mouse, mumbling some chattering noises before letting out a series of squeaky grunts:  “Squeegh, squeegh, squeegh!”
 
“You’re a rude bird.”  Emlet muttered up to him.  
 
“Hi!”  The crow responded blithely.  
 
Emlet grumbled and set himself to getting to the roof.  His paws and feet were wrapped to protect them from the ever present broken glass and other hazards of the city, but his toes and fingers were exposed so he could use his claws when needed.  His hand-like paws and feet found purchase on the rough-face wall and he scaled it with ease.  As he swung his legs over the top the crow hopped onto his lap.
 
“No!”  The crow demanded.
 
“Jasper, not now!”
 
Suddenly there was a static ridden voice: “Emlet, what’s your 20?”  
 
The hernasid pulled a walkie talkie from his belt.  The plastic device was brightly colored and shaped like a strange red creature’s face, which he had been told was a character named “Elmo”.  The toy walkie talkies didn’t have much range, but the harvesters ignored the low power band as background interference, where a more powerful two-way radio would attract a swarm of unwanted attention.  He pressed Elmo’s nose, which served as a button.
 
“I’m on the hotel.  Corner of Chalmers and Sixteenth.”  Emlet spoke into it.  
 
“Okay, give me eyes on Sixteenth.”  The walkie asked.  “And tell Jasper to go home.  I can hear him all the way down here.”  
 
Emlet sighed.  “I already tried, he’s being stubborn.”  
 
“Give him something.”  The walkie suggested.  
 
Emlet frowned at the crow, who cocked his head and fluffed his feathers.  “Hi!  Jasper!”  The crow spoke cheerily.  
 
“You’re a little brat, you know that?”  Emlet declared as he dug into a pocket.  “What do I have to give you to go home?”  He sifted through a pawful of trinkets.  A diamond ring, several polished coins, one of them gold, a blue button, an orange bottle cap, and a marble.  He picked out the ring, which was too big for his finger, and offered it.
 
“You want this?”  
 
Jasper took the ring in his beak, appeared to consider it, but decided to drop it off the side of the building in irritation.  “Squeegh!”  He complained.  “Squeegh, squeegh, squeegh!”  
 
“Damn it, Jasper!  Fine!”  Emlet relented.  “Take the button.”  
 
Jasper snatched the blue button and hopped off Emlet’s lap.  The crow set down the treasure, admired it with a few pecks, then picked it back up before taking off into the sky.  Emlet stuffed the remaining valuables back into his pocket and made his way to the far side of the hotel roof.  Stepping around the scattered skeletal remains of a human, Emlet kept himself low and unslung the rifle as he peeked over the edge to scan the road below.  
 
“Got Peach in the middle of the road.”  He said to Elmo and he strained his ears.  “And I can hear two more.  They’re both in the fourth building south of Chalmers.  It's Prancer and a wheeler unit that I can’t recognize by sound alone.”
 
“How’s the north?”  
 
Emlet set up the rifle, which had a stock cut down to fit his frame, and searched with the scope.  The road below was surprisingly clean, but the sidewalks on each side were littered with debris, dilapidated vehicles and broken harvesters.  However, there were no functional harvesters in view.  “Street’s clear as far as I can see.”
 
“Let me know when it’s safe to cross.”
 
The mouse watched the harvester below him, one of the heavy crab-style units.   It was in better shape than most and Emlet recognized it as one they had seen enough times to have nicknamed it.  Somehow this one had managed to get orange paint spilled on it, hence the name “Peach”.  
 
Peach milled around idly searching for targets.  Occasionally it would twist its turret as it wandered.  At one point it picked up a scrap of debris in the road and moved it to the sidewalk.  The harvesters were obsessive about keeping the roads clear, their programming probably deemed it strategically beneficial.  Of course, this habit meant that roads that were frequently patrolled were easy to recognize.  Clean streets were dangerous streets.  Having done that pointless task Peach decided it was time to check an alleyway and moved off the road.
 
“You’re clear.”  Emlet informed Elmo.  A moment later someone hastily crossed north of him and ducked into a building.  No gunfire erupted, which was a positive sign.  
 
“Alright, I’m good.”  The walkie spoke.  “I think I’m secure here for now, I’m going to give it a once-over.  Want to give the upper floor of that hotel a look?”  
 
“You know it.”
 
“Stay safe and keep your ears open.”  
 
Emlet put the rifle’s sling over his shoulder to help manage the weight and turned to the access door of the roof.  It was open, of course.  The harvesters don’t leave many locked doors behind.  When he approached, a few pigeons startled him as they fled out into the sunlight.  The stairwell looked safe enough to descend.  Only minor crumbling.    He raised up his goggles off his eyes, switched on his rifle’s light and descended into the darkness, the rifle's fat suppressor leading the way.  He walked down the stairs carefully, keeping the weapon trained in front of him and concentrating on the sounds.  He couldn’t hear any danger, but that didn’t mean there was none.  This was unexplored territory.  Exciting and unknown.  
 
He turned the first landing to find a pile of bones loosely held together by rotted clothing.  Two human bodies, one much smaller than the other.  Neither looked to have died well.  The skulls had holes punched through them and the concrete walls had corresponding damage from bullets.  He supposed that was better than how most people died during the war.  Poison gas, disease, nukes, radiation sickness, and starvation all claimed way more than bullets.  Some old, tarnished brass clattered down the stairs as he stepped past the bones.  The next landing had a door leading to the penthouse.  It was ajar, propped open by the remains of someone wearing a police uniform and body armor.  There was an AR rifle as well.  Corroded beyond any use, but Emlet managed to pry off the magazine and extract three cartridges.  5.56 standard ball ammo.  Not much use against harvesters, but he pocketed them anyway.  He turned over the body and it crumbled apart.  He saw nothing else of use.  Whoever this was had fought to his last few rounds.  
 
He entered the hallway and found it littered with more bodies.  All so long dead as to have scarcely any odor, even to a hernasid’s keen nose.  By the looks of the damage they had all been driven up to the top floor and tried to make a stand, but it turned into a death trap instead.  The walls were shredded by bullet holes.
 
It was often like this when he explored.  A moment in time frozen for decades and all you can do is speculate about the people and their situation.  What the horror of their last few moments had been.  The rat-gnawed bones told few tales.  Interestingly, he found three hernasid bodies and wondered by what chance they had been driven together with humans.  They didn’t appear to be dressed for battle and the damage patterns strongly suggested these people had all been killed by harvesters in the same instance.  Perhaps prisoners.  He had a sudden, painful flash of his family dying.  Somewhere out there they were a scene just like this, by now their bodies were likely in the same state.  Unable to speak their account to a world that cared naught.  He shook it off.  It wasn’t good to dwell on the past, despite how alluring it was when there was no future.  
 
He searched the rooms, finding little of interest.  Many guns, but very little ammunition.  He took the few he found.  The guns they didn’t need, they had a bounty stored away and all in better condition than these.  It was ammo that was always in short supply.  He found some canned goods, but those are best dealt with suspicion.  Exposure to winter freeze and summer heat tended to shorten their shelf-life considerably, and they were all well past their “best by” date.  Of course the labels were usually missing so canned food is always a crap shoot.  Don't know if you're going to have stewed tomatoes or sauerkraut until you open them.  He shook them and packed the few that were still "good" into his backpack.  Suspect food is sometimes better than no food.  
 
Emlet noticed some jewelry on and around several bodies and couldn’t help examining them, looking for something to strike his fancy.  He was pleased to find a gold ring with a black stone set in it and took it to replace the one that Jasper had thrown off the roof in a fit.  He was even more satisfied when he tried it on and discovered it fit his middle finger almost perfectly.  He admired it for a moment.  It should polish up nicely.  He also took a glittery earring that unfortunately didn’t have a matching twin.  
 
He found something of real interest.  Books!  One of the most persistent enemies they had was boredom.  Any form of fresh entertainment is a blessing.  Several of the books were labeled “Holy Bible”, which he immediately set aside.  They already had a copy of that book.  An interesting read, although a bit confusing to him.  He flipped through the others, relishing the musky smell of the paper.  He found a few that were in good enough shape to tolerate being handled and weren’t shot to pieces.  One of them was “Thunderball” by Ian Fleming.  “A James Bond Thriller'' the cover claimed.  That sounded promising.  He took as many intact books as his small backpack could handle and shouldered it.  
 
Emlet cocked his head.  Something was coming.  Something huge.  He grabbed his walkie talkie.
 
“Heads up.”  He spoke into it.  “We got a big mutha coming in from the south.”  
 
“Damn.”  The walkie replied.  “Alright, hunker down.  Let’s see what she does.”  
 
Emlet took a position by a window, staying low and peeking out only as much as he needed to see.  He slipped a paw into his jacket pocket to withdraw a short stub of a wooden stick and poked it into his mouth.   He gnawed on the end as he waited for what was coming.  He could feel it long before he saw it.  The building vibrated to the rumbling of huge tires on the road.  It finally came around a turn several blocks away.  An M.U.T.A, a huge automated transportation vehicle that doubled as a mobile depot base.  It was wider than two lanes of the road and was a train of modular, wheeled sections with an engine on both ends.  It was armored, windowless, and bristling with defensive weaponry.  Several of the large tires were nothing but strips of rubber flopping along the road, but it had so many wheels that it was barely hindered.  As it rolled by dust was unsettled from the ceiling and drifted down upon Emlet.  He pulled a cloth mask up over his nose to keep from choking.  The vehicle continued on down the road until disappearing around a building.  
 
“I hope she’s just passing through.”  The walkie said.  “She had an artillery piece.  We don’t need that crap in the neighborhood.”  
 
“Roger that.”  Emlet replied with the stick jammed in the corner of his mouth like a cigar.  
 
“How are you doing on your end?”  
 
“Less than I was hoping for.”  The hernasid admitted.  “Got a few books though.”  
 
“Sounds good to me, kid.”  
 
Emlet rolled his eyes.  Always with this "kid" shit.
 
The voice on the radio continued:  “Alright, my cooling system conked out and I’m starting to cook here.   I need to get underground.”  
 
“I’ll check the street.”  
 
Emlet scanned out the window.  Peach had disappeared, but the wheeler exited the building across from him.  It was a four legged harvester, significantly smaller and lighter armored than a crabber.  Roughly dog-shaped, albeit without a head, it boasted two forward mounted 5.7mm machine-guns and a single manipulator arm that swiveled on top of it.  The wheeler's legs folded up and two wheels, one in front and one in back, slid out.  With a whine of a powerful engine, the harvester sped down the road in the same direction as the M.U.T.A that had passed.  The unit didn't look familiar to him, which means it must have been rotated into their location recently.  It's always dangerous when the units get moved around because it changes the patterns of all the harvesters.  
 
"That look like a newbie to you?"  The walkie asked.
 
"Yeah."  
 
 
 (Humanized mouse model: hu-RNA-scid mark V = Hernasid or simply Sid.)  
 
(M.U.T.A  = Mobile Unit Transport Automaton)
 
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