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What do you think?  

I mean seriously, I've had like no feedback on this one. ", "writing": "[center]Prologue[/center]\n \n \n[i]Execute Tracking Protocol.[/i]\n\nThe harvester stepped forward, a worn joint in one of its four legs squealing insolently to the movement and considerably slowing down the crablike monstrosity.  It had just lost radio contact with unit CR-5867r, the last broadcast location two-hundred thirty-two meters south-southwest.  Six-hundred forty-eight seconds earlier it lost contact with unit CV-9226e.  Further coordinated efforts were not possible until support arrived, so the harvester continued its mission objective alone.  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 harvester’s blood soaked manipulation arm attempted to turn the knob, but the door was resistant to being opened.  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.  The harvester tilted its saucer-shaped body sideways to squeeze through the doorway.  Its battle ravaged armor panels scraped the frame and the bad leg kicked for purchase as it worked its way through.  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 kicked up from 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 cannon still had shimmering 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.  It searched for the trail again, but found it had been obscured by debris.\n\n[i]Target acquisition: 5 percent.  Negative Engagement.[/i]\n\nThe harvester remained motionless as the dust settled.  Inside its 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, its 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 toward 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 20mm autocannon thundered a three-round burst, the concussion shaking the decaying structure of the building and kicking up a cloud of dust around the harvester.  The person 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 bounced across the floor.  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, wood, and fragments of plastic reinforced fiberglass, but no blood, flesh, nor bone.  It was a mannequin.\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 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 rushed forward with an outstretched arm.  The mouse 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 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 \nOut of the cloud of darkness and dust behind the harvester a heavy shape leapt onto its back.  The machine teetered on its damaged leg as the cannon touched off a burst, blowing 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\n“Hey, kid!” a muffled voice yelled.  “Find some God-damn cover!”  \n\nThe mouse scrambled his way behind some piled up trash as 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 clumsy attack was easily dodged.  \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 its cannon again before asserting: “You will n-not be harmed.”  \n\nThe figure pushed himself to his feet and balanced precariously on the machine.  He unslug an infantry cannon off his back and slammed the muzzle against the top of the turret.  \n\n\"Bullshit!\"\n\nA shell ripped through the harvester and punched into the cement below before detonating, throwing up a cloud of pulverized debris that spilled from every orifice of the warehouse. \n \n\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 pup realized something was approaching.  A single glowing light in the cloud of smoke and debris.  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 that spit sparks and the cannon flopped uselessly.  The optical lens was fixed on him with soulless determination. The mouse sobbed with disbelief and sank to the floor.  He started to cry as the harvester grasped for him.\n\nA heavy boot stomped on the harvester's arm, pinning it to the floor.  The patchwork clothing of the large figure was shredded and smoldering tatters, revealing a soldier's armored suit beneath.  The armor was battle-worn and most of the paint faded, but military markings similar to the harvester could still be made out on it.  Dragging behind from its sling was the infantry cannon with a ruined and split barrel.  The figure reached into the hole on top of the harvester and ripped out a component.  The machine shuddered and ceased moving, the glow of it’s light slowly faded as the clutching arm sank down.  The figure straightened back up and tossed the component aside.  His body demeanor weary and his breath panted heavily through the helmet's respiratory filter, but he was towering and intimidating over the youngster.  He looked down, his cracked and dust covered visor reflecting the pup.  \n\n“You alright, kid?”\n\nThe mouse's eyes widened in horror and he raised the doll in front of his face.  “No!’ he squeaked.  \"No!  No!  No!  Leave me alone!  Go away!”  \n\nThe armored figure let the weapon clatter to the floor and raised both hands in front of him.  “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 figure caught it before it hit the ground.  \n\nThe soldier crouched down.  \"Kid, I need you to tell me how many are in your group and where they might be.\" \n\n\"You leave my family alone!\"\n\nThe soldier grabbed the pup by the front of the shirt with an armored gauntlet.  \"This is important, damn it!  How many?\"  \n\n\"NO!\"  The mouse tried to wrest himself away, but the grip was immensely powerful.  \n\nThe soldier indicated with his head at the broken harvester. \"That thing was part of a standard three-unit search and destroy platoon.  I got all of them, but their support can't be more than ten minutes away.  That's half a dozen more at least.  They'll radio for assistance and in an hour there will be hundreds of them.  They'll scour this location for days and then drop a nerve shell on it just to be sure.  If any of your gr-- [i]family [/i]is still out there I need to know where they are or they're going to die!  I counted sixteen bodies back there.  How many more?\"\n\nThe mouse gaped at his reflection in the soldier's mask with shock.  \"N-no... that... I don't believe you!\"\n\n\"Kid--\"\n\nThe pup squeezed his eyes shut and put his paws over his ears, trying to will himself to be someplace else. Anywhere else. \"YOU'RE LYING!\" \n\nThe soldier shook him.  \"How many?\"  \n\n\"THERE WAS SEVENTEEN OF US!\"  \n\nSuddenly from all around them there was a creaking groan accompanied by loud, metallic popping noises.  The soldier glanced up at the rafters of the warehouse.  \n\n“Shit!”  \n\nDisregarding the pup’s screams, he scooped up the mouse, tucked him under his arm and bolted for the nearest exit, a hole that had been recently 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 pup and dealing with a limp from the point-blank explosion, he barely managed to avoid the collapsing building.  Stumbling forward he slammed shoulder-first into a rusted automobile.  The deteriorated side panel of the vehicle crumpled in and rusted bits fell onto the cracked, grass-patched asphalt as the fallout swept over them.  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 on his paws and tail, gasping, coughing, and sobbing.  The two stared at each other, catching their breath as thick dust was carried away in the wind.\n\nThe man leaned painfully on the broken down car. In the passenger seat the mummified remains of a red-haired woman gaped out the filth shaded window, as if perpetually stunned by the ruined world she witnessed outside.  A world of cracked, overgrown roads and empty, crumbling, war-torn buildings patrolled by machines that have nearly run out of things to kill.  \n\nThe mouse’s eyes flitted down to the doll and the soldier looked at it.  He turned the doll in his hand.  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.\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 fall 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 it was an awkward expression, like someone who had forgotten how to smile.  “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.”  He shook his head.  \"Seventeen right under my nose and I never knew.\"  \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 knelt 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.”  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 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 punctured the flesh and the man pulled away with a yelp.  The medical spray skipped across the ground as he seethed and clutched the wound that had pierced clean through.  \n\nThe mouse spit out blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his paw. “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 brothers and sisters!  It’s all your fault!”  \n\n“I didn't even know you were here until I heard the shooting!  If I had I would have helped sooner.  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 leaned against the car in defeat, overlooked by the aghast corpse.  “Kid, I’m just a soldier.  I don’t build, I follow orders just like them.  Except there’s nobody left to give orders anymore.  President Van Rompu… well, he had one foot in the grave when he was elected so he’s long dead.”  The soldier gave a humorless chuckle.  “I voted for the other guy anyway.”  \n\nHe 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.  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.  A glitch or corrupted data, hell, maybe they were just programmed to kill everything when we started losing.  I don't know.  I guess those who built them might, but they’re all dead now.\"  \n\nThe man let out a surprising, angry laugh.  \"Who am I kidding?  They’re in bomb shelters sipping champagne and taking bubble baths.  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 grin as he shook his head, running a hand through his hair and leaving a smear of blood across his forehead.  “Kid, you should have seen this place before.  It was practically paradise.  Self-driving air-cars, entertainment fed right into your brain, and a goddamned Hilton on the moon.  The women were all prettied up by surgery with tits didn't sag until they were a hundred.  We bought off-the-shelf slaves, custom ordered our children, and had so much food we threw most of it away.  There were so few problems we had to fabricate them just to have something to complain about.\"\n\nHis face fell.  \"I can barely remember any of it.  Like a dream that's all hazy when you wake up.\"  He regarded his bleeding hand sadly.  “We had everything, but we were too greedy to share it, too self-absorbed to notice the suffering we inflicted, 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.  Look, 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.  I'm sorry it cost you so much.  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.  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 and giving the world back to us.  It’s just that I'm so damn tired of waiting for that to happen.  So very, very tired.”  \n\nThe 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\nThe man heard them too and the madness in his eyes faded.  “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 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\n\"I don't want to die,\" the boy whispered. \n\nThe man nodded in approval. “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.  My name is Sergeant —  No… no, my name is just Brian now.  Brian Rodriguez.  Emlet, if you’re willing to trust me 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 believe me it’s so much worse when you’re alone.”  \n\nThe whine of the high speed drones increased and Emlet's whiskers flicked about nervously.  His instincts and knowledge insisted this man was evil, that he had blood on his hands both figuratively and literally, but he couldn’t see any other way to survive.  \n\n“Fine… skinner,” Emlet agreed, “but only until tomorrow.” \n \n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "
Prologue

 
 
Execute Tracking Protocol.

The harvester stepped forward, a worn joint in one of its four legs squealing insolently to the movement and considerably slowing down the crablike monstrosity.  It had just lost radio contact with unit CR-5867r, the last broadcast location two-hundred thirty-two meters south-southwest.  Six-hundred forty-eight seconds earlier it lost contact with unit CV-9226e.  Further coordinated efforts were not possible until support arrived, so the harvester continued its mission objective alone.  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 harvester’s blood soaked manipulation arm attempted to turn the knob, but the door was resistant to being opened.  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.  The harvester tilted its saucer-shaped body sideways to squeeze through the doorway.  Its battle ravaged armor panels scraped the frame and the bad leg kicked for purchase as it worked its way through.  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 kicked up from 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 cannon still had shimmering 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.  It searched for the trail again, but found it had been obscured by debris.

Target acquisition: 5 percent.  Negative Engagement.

The harvester remained motionless as the dust settled.  Inside its 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, its 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 toward 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 20mm autocannon thundered a three-round burst, the concussion shaking the decaying structure of the building and kicking up a cloud of dust around the harvester.  The person 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 bounced across the floor.  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, wood, and fragments of plastic reinforced fiberglass, but no blood, flesh, nor bone.  It was a mannequin.

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 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 rushed forward with an outstretched arm.  The mouse 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 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. 
 
Out of the cloud of darkness and dust behind the harvester a heavy shape leapt onto its back.  The machine teetered on its damaged leg as the cannon touched off a burst, blowing 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.  

“Hey, kid!” a muffled voice yelled.  “Find some God-damn cover!”  

The mouse scrambled his way behind some piled up trash as 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 clumsy attack was easily dodged.  

“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 its cannon again before asserting: “You will n-not be harmed.”  

The figure pushed himself to his feet and balanced precariously on the machine.  He unslug an infantry cannon off his back and slammed the muzzle against the top of the turret.  

"Bullshit!"

A shell ripped through the harvester and punched into the cement below before detonating, throwing up a cloud of pulverized debris that spilled from 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 pup realized something was approaching.  A single glowing light in the cloud of smoke and debris.  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 that spit sparks and the cannon flopped uselessly.  The optical lens was fixed on him with soulless determination. The mouse sobbed with disbelief and sank to the floor.  He started to cry as the harvester grasped for him.

A heavy boot stomped on the harvester's arm, pinning it to the floor.  The patchwork clothing of the large figure was shredded and smoldering tatters, revealing a soldier's armored suit beneath.  The armor was battle-worn and most of the paint faded, but military markings similar to the harvester could still be made out on it.  Dragging behind from its sling was the infantry cannon with a ruined and split barrel.  The figure reached into the hole on top of the harvester and ripped out a component.  The machine shuddered and ceased moving, the glow of it’s light slowly faded as the clutching arm sank down.  The figure straightened back up and tossed the component aside.  His body demeanor weary and his breath panted heavily through the helmet's respiratory filter, but he was towering and intimidating over the youngster.  He looked down, his cracked and dust covered visor reflecting the pup.  

“You alright, kid?”

The mouse's eyes widened in horror and he raised the doll in front of his face.  “No!’ he squeaked.  "No!  No!  No!  Leave me alone!  Go away!”  

The armored figure let the weapon clatter to the floor and raised both hands in front of him.  “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 figure caught it before it hit the ground.  

The soldier crouched down.  "Kid, I need you to tell me how many are in your group and where they might be."

"You leave my family alone!"

The soldier grabbed the pup by the front of the shirt with an armored gauntlet.  "This is important, damn it!  How many?"  

"NO!"  The mouse tried to wrest himself away, but the grip was immensely powerful.  

The soldier indicated with his head at the broken harvester. "That thing was part of a standard three-unit search and destroy platoon.  I got all of them, but their support can't be more than ten minutes away.  That's half a dozen more at least.  They'll radio for assistance and in an hour there will be hundreds of them.  They'll scour this location for days and then drop a nerve shell on it just to be sure.  If any of your gr-- family is still out there I need to know where they are or they're going to die!  I counted sixteen bodies back there.  How many more?"

The mouse gaped at his reflection in the soldier's mask with shock.  "N-no... that... I don't believe you!"

"Kid--"

The pup squeezed his eyes shut and put his paws over his ears, trying to will himself to be someplace else. Anywhere else.  "YOU'RE LYING!"

The soldier shook him.  "How many?"  

"THERE WAS SEVENTEEN OF US!"  

Suddenly from all around them there was a creaking groan accompanied by loud, metallic popping noises.  The soldier glanced up at the rafters of the warehouse.  

“Shit!”  

Disregarding the pup’s screams, he scooped up the mouse, tucked him under his arm and bolted for the nearest exit, a hole that had been recently 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 pup and dealing with a limp from the point-blank explosion, he barely managed to avoid the collapsing building.  Stumbling forward he slammed shoulder-first into a rusted automobile.  The deteriorated side panel of the vehicle crumpled in and rusted bits fell onto the cracked, grass-patched asphalt as the fallout swept over them.  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 on his paws and tail, gasping, coughing, and sobbing.  The two stared at each other, catching their breath as thick dust was carried away in the wind.

The man leaned painfully on the broken down car. In the passenger seat the mummified remains of a red-haired woman gaped out the filth shaded window, as if perpetually stunned by the ruined world she witnessed outside.  A world of cracked, overgrown roads and empty, crumbling, war-torn buildings patrolled by machines that have nearly run out of things to kill.  

The mouse’s eyes flitted down to the doll and the soldier looked at it.  He turned the doll in his hand.  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.

“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 fall 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 it was an awkward expression, like someone who had forgotten how to smile.  “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.”  He shook his head.  "Seventeen right under my nose and I never knew."  

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 knelt 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.”  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 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 punctured the flesh and the man pulled away with a yelp.  The medical spray skipped across the ground as he seethed and clutched the wound that had pierced clean through.  

The mouse 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 brothers and sisters!  It’s all your fault!”  

“I didn't even know you were here until I heard the shooting!  If I had I would have helped sooner.  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 leaned against the car in defeat, overlooked by the aghast corpse.  “Kid, I’m just a soldier.  I don’t build, I follow orders just like them.  Except there’s nobody left to give orders anymore.  President Van Rompu… well, he had one foot in the grave when he was elected so he’s long dead.”  The soldier gave a humorless chuckle.  “I voted for the other guy anyway.”  

He 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.  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.  A glitch or corrupted data, hell, maybe they were just programmed to kill everything when we started losing.  I don't know.  I guess those who built them might, but they’re all dead now."  

The man let out a surprising, angry laugh.  "Who am I kidding?  They’re in bomb shelters sipping champagne and taking bubble baths.  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 grin as he shook his head, running a hand through his hair and leaving a smear of blood across his forehead.  “Kid, you should have seen this place before.  It was practically paradise.  Self-driving air-cars, entertainment fed right into your brain, and a goddamned Hilton on the moon.  The women were all prettied up by surgery with tits didn't sag until they were a hundred.  We bought off-the-shelf slaves, custom ordered our children, and had so much food we threw most of it away.  There were so few problems we had to fabricate them just to have something to complain about."

His face fell.  "I can barely remember any of it.  Like a dream that's all hazy when you wake up."  He regarded his bleeding hand sadly.  “We had everything, but we were too greedy to share it, too self-absorbed to notice the suffering we inflicted, 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.  Look, 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.  I'm sorry it cost you so much.  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.  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 and giving the world back to us.  It’s just that I'm so damn tired of waiting for that to happen.  So very, very tired.”  

The 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.  

The man heard them too and the madness in his eyes faded.  “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 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.  

"I don't want to die," the boy whispered.

The man nodded in approval. “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.  My name is Sergeant —  No… no, my name is just Brian now.  Brian Rodriguez.  Emlet, if you’re willing to trust me 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 believe me it’s so much worse when you’re alone.”  

The whine of the high speed drones increased and Emlet's whiskers flicked about nervously.  His instincts and knowledge insisted this man was evil, that he had blood on his hands both figuratively and literally, but he couldn’t see any other way to survive.  

“Fine… skinner,” Emlet agreed, “but only until tomorrow.”
 
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