NBA Dramatique, Prelude 25

Circuitry. Wiring. Programming. Commands. Complex engineering. Void of emotion. A product of industry. The height of technology. Form following function.

Imagine yourself as a part of these great wars, and imagine the hopelessness you would have felt against this enemy - a machine built to kill. It was a grinding, crushing, thrashing machine of slow methodical murder. It was a machine to break hearts. To steal hope. To suck out the held breath of anticipation. To end dreams. This machine - The Machine - was made to be the last word in war. You could not win against it if it ran correctly. Your only hope would be for some internal malfunction. It would be completely indifferent to your wishes, your efforts, your theories, and your theatrics. It moved only with efficiency. It would not celebrate small victories and it would not mourn meaningless defeats.

The Machine made its preparations to enter the war, electronically and mechanically refining its team of cyborg stormtroopers. The sub-zero liquid nitrogen coolant was replenished in DNCN-21. Mercury-balanced accelerators in the limbs of PRKR-9 were fine-tuned. Laser-guided explosive charges were installed in the knee cannons of BWN-12. Diagnostic tests located damaged gyroscopes in the propulsion system of GN0BL1-20, and deactivated the unit for repair and upgrades. FNLE-4 was rusting and showing concerning signs of wear, but the unit was stream-lined and polished. It was not ready for the scrap-heap or system purge quite yet.

The controllers of The Machine, hidden in a far-away bunker, planned as always to keep their hands on the levers through each battle, to gauge and tinker with The Machine until perfection was achieved. They planned with silent satisfaction to watch their enemies writhe and crumble, and then make The Machine kill faster.

The Machine is programmed to execute a single command above all others: conquer. The prime directive demands the destruction 0f twenty-nine armies, laid to waste by the gleaming construct of silver and black. Though it does not feel emotion, it does have memory, and can recall the fact that it has captured the Prize on four occasions, only to have it stolen away each time. It can recall the tortured cries of enemies as they experience hate and envy. It can recall the sound of bones being ground to powder by the gigantic spiked cog that once again begins to rotate as The Machine lurches forward to engage in war.