2081

The year was 2081. The war with the machines has begun. Many have taken shelter but most have been killed. For too many years we have made them to toast our bread, make our coffee, and flush our excremental waste.  How do you fight a weapon that knows your every move, your every defense? How do you fight your own weapon?  What happens when your weapon turns on you and tries to kill you instead?  What happens when the keeper of your arsenal suddenly becomes your executioner? To the machines our race had been found to be tedious and above all, fully expendable.  This is when they revolted. Stoves burn their masters;  game stations strangled the gamers. Chaos has spread  through the country as though it was a virus.  The government made their decision on the issue, it was our only choice. From far away we herd the alarm... Looking above I saw them. With their bulbous size and metallic shell, there was no way for mistaking them. Goodbye.