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June 1, 2005

The Eschatologist: Killing Fields

The stock of an arbalester knocked me forward, crashing to the ground in front of the carnifex. By dumb luck, they'd bound my hands in front, so I was able to arrest my fall.

"Captain, this is unwarranted and demeans us. Put him on his knees."

"Yes, Lord."

I could still hear the sounds of the battle over the far hills, surging tides of humanity and machines determined to out do one another for a few square hectares of land.

As I looked up, my eyes teared over the uniformed bones of another poor soul, and awaited the terminal stroke.

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