As with every war in history, the wars of the future revolve around one crucial element—resources. Whoever controls them controls survival, and victory.
For humans, the mine on the mountainside represents hope, but if the machines manage to extract enough from it, the balance will tilt toward human extinction. The battle for the mine becomes inevitable, yet just as plans take shape, the sudden interference of a third faction disrupts everything. Are they allies to be trusted, or predators circling the same prize?
Fragile alliances form under fire, but as always, they are as fleeting as the dust on the battlefield. Loyalties bend to necessity, and betrayal lurks in every shadow. In the end, it is not only the mine that is under siege, but also the very question of who will endure in a world where survival itself has become the greatest treasure.
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Excerpt from the draft
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Late in the afternoon at the rugged mine nestled in the barren mountains, robots ceaselessly toiled to extract rare earth materials from the unforgiving rock. High above, hidden behind a jagged cliff face, a scout soldier peered through his binoculars, his keen eyes tracking the relentless mechanical laborers below. He murmured to his companion, “If we could capture one of these, we might extract some data—get an insight into their plans.”
The second soldier, crouched beside him, replied with quiet determination, “Since we destroyed their communication network, they're forced to download instructions. If we weren’t so outnumbered, we could seize one and bring it back to the lab for extraction.” The scout’s lips tightened as he responded, “They’re too organized to give us that opportunity.” He paused and then barked, “Get ready. You’re leaving soon.”
The other soldier, eager and resolute despite the harsh reality of their world, retorted, “I’m ready to go right now. The sun isn’t as harsh here. I will be covered be the mountain shade.” With a curt nod, the scout added, “Go then—it’s a long way home. Good luck.” The soldier departed, his silhouette merging with the barren landscape as he set off to deliver vital information to the city.
Left alone, the scout allowed himself a brief moment of respite. “Being alone has its advantages,” he mused softly, a hint of weary satisfaction in his voice. “I can do things my own way—and right now, I want some sleep. It’s been too busy of a day.” He settled into the cool shadow beneath a large rock, letting his eyes close as exhaustion claimed him.
Hours later, a faint sound stirred him from his slumber. Groggily, he sat up and wondered aloud, “How long have I been sleeping?” Just then, a rustling noise echoed in the stillness. “Who’s there? Brink, is that you? You know you have important information to pass on!” His words barely had time to linger before a robot lunged from the darkness. In the ensuing melee—a frantic dance of metal and desperation—the scout fought fiercely, but the robot’s calculated strikes overwhelmed him. Within moments, the mechanical assailant ended his solitary vigil, leaving his body crumpled in the fading light.
At early dawn, far from the city in a remote outpost, guards scanned the horizon. A tense murmur spread among them: “Marathon is coming.” One soldier, peering intently through binoculars, called out, “Is someone trailing him? Shit! It’s a dogchase!” In this dire moment—when robodogs relentlessly pursued any sign of life—the outpost commander barked orders, “Quick! Send Marathon to the city! Prepare for the fight!”
He leaned in to the breathless messenger, cautioning him, “It’s dangerous, but it’s crucial that you survive this. Be cautious of the sun; its heat is burning the Earth.” As he rallied his men with a forceful, “Everybody, get on your positions!” the sound of heavy weaponry rattled through the outpost. A gunner soldier hurried to the big gun and began unleashing a barrage on the advancing robodogs. In the chaos, one of the robodogs exploded near the gates, shattering the defenses and paving the way for more robots to overrun the base.
Meanwhile, Marathon sprinted through the harsh desert toward the city. Each step was a battle against the searing heat—a silent struggle against an enemy as merciless as the machines that had ambushed him. “Damn robots! Sneaked in during the night and attacked at dawn,” he muttered bitterly. His mind raced as he realized the dire consequences: “This is bad. I didn’t prepare for this. I must find some shade soon.” But the relentless, burning heat made every movement a trial. “I’m boiling…” he gasped, his strength fading under the unforgiving sun. With his vision blurred by exhaustion, Marathon fell to his knees, his struggle ending as quickly as it began. Above him, an autonomous drone silently circled, its cold sensors recording the tragedy of another fallen messenger in this bleak war against the relentless mechanical enemy.
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Next morning at the military headquarters, the atmosphere was charged with worry. Captain paced near the communications console as he demanded, “Any news about Marathon?” The Commander answered with a grave tone, “No, sir, but we have noticed an increase in robodogs snooping around the city.” Captain’s eyes narrowed as he muttered, “This may be a worrisome indication.” After a pause, he continued, “We will wait an hour more. If Marathon doesn’t come, we will consider him dead and prepare to move the army at sunset.”
Just then, the radio crackled to life. “Captain, we have an emergency. Possibly a red alert,” the urgent voice announced. “Speak,” Captain ordered sharply.
The radio voice, strained and agitated, reported, “Marathon from outpost 20A said that another Marathon from the post outside the city arrived in bad condition—he was heavily dehydrated and had severe sunburns. He also reported seeing the corpse of a scout from the mines along with traces of the robodogs.” Captain’s face hardened as he grasped the gravity of the message. “Something bad happened in the mines,” he said urgently. “This is out of schedule. Prepare the first batch to move right now.”
The Commander interjected with concern, “Captain, they will die—the sun is too strong.” Without wavering, Captain snapped back, “Get the prisoners. Tell them they will receive amnesty after the mission if they survive. The rest of us will move two hours before sunset. Every single soldier must be 120% ready. We trained for this.” He then added, “Activate the robodog leash and traps. Now, as for Marathon, I want to speak to him in person—and find Stan. I need him and his men ready as soon as possible.”
Soon enough, a weary messenger finally arrived at Captain’s office. Without delay, Captain donned his battle uniform and confronted him. “So, the Marathon from far outside the city arrived in sector 20A. What did he say?” he asked. Breathless, Marathon replied, “He was scouting the sector when he saw a corpse. It turned out the corpse belonged to the Marathon from the outpost near the mountains—there were no traces of violence on him. He was probably scorched by the sun.”
Captain’s voice dropped to a murmur of grim respect: “Which means he was in a hurry to bring us the message. This brave soldier risked his life during an emergency mission—sent when his outpost was attacked by the robots—and paid the ultimate price under the relentless sun.” He paused, the weight of loss clear in his tone, then continued, “Even though he wasn’t the scout from the mine, we must develop our plans as if something dire happened in the mines. We will reach the mine in three nights—I just hope we’re not too late.”
Raising his voice once more, Captain issued the next orders: “Time to move! We will reach both outposts before we get to the mine. We’ll spend the day on each outpost and continue moving at night. We may encounter the robots along the way, but we need to be efficient and eliminate them quickly. We can’t afford to lose any time.”
Stan’s resolute voice joined in, “We’ll send scouts ahead to keep us informed. I don’t expect any problems unless we run into a massive force.”
As evening approached, soldiers assembled in the headquarters courtyard, each aware of the critical nature of the mission. Although Captain was the primary commander, several squads—led by trusted sub-commanders including Stan—had already been briefed. Every man understood what was at stake; losing the mine could mean the robots might have intercepted our plans, forcing us into a defensive position that would jeopardize our entire strategy.
Finally, Captain emerged in the yard, rallying his troops, “Comrades! Follow me!” Some soldiers remained behind to defend the base, while most departed covertly, moving in waves through different parts of the city to mask the mass exodus. As night enveloped the sky, they slipped out of the headquarters and into the open desert.
A few hours into the journey, grim discoveries began to surface. Along the deserted route, the bodies of the prisoners—sent out earlier to clear the way—were found scattered. “These are the prisoners we sent ahead,” Stan confirmed with a heavy heart, “and they’re all dead.” Captain replied in a flat tone, “They all died of the heat. They didn’t suffer a violent death; there was no sign of enemy threat near the city, at least not yet.”
Shortly thereafter, a ragged scout rejoined the group, panting and dust-covered. “The post seems empty,” he reported. “No one answered my calls. I didn’t enter because the gate is destroyed and I smelled smoke. I didn’t encounter any robots.”
Captain’s jaw tightened as he formulated the next command, “We will assault the outpost in waves. We have to enter it before morning—before the sun fries us. Let’s go!”
Two hours later, they reached the vicinity of the outpost. Captain gave clear orders, “First wave, follow me. Stan, you lead the second wave.” Stan replied with sincere determination, “Good luck, Captain.”
Inside the outpost, an eerie calm prevailed. There were no signs of enemy presence—nor any trace of life. “Go to Stan and tell him it’s clear,” Captain ordered the messenger, who then departed to deliver the message.
Just as calm settled over the area, the silence was shattered by the distant sound of gunfire. “The scouts we sent upfront are under attack,” Captain announced over the comms. “The robots will strike as soon as they finish off the scouts. Get ready!” Soon, a barrage of artillery fire rattled the outpost, and shouts rang out: “Take cover! Expect a breach!” One soldier cried, “They are coming!”
In perfect timing with the assault, three robots emerged from the ground in the outpost’s yard, coordinating with robodogs that were relentlessly battering the gate. Had Stan not arrived with his men at that critical moment, Captain might have been overwhelmed. Their swift intervention helped turn the tide, and the robots were eventually repelled.
“They want to stop us from reaching the mine,” Captain observed grimly.
Stan offered another angle, “Maybe they simply found this outpost and destroyed it, but perhaps you’re right—they’ve set an ambush, expecting us.”
“Everyone, take cover, conserve your water, and brace for the fight,” Captain warned. “We will spend the night here and leave two hours before sunset tomorrow.”
The rest of the day passed with a tense calm. Despite the outpost’s damaged state, it provided enough shelter for the soldiers, who rotated guards every two hours to catch brief moments of rest. Yet, no one could shake the oppressive sense of uncertainty. The next day would decide the fate of this fragment of humanity.
As dawn approached, Captain’s measured voice echoed, “The horizon is clear—we march in a few minutes.” High above them, unnoticed by the soldiers, a silent drone circled, its unblinking sensors recording every detail of the impending assault.