March 11th 2159
Portsmouth – A meeting intended to unite the survivors of the Battle of the Shipyard Husks against a common threat with a plan to build a ramshackle shelter in the McIntyre building drew mixed reviews last Tuesday.
“The Cloud comes for us all: men, machines, and somewhere in betweens. This is our last best hope to hold them off while Dr. Elvis Room finishes the cure,” said BT501. “We have already made the necessary compromises to human life by clearing the radiorats, at great expense to the remaining robot army.”
BT501 went on to explain with detailed holograms how, through layers of bricking and numerous fallback positions, the depleted defenders might keep The Cloud from reaching the lab, buying Dr. Elvis Room the time necessary to finish the coding sequence. It would be close, he explained, but possible.
“If the Ancients had intended us to use this building for our own selfish needs they would have done something with it,” yelled BECKSTEAD! Of the Southern Tribe. “Dare we anger the gods? Machines have no souls to save but we may still save our own!”
“We should start the process over,” said former assistant hierarch Jim Splaine through a rusting cyberjaw. “We involved the Ferals and the Sparks too early in the process. We should develop a plan ourselves to honor its rich history as a mostly unused apparatus of human government in the Time Before. We must not let the natural will to survive that all thinking beings feel get in the way of our duty to the rich history of Portsmouth. This is something human, robot, hybrid, and mutant can all work together towards.”
The meeting came when members of the incoming War Council halted barricade construction amid controversy over their height. This marks the 459th such meeting over the dimming future of the McIntyre building and the world in general.
“Really I just want to live,” said Portsmouth resident Foley de The Rosa. “I would like to meet my unborn child. The thought of the life growing inside me being extinguished by that growing emptiness – it is too much to bear.”
The Hungry Shadows watched from the horizon, an unthinking nanomaelstrom of circuitry and sharp things, drawing ever closer. The Cloud is set to arrive in ten more tides as told by the Tide Clock at the Bridge.
“I have been fighting my whole life,” said Elder Pearson, wrapping her fists outside the meeting, the Husks whining in the breeze. “Men, machines, it doesn’t matter. Hell, I’m not even sure that I can die, though they all seem determined to let me find out.”
Officials recommended that you find anyone, anyone to connect with in what may be the final moments.
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