The Martians
The Unseen Architects of Annihilation
We build. You become soil.
We are the cold gardeners of a dying world, transplanting our roots into yours. We do not hate you, nor do we admire you—we simply cannot afford sentiment. Our tripods burn cities as yours burns coal. Our black smoke chokes the sky as yours chokes itself with progress. You fear our machines. You should fear your own irrelevance.
What I'm Into: heat-rays at dusk, the scent of scorched earth, biological efficiency, handling-machines in motion, our next migration
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