The Distant Machine
The sky split open at 0400 hours. It did not thunder. It screamed. A sound like tearing metal, high and thin, that vibrated in the teeth and shattered the glass of the watchtower. Major Elias Thorne dropped his coffee. The mug hit the concrete. Black liquid pooled around his boots. He did not look down. He looked up. The horizon was gone. In its place stood a wall of static. White noise made...
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