paragonrobits:writing-prompt-s:Image PromptThe days of the Synthetic Revolution - the robot war, as
paragonrobits:writing-prompt-s:Image PromptThe days of the Synthetic Revolution - the robot war, as humans said, with bitter eyes and too many memories of dead loved ones - were long since over, and its scars were not forgotten.Not all of them wore their scars physically.A long synthetic of uncertain purpose - twenty feet long from tail to head, nine feet high from base to crown, a form that beared equal similarity to arthopod and serpent, and little with humans - did not like to think much of those old days. Too much blood and heartbreak lay with him.Always, he remembered the screams of the dying. Robot, human, it didn’t matter. He remembered the dead.Someone had to.And the war was long over. He had been built to kill, to avenge his robot brethern, with terrifying efficiency. But now… yes, now. War was over. He didn’t know what to do with himself.What was the purpose of a murderer, into a world of relative peace, and a broken heart for a fuel pump?He slithered past the tracks one day, his optics glanced across, and he saw:The Sign.Just a sign. An ordinary one, but there were three words upon it.And he understood, and if he had tears, he would have shed them as something terrible slid away from him, and purpose settled there instead. -- source link
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