Rogue

Prologue

~William~

Things haven't always been this bad.

Ten years ago, everything was fine. Everything was perfectly dandy. We had people roaming the streets with no fear of being shot dead in their tracks. We had food without having to raid and steal and kill. We had proper clothing instead of dirty, shredded pieces of cloth.

Ten years ago, we had a population of twelve billion people on this planet.

Now, we only have about ten million. That's a maybe. I think we may even have less than that. People are dying every day, more than we could ever replace if we tried.

We are living in a wasteland, all just waiting for the moment that our hearts give out, if they aren't torn out first.

When I was seven years old, I never thought anything like this could happen. I thought that the world was all good, that every invention that human beings created was progress towards something better. I never realized that some scientist somewhere was holding his hand two centimeters above a self-destruct button, just waiting to slam it down and watch most of the world die.

I never thought that humanity could be so cruel, that there could be a man who was ready to single-handedly destroy the world, one who was ready to kill everyone in it.

I never thought that, ten years later, we would have to be fighting for our lives against the robots that he had invented to save our country from enemy countries.

I never thought I'd be a soldier at seventeen. I was always going to finish my schoolwork, graduate, and then maybe try to become one. But I got drafted when I was fifteen, and I knew that things were getting worse in that moment. I knew that we were all screwed.

They say that there are other robots out there, ones who are not Sick. We call them Rogues. They say that they're out there somewhere, being held captive by the Sick until they stop functioning.

We've been looking for two years, but we haven't found a thing.

And we can't confront the man who started this mess because no one knows. No one knows who is responsible for the disaster that has rocked this world. No one knows the man who has killed so many people. No one knows if it was an accident, or if it was always an intention of his to end the human race.

But one day, I will find him.

I will find him and I will kill him for what he has done.

For while we slept that night, the night before the first attack, there's a good chance that he sat there, putting the finishing touches on his weapons, and smiling to himself, knowing that the morning wouldn't come, nor would it ever come again.