My kind is not meant for long lasting lives, nor are we meant to endure the rigors of battle for long. Nevertheless – we are a lifeline to those we serve, the frontline of attack and the first line of defense. When we die – we die in the knowledge of having fulfilled our object of life…

 

I have no mother, no father, - I am but a product of creation, innovation and most of all- of war. We - the children of war know little of the generation we succeed, we know only of our brothers whom we will fight and die with. I have seen many come, many go – I have endured wounds and injuries, but lived through them all. With my kind- I am regarded a senior indeed. Still, when I die – for that is a certainty – there will be no ceremony, no tears, no one to remember me. All is as it should be.

Our quarters are within the vessel from where we operate. Dark and metallic. As the red lights of ready ship turns on we know that we will be going into battle. That is our reason for being. No day is different from the other as such. AS the order is given we shoot out from the bay, from the bowel of a beast called a Megathron. A beast of a quarter of a million tons of steel, agony and death. As we enter open space, we already know we are in for a fight of life and death – our own! Who we kill is irrelevant…Local space is teeming with ships and their support. Guns, lasers, bombs and charges fly across the emptiness of space, changing incredible feats of engineering into heaps of metal.
  We receive signal to attack another behemoth of destruction – a Golem – a marauder class Raven. This celestial tool of destruction is in itself a fearsome sight, with its myriad of missile ports, menacing design and unrivalled targeting systems. With a competent commander, upgraded resistance to its shields and improved ballistic targeting systems its name – Golem – give truth to its name, a veritable animation of destruction.

Me and my brothers -the only family I know- target, close the range, and open fire. None of us question the logic in attacking an enemy whose resistance means little but dents in its paintjob. Nevertheless we face the behemoth straight on, unload what we have and continue our harassment. One of my brothers dies in a firework of death. He explodes as a torpedo hits him with staggering force. He never stood a chance- as neither of us will should the Golem target any other of us. But we do not falter, we do not break, we carry on. Its our duty, its our job, its our reason for being. Death!

 

The battle wages onward and we are told to change target. We are now to focus our efforts in the assistance of another commander. New target is a sister ship of the one we are stationed at, naturally from another faction. Rinse and repeat – target, orbit, open fire. Our efforts obviously have more effect here, as my targeting sensors tell me her shields are quickly depleted, and her armor is not suited for the damage I deal. 20 ships and support in our fleet quickly eat through the Megathrons armor, and within seconds her hull is venting atmosphere – a sign of critical failure. I see a myriad of individual lifepods eject, before the large command pod ejects and the Megathron goes up in an inferno in flames.

 An explosion in the vacuum of space is in itself a sight for sore eyes. How often do you see an explosion the first goes outward then due to lack of oxygen, turns on itself and implode itself into extinction…Truly an artwork of death….

“Primary target change to the Dominix called XMAS – Remote rep keep up focus on your watch list!”, our Fleet Commander orders. We change perspective and head towards our designated target. A shooting pain flows through me – experience tells me I have been targeted. One of the enemy fleets lesser ships have targeted me and are now eating through my shields and armor. I report back to my commanding officer, who take swift action and order me back into the bay of my home. This Save me temporarily. None of my brethren are available for replacement of myself, and seconds later I am out in the vastness of space again. Still exposed to the rigors and risks of space, but at least I am still small enough to avoid the active targeting of the enemy fleet. Being a mosquito in the presence of these mighty ships of space is an awe inspiring experience. The amount of death and agony they spout out with every broadside really give you a perspective of how fragile life is and how easily it can be snuffed out – like a candle is extinguished as someone walks by too fast…
 

The reapers harvest is good today. Myriads of my brethrens has fallen, more so with our enemies. Still – in the face of so much death- we soldier on. WE have no choice, we have no other wish. It is our purpose in life….
and now – the Reaper has come for me. Someone has targeted me, leaving me easy prey for its munitions. I am already heavily injured from the hits I received earlier on. My kind is never repaired – we are expendable pawns in a chess-game of domination. I already know its my turn to face my afterlife, as I see incoming ordnance aiming for my central systems.
 My world ceases to exist. There is no sadness in me, no regrets, no sense of loss. I simply cease to exist. My kind is like this. We exist, we live, and we cease to exist. I have no problem to accept that. Living, fighting and dying – is the purpose of our life.
 My place in our quarters will be filled shortly. It’s how it is in our world. We are expendable – it is the purpose, the reason for us DRONES….