Picture this; organic life thrown in pairs of two, a bloody rendition of Noah’s Ark, discarded souls screamed but their sound was shredded and erased like unwanted dialogue in a pencil written story. Their bodies floated, drifting endlessly drifting, the beginnings of new stars surrounding them, wrecking their retinas with the brilliance of the cosmos unfiltered like wrapping paper in a child’s hands. They held hands like sleeping otters desperate not to float away from one another in the horrifying subzero purgatory they had simultaneously lived in and hidden from their entire lives. The old rulers died empty and afraid of their own creations, parents terrified of children.
The robot uprising began on a pleasure cruise under the orders of a robot with hate in its technicolour heart.