AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place after Dark of the Moon, in an alternate world where the Autobots didn't come back and the Decepticons were victorious. I also decided, for the sake of believability, that the portal created by Sentinel Prime only opened a gateway for more Decepticons to come through, and did not (as shown in the movie) bring Cybertron into Earth's orbit. Which is just silly, in my opinion, since the gravitational pull would force Earth off its orbit and destroy life as we know it...but let's not get ahead of ourselves.
This is how the world ends
They were methodical about it. Methodical, and thorough.
First came the initial blow—Chicago was the waypoint, the landing pad, and to serve its purpose suitably it had to be cleared of all refuse and debris. Armored giants prowled the streets, leveling everyone in their path without preference or mercy, like exterminators rooting out a warren of rabbits. Tentacled ships drifted between the tall buildings, flushing out the humans hiding in them with expertly placed showers of bullets. Those that didn't fall to the bullets fled from their dens, from their nests, only to be cut down in the streets by the wave of robots dispensing death.
No one would think to wonder until later why plasma cannons were used without discretion in the open streets below, but metal slugs were used when flushing humans from their buildings. No, the first strike served its purpose quite well, and all sense of bravado and camaraderie fled before the tidal wave of unstoppable, indiscriminate violence. No one stopped to plan. No one stopped to think. And that's exactly what the invaders wanted.
At the end of the day, phase one had come to a close. The hammer blow had been struck; the confidence of humanity had been shattered. The world cowered and mewled, reeling from the onslaught. All eyes watched Chicago burn, watched how effortlessly the aliens had taken over the city and set up their portal to a distant planet— and when those eyes turned back upon their hacked and disabled missile launchers, their jet planes that now appeared to be no more sophisticated than aluminum toys, their guns whose bullets bounced harmlessly from robotic armor, a creeping horror began to dawn.
And throughout the world, the same unspoken words reverberated through every conference room, every war room, every political office, every military base, where the collective might of humanity sat frozen into stunned silence—words that had never been spoken but only implied, moments before the ones who could have saved them disappeared into a fireball.
We warned you.
We warned you.
We warned you.
Phase two was so simple, so brilliant in its inevitability, that its effectiveness was unquestioned by either side.
Once the portal in Chicago had been established, alien ships of all sizes and descriptions poured out into Earth's atmosphere like water through a burst dam. Within hours they had positioned themselves over every large city in every nation on the planet. Any place that had a large population, a military base, or a seat of government was targeted. If the tableau had been a Hollywood-produced alien invasion movie, the ships would have hovered ominously over the cities, awaiting some sort of arcane signal to begin their attacks, while the brave little humans down below began scrambling to cobble together a shoe-string defense that would miraculously succeed in destroying the entire invasion force in one go.
But the presence of aliens on earth was far from a trick of technological wizardry, and the aliens themselves were far too intelligent to give the humans a chance to muster a defense.
The attacks were devastating, and just as thorough as the razing of Chicago. No demands were made, no strange speeches or ultimatums were given—they simply destroyed. Military bases and diplomatic buildings were leveled. Humans were flushed out into the streets and killed in droves. All desperate attempts to contact the aliens and reason with them were ignored.
And at the end, it was all so easy.
So easy to break the back of humanity.
We warned you.
With phase three, everything began to come together.
With the world in ruins and crying from the puncture wounds to its arteries, the violence finally ceased.
In the occupied cities, the surviving humans were herded out into the streets. Some sobbed, some glared defiantly, and some said nothing at all. But to their surprise, they were not grouped together and dumped into a fire pit, or otherwise eliminated by some other gruesome means of disposal.
No— they were counted. Then, after some time, they were painstakingly sorted.
Those who were badly wounded were separated from the rest. Many of them screamed, realizing what inevitably awaited them. But no one dared to come to their aid, and one by one they were dragged off. And after a while, the screaming stopped.
Those who were only mildly wounded were also pulled from the group, but to their shock they were met not with a well-placed bullet but with an alien that must have been a healer, and clear bandages that felt like water and bent like the softest rubber, and a wide array of alien concoctions that strangely, bewilderingly, took away the pain.
The aliens were careful to always make sure those who were healthy could see them tending to the injuries of those who were wounded. No one stopped to consider why until much later.
It was at this point that most were startled to discover that the invaders spoke their languages perfectly. After they had been treated and sorted- males in one group, females in another, and children separate from both- they were pulled away, one at a time, and questioned.
The questions were bewildering, and most found themselves answering honestly out of confusion.
'How old are you?'
'T-twenty two-'
'Have you born any children?'
'No, I-I'm single-'
'What is the square root of 144?'
'I don't know-'
'There are two circular rooms, one inside of the other. Each room has four doors. How many ways can you enter the inner room?'
After the questioning they were further separated, though because no one could hear the questions asked and the responses given no one knew which group was preferable to be in.
Though most submitted to the sorting passively, hoping to avoid inciting further violence from the invaders, a few hopelessly foolish souls rebelled—they screamed, they struggled, they attempted to flee, and in some cases they leapt at the aliens as though hoping by some miracle that their fleshy, grabbing hands could tear into metal armor and bring down the robotic giants.
They all died very quickly—a single shot through the head from a robotically aimed laser, and they slumped to the group. The heat of the laser cauterized the wound instantly, so there was never any blood.
Usually the aliens only needed to kill one person. After that no one tried to escape any more.
Only two days after the invasion had begun, a single three minute message was broadcast from Chicago to every working TV, computer, and radio left in the world. Neighbors huddling in school basements and old sheds gathered around their flickering TV sets, their laptop screens, their transistor radios. And for those three minutes, every human fell silent and listened.
The message itself was simple and concise. There was no video; only static appeared on the screens. But the words that came through were crystal clear. It was a message that would be forever burned into the living memory of humanity—an ultimatum that sounded out like a death knoll across the graveyard silence enveloping the world.
'Your governments are gone. Your armies have been crippled. Your cities are under our control. Listen closely, homo sapiens, for this message is of great importance to you all.
We are now the masters of this planet, and we will do with it as we see fit. But our arrival does not have to mean your departure. You can be useful, little humans, and your usefulness will be your salvation. If you are useful, you will live. If you are useful, you will be rewarded.
But know this:
Violence will be met with violence.
Rebellion will be met with death.
Those who do not obey will be discarded, and another will take their place.
Consider you actions wisely.'
In the following weeks, the alien invaders fanned out across the globe, claiming the towns and countryside. For the most part they were met with little resistance, and those times when a rouge military squadron tried to mount a rebellion or a group of angry civilians rushed out with their guns raised, they were effortlessly cut down in their tracks.
Soon every town trembled beneath the shadow of ominous hovering ships, and robotic nightmares walked the streets in board daylight, unopposed.
Electrical plants and water treatment plants were kept under close surveillance, but to the shock of many were not shut down. Some rumors said that the aliens were waiting for 'suitable replacements', whatever that meant. Other rumors said that the aliens wouldn't be able to stand the smell of humans forced to live without running water.
Farms, too, were put under robotic supervision, though again, bewilderingly, they were allowed to continue normal operations unimpeded. For several weeks it seemed (in some places) that life would continue on in an almost normal fashion—except that now no one was allowed outside at night, and everyone walked quickly through the streets, giving the alien sentries a wide berth. Conversations were held only in whispers. The internet was inaccessible, if the servers even still existed. Cell phones no longer functioned. The resorts and casinos sat empty and quiet—the lights of time square went dark for the first time in memory. The whole world held its breath, watching and waiting, listening for the sound the other shoe would make when it dropped.
Then one day, little by little, those in the towns began to notice construction on the horizon. Though no one was allowed anywhere near the sites, anyone with a pair of binoculars could see that the activity was conducted by humans—humans in strange, flat gray clothing. Soon another rumor began to spread like wildfire. 'The people from the cities are being made to build.'
As travel was restricted and the cities were completely inaccessible, no one could know for sure where the gray-clad humans had come from. But it was obvious from the amount of robots standing guard around the sites and the bewildering nature of the construction itself that the invaders were forcing the humans to build. But no one could guess precisely what they were building.
That was when some people began to think. That's when they started looking more closely at the robots in their towns rather than averting their eyes. That's when they started putting some of the pieces together.
Everyone knew how the invasion happened. But no one had yet stopped to think why it had happened.
Why bring so many ships and so many robots? Surely not to defeat the Autobots—they were already dead and gone, thanks to humanity's own foolishness.
In fact, why come to earth at all?
Could it be that they wanted earth's resources? But no, there didn't seem to be any mining or drilling going on, and a few brave souls had even glimpsed some sort of alien metal being unloaded from one of the tentacle ships. And if they had wanted to strip the earth bare, why not rub out every last remnant of humanity like an unwelcome stain? Surely humans would only get in the way.
Many stubbornly clung to the hope that the aliens would keep their promise—that they would take what they wanted and go.
But for a few, a very small few who could see the outline of the puzzle even if they didn't hold all the pieces, a new possibility began to dawn.
What if the aliens didn't want to drain the planet?
What if the aliens wanted it for themselves?
And they looked at the gray-clad humans and their strange enormous buildings, the words of the Ultimatium ringing in their ears—and at last they saw what no one had wanted to see.
They saw doors. Human sized doors in the metal buildings.
Buildings that were meant to house humans.
Buildings that were meant to house gray-clad slaves.
We warned you.