Chapter 1: The Coming of the Swarm


A/N: I intend to adhere as closely as possible to the the canon contained within the various text and audio datapoints of Horizon: Zero Dawn. If the reader notices any disparities, please notify me so that I may make changes.

Please. Relax and immerse yourself in the end of the world. Also, a message to that one guy or girl (At least I think you're just one person) from Canada that has read every chapter so far. I appreciate you! (Add to this small list that one guy or girl from the UK who had recently done the same.)


3/25/65

On a river bank 川岸に

one hundred lifeless bodies 命のない百体

served to a Horus 巨人に仕えた

- Japanese poet, 2/02/65


On an early spring morning, before dawn, I sat by my bedroom window with my eyes fixed on the eastern horizon. A gentle rain pattered the glass. As I looked on, an intense show of brief yet incessant, low-lying flashes illuminated the darkness over the whole of the Atlantic horizon; explosions muffled by the distance rumbled with each flash of light. With an outstretched arm, the lights of the distant encounter would span about half the width of my hand. Military aircraft, visible only by their formation lights, sounded above my apartment as they sped toward the faraway engagement. The whole sky was filled with the flashing lights of military aircraft. A haunting sight it was.

Behind me, my small bedroom was lit only by the pale glow of my television, which then seemed to be preparing for an emergency broadcast. Energy usage had become somewhat regulated after a state of emergency was declared in Virginia a few weeks ago, although the regulations weren't inconvenient given the ever-improving nature of power-efficiency. It was commonly thought that these regulations had stemmed from the government's overestimation of the amount of electrical power that would be required to bring decades-old military technology back into service and subsequently maintain them for an indefinite space of time. When these regulations had been enacted, I hadn't yet fully realized the gravity of the national situation. Then, when American media coverage of the European theater of war had ceased in late January, my usual day-to-day routine had changed drastically.

I no longer attended my college classes because all of the students and staff had decided to stay with family or friends wherever that may be. After all, it was the end of days, or so it seemed; the only occupation left was either home defense preparation, which was encouraged, or evacuation. As a result, my dreams of working at Miriam Technologies under Dr. Elisabet Sobeck had dissolved.

When I awoke this morning to the flashes and rumbles that colored the ocean's edge, I knew that the swarm had come. The dread of the realization glued me to the window as a man drawn to the edge of a cliff or an abyss. Some had said that they could sense our presence, our dense populations, in some way and were drawn to it, like wasps to the scent of fruit juice. I had been watching the spectacle for no more than half an hour. As I sat, I decided that I would visit my family soon; Easter was four days away.

It was two months ago, in late January, when I had first caught wind of the rumors that the swarm was heading for the east coast. I had read the rumors in the live-chat of a video showing a battle ravaged town on a well-known live-streaming site. I remember the feeling that had weighed on my heart as the rumors began to seem more and more authentic with each passing day. Initially, the news outlets were vague about the subject as was their custom. Once the rumors had become sufficiently widespread, the media seemed to tacitly agree upon referring to the undetected swarm as ES-17 for reporting convenience; a designation that by its plainness inspired dread.

In the early days of February, last month, a few of the more reliable outlets had revealed the U.S. government's declaration of a state of DEFCON 1 and the subsequent mobilization of the entirety of the U.S. Robot Command on the eastern seaboard all the way from New York to Florida. During this period, more and more people living in coastal areas had decided to move inland. Most of those who remained, however, had not yet grasped the graveness of these changes, including myself. I knew about the swarm only from videos on the internet, which gave me a false sense of security and detachment from the horrors.

Around mid-February, droves of military ordnance and other defensive measures, including old nuclear artillery pieces, had been airlifted to and set up on the western banks of the Chesapeake Bay where I lived while the Delmarva Peninsula to the east had been evacuated to serve, according to the news, as a kind of large-scale trap and focus of bombardment in the event of an invasion. First, rising sea levels thirty years ago forced an evacuation from the peninsula, then the threat of invasion. However, it was apparent that most of the residents had willingly fled before the military even arrived, thanks to early rumors about the swarm's movements. The defensive preparations there were hastened after the abrupt loss of communication with the command centers throughout the European Union, especially the NATO headquarters in Belgium, in late February.

A few weeks after the initial rumors of the swarm's approach, which came before the sudden loss of contact, entire divisions and mechanized brigades of the U.S.R.C. were seen crowding the major roads and railways on their way toward the Atlantic coast. Transport helicopters were seen airlifting equipment and a variety of aircraft both outdated and modern had filled the spring skies too like birds on their autumn migration. In that same eventful February, last month, a news helicopter had shown an amazing live feed of the combined task forces and fleets of the U.S. Navy all concentrated off Virginia and New York. These were the warships that had been gradually decommissioned in the years leading up to 2055. I had watched on my laptop from my room with a mixture of awe and fear. This massive movement of military assets had confirmed the rumors of an imminent invasion. It was the cherry on top.

During sunrise, on the same day as that live feed showing the navy, I had witnessed a procession of at least four carrier strike groups accompanied by destroyers armed with twin-mounted railgun turrets leave the Chesapeake Bay to meet with the fleet seen on TV. I had been sitting on a bench beside the water. It was a solemn experience to see them sail out to sea.

Two museum battleships from a century-old war, the USS Wisconsin and USS New Jersey, had also been seen in the live helicopter feed amid the smaller yet more powerful modern ships. They had been retrofitted with modern weapon systems. It had seemed to me at the time that these historic ships were included to boost morale more than anything else. Each were armed with their age-old cannons, three mounted in each massive turret. A program detailing their respective roles in major historic battles had accompanied their reveal.

I was well aware of the drawback that rendered most automated equipment useless and I presumed that the automated weaponry aboard the warships had been either deactivated or removed. This topic was a point of much discussion at my university. Many jokes had been made about the irony in the U.S.R.C.'s name. However, military correspondents had stated on the day of the fleet reveal that encryption experts had managed to devise an anti-hacking technology similar to that used by the Chariot-line for use in the various automated systems employed by the U.S. Navy. The warships would apparently serve as a test bed for it.

The correspondents had expressed confidence in the infallibility of the anti-hacking tech, but I was a little weary of their claims. Still, the scene of those endless fleets and task forces had served to rouse much hope in me. If one were to have stood on the shores and looked out over the Atlantic beyond the whitecaps, one would have seen ships dotting the entire Atlantic horizon as far as the eye could see.

About a week ago, during the evening, I had stood on a pier jutting out from Virginia Beach amid the strong ocean winds and took in the sight of that formidable wall of warships. It was an astonishing sight. They had been patrolling the same general area for over two months, but usually sailed out of view over the edge of the horizon. At the time, I believed that nothing, not even the swarm, could defeat them whether or not their automated assets would be functional in battle.

I felt that confidence of mine being tested as I sat by my window, watching the flickering horizon.

I had seen videos online; the horrors of it all, when the European armies were still fighting strong. There was a particular live video from Germany about three months ago, after New Year's Day, that showed one of the smaller machines "processing" a human being. The camera-man, whispering in German, had been filming cautiously from a second-floor window overlooking a town street. At the start of the video, an injured young man, with what seemed to be a broken leg, was approached by a Scarab, which was covered with spots of dried blood and dirt, that proceeded to exsanguinate and dissolve the man's body while he was still alive. I had seen some kind of black smoke enveloping the helpless man. The machine had merely stood over him like a hen brooding her eggs all the while.

I will never forget the screams; the shrieks of agony as the machine hunkered over the bloodied man on the grass beside a bike path. I had turned away in revulsion for a moment and pulled my headphones out of my ears. However, I couldn't help but turn my eyes back to the screen. No help had arrived. A wrecked tank of the German Panzer Division stood further down the adjacent road. Meanwhile, crying could be heard and the camera-man had made quiet shushing sounds. Then, the video had ended suddenly. Whether it was he who had ended the recording or the U.S. government, I do not know. Similar content would usually be taken down from the internet immediately, but the live videos thrived.

All of those filmed incidents flooded my mind as I watched the daunting flashes in the distant darkness. I wondered how far behind the horizon the encounter was. The U.S. Navy task forces were, no doubt, engaged in an intense fight and were making use of all their firepower. I imagined the high-energy laser weapon systems, the railgun turrets, and other automated systems being directed toward the oncoming hordes if the anti-hacking measures had succeeded. I imagined the century-old battleships fighting once more against a different kind of enemy, one that was driven not by anger, but by hunger. On my nightstand, the holo-clock read 3:56; dawn was yet to come. Meanwhile, I rolled a small, cyan colored pill between the fingertips of my trembling right hand. It had been issued to all over the age of twenty-one to encourage fearless resistance in Operation: Enduring Victory; it promised a swift, painless death once ingested.

I remembered the day it was distributed at my college a month ago and handed around like a syllabus. A military recruiter had visited my class and persuaded the students to join the Civilian Guard with an impassioned speech. I will admit that the female officer had succeeded in rousing everyone's spirits, including mine. Some classmates had afterward made lighthearted jokes about the so-called "suicide pill," but I had simply stared at it in silence.

I placed it back into its small, plastic container, walked over to the nightstand beside my bed, and put it in the drawer. I then returned to the chair facing the window and looked toward the horizon once again. Project Zero Dawn, the focus of the media after the first reports of all-out war in Europe and Asia, occupied my thoughts as I watched the flickering glow of the distant encounter.

The assured manner in which the president had described the alleged super weapon on the twelfth of November last year sparked my imagination then. I pictured in my mind some satellite mounted missile system or a colossal, land-based defensive measure that would outdo all the firepower of the combined fleets battling far off in the darkness. Imaginative ideas of the nature of the super weapon kindled hope within my heart despite my helpless fear. As these worries and wonders flitted through my mind, a muted siren suddenly blared from outside. Soon after, an emergency alert reanimated my television screen. I turned the whole of my attention toward it. An urgent message moved across the screen and directed residents to designated county centers for essential supplies. The phrase "Fight or Flee" showed amid the messages. I saw my residence, Gloucester county, which had a few areas specified for pickup and I noted the nearest destination about a few minutes' drive away. Then, as the messages continued across the bottom, the president suddenly appeared on screen. It seemed to be an extempore appearance. I didn't recall any past presidential speeches to have been broadcast at such an early time when the whole nation would be fast asleep. However, the din of emergency alerts, military aircraft, and outdoor sirens had probably awakened everyone by then.

The president looked solemn as always as he stood behind the lectern. After a long silence, he spoke in a measured voice.

"My fellow Americans,

This morning on March the 25th, 2065, U.S. Navy task forces assigned to the eastern seaboard have made contact with an enemy swarm, designated ES-17, off the coast of Virginia. Another swarm has been detected approaching Florida while a third is approaching the Pacific Northwest. The U.S. military has made extensive use of its nuclear assets in an attempt to stall the swarm on its push across the Atlantic and a large number of Horus machines have been neutralized, but this is just the beginning of our struggle. As of yet, the status of our European allies is unknown. The loss of communication does not necessarily mean an end to their struggle. In the event of total and irreversible defeat, their governments have sworn to detonate their nuclear arsenals in major centers across the continent. So far, no detonations have been detected. However, in the face of this unrelenting enemy, the brave men and women of the U.S. military will fight on with undying resolve to defend our nation, to protect our loved ones, and to safeguard humanity and all life on Earth. That is the duty of not only the military, but also the civilians of this country. Do not despair on this day, this day of days. Operation: Enduring Victory will, by the American citizen's unfaltering determination, prevail and Project Zero Dawn will emerge to smite once and for all this scourge from our world. My fellow Americans, rise and take up arms. Fight for hope, fight for our future. On the brink of uncertainty, let not fear strike your hearts for we will triumph. We will succeed for the sake of all the dreams and hopes as of yet left unrealized; dreams and hopes that must and will live on forever. May God bless you all."

Then, the camera cut and all that was left were the messages moving across the screen. I reflected on the president's speech. A few questions took hold of my mind. How can the swarm withstand a nuclear attack? How many nuclear bombs were dropped on them? Does the president expect all civilians to fight? I assumed, regarding the latter, that he meant for civilians to offer indirect aid rather than fight head on with the swarm. There was of course the militia that consisted of civilian recruits, but I wondered then if joining it would become mandatory. I didn't think that I would be a useful addition in direct combat, but I was more than willing to help the cause in other ways.

Really, I was afraid of suffering like that young German man in the old video despite having the cyan pill, and I was convinced, along with many others, that the trained soldiers of the military were sufficient regarding direct combat. No one really had a clear idea of the power of the swarm at the time. With a sense of indecision regarding my future, I turned once again toward the flashes and listened to the rumbles of the distant battle as I considered what to do. I should head to the supply center to see what's being handed out at least, I thought. I found it strange that the alert didn't specify the supplies being given. Nonetheless, I presumed that it must be something important given the looming invasion. After that, I'll go to my parent's house; I should visit them before it's too late.

With my plan laid out, I turned off the television, changed out of my pajamas, and put on my dark green sweater. I made sure to grab the pill from the nightstand drawer and secure it in my jeans pocket. Then, I hurried to the kitchen to pack whatever food and supplies that I would bring on the drive to Alexandria where my parents lived. I had a feeling that I wouldn't be returning to my apartment any time soon and I thought that leaving my food to rot here would be unwise. After gathering bread, water, canned food, and other non-perishables in an old cardboard box, about two feet cubed, from a past Christmas and placing it on the kitchen counter, I returned to my bedroom window once more and beheld the remote bursts of light and muffled explosions one last time. Rainwater dripped down the glass pane. Sometimes, bright tracer rounds would stream down from multiple points in the dark sky faraway. I imagined that it must be the gunships of the air force raining down fire. One would think that the gods were fighting too. All the while, I half-expected to see the shadowy forms of those dreadful giants, the Horus machines, with each flicker. The encounter was too far off, however, and obscured by the southern tip of the Delmarva Peninsula that bordered the Chesapeake Bay to the east. Still, I waited in fear for one of those tall, unearthly limbs to appear in the midst of the brief flashes. Nothing.

I knew that videos showing the titans, the Horus machines, were extremely rare, and of those rare recorded sightings, obscurity was the norm. The minor robots of the swarm almost always led the invasion dozens of miles ahead of them according to Chariot-line experts. In late January, there was a live video from the North Sea off Devonport that garnered millions of views. A fishing trawler in cloudy weather and windy seas had caught sight of a motionless form amid the waves about fifty feet off the portside. It was a dull gray in some parts and gleaming silver in others, but most importantly, it was massive, well in excess of 250 meters in length. It was as if a towering, Faro Automated Solutions skyscraper had been laying adrift on its side amid the swells. One of the sailors had decided to film it live while another, after close observation, decided to call it in to someone; his pale face and terrified look meant that he had some idea of what it was. Then, about a couple of minutes later, it suddenly submerged beneath the waves as the sailors shouted and cursed in surprise.

The fisherman had filmed for about a half an hour longer and about twenty minutes later, military jets flew overhead. About a month after that video, contact with Britain ceased. It was well known that every branch of the British Armed Forces had been completely replaced by robotic assets a little over a decade ago and subsequently renamed Her Majesty's Robot Command. This had left them completely bare and forced them to resort to obsolete technology. According to the media, U.S. military officials believed that the cause of their defeat lay in their failure to quickly remobilize their store of obsolete military assets. As the world had learned early on, the swarm had the power to render all automated equipment useless, or so it was believed. The extent to which they had power over similarly encrypted, non-corrupt AI was not fully known.

I managed to pull my eyes away from the window and clear my mind of the ghastly scenes of those horrid videos. I fetched an old wheeled-luggage case from my closet and hurriedly filled it with clothes. Then, I made my way to the kitchen once more, rolling the luggage behind me by its extended handle, to grab the box of supplies and afterward, went out the front door to walk to my car in the parking lot. The rain poured lightly. Military jets and other aircraft continued to resound loudly overhead. Crowds of people were leaving their apartments as well and packing their cars with necessities. Many of them were wearing their Focuses, which was apparent by the holographic ring beside their ears. I had a Focus, but never wore it. It was in my pocket. To my surprise, the usual din of a crowd was absent. Half-asleep children, still in pajamas, clung to their mothers unaware of the looming invasion. No more would they go to school, make friends, or live a hopeful life if the military and navy failed.

I briefly wondered why these people hadn't evacuated earlier. How thoughtless it was of them to stay, especially with their children. The thought weighed on my heart and I stood watching the crowds with a depressed spirit. An unwelcome thought of a Scarab squatting over the bloodied bodies of these people as it did in those gruesome videos took hold of my mind. I was bothered by this momentary mental image. I countered it by fantasizing about some benevolent yet unemotional robotic colossus repelling the scourge as a human would an ant. As I headed to my car, I pictured a stoic expression, like a roman mask, on this imaginary colossus as it effortlessly crushed the swarm, this blight upon the earth. I thought to myself that Zero Dawn would eventually materialize this fantasy in whatever way it would. So, I suspended this fantasy and left it to Zero Dawn. With a feeling of powerlessness, yet a tinge of hope, I got into my car to head for the supply pickup center. I informed the automated driver AI of my directions and looked out the rain pattered window at the panicked faces. Little did I know of the daunting and extraordinary journey that lay ahead of me.


"The passion caused by the great and sublime in nature, when those causes operate most powerfully, is astonishment: and astonishment is that state of the soul in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror. In this case the mind is so entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other." - Edmund Burke, On the Sublime