Throughout the land, the warning came of something coming towards us. The Hives could see that the blip on the scope was getting faster, as it was nearing the mountainous area where I lived. In Contania, there are nine sectors. Each one has it's own independent function. My sector, sector seven, is in charge of mining minerals from the rock inside the mountains. That's why some of us live inside them, because some can't muster the effort to live in the open. But today, everyone is envious of those concealed homes.
Minutes after the confirmed indication of approaching anomalies, the nine sector leaders, or Speakers, order for an immediate protocol one to be in place: basically, arm yourself and get to the coast or high ground. Since I am old enough to mine, I am blessed with a rusty pickaxe made of some alloy that is tough enough to hack away into mountains. Ever closer they came, but none of us knew that the impossible approach was at our sector.
As minutes turned into hours, the Hives calculated that the incoming would be here in one hour. One hour left to prepare for whatever comes towards us. Luckily for us, it's summer, so the sun never drops, giving us as much vision as we can get. On balance, the nuclear byproducts of the war produce a vile churning green cloud of emissions that shrouds the outside world.
Bloop. Bloop. Bloop.
By the time the last remaining people are alert to the imminent threat, an irregularity begins rising from the cloud. From what we can make out, it's some sort of ship, laden with rusting metal and holes larger than our mines. But as the ship becomes clearer, we see that it's empty. It's a ghost ship. Nothing seems to be controlling the vessel as it's bow starts to swing around, facing side on to us. We hold our breath, murmur concerns, wield weapons.
That is when they fire a huge object so powerfully at the plexi-dome, that it fractures. The atmosphere begins to murder us.