SING, MY ANGEL OF MECHA
SING, MY ANGEL OF MECHA A mechanical monstrosity like this can’t be captained like a ship, or lead like an army, or ruled like a nation. It is a monster in the purest sense- an omen of a profound horror to come. Some day, wars will be fought with these monstrosities, wars that level mountains and grind civilizations against the wheel until nothing is left but dust and guilt. Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon. They are mindless, these beasts, all guts and glory. Their hearts pump black and acrid blood, their yawning orifices drip with rainbow drool, their stomachs belch smoke that chokes out the sun. They rage and laugh and topple towers in fevered delirium, or slip into a dreamless sleep from which they do not awaken for centuries or more. There is no one to guide them. No one but you. They can’t be lead, or captained, or piloted. But their empty heads can be filled with genius. Your genius, to be precise- that intangible force as powerful and incomprehensible as t