In a land torn and bloodied by war, the middle generation is gone, wiped out by the true war, humanity against the others, they say that they were once human but now their red mechanical eyes gleam in the darkness and they fight us with the same wrath as we fight them. There are those of us that are old, and those of us that are young but those in between are dead, their bodies rotting in the fields. We were told that they were heroes, but they never came home, and eventually the war came here and we saw what an abomination it was. We saw the poor men, gasping and screaming from the pain as they lay dying in the soil they had loved, the same soil of the country that had lied to them and sent them to their deaths. We were high school students, high school heroes. We knew they were coming, the great plains were bloody and our red blood was the avatar of their coming. My name is Thomas, and this is my story.