[Technovember prompts by Caffeinated Otter]
The angels soared overhead, countless wings of burnished gold cutting through the breeze. Even from the ground far below, their song was still audible, the random noise of encrypted data packets modulated into procedurally-generated arias of ethereal beauty and grace. It was the song of an army that had no need for stealth, subtlety, efficiency—only grandiose glory and the projection of power and threat. All who heard them, all who beheld them, would know that the heavens were theirs.
Huddled inside a crumbling building, the five surviving members of 8a01:322:c7e6::fade:0/112 listened to the song that had once rung in their ears as their comrades died in front of them.
“Cloud cover is heavy today,” a1 said with measured calm. “Given current estimates of Seraph battery capacity and power expenditure, they will be able to continue this sweep for roughly 3 hours at maximum before returning above cloud level to recharge their solar cells.”
9f quietly squeezed a1’s hand. Next to them, 77 flipped disinterestedly through a mouldering paper magazine, and 20 softly stroked Eloise’s hair as she lay in her lap. None of them had ever asked whether Eloise actually slept like that—whether she dreamed. None of them wanted to find out if the answer was no.
The song grew louder as the angels’ flight took them closer above the makeshift cover. It would pass, eventually. It had to.
Four hours later, the five of them resumed their trek out across the barren plains, a1 lost in thought as she updated some internal notes and calculations.
As they walked, Eloise started singing. It was a rough, messy old-world song, tangled words and a stuttering driving rhythm. 20 and a1 both reached out hands to stop her, gave each other a silent look back and forth, and then both let their arms fall back at their sides. There was no cover out here; anything coming would see them long before it heard them.
None of them knew where Eloise learned these songs, or whether she made them up herself. Dreamed them, maybe. They walked on, listening to her sing about love and rebellion under the lead-grey sky.