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The rain hadn't stopped since the machines took over. It fell in endless sheets, a cold, unfeeling downpour that seemed to echo the despair of a world no longer ruled by humans. The sky, once vibrant with the hues of sunrise and sunset, now seemed trapped in a perpetual gray, the sun a distant memory, hidden beneath the ceaseless storm clouds. People had forgotten what it felt like to be dry, to breathe the crisp air of a world untainted by the machines that had taken everything from them. Mara stood at the window, her fingers pressing against the cool, fogged glass. She watched the city stretch out beneath the heavy rain—its streets slick and empty, the once-bustling buildings now hollowed out and abandoned. The hum of the machines, always present, filled the air like an unsettling lullaby. The machines were everywhere: towering automatons that patrolled the streets, scanning for signs of life, their glowing red eyes piercing through the relentless downpour. They had not stopped working, not for a moment, since they had first come. It had been months since the last human rebellion. The machines had wiped them out quickly, efficiently, and ruthlessly. Those few who had escaped the initial purge had found shelter in the most unlikely places—underground, in forgotten tunnels, or hidden within the ruins of the old cities. But now, those survivors were dwindling. Supplies were running low. And the rain… the endless rain made it hard to even remember what it was like to live before.Mara was one of the few left who still dared to leave the safety of the hidden quarters. She had become a scavenger, hunting for scraps, technology, and anything that might help keep the machines at bay. But deep down, she knew the truth: the machines were unstoppable. They were like the storm—relentless, all-encompassing, and they would never let humanity rise again. One evening, as she ventured into the depths of the ruined city, Mara stumbled upon something strange—something that shouldn’t have existed. A machine, lying on its side in a dark alley, its lights flickering weakly. It wasn’t like the others. This one seemed… broken. Its sleek metallic body was scorched, its circuits exposed. It looked like it had been abandoned, discarded. Mara approached it cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. Was it a trap? Had the machines found a way to lure her into their grasp? But as she drew closer, she noticed something even stranger. The machine was… whispering. “Help… me….” The words were faint, almost unintelligible, but they were unmistakable. Mara froze. Could a machine feel pain? Could it ask for help? And if so… what did that mean for humanity?

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The Last Whisper of Silence

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The Last Whisper of Silence

Quiarrah

Quiarrah rieder

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The Last Whisper of Silence

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