The second day of the disaster. Aftershocks continue; the earth shakes us, tosses us about, swallows us whole. In the distance we hear crashes and cries. Those of us who can, make our way to the scene and try to help. The lights flicker. Several times we were briefly plunged into total blackness and the only illumination was the glow of dozens of pairs of eyes from the assembled molochs.
Bronze cylinders continue to clatter down the tubes bearing orders and damage reports from Above. They are wildly contradictory. All attempts at coordinated action based on them have resulted in utter chaos, even violence when individual molochs try to carry out conflicting orders.
This horror will end. I keep repeating this to myself: it will end.
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