"There were so many theories on how it would happen. Whatever you decided to call it. Doomsday, the darkening, the apocalypse, the second coming. No matter what you call it, it wasn't what you imagined. Zombies would be a blessing. A nuclear war would be a cakewalk. I pray for the day the ozone disoves and the earth cracks apart. Because this was not something we brought upon us. It was not something of our making that we unwittingly unleashed on ourselves. This was cold. Calculated. This was an invasion we had no hope of deturing. Calling it a war would be a joke. The war was lost before they ever arrived. And now we are lost. Most of us are living the lives of slaves, grueling working building some type of machine we know nothing about. If you grow weak or slow, you are taken. No one knows where, but you never return. But there are some, some like me, who live outside. We live on the run, forever hunted. We are the Outsiders. And we are fighting. Come! All you cattle, come! Come fight with us! Come die with us! That our children, and our children's children may once again feel the yellow sunshine like the days of old, and the smaug of the machines of slavery may vanish from our skys! Come! Come! Come!" Karie finished the last connection and the recording of her speech she'd labored over was scatted. It would play over every old radio and ram every transmission for fifty miles, until they found this place and shut it down. She quickly made her way out of the decrepit radio station and into the trees. There she would wait. She could only wait and pray that someone would come. Someone had to come.