Chapter 1: The Coming of the Swarm

A/N: I intend to adhere as closely as possible to the the canon contained within the various text and audio datapoints of Horizon: Zero Dawn. If the reader notices any disparities, please notify me so that I may make changes. Feel free to point out any grammatical errors. Also, the version of this story with images (which I'm planning to add more of) is on Archive of Our Own under the same title.

Please, relax. Immerse yourself in the end of the world.

On a river bank 川岸に

one hundred lifeless bodies 命のない百体

served to a titan 巨人に仕えた

- Japanese poet, 2/02/65

Spring - 3/25/65

On an early spring morning, before dawn, I sat by my bedroom window with my eyes fixed on the eastern horizon. A gentle rain pattered the glass.

As I looked on, an unabating show of low-lying flashes illuminated the darkness over the whole of the Atlantic horizon. Explosions muffled by the distance rumbled with each flash of light. With an outstretched arm, the lights of the distant encounter would span the width of my hand. Military aircraft, visible only by their formation lights, sounded above my apartment as they sped toward the faraway engagement. The whole sky was filled with the blinking lights of military aircraft. A haunting sight it was.

Behind me, my bedroom was lit only by the pale glow of my television, which seemed to be preparing for an emergency broadcast.

Energy usage had become somewhat regulated after a state of emergency had been declared in Virginia a few weeks ago. The regulations were minuscule; they did not affect my everyday life. The only change that I noticed was that my apartment's lights went out by 11 p.m. Many thought that the regulations stemmed from the government's overestimation of the amount of electricity that would be needed to bring more decades-old military equipment back into service and subsequently maintain them for an indefinite period of time.

When the power regulations had taken effect, I had not yet realized the gravity of the national situation. Then, when American media coverage of the European theater of war had ceased in late January, my daily routine had changed.

I no longer attended my university classes because most of the students and staff had moved further inland with family or friends. Over the course of a month, attendance at my school had gradually dwindled. After all, it was the end of times, or so it seemed. All that really remained for the people of eastern Virginia to do was to either assist the USRC in its preparations, enlist in the Virginia Militia branch of the Civilian Guard, or evacuate. As a result, my dream of working with Miriam Technologies was suspended.

When I had seen the flashes lighting the ocean's edge, I knew that the swarm had arrived. The realization glued me to my window as a person drawn to the edge of a cliff or a dark abyss. Some at my school had said that they could sense our presence, our dense populations and forests, in some way and were drawn to it like wasps to the scent of fruit juice. I had watched the unseen battle for no more than half an hour. As I looked on, I decided that I would visit my parents. Easter was just four days away.

—

It was two months ago, in late January, when I first caught wind of the rumors that the swarm was heading for the east coast. I had read the rumors in the live-chat of a video that had shown a battle ravaged town on a video-sharing site. I remembered the sunken feeling that had seized my heart as the rumors began to seem more genuine with each passing day. Initially, the news outlets had been vague about the subject as was their custom. After the rumors had become widespread, the media began to refer to the coming swarm as ES-17 for reporting convenience. The simplicity of the designation inspired dread.

In the early days of February, last month, all of the major outlets revealed the government's declaration of martial law in the eastern and western seaboards. Per the Emergencies Act, Canada had declared martial law as well the next day. The entirety of the U.S. Robot Command on the eastern seaboard from New York to Florida had been mobilized, some divisions having been deployed to Quebec. During this period, the coastal populace had evacuated westward in droves. Those who remained, however, did not yet grasp the seriousness of the national changes, including myself. I knew about the swarm only from videos on the internet, which gave me a sense of security and detachment from the horrors.

Around mid-February, droves of military ordnance and other defensive measures, including old nuclear artillery pieces, were airlifted to and set up on the western banks of the Chesapeake Bay near where I lived. The Delmarva Peninsula to the east had been evacuated to serve, according to military officials, as a large-scale buffer and focus of bombardment during the early stages of an invasion. The peninsula had been thoroughly devegetated by commercial nanorobotic phytophages. First, rising sea levels thirty years ago had forced an evacuation from the peninsula, then the threat of an invasion. Thanks to early rumors about the swarm's movements, the residents had willingly fled before the military had even arrived to prepare the peninsula. After the sudden loss of communication with command centers throughout Europe, especially the NATO headquarters in Belgium, in late February, defensive preparations were hastened.

On the 21st of February, dozens of mechanized USRC divisions from military installations in the central states filled the major roads and railways in Virginia on their way to the coast. Countless VTOLs had been seen airlifting military vehicles, large containers, and ordnance. A variety of aircraft both outdated and modern had filled the spring skies like birds on their autumn migration. In that same eventful February, last month, a news helicopter had shown an unforgettable live-feed of the combined fleets of the U.S. Navy, all of which were concentrated off Virginia and New York. Some WEA warships were among the U.S. task forces. Those were the warships that had been decommissioned in the years leading up to 2055. I had watched on my laptop from my kitchen with a mixture of awe and fear. That massive movement of military assets had confirmed the rumors of an imminent invasion. It had been the cherry on top.

During sunrise, on the same day as that live-feed showing the naval task forces, I watched four carrier strike groups sail out into the Atlantic from the naval base in Norfolk to join the wall of ships. They had all recently returned from various operations in European seas. They had been accompanied by modern destroyers, each of which were fitted with turret-mounted railguns. It had been a sublime scene.

Two museum battleships, the USS Wisconsin and the USS New Jersey, had also joined the modern ships shown in the live-feed. They had been retrofitted with modern weapon systems. It had seemed to me that those historic ships had been included for show more than anything else. Each were armed with their age-old cannons, three mounted in each massive turret. A documentary detailing their respective roles in the major wars of the 20th century had followed their reveal.

I was aware that most of the autonomous systems used by the USRC, particularly its own Chariot robots, were useless against the swarm. I assumed that the automated weapon systems aboard the U.S. navy warships had either been removed or fitted with anti-hacking measures. Such systems had been the subject of much discussion at my university, particularly in my information technology class, which I had taken as an elective. Many had joked about the irony in the name United States Robot Command. However, a military correspondent had stated on the same day as the live stream of the fleets that encryption experts from various universities had devised an anti-hacking measure, which apparently mirrored that used by the swarm. It had been implemented in the various autonomous and semi-autonomous weapon systems used by the U.S. Navy. According to the correspondent, U.S. Navy ships would serve as a test bed for it.

The same correspondent had expressed confidence in the anti-hacking measure. I had wondered why such a measure had not been employed long ago in the war efforts in Europe and Asia. Despite my concerns, the sight of those endless fleets had roused much hope in me. If one were to have stood on the shores and looked out over the Atlantic beyond the whitecaps, one would have seen ships dotting the entire Atlantic horizon as far as the eye could see.

About a week ago, in the evening, I had stood on a pier jutting out from Virginia Beach. As the strong ocean winds blew against me, I took in that wall of warships. It had been an astonishing sight. They had patrolled the seas off the coasts from Virginia to Maine for two months, but usually sailed out of view over the edge of the horizon. I could not imagine the swarm getting past those fleets.

—

That confidence of mine wavered as I sat by my window, watching the flickering horizon.

I had seen the videos online, the horrors of it all, when the combined militaries of the WEA and CEU were still in the fight. The morning after New Year's Day, I had viewed a live video that had been filmed from the second floor window of a townhouse somewhere in Germany. It had started without anything of interest being shown. About ten minutes in, the camera had aimed at one of the smaller machines of the swarm as it approached an injured German soldier. The white windowsill had taken up the bottom half of the recording. The soldier had recently been immobilized on the grass between the street and bike path. All the while, he had tried to reach his DEW rifle, which lied a few feet away on the grassplot. The back of his is right thigh had been lacerated and his pants had been soaked in blood. A few seconds later, the Scarab, which had been plastered with grime and dried blood, had come to a stop directly over the panicking man. Then, it proceeded to dissolve his body. A black smoke had gradually enveloped the helpless soldier, starting with his exposed and bloodied wound. The unfeeling machine had simply stood over the man like a hen brooding her eggs.

The soldier had screamed for a long time. His shrieks of agony as the machine remained hunkered over him on the road verge stayed with me. I had turned away in revulsion for a moment and pulled my headphones out of my ears, wishing I had not watched the video. However, my curiosity had urged me to look back at the screen. No help had come. A recently wrecked tank of the German Panzer Division had briefly come into view further down the street. Another Scarab, which had lost part of its tail, had passed by. Meanwhile, I had heard a barely audible whimper come from behind. The cameraman had made quiet shushing sounds. A few moments later, the video had suddenly ended. Whether it had been ended by the recorder or the host site, no one knew. Similar war-related content would usually be taken down from video sharing sites immediately, but the live streams continued to thrive.

All of those filmed incidents flooded my mind as I watched the daunting flashes in the distant darkness.

I wondered how far behind the horizon the encounter was. Without a doubt, the U.S. Navy was engaged in an intense fight and were making use of all their weaponry. I imagined the high-energy laser weapon systems, the railgun turrets, and other automated systems being directed toward the oncoming hordes if the anti-hacking measures were working. I imagined the two century-old battleships fighting once more against a different kind of enemy, one that was driven not by anger or a hope for glory, but by simple hunger.

The holo-clock on my nightstand read 3:56. Dawn was yet to come. Meanwhile, I looked at a small, cyan colored pill on my right hand. It had been issued at my school to those over the age of twenty-one to encourage us to enlist in the Civilian Guard. It was supposed to ensure a quick, painless death upon being ingested. Everyone knew about the swarm's nano-haze, which devoured all biomatter. Everyone feared it.

I remembered the morning when it had been distributed in my class last month. A military recruiter, who was an officer in the USRC, had given each of us a pamphlet, within which had been the cyan pill. The simple pamphlet had detailed the post-war benefits that were promised to Civilian Guard soldiers. Then, the recruiter had persuaded us with a rousing speech to join the Virginia Militia branch of the CG. She had succeeded in inspiring everyone, including me. Afterward, some of my classmates had made lighthearted jokes about the so-called "suicide pill," but I had simply studied it in silence.

I put the pill back into its small, plastic container, walked over to the nightstand beside my bed, then put it in the drawer. Then, I returned to my chair beside the window and looked toward the glowing horizon again. Zero Dawn, which had been the focus of the media after the first reports of all-out war in Europe and Asia, occupied my thoughts as I watched the flickers of the distant encounter.

I recalled the assured manner with which the president had described the alleged super weapon on the 12th of November last year. I pictured in my mind some satellite mounted missile system or some colossal, land-based defensive measure that would outdo all the firepower of the combined fleets battling faraway in the dark. Imaginative ideas of the nature of the super weapon kindled hope within my heart despite my dread. As I pondered, a muted siren suddenly blared from outside. A moment later, an emergency alert reanimated my television screen. I turned all of my attention to it.

An urgent message moved across the bottom of the screen. It listed various designated county centers. A semi-robotic voice urged residents to visit their nearby center to be issued various supplies. Again, it encouraged residents to join the Civilian Guard like the advertisements in recent weeks had. The phrase "Fight or Flee" showed amid the messages. I saw my county, Gloucester County, which had a few designated centers. I heeded the nearest destination about a few minutes' drive away. Then, as the messages continued across the bottom, the president suddenly appeared on screen. It seemed to be an extempore appearance. I did not recall the president ever having given speeches at such an early time when the whole nation was asleep. However, I reasoned that the din of emergency alerts, military aircraft, and outdoor sirens had likely awakened everyone by then.

The president looked solemn as always as he stood behind the lectern. After a long silence, he spoke in a measured voice.

"My fellow Americans...

This morning on March the 25th, 2065, U.S. Navy task forces assigned to the north sector of the eastern seaboard have made contact with an enemy swarm, designated ES-17. Another swarm has been detected approaching Florida while a third is presently approaching the Pacific Northwest. The U.S. military has made extensive use of its nuclear assets in an attempt to stall the swarm on its push across the Atlantic and a large number of Horus machines have been neutralized, but this is just the beginning of our struggle. As of yet, the status of our European allies is unknown. The loss of communication does not necessarily mean an end to their struggle. In the event of total and irreversible defeat, their governments have sworn to detonate their nuclear arsenals in major centers across the continent. So far, no detonations have been detected.

However, in the face of this unrelenting enemy, the brave men and women of the U.S. military will fight on with undying resolve to defend our nation, to protect our loved ones, and to safeguard humanity and all life on Earth. That is the duty of not only the military, but also the civilians of this country. Do not despair on this day, this day of days. Operation: Enduring Victory will, by the American citizens' unfaltering determination, prevail and Project Zero Dawn will emerge to smite once and for all this scourge from our world. My fellow Americans, do not stand down. Fight for hope, fight for our future. In the midst of uncertainty, let not fear strike your hearts for we will triumph. We will succeed for the sake of all the dreams and hopes as of yet left unrealized. Dreams and hopes that must and will live on forever...

May God bless you all."

Then, the camera cut. All that remained were the messages moving across the screen. I reflected on the president's speech. A few questions took hold of my mind.

How can the swarm withstand a nuclear attack? How many nuclear bombs were dropped on them? Does the president expect everyone to enlist and fight?

Regarding the latter, I assumed that he, for the most part, expected the civilian population to offer indirect aid. There was the militia that consisted of civilian recruits, but I wondered then if enlisting would become mandatory. I did not think that I would be a useful addition in direct combat, but I was more than willing to help the cause in other ways.

In truth, I was afraid of suffering like that German soldier in that live video despite having a cyan pill. I was convinced, along with many of my classmates, that the trained soldiers of the USRC were sufficient regarding direct combat. No one had yet any clear idea of the extent of the swarm's power. Still mostly undecided on what I would do in the long run, I continued to watch the distant flashes. I heard the rumbles of the faraway battle as I pondered.

I should head to the supply center to see what's being handed out at least, I thought.

I thought it strange that the EAS message did not specify whether or not the supplies being distributed at the designated centers were meant only for Civilian Guard recruits. Nonetheless, I thought that it would be worthwhile to visit my local center. Maybe I would join for the post-war benefits.

After that, I'll visit my parents.

With my plan laid out, I turned my TV off, changed out of my pajamas, then put on a dark green sweater. I remembered to grab the cyan pill from my nightstand drawer. I placed it securely in my pants pocket. Then, I headed to my kitchen to pack whatever food and supplies I would bring on the drive to Alexandria where my parents lived. I had a feeling that I would not be returning to my apartment any time soon and I felt that leaving my food behind would be unwise. Before I could make it to my kitchen, I stopped in the hallway. A sudden idea had entered my mind. I wanted to see if the flashes that I had been watching had only been from a dream. Maybe I had slept as I had been sitting on my chair. I returned to my bedroom window. However, I could still see the faraway bursts of light. Rainwater dripped down the glass pane.

Bright tracer rounds streamed down from multiple points in the dark sky over the horizon. I knew that it was the gunships of the U.S. Air Force raining down fire. One would think that the gods were fighting too. All the while, I half-expected to see the shadowy forms of those dreadful giants, the Horus machines, amid each flicker. The encounter was too distant, however, and obscured by the southern tip of the Delmarva Peninsula, which bordered the Chesapeake Bay to the east. Still, I waited in fear for one of those tall, unearthly limbs to appear in the midst of those flashes. Nothing.

I knew that videos showing the titans, the Horus machines, were extremely rare. Of those rare recorded sightings, obscurity was the norm. The pawns of the swarm almost always led an advance miles ahead of their queens according to FAS officials. In late January, there had been a live streamed video from the North Sea off Devonport that had garnered millions of views before ending abruptly. A fishing trawler, which had likely escaped from France, sailing amid windy seas and beneath an overcast sky had caught sight of a motionless form amid the waves about fifty feet off the portside.

Its surface had a dull gray on some parts and a gleaming silver on others, but most importantly, it had been massive, its length having been well in excess of 250 meters. It had seemed as if a towering, Faro Automated Solutions skyscraper were lying adrift on its side amid the swells. One of the sailors had decided to record the object with his camera while another, upon further observation, had called it in to someone over the radio. His terrified expression had meant that he knew what it was. About seven minutes later, the large object had suddenly submerged beneath the waves. The sailors had shouted and cursed in surprise.

The fisherman had been filming for 21 minutes when two RAF fighter jets flew overhead. A month after that stream, communication with correspondents in Britain had ceased. It was well known that every branch of the British Armed Forces had been completely replaced by robotic assets a little over a decade ago. What had been an advantage a few years ago had left them unprepared for the invasion. According to the leading news channels, USRC officials attributed the country's swift destruction to their failure to quickly remobilize their store of obsolete military equipment. As leaders worldwide had learned early on, the swarm had the ability to hijack automated systems. The extent of that power of theirs was unknown.

I turned away from the window to still my thoughts. Barely perceptible flashes lit the walls of my dark room. Then, I went to my closet, retrieved an old roll-along suitcase case from within, then filled it with clothes, making sure to do so calmly. When I had finished, I made my way to my kitchen, lugging the suitcase behind me by its extended handle. The ceiling lights would not have power until 6:00, so I switched on a battery powered lamp. In the soft glow of that old porcelain lamp, I retrieved a transparent container about two feet cubed from the pantry, then began to fill it mainly with non-perishable food items. After placing the cover on the container, I looked around my kitchen and the adjacent living room. The silence suffused my mind. I wondered when I would return.

Eventually, I grabbed my luggage and the container, then headed out the front door. It was still dark. Rain poured lightly as I walked to my car, which was about 15 feet away in the shared parking space. Military aircraft continued to pass overhead. The jets were the loudest of them all. Crowds of people were leaving their apartments as well, many packing their cars with bags and boxes. Many wore their Focuses, which was apparent by the ring of light beside their ears. I had my Focus with me, but never wore it. It was in my pocket. To my surprise, the crowds were quiet. No one spoke above a whisper. Half-asleep children, still in their pajamas, clung to their mothers, unaware of the looming invasion. No more would they go to school and live happy, normal lives if the military failed, if Zero Dawn did not come.

I found myself wondering why they had not evacuated long ago, especially the families with children. I knew that my neighbor had left last month to stay with a relative in Missouri. As I watched a large family entering their car, an unwelcome thought of a Scarab squatting over their bodies entered my mind. It frightened me to think that many had met such grisly deaths. I diverted my mind by imagining some benevolent, yet stoic robotic colossus repelling the scourge as a human would a line of ants. As I walked, I pictured a stoic expression, like a roman mask, on this imaginary colossus as it crushed the swarm, that blight upon the earth.

I reasoned that Zero Dawn would eventually materialize this fantasy in whatever way it would. With a feeling of powerlessness, yet a tinge of hope, I got in my car. I decided to stop by one of the designated centers that had been listed in the EAS message. I informed my car's AI of my destination, then looked out my rain pattered window at the tired faces. On making it to the main road, I saw only a few cars. For the first time in my life, the future seemed a mystery.

–—–

"Like massive boulders, mountains pressing against the sky, moving in from all sides, crushing the four directions, so aging and death come rolling over living beings: noble warriors, brahmans, merchants, workers, outcastes, & scavengers. They spare nothing. They trample everything." - Pabbatopama Sutta, Pali Canon