He stands by the enormous window, rain thundering against the glass, streaming down in rivulets, a dull thrum sounding in the cavernous room. Outside, the vast ruins of the ancient city run blurred in the deluge. Dark, mottled monoliths worn down by a forgotten war and the ravages of rain and time.
And here stands his towering abode. Freshly fabricated in two days by his swarm of drones. Melting, hacking, drilling apart the corpse of the city to suck out whatever materials his designs require, then piecing it all together while he waited impatiently in orbit.
This world is in a forgotten corner of space. Likely that no human had set foot here in thousands of years. A perfect place to reflect in solitude.
He has an awful lot of that. Solitude.
He spends his days watching his drones explore the toxic ruins, never finding much of interest. Most of it is rusted away. He is just left with his thoughts and his quiet melancholy. It's a fine place to do it in. Luxury in the heart of devastation. That appeals to him.
He eats well. Drinks well. Listens to fine music and watches his favourite films.
He'll move on, some day. Either to some other, unknown sector of space. Or back into the fold of mankind. He hasn't decided yet.
Paddy Dobson
30th September 2022