Showers of light shattered the night. So started the fight.
Invaders from space, an alien race, our world did deface.
But we defended Earth in the end. Now we must mend.
Sing to me of Earth;
I never had a home.
A slave of little worth
born on a slip of chrome.
Darting through the void,
We are Nemesis.
Enemies destroyed…
So now our name is…?
We keep samples of the things. They do not speak now, only hate. See their trident eye, malign. They who never spared a soul do not understand our keeping them alive. And I, who would have compassion for them if they themselves could but feel compassion—yes, I would, I say, give them the death they desire if they had once, in all the last seventy years, shown an ounce of mercy to mankind—find dark pleasure born in my soul, a black bile like them, at every jerk and twitch they make upon my vivisection table. I have found no anesthetic which affects them. I lay my scalpel over their heart, I tickle them with the chance, so close, then sow them back up. They heal remarkably well. When I study one, the others all scream. It does not matter how far away. If any are still left in the galaxy, if any are left in the universe at all, I like to think they see my face and feel the obsidian blade which has been the friend of man from the cave to today. With it, we slew mammoths to feed our tribe; I slay ignorance, but feed only an infant sadism.
Tale Told 