One by one about ten figures exited from one of the ruins of a factory building and moved towards the metal cylinder. They moved with a strange, unnatural purpose, their dark forms cutting through the tall, sun-bleached grass as they converged on the massive metal cylinder.
The cylinder itself was not small; it was a behemoth, easily twice the size of the factories that stood guard around it.
Sezel's eyes, pressed against the cold rubber of the scope, widened. Hidden even in the broad daylight.
He immediately shifted his aim, the rifle pivoting smoothly on its bipod. He centered the crosshairs on the broken gate of the second factory, choked with a thick, tangled mass of blackened, half-dead vines. As he watched, ten other figures emerged from the darkness within, their movements identical to the first group's. They, too, began their slow, inexorable march towards the metallic cylinder.
