The crawlers advanced from all directions making their way towards the shuttered town grinding up dry dirt and rock into short puffs that hug suspended in the hot still air. Emblazoned in bright penetrating red on the front of these hulking metal beasts was the insignia of the Razors Corps - a strong confident muscular worker in the process of shoveling 'disjointed' relics into a huge dumpster.
A federal government disfigured by cruelty after years of peddling dishonesty and illusion was now a mangled mega business directed dictatorship. After forcing a proliferation of toothy smiles and lies used to pacify a disillusioned citizenry they'd shed their cloak of democracy exposing a disfigured devil.
Agribusiness concerns were rapidly devouring a tortured landscape laid bare by the environmental destruction of their fellow mega corporations. Shot through by piercing heat that was evaporating the last drops of moisture from every spec of land the powerful few who ruled the world ordered the plowing under of any non-essential land. Towns, cities, and homes - the shanties where the extra stock of labor slaves lived were being leveled in the name of maintaining profits and the copious quantities of food flooding the bursting pantries of these lords of business.
No exceptions were made to Emergency Order 43-A. The Great Global Council of Business Conglomerates had unanimously ruled that there would be no discussion, no breakdown of the malignant well-oiled machine that devoured all that lay within its path. When an edict came down from this authoritarian body of bloated business elites the wage slaves just watched in horror as the iron fist of the state pulverized any who dared to speak out.
With a global army of jackbooted demons always at the ready to rampage in ripping bloody terror into the defenseless citizenry absolute compliance of all edicts was assured. No courts, legislature, or other representative body was left uninfected by the invasive lobbyist disease that spread the super business edicts to the manipulated governmental hosts.
Government sponsored torture and murder penetrated deep into the world's gangrene lifeless flesh like a dirty knife cutting lives short without the slightest compassion; a series of amputations of the least powerful, the extras, the wastage of the gigantic machine monster.
The ground trembled with the approach of the Razors. The crowd of disheveled dirty dejected town 'skeletons' looked on in horror. These metal goliaths towered five stories high to where a small operator could be seen operating a maze of levers. No humanity had inconveniently 'contaminated' the souls of these perfectly brainwashed process bound minds; their job was to destroy, to obliterate anything in their path including flesh and bone if the natives just happened to get in the way.
Barefoot children in tattered clothes holding onto the battered remains of dolls or sharp rusty toys stood crying in terror beside their parents who resembled mere scarecrows left in the field to long.
Strung across the front of a building between bent brown poles was the proclamation "Town 342 is scheduled for cleansing." In smaller bold red print below this order was scrolled the words: "Local CorpGov District 14."
With not a shred of food for miles or a drop of water to be had from the leaky faucets that had their supply cut the day before when the pipes from the water plant were severed these citizens of a mean land infected by elite sociopaths, destitution, rottenness, and laissez-faire pain just stood motionless - in shock.
To tired, dejected, and with an empty flat barren expanse for miles in all directions they'd resigned themselves to a fate bestowed upon them by ancestors who just meekly submitted to every indignantly.
Not a single car had moved down or out of this town for years so escaping from these menacing machines out into the emptiness while starving and apt to faint any second would have been utterly useless - hell there just wasn't any place to go. They were situated smack dab in the middle of an agricultural area covering millions of acres representing just a drop of harvestable land owned by a group of elite business lords.
Eating their dinner of steak & lobster an agribusiness prince informed his family that he'd been assured that the razing of a local village would be televised tonight on "The Grand Tangle of Death". This whole family of pudgy degenerates was hurriedly stuffing their faces with the piles of food haphazardly resting on the table. They greedily shoveled the expertly cooked food into their already bulging mouths; their grotesquely stretch marked cheeks puffed out so forcefully that they resembled the pouches of some gigantic rodent.
They finished their feast just in time to hear the announcer gleefully proclaim: "Tonight on The Grand Tangle of Death Town 342 will be totally obliterated."
After feeding at the nightly trough these stuffed elemental swine sat down on their plush couch but were unable to contain their anticipation and squirmed about causing the stubby couch to creak under the excessive weight. These inhuman evolutionary mistakes just couldn't control their excitement for in just a few minutes they'd see their fellow human beings ground up into hamburger.
Early that day the Razors had plunged deep into the heart of the town transforming it into a river of red dust that rushed towards the crying heavens.