Z Murder Drones Novels & Stories

"If we stay in the dark and the cold just to keep your 'Static' alive, what then? Do you have a plan to keep us fed through February, Julian Thorne? Or are you just another man playing with lives because he hates his mother?" The question was a physical blow. Julian looked at the silent radio tower, then at the frozen sea. He didn't have a plan for February. He had a plan for the soul, but he was failing the stomach. A shadow passed over the harbor again. The drones weren't dropping canisters anymore. They were descending. Thousands of them, landing on the rooftops, the docks, and the silo. They didn't fire. They simply sat there, their red "recording" lights blinking in unison.

Then a faint mechanical whir drifted down from above—so soft it could have been mistaken for the wings of night insects. Her heart thudded. “Gillow…” He rose to his feet, the predatory focus of the Alpha settling over him. His crimson eyes glowed faintly as he scanned the faintly glowing sky. Shapes moved above the thinning clouds—dark, insect-like silhouettes against the paling blue. A half-dozen, no, more, circling. “Drones,” he said, his voice turning hard. “Not ours.” Even as he spoke, small black canisters detached from the machines and tumbled soundlessly downward. They burst before reaching the ground, releasing a fine, glittering powder that spread like drifting mist through the tree

The pain that Elizabeth felt, could not be described in words, her little sister, Willy, would never see her again with her beautiful sky blue eyes; the men dressed in black lowered the glass coffin, and she led her into the crypt, she would soon have to leave her in the coldness of that place. I promise you, Willy, I swear, I will find that person who killed you- Elizabeth said with tears in her eyes- I will make him pay, I will not rest until I see him sunk in jail paying for your death- the woman wiped her eyes with a violent movement with the handkerchief that had been offered by her fiancé, she should no longer cry

I said as I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I love mint choco." He said and I stopped. "Disgusting!" I hissed and he laughed. "Why is that disgusting? It's good." "I feel like brushing my teeth when I eat that flavour." I shook my head. "Do you have a pet?" He asked. "I have a black labrador at home. How about you?" "Really? I have a labrador too!" He said and I turned to him completely surprised. "Millie.. her name." "Blue.. his name." I turned to him and looked at him straight into his eyes.

He likes to refer to them a bottom feeders, vultures or the classic 'fucking freaks' depending on his mood. With all the media coverage that the case had garnered nation wide, he had hordes of people beating the doors down to see it. Everyone had wanted to see the infamous 'murder motel' where the crazy man and his deranged son had kidnapped all those women and then brutally murdered them. Everyone's favorite place to check out was the old well that had held all the bodies of the victims.

There was a buzzing sound in my mind. I spoke without even realizing it. "W-What did you just say?" I asked. "I drove in to pick up my son, but I hit the gas instead of the brake and ran over a little boy. His face was covered in blood. He was wearing that blue hoodie just like the one your son always wears–" I was about to explain when Esther Lawson cut me off. "Eve Spencer, just get over here now! I swear I didn't mean to do it!"

Many of them became stuck directly to the melting road, writhing helplessly without being able to move. But why would that zombie bird help me deal with the horde? I watched as the creature beat its wings and disappeared into the estate’s attic. And very soon, I found my answer. The zombie bird was inside the attic, so I sent a drone up to investigate. The moment it sensed something approaching, the creature instantly became alert. With a violent flap of its wings, it threw itself in front of the drone protectively. The drone was swatted from the air and smashed to pieces across the floor.

Her voice is a dry, useless rasp. Elias doesn’t even look at her. He’s staring at those screens like a god tracking a storm he created. “Variant Seven,” he murmurs. “Your mother’s final architecture… perfected. Airborne now. Elegant. Efficient.” He pinches the tablet, zooming in on a forest feed. A pale, greasy mist pours from the underbelly of the drones—thin, almost invisible as it drifts on the wind like dust pretending to be harmless. “It doesn’t kill them quickly,” Elias continues, his tone dripping with an unholy sort of pride. “That would be crude. It rewrites them from the marrow out.”

Ethan ripped his hands away from the wheel and drew his silver-plated revolver from his inner holster. Two tactical scout drones rounded the corner of the stone archway, their lenses glowing a cold, analytical crimson. The moment their sensors locked onto Ethan's heat signature, their internal weapon pods opened, preparing to fire high-voltage paralytic darts. Ethan didn't give them the chance. Moving with impossible, fluid precision, he fired three consecutive shots. The heavy lead bullets slammed directly into the optical centers of the drones, shattering their glass lenses and sending sparks flying across the stone floor. The broken machines collapsed into useless heaps of metal, their ge