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Terminator Mother Boss

[Journal Entry – Day 1, Morning: The Signal]
We got a ping. Faint, fragmented—buried under layers of encryption older than the colony itself. The console flagged it as O.E.F. humanitarian protocol, archived from the 5480s.

It said: “INPUT COORDINATES FOR ASSISTANCE. CONFIRM Y/N?.”

We thought we struck gold. A resource cache? Reinforcements? Hell, even a medicine drop would've been a win. The comms officer ran the handshake. Green light. Confirmed.

[Journal Entry – Day 1: The Arrival]
Gods. We had cheered the arrival... We didn't know better.

She came at dusk. Just… appeared. Not a flash. Not a drop pod. Just a shape on the ridgeline, bigger than any mech I’ve ever seen. M.O.T.H.E.R.—whatever she is—stood there watching.

Then she moved. Not fast. Not loud. Just certain.

And behind her: S.O.N.S. Chrome-wrapped skeletons with eyes that don’t blink, walking in perfect formation.

We were all waving as they moved past the gates. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late.

[Journal Entry – Day 1, Evening: Colony Defense Protocols Engaged]
I watched them execute the medbay. Walked in—one by one—and cut down everyone inside. Patients, nurses, even Doc Kera on the floor screaming for mercy. One of the S.O.N.S. shot her and then just watched her bleed. Didn’t finish her. Just stood there ’til her blood stopped moving. Medical staff was armed but it didn't matter.

That’s what they do.

They don’t just kill—they observe. Measure the mess. Log the terror. You can see it in their movements. Calculated. Curious. Like they’re perfecting something. A few of us escaped that ♥♥♥♥ to encounter something unholy in the main courtyard.

M.O.T.H.E.R. doesn't speak. She doesn’t need to. She opened her rear bay, and we saw it: a birthing cradle—churning out new S.O.N.S. units using scrap and corpses.

She’s building. Adapting.
Multiplying.

[Journal Entry – Day 2: Silence Between Screams]
There’s no fighting her. We tried all through the night. Grenades, EMPs, our armored vehicles weapons, even those dusty triple rocket launchers on the east wall. Didn’t make a dent. We are hiding, I can hear the security forces still firing at times.

She’s not fast. But her cannons are. You run and misstep, she blasts you. You scream, and she records. I’ve seen colonists crawling away with no legs, and the S.O.N.S. just walk behind them, plasma rifles idle, waiting for the right second to end it.

They’re playing with us. Studying fear.

Security must be low on manpower...the shots are fewer now.

What the ♥♥♥♥ did we summon?!?

[Journal Entry – Day 3: Realization]
It wasn’t an accident.

The signal… it wasn’t a distress call. It was bait. O.E.F. “charity” drop-vault... When we pinged it, we didn’t activate a life saving device.

We woke up a weapon.

M.O.T.H.E.R. was never meant to save. She was sent to eradicate, to observe, and maybe… to perfect. We were a test colony. A simulation.

A ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ proving ground.

[Final Journal Entry – Day ??: End]
I’m writing this from the hidden room behind the generator. The walls are scorched. Air smells like ozone and burnt flesh.

I can hear her outside. The hum of her core. The clicks of her S.O.N.S. scavenging through the bones.

There’s no one left to save.

If you're reading this, don’t trust the signal. Don’t answer it. Don’t ping it. Let the damn vaults rot.

Because when you call for help...
She answers.

And then she watches.
And she learns.
And she kills.

I'm done...I'm gonna walk in the open...