Inverawe. Scotland. 2029.

Angular struts and towers cut into the curvature of the mountains; an alien in the green.

The drill.

It had long been defunct but the legacy of its violence remained: cottages sat like decaying dolls at its mangled feet: once pretty balustrades clawed at lidless windows; gardens were wilted to dust.

Clouds gathered at its head signalling some oncoming doom...

Check back here for updates on the release of the story.