the fortress
I coordinated this assault with the utmost precision.
Our previous encounters had left me daunted and wary, a little skittish, and more than a little prone to fits of agitation. I had developed a hyper-sensitivity to noise. My right-hand, once the steady lead in my vicious pursuits, now suffered from fits of arthritic cramping from relentless hours holding my primary weapon.
I set about this assault as if it were my last. I studied. I relentlessly poured over documented instances where my now sworn enemy had committed tactical errors. Moments where in previous failures I'd noticed chinks in the beast's impregnable armor.
These instances were frequent, for while my enemy certainly had the size advantage, this also meant it was slow and lethargic in adaptation. The synaptic connections between the head of this great lumbering monster and its talons could be exploited.
I was sure of it.
I was particularly careful in my initial approach. My enemy had gone through great lengths to make sure that bypassing its initial defenses would be immensely difficult. Layer upon layer of security worked to keep invaders lost in a steely cold labyrinth of maze-like automated defense systems.
After weeks of failure, I had found the exact series of codes that would give me access to the juicy beast's weakest corridors. These corridors were guarded by semi-human authoritarians, something that was increasingly rare - and exploitable.
During my first encounter I was just naive; foolish. Thinking back on it now fills my head with bile. I had thought some vestige of humanity remained on the outer fringes of this mechanical fortress - some logical, justice-driven gate-keeper I could approach and reason with. End this insidious war.
There was no such luxury. I approached the fortress alone, a single piece of paper clutched in my right hand. An isolated, weaponless idiot. I was driven back like the millions before me; dazed, bruised, and beaten. I survived only because halfway through the encounter, I saw the vastness of the war before me. Before us.
This time it would be different. This time, I was armed with a litany of tactics. Before me sat my weapons of trade, the information I needed to engage in proper warfare, the access codes, reference numbers, and a laundry list of previous failed assaults.
With them, I called my HMO.