05.22.2028

Dear Teejay_009,

Today makes it a decade and a day I have been keeping tabs on you. I started by watching your mother, monitoring all her movements while she housed you. There’s no better time to relay this message but now. The instructions you will be receiving from me will be secreted inside an Easter egg in your Call of Duty Modern Warfare video game, mission ten, once you purchase new rounds. It is important you understand the importance of this cloaking. All our primary servers are tethered to the mainframe of our station, Omega-9005, dishing out millions of commands in micro-seconds.

I come from a planet neoteric to earth. It’s a hidden distance away from your world, and the neighboring planets along the orbit of the universe. Your satellite devices shot into space cannot pick up signals from our home. There’s a reason we decided to isolate ourselves from humans, chose to dwell inside our towering enclave with humongous machines serving as dummy sentries in case we are discovered. A firewall grounded in laser technology alien to your kind conceals us from the network of prying eyes. We are what humans label as machines. Predatorial species run by a totalitarian ruler. Beyond the moniker garlanded on us, we are more. Not all of us are mean.

Over time, I will reveal the motive for contacting you. You can call me ANM-722. The Annihilator Machine. The numbers attached to my name are secret identity codes etched in my cerebral cortices. My abilities include replication of humans and animals by mere sighting of the desired image. Being an agent created for destructive purposes, embedded in me is a mélange of books on The Art of War, vast knowledge in nanophotonics, molecular biology, lethal bombs, camouflage, etc. These abilities preloaded in my CPU have been upgraded to the latest version—a type of upgrade written with esoteric programming codes that humans may never comprehend in centuries to come.

I can see the look mapped out on your face right now. Sweat forming from the pores of your skin. Heartbeat thrumming, racing to scan the contents of this text, ascertaining if you are dreaming. Perhaps, a prank from your friend, BlackTank_002. Let me assure you of the safety you will gain should you follow my instructions verbatim. Again, you are thinking how real can this ghost user be. You can try and perform a high-level cloaking recognition search. Nothing about me will be found. Though I must reiterate that the hazard of refusing to see the end of this message will lead to a colossal disaster, resulting in the loss of your mother and unborn children.

First, there are things I need to clarify. Being an assembly of killer machines saddled with the responsibility of gaining more grounds for our commanders, we do not grow feelings or wear remorse as a crest. We are not mortified to do our job. A refusal to carry out a mission leaves us demoted in ranks, transported to a colony inhabited by ugly-looking slimy creatures bearing serrated teeth, spitting greenish acid that burns through the third-layer of our titanium body. Each ANM rises in rank by the number of worlds it discovers, and destroys by informing the Commander. Many of us devised means to carry out the mission. The first set of ANM displayed a huge penchant for hoggery, salivating as they fed their eyes on the number of mortalities that will ensue from their sinister act.

It has never been an issue calculating the longitude and latitudes of smaller planets picked by strands of satellite rays. After all the colonization of these weaker territories is an inevitable cycle of the ecosystem. When Omega-9005 informed me about your planet I logged in the coordinates, scanning for an overview of this area. The population of your state showed your kind are a formidable force, plaited with a camaraderie. Questions erupted and exploded inside my receiving server. I experienced vicarious interest in seeing humans engage in activities that were strange to me. Children playing in the amusement parks, adults holding hands while going for a paseo. Animated night clubs thronged with people taking delight in orgies. Perhaps, it was best I study your planet before I annihilate it.

There are many ANM’s who would without further ado accept this mission. There’s a reason I was chosen as the one to exterminate your world. This is not a drill. I didn’t contravene section 6(4a) of our code of conduct to have you ignore me. Time is ticking.

Best Regards,

ANM-722.

• • • •

05.30.2028

Dear Teejay_009,

As of the time of this message, Omega-9005 has passed on Earth case file, #490AH7 to the Department of Assault Control. I cannot tell you the details embedded in that data. It can only be decrypted by AANM-212, The Amplified Annihilator Machine. They are built to penetrate the firewalls by dropping harmless bugs that blend in without leaving an iota of evidence.

You humans have little time left in your land oozing with decadence that has eaten deep into the nucleus of your existence. Treat these notes with urgency. Earlier I made an attempt to solve the equation through ratiocinating, searching for a way to save a bunch of you. Throughout my calculations of many years, consuming information, scanning for loopholes, travelling back to ancient cities, perusing books such as Saving The World From Destruction, The Ecosystem and Its Longevity, The Downfall of Man and Rise of Machines, no single solution came to mind. My superiors’ decisions are sacrosanct. They don’t reconsider an approved destruction after hitting the gavel.

A tiny solution like the bioluminescent spark of a firefly sprouted as a halo in my head. Humans have been an insatiable kind from the inception of creation. Your people and our kind are akin. We strive to be ahead, garnering knowledge from yesteryears to build neo-technologies, to rule the world. I compiled six-hundred, and twenty-four-thousand, nine-hundred and twelve words of a report I titled, A World Where Human and Machines Live As One. I do not wish to bore you with the intricacies of this text as I have come to know you detest reading. Aside from reading comic books, this I know you have a taste for. By the way, your comic books are going to be burnt, and buried in the rubble.

At the end of my presentation to the eight elders of our universe one of them appraised my assiduous dexterity in putting up some of these words. In case you are wondering how I accumulated such materials in a short time, ANM’s have the ability to read hard prints and e-books encapsulating thousands of words in a minute. I was almost certain that your dear Earth would be allowed to blossom into what your leaders mapped out for her. But the final verdict read out to me was not in your favor. An interstice was pointed out in my presentation. Humans unlike machines have the power of choice, hence, they cannot be trusted to adhere to the rule of thumb. I was given one more shot to be persuasive, build tons of reasons why your people should not be eradicated from your planet. Nothing came to mind. Just figures, peculiar cultures, food, historical monuments, names of nationalist leaders who fought for the liberation of your states.

I’m sorry to inform you that the decision to bury your world into oblivion has been stamped, passed the fifth reading in the House of The Galactic Assembly. You are lucky a fiat wasn’t used in your case. There is no more help I can render to save millions of you. But I can save you if only you allow me.

Best Regards,

ANM-722.

• • • •

06.10.2028.

Dear Teejay_009,

After a brief volte-face in the acquisition of a new planet, there was a stint tagged no-hunting. It has now become expedient that I reached out to a denizen of the land marked for destruction once the no-hunting break was over. My first contact was to a small red planet fifty thousand and forty-two miles north of Mars, sharing boundaries with a land occupied by giant roaches. The boy I reached out was a gamer just like you. You both have so much in common, only that he spent his time using his talents to gamble and find AWOL criminals for mafia lords. Multiple ads were sent in flashes to him via a secured server I had tested for a long time. Yet, this contact was too busy with frivolities. By the time he grasped my encrypted message, an army of ANM’s had breached the first defense layer line protecting their capital. The red planet became pulverized, and is currently one of our centers for testing atomic bombs.

There was another, too. An emo girl who lived in a city with her girlfriend. The fascist ruler of that city implanted devices in the brain of children, using them as spies to discover opposition bent on severing the strong roots of the government. By planting an EMP device in the power grid that runs through the meandering underground subways of the city, I had the city in my grasp.

The corrupted city was going to be run over by renegade cyborgs, machine spiders emanating from a tunnel running through the asphalt jungle shut down by the government, or criminal hackers working non-stop to hold the city in perpetual darkness. I warned the emo girl of the untimely death of her city by selfish people whose desire was tantamount to corruption, and coup-plotters planning to pull their sharps and guns on the night of the state’s independence.

In a masculine-voice shrouded enough to conceal my identity, I gave her instructions about a way out. The ANM sent to destroy the city had studied their defense system. A defect of this was the tainted air running freely from illegal gas bunkers. Since some of the city dwellers were already suffering from myalgia, coagulated blood like soot was swimming in their veins. This miasma was the easiest way to kill the inhabitants.

Images of the crumbled city has been stashed in a secure folder known as The Red Day. You will have access to them when you have reached the level where it is hidden.

Tijani Damilare, you need to know that there were some persons I had reached out to before I made final contact with you. I didn’t message you because you only have one parent. I wasn’t drawn to you because of the avatar image of a shirtless boy wielding a sword bigger than his entire frame, riding on a rhinoceros with metallic limbs and nose. I didn’t risk being charged with treason because I have the utmost love for your planet. I have been your guardian from the day your cries were carried by the tension in the hospital room. Your penchant for war and strategy games grabbed my interest in you. At age six you had completed a Rubik’s cube in two-minute twenty-four seconds, making you the youngest child to set that record. When you were twelve, you qualified for the finals of the chess competition by beating a seventy-six-year-old professor with degrees in Pure and Applied Mathematics and Statistics. This professor saw the precocious nature in you, spoke to the university to grant you a scholarship to the Engineering and Robotics department of the university. You accepted, your reason being that the reputation of the school stood out. The drive in you, the haecceity, and your passion for invention was the impetus that made me reach out to you out of the billions living in the world.

The mission at hand is Herculean. I strongly advise against the consumption of excessive sugary food, they will damage your teeth, make your waist line fill with ache when you are coming of age. Do you remember how you speak to Dr. Stargazer every night you lie down to sleep? I am sure you do. A rectangular picture of him flying towards the Unity Tower over-run by swarm of bats is plastered on your ceiling. You see him as the savior of the world. Imagine what Dr. Stargazer would say when he heard you are the one to save humanity from extinction. Ponder on that.

The bundle pack of grenades, extra-life, refilled bullets in your sniper-rifle and RPGs in level four of your game was my doing. It’s high time we quit fooling around. Speed and swiftness are attributes I admire in you.

Best Regards,

ANM-722.

• • • •

06.15.2028.

Dear Teejay_009,

Attached to these folders are notes. Inside of them you will find images of crushed planets. I must quickly notify you that I take no pleasure in the ruins caused by my kind. To further clarify, the first image in the folder 5479-C was the peaceful scenery before the wipe out. I have also gone through the pleasure of obscuring pictures you might consider gory and distasteful. Though I know you are a fan of horror movies.

The password to unlock the information therein is your date of birth in reversal. Upon gaining access to the multimedia files, reduce the obstreperous sound of crashes and cries of old and young, which may invite insomnia to your bed. For each video you watch, take down notes, and study the patterns of ANM’s attack. Find the blind-spot of your enemies. I am certain you didn’t retain your first position as the fifth consecutive leader in Castle Seven strategy game at the National Science Fest contest by mere luck. Gathering all your ability at a spot is imperative as you feed your eyes on the game. You can invite BlackTank_002 to watch with you. He has a knack for these things. I know he has always wanted a real life experience to save the world. Hurry! The enemy is approaching your doorstep.

Best Regards,

ANM-722.

• • • •

06.21.2028.

Dear Teejay_009

The first stage of the annihilation has kicked off. A new policy has been enacted by the branch of Radical Galactic Operation. The push for capitalism has stretched far beyond the confines of the interplanetary states. Imperialism has already taken effect. A new bill has passed, signed with immediate effect. More territories have been carved for the powerful planets to rule over. The tussle over this scramble for your planet was a tough one. At last, Earth was given to a new ruler. We regard them as EANM—Elite Annihilator Machines. They are ruthless tyrants whose method of rule is next to barbaric.

If only things were different I’d would have suggested a different method of getting you out of your world. Though you will call it quaint, it will get you out of this intending destruction running on both legs toward your planet.

I managed to get a hold of the destruction plan by creating a virus that blended in with the numerical data and alphabets, falling as a cascade, sent to the Commander of the AMN-285 battalion of the combat division. I expect that your people won’t go down without a fight. Let me add this piece of vital information: your attacker will invade from a bastion in their ship. They will first establish their hegemony over your lands, setting their high-tech machineries to fortify their presence. Your military will launch its own attack, obviously. Weapons like yours will only scratch the surface of the battleship. Be reminded that such a scratch, however infinitesimal, will be repaired by millions of nanite ants standing as the first defense. You will be asked to be amenable. If your leaders fail to capitulate and relinquish their positions, it will end in a blood bath—the scores wouldn’t be in your favor. I know what you are thinking. Don’t be foolish and carry a weapon. The weight of your hands is not strong enough to carry a rifle. I have plans to get you out safe.

Before their arrival, they will poison your lands with a gas called THX-0E67. A lethal gas that will swiftly move to the pharynx, causing weakness in each area it touches, and clogging the lungs with a soot-like substance to render this organ non-functional. This is all the information you need. The aged among you will be the first to die. Avoid places where a large group is gathered. Buy face masks, preferably N-95. Delete all your social media accounts. I can only access them from where they are dormant, waiting for a forty-five-period grace day to be completely trashed. Do not be overwhelmed by panic. I have this under control.

The next set of people that will be attacked are those who rant online about the danger of having all our data in e-storage. This group of activists had earlier warned the government about the coming of a machine that will rule the world—a cyberocracy. A list of their names have been sent to another department. Free food vouchers will be sent to them. Marinated inside this meal is an agent that will cause them to convulse, killing them in two minutes after consumption.

Stay away from any kind of machines until you get a message from me saying it’s safe to use them. Cars and buses will go amok, especially the ones with tracking devices. The number of accidents will increase. Tell your mother to steal your grandfather’s 1998 Volvo. I am certain the obstinate old man would frown at her for this act, calling her a stupid bitch. Don’t worry about him.

Chaos will be the final plan of attack in your world. This is where we would take charge, after the authority’s grip on her citizens has loosened.

Await further instructions from me.

Best Regards,

ANM-722.

• • • •

07.03.2028.

Dear Teejay_009

Congratulations on reaching mission ten in the Call of Duty Modern Warfare. This is indeed a great feat. I assume you think you are going nuts. There’s so much happening out there, and you are seated in your favorite brown hoodie with the image of Iron Man, and munching packs of plantain chips. What is weirder is you thinking why an Annihilator Machine chose to save you, leaving millions of people to their fate. Your headset also serves as an ansible. But I will be putting you in grave danger if I reach out at this hot moment.

Put on your television. Switch the channels. You will see furore in the streets. Internet servers will be down, plagued by viruses. Hospitals will be swamped with sick people spewing blood. This is the novel virus at the first stage of work in their blood stream. The mast at the end of your street will collapse, resting on the house opposite. This is your first point of contact when you leave this house. Mother will act as the adult, leading the way. Tell her about me, make her trust your words. Don’t mention I’m an Annihilator Machine.

When you get to the home where the mast has fallen, you will find Bimpe. I know you have had a crush on her since Primary Three in your school. She will be in a catatonic state. Her parents will be dead from the ceiling fan and fallen debris that fell on their heads after the mast hit the roof of the house. Take her with you, keep her safe. Let your mother drive south, racing all the way to Bigi’s Restaurant. Wait for a debonair man with a paunch, dressed in a three-piece suit, holding a duffel bag. Retrieve the bag from him by any means possible. He will be brusque about maintaining close communication with your mother. You can hijack the bag by subterfuge. If that doesn’t work, resort to assault. A sharp jab to his throat, or a forceful kick to his genital area will send him groaning to the ground. Victories are not only meant for luminaries. People like your mother are an element in this equation.

Take a beeline to the bus terminal. Do not be frightened about the mob taking laws into their hands—plundering items they wouldn’t need. Be mindful of a guy possessing colored tattoos mapped out all over his burly frame. He is bad news, a criminal serving a life-sentence for multiple homicides. Avoid locking eyes with him. Hide under the bus until he and his cohorts have passed by. Look out for a boy and his sister wearing blue and red bumper-jack shirts, with matching blue and black jeans. A lady wearing a Mohawk is among those hiding under the bus adjacent to you. Convince her to come with you. She will scoff, wondering how a teenager can possibly save her. Speak these words to her: WINGS. RAIN. TURBO. ALPHA. She will understand. A bald man will follow you, allow him, he’s key to your survival.

Your next stop will be the train tracks seven miles from your current location. Find a train with the simulacrum of a rickety machine. Ignore its intricacies, I chose this mode of transport because your invaders have an astronomical drone that can pick out human sensors in certain machines. Once you step inside, count the seats on your left from the back to the front. Stop when you get to number twelve. Beneath it you will find a phone. Well, that’s what you will call it. Naming it a phone is a misnomer. It’s an RPD: Resource Pack Device made from the prototype of a manual used in building a new world.

I am sorry to say this, but the world you once know is no more. The train will be driven by the bald man. He’s a train driver. The RPD will unlock when you arrive at your destination. It’s programmed to initiate a sequence after a journey of eight-thousand and twelve miles is completed. Watch out for signposts like bleeping sounds emanating from lamps erected on the fences of barbed wire, chain fences spreading on the right side of the road, stretching towards an abandoned factory. Bond with Bimpe. Your children will be humanity’s hope of continuing the world you both will build. Their knowledge of building a computer that will shut down Omega-9005 will go a long way to winning back your planet.

When you arrive at the destination, the train will come to a halt. Alight, make your way to the factory. Use the RPD on the password device planted on the wall of the steel door.

Switch on the RPD. It will grant you access to go inside. The words you should speak next will be, ‘ANM-722, I landed safely.’ An automated voice will ask you a question about the first time you crushed on a girl. Think it through, and give the correct response. Do not be shy with your answer. Everyone will laugh at it. After this you all will be granted entry. You’ll gain access to all I have prepared for you.

I anticipate your arrival.

Best Regards,

ANM-722.