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GRAVEMARK
(Designation: A-9 Skyframe Strategic Ordinance Platform)
[Rain against metal. Engines spooling in the distance.]
“They called it Gravemark because every city it passed over remembered where it stopped.”
The A-9 wasn’t built; it was assembled in orbit, drawn from the carcasses of fleets that no longer needed names.
Its skin remembers the ships it was forged from, their registry marks still ghosting beneath layers of armor.
Powered by triplex graviton cyclers, it can hover for weeks—its exhaust turning rain to steam before it ever touches ground.
Each deployment is logged directly into its flight memory: impact vectors, casualty tallies, radioed last words.
The engineers call that telemetry.
The crews call it confession.
Command insists the A-9 is merely a platform.
The veterans disagree.
They say it won’t descend over new ground—that it only returns to where it has already spoken.
When the city lights fail and the storm reflects only blue fire, that’s when you know it’s above you.
Gravemark doesn’t strike targets.
It completes their elegies—then leaves the silence signed.
[Static builds, then cuts to silence—one final tone, low and absolute.]
