It soared out of midnight, all gas envelope and aerosolized Nightmare, propelled by only God knows what. It carried a tiny bomber bay, loaded with a lethality that would have made any nation quake to its roots, if any knew it existed.
The airship was black as night and quiet as death. It harbored no pilot, guided only by an intricate clockwork array designed to get the ship from Point A to Point B. No living navigator could have survived such close proximity to the payload for the duration of the voyage.
And so the vessel sailed on, unheeded and unnoticed.
A klaxon sang out somewhere far below. Spotlights lit the night, sweeping the sky for a target. One swept past the airship — then back. Others joined it, until the whole thing was lit from the ground.
The beam of one light narrowed, focusing on the bay, searching for… something.
There! A name.
A question as much as an answer, neither of which would ever be known. The torpedo doors opened, and death fell from the sky.