The year is 2017. World War V ended six years ago. It wasn't much different from its predecessors. Men killed men without really knowing why. What started out as a conquest to rid the world of (somebody's definition of) evil, ended in disaster. One nation unleashed its bombs on another nation and then that nation released its weapons on another nation. Entire countries were flattened in one cataclysmic blow. The deadly cycle continued without abatement. One day it stopped. The leaders of the world had been beaten by their own game. Their own people soon turned on the few who remained. In anticipation of the war, the great armies of the Earth had begun cloning programs. The products of these programs were called the 'Carbon Units'; they were without fear or emotion. Their minds were based on logic rather than cognitive thought. They were perfect in almost every sense.
This is the story of the day they emerged from the rubble.
The sun rose through the noxious haze that had become the atmosphere, revealing the nuclear wasteland that was the Earth. Vast piles of rubble lay where the great cities of the Earth had once stood. It appeared as if civilization had come to an end. Suddenly a man's head emerged from the dust, "is anybody out there?" he screamed. His skin was dirty and his face was hard. His eyes betrayed no emotion. He was Carbon Unit 225, a testament to the evils of humanity.
"Can anybody hear me?" he cried. His calls were only met by the mournful sounds of the wind raking the barren landscape. He stood up and gazed at the horrific portrait that his cohorts had painted. He searched desperately for any signs of life that might exist. His search seemed...