The train has left me weary. Packed to the brim with uncouth soldiers and bodily odor thick enough to wade through, had me resort to the greatest of all weaknesses to stave away the tendrils of insanity—sleep, my eternal nemesis.

Awoken by blaring horns and gunfire, a sure-fire sign that we had crossed over into the Great North, I glanced out the frosty window. Great mandibles wrapped around a grand oak—splintering the tree with ease—revealed the rest of the purple creature. A gargantuan slug, two times the length of the tree it felled—ten trunks wide—it dwarfed the ultra-mobile tank firing fruitlessly into its soft skin.

Grumbling, I put on my hat, grabbed the rest of my belongings and headed for the first train car. Few soldiers tried to bar my way, but a simple glance at my dutifully provided clearance card had them fumbling over themselves to motion me through.

A minute after the hat had found its snug resting place, I had commandeered a snowmobile and was blasting through the snowy forest. Adding the prior minute, it was exactly five hours of driving that it took to arrive at my new station. Weapons Testing Facility 404, named after its obvious nonexistence, it wasn’t to be found in the archives.

Under my command we will create the greatest weapon in the fight for humankinds’ survival. Our continued existence is but a bonus—a silver lining to the gold nugget that is the legacy of my scientific glory.

An all-nighter ahead for every soul put under my thumb. Come dawn klaxons will be blaring, red lights shall flash, the first test will have begun.