Like metallic vultures circling unseen, two unmanned intruders crept toward Moscow’s airspace before being swatted from the sky—a fleeting dance of destruction that ended in sparks and scattered debris. The city’s mayor confirmed the intercept, a routine now grimly familiar, yet no less unsettling.
The drones, likely “stitched together in some dim workshop far from here,” as one defense analyst muttered, never stood a chance. Russian air defenses, ever-watchful sentinels, tore them apart mid-flight. Their wreckage now dots the outskirts—twisted aluminum confetti for a war that refuses to stay beyond the border.
Emergency crews descended on the impact sites, combing through fields like archaeologists of modern conflict. No casualties, no firestorms—just another quiet victory in a silent war waged between blinking radar screens and faceless operators.
Last night’s tally adds to a growing ledger of aerial skirmishes:
Each number a story untold—of hands that built them, hands that launched them, hands that erased them from existence.
Meanwhile, in training grounds somewhere, new drone pilots practice their craft, learning to thread these deadly needles through hostile skies. Their war is one of joysticks and jargon, where success smells of burnt circuitry and failure… well, failure doesn’t bear thinking about.
