Standing atop a wooden tower I and another figure stare out into the fortifications, worried for the future. The tower lookout is bare save for a board to the left of us, on it a list, each line crossed out with warnings next to each one.

Block the entrance (Aggression increased dramatically - 14 Casualties)

Destroy pheromone trails (Spread out wildly and ignored previously predictable pathways - 43 Casualties)

Fake pheromone trails (Ignored the fake trails, instead reinforced old ones dramatically increasing rate of attack - 3 Casualties)

Tests 2 & 3 together (Created new stronger trails - 0 Casualties) NOTE: The new trail split halfway through spreading out our already thin defences.

Gas out the nest (Adapted spore sacks to absorb the gas, releasing it upon death - 2 Casualties)

Due to already low morale, other tests already done by other sites and obviously strong adaptation abilities, testing has been temporarily halted until the situation improves.

But the situation would never improve.

Three years had gone by and already the Ants had destroyed most of if not all other sites. Ours one of the last still standing only due to the other person helping us with this battle. Salt is a women standing at approximately one hundred and eighty centimetres, dark skinned, and wearing something akin to ancient Egyptian clothes. Using her powers is the only thing keeping this last bastion running but it is not enough. Nothing is ever enough to exterminate them all.

I look out over the ruined landscape one last time hoping to spot any survivors but I know I won't.

"We should start" she says, looking at me from her peripherals. I nod and move to follow her as she leaves. Not feeling much but apathy.

…

We walk side by side down a straight and cavernous hallway illuminated through unknown means. The walls are undecorated and made of smooth brick with pillars jutting out from the walls every so often. At the end a large door stands before us blocking our path. Both of us push the door open, dust and dirt fall down in a curtain of darkness before torches placed around the room spontaneously light up revealing a library.

The library was a restricted area for obvious reasons but there is no one to stop us now, to hold us back.

I look through the large shelves placed generously far from each other. Picking out a random slate I pull the simultaneously soft and rigid 'book' from the others, on it is a picture sewn into it by thread depicting a fisherman and a little boy presumably his son. I was never taught how to read these things but I knew the basics. Read top to bottom, right to left, using the length of each stitch and the gaps between them as substitutes for letters, and using context clues to fill in the gaps. It was a weirdly context heavy language.

Calling out to me Salt breaks a sundial in half and passes me the bigger piece. We start walking back out through the way we came.

The hallway originally only taking about five minutes to cross now seems to be infinitely long, our steps no longer reverberated against the stone. Each step seemingly strengthened a pull of sorts to turn back and lock myself in the library but I know that that feeling is not my own and I push forward.

After an unknowable amount of time, laboured breathing starts behind me. Looking over my shoulder I see Salt but not as she was, seemingly younger and only half my height now. We knew this would happen so I held up my end of the bargain, but I feel and have always felt as though it was not a fair trade at all but she wouldn't listen of course.

Crouching down to her level I pull the strings connected to the front of her collar down, tightening the clothes around her fitting her again.

Picking her up in a bridal carry I carry on each step seemingly worsening her state until she reaches about age seven. A symbol of a cross appears on the front of her neck. 'Not long now' I think to myself.

One more step and she closes her eyes.

One more step and she turns deathly pale.

One more step and she crumbles to dust.

Wrapping her clothes around our waist we continue forward until thin beams of light begin to appear in front of us.

A large door appears in front of us identical to the library door but much cleaner. Pushing it open no dust or dirt falls like last time. The light pouring through the cracks increases with radiance.

Adjusting our eyes reveals the library which before was deserted now was full of people sorting, writing, and counting. In the middle of it all between two storybook shelves stands Salt, referencing a slate book in her hands to the others.

We keep a sort of detached calm. Walking up to her we pull our collar down to show the cross mark that appeared on the front of our neck catching her attention.

Looking me up and down she narrows her eyes at the mark then looks us in the eyes and asks the question we prepared for, knowing what she would ask;

"Who are you?"