When one walks through the POW camps, one truly sees the faces of misery. There, the proud conqueror has been broken down utterly, leaving behind a mewling creature that has no dignity, no bravery, and no hope. It has been thus ever since our victory. Ever since we beat them back, and rendered their ambitious desire for blood and honor into nothing more than something that would leave an ashen taste in the mouth of the defeated. It was a grand victory for us. Proud soldiers marching through the streets of liberated cities. Enemy citadels blown away by orbital bombardment as a manner of celebration. It was the moment of glory, when the battered remnant of our people united as one, underneath a banner adorned with red blades held aloft by many crimson hands upon a blackened field. Indeed, when our forces blasted that final dread eyesore out of the sky, when the heavens of fair Terra were once more ours, it was the final stroke of a war that had lasted for decades.

But it left tens of millions of POWs behind. When we destroyed that alien flagship, breaking their invasion once and for all, there were still areas under their administration. Regions with colonists, administrators, civilians, garrison troops, the likes. There was no possible options for us to arrange a handover of prisoners. The force that had invaded us were a rogue group of arch-reactionary imperialists from a stellar nation that had completely and utterly disavowed them. We tried to make their more civilized counterparts see our predicament, but beyond providing symbolic financial aid to us in order to aid in our reconstruction, they did not want any part in the post-war situation. We set out on our task to deal with the unwanted remnants of the invaders in a way that was decent, insofar as humanity could restrain itself from the sweet allure of revenge.

Yet we rose above our past tendency for cruelty, for taking bloody vengeance and calling it just retribution. We did not give in to the worse parts of human nature. We dragged alien leaders in front of courts, brought in witnesses, appointed them advocates that would act as their defense under the laws of the Federation of Earth. Their crimes were treated as they were; crimes against peace, decency, and humanity. Many were executed. More were given long sentences, even life in prison. That was what we did with the officers, the bureaucrats, and all of their civilian leaders. But the massive alien legions, fighters who had spent their lives honed for combat, who knew naught but battle. What to do with them? The low-ranked civilians were forced to live under human law and under human watch in special ghetto-cities, but what to do with the vast army of aliens, who had done nothing but shed human blood and do their utmost to destroy humanity? Some extremists wanted them all destroyed. All slain. But to most, this was too far. We would be no better than our defeated enemy if we slew them en masse.

Engineering troops of the enemy were conscripted to rebuild and repair, under human supervision. To clear the rubble of ruined cities, and aid in reconstruction wherever possible. Human cities would rise once more, and much faster than we would otherwise had made them rise, when those who could use the captured alien construction equipment were making themselves useful. They followed orders easily, and did not complain about harsh conditions or hard labor. But the vast legions, loyal to a dead, insane, alien despot. These vast legions who were taught to obey, what to do with them? To see them in their squalor, in the POW camps, to see their pride broken, was almost enough to make one pity them, if only a little. They were, after all, alien soldiers who had tried ruthlessly and brutally to conquer humanity at the behest of a lunatic who made our worst historical despots and tyrants look practically sane. The remaining peoples of the Romance cultural group, living in the Mediterranean Republic, the lands that were once Iberia, Occitania, and Italy, would note that even the worst of the ancient Roman emperors would look at the alien overlord as a complete loon. The inbred fool made Caligula look like a well-adjusted and mentally sound individual.

These alien soldiers would mope around, barely eat, and barely do anything. Few of them felt anything besides despair. It didn't help that their supply of the heavily addictive combat drugs they used to take, were destroyed completely when the alien flagship was atomized. It was an officer at the Aral Camp who finally made a breakthrough. This officer noticed the weak wills and docile behavior of her once terrifying enemy. And found it quite strange, that an enemy, even one suffering heavily from withdrawal, should act like this. Taking those who were the least lethargic and despondent aside one morning, this officer handed each of the alien soldiers a knife, a piece of wood. Then the officer showed them how to use said implements to carve a small figurine from it. They then showed these large alien soldiers a book about the various things one could carve from wood. The aliens were then ordered to carve whatever figure from the wood that they would like, provided it was one that they could find in the book. The alien soldiers dutifully looked at the book. Then took to carving. Periodically the officer would walk among them, explaining certain things, sometimes shouting at them like a drill sergeant would, and in general, acting as their officer.

At the end of the day, each of the aliens had made a passable attempt at an Earth animal. They did not seem in their old spirits of blood and glory hunger, but they did seem a tad bit more alive. More sensible. So next week, the officer, having spoken to her superiors, had been given a room full of clay. And with the aid of a potter, she taught them how to make clay pots. And at the end of the day each POW had made a satisfactory attempt at a pot. Next week, it was painting, with the aid of the historical records of a certain Bob Ross. And so she continued. Teaching them new things each week. Why did this impulse happen only to this captain at this camp? Who knows, but it was important. It taught the aliens to obey instructors from the civilian side of life. It taught them skills that weren't based around killing or oppression. It showed them a different path, one that such vatgrown soldiers, born and bred for battle, had never known. Soon, they spread the knowledge they had learned to others in the camp. And these aliens, lethargic, uninterested, and beaten, slowly started to change their outlook. Started to learn how to be more than mere pawns in the game of a mad ruler.

Some few were, cautiously, sent out to live and learn from the neo-nomads who roamed from the borders of the Republic of Ukraine, to the still smouldering ruins of Pyongyang. At first the nomads were skeptical. But soon, these aliens proved their use, their worth, in the long journeys across the lands that had once been mighty and strong in the days before the invasion began. Before both nations used their horrific arsenals to destroy themselves and all forces arrayed against them rather than surrender. Their augmentations made them better suited for detecting radiation early, and the enhanced detoxification organs in them allowed them to know when the waters were clean of toxins, so that they might be safely boiled. Soon, with the roaming clans and tribes, they could find a place. And many were, once they had been proven docile and unlikely to cause trouble, released into the care of these pragmatic nomads, who'd eagerly use their old enemies to ease survival in their hostile lands.

Today, at Camp Lincoln, near Marquette, the post-war capital of the State of Michigan in the Reunited States of America, a variation of this program begins. Where the basic skills taught at Camp Aral in the Kazakh Nation were suitable for the nomadic tribes that often worked with the Central Asian nation, we're going to be doing something different. While basic skills will be taught, it will only be the first step of the program, an expansion of the concept developed by Captain Ismailov. This program is much more ambitious. The alien civilians are integrated, if still confined to specific areas out of fear that they'll try something, or that human extremists will hunt them down. If these legions, these killers, can be changed. Can be truly given modern, useful skills, like the engineering corps of the invaders, then there is a possibility, that the horrendous, depressing, and economically draining camps, will be able to close.

If we can teach them advanced skills, if we can educate them beyond basic or pre-modern skill-sets, then they can be brought into society. Sure, they'll only have the same rights as their civilian kin, and they won't have the same rights as human beings, not now, not until the generations scarred by the war have passed. But one day, if the program can successfully educate these alien killing machines to be able to work as nurses, teachers, and whatever else you don't need physical prowess for, then there will come a day when the blood has been washed away. And the descendants of these invaders will become equal citizens of this good Earth.

/r/ApocalypseOwl

The aliens were very frail once we took all of their equipment away. They really were the epitome of 'little green men,' standing at about three feet tall. While in battle, they all were in these giant mech suits, but once you took them out of the suits, they looked like the kid that would get bullied on the playground.

There were debates of whether to put them into labor camps, what would have essentially have equated to slavery, but that didn't sit right with people. Pretty much everyone tweeted out against it from their phones that were built by Chinese slave labor.

Some thought straight up extermination was the answer. Line them all up and just shoot them. Or put them all on some patch of land in Kansas and throw a big ol' bomb in the middle. But that Kansas government said no because it would get green goop all over their corn, and people would not buy corn that was covered in green goop.

Others wanted to integrate them into our society. Have them take up jobs and learn our culture and assimilate. Maybe we could teach them things, and they could teach us things. You know like we could teach them about Earth culture, such as soccer and bangbros. They could teach us their culture, such as... well I guess invading other planets and trying to take over. Maybe we should be the only ones teaching the culture. Many were against this as well though. People didn't want to work side by side with the aliens that tried to mass exterminate us. They didn't want to see them at McDonalds or Target.

A vote was held and the last option was the winner, to the dismay of many. It didn't matter, there were never going to be any answers that did not upset people. Because there were no good answers. We chose to take the supposed high road, and hopefully by choosing it, the aliens would be grateful and not try to kill us all ever again. That's the goal anyways. Call me an optimist.

Is it Technically Still Slavery?

A group of very serious looking old men sat in a very serious meeting deep under the very serious White House.

It was very serious.

“So what are you proposing, Bob?”

A well-fed balding man stood up. He shuffled a few papers for effect before clearing his throat (but too much, Covid and all that…).

“Well, Mr. President, it’s not as simple as that.”

“And why is that, Bob?”

“Well, sir, we know what we’d like to do with the aliens. The question is whether the population will be okay with it.”

The aliens had, after all, invaded without prejudice. They had murdered countless humans of every race, culture, and gender. If they could make decisions so thoughtlessly, why couldn’t everyone?

“Ah, I see what you’re getting at. You want to enslave them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, slavery?”

“Slavery. Yes, sir. They would make an excellent working class. We could slowly assimilate them into our culture.”

“We are very good at that,” said the President. “Do we call it slavery?”

A man spoke up from behind them, “Is it technically still slavery if they’re not human?”

The room of men grumbled in agreement.

Several voices spoke up:

“Are pets slaves?”

“Surely my housecleaner is not a slave!”

“I pay a thousand workers below minimum wage! Is it slavery?”

Bob shuffled his papers again.

“We could put an alien in every home, sir!”

“But, there’s only a few million of them. That’s only enough to cover the rich families.”

“Yes, sir. Are there other families we should be worrying about?” He looked confused.

“You make an excellent point.”

The President sat quietly with his fingers intertwined. This was not an easy decision. Slavery was an unthinkable notion. Yet, the alien’s invasion was equally immoral. Billions had died.

“If it helps with your decision, sir, the SlaveBots might back off about their union ideas.”

The President looked up hopefully. The SlaveBots at the back holding trays of hors d'oeuvres glanced worryingly at each other.

“You’ve sold me! Or, them, actually.”

A chorus of practiced laughs followed.

There were no good choices.

We were barely an army; at best we were a terror band, sowing mischief and mayhem across seven continents.

We 'won' because they weren't like us - the more we killed them, the more we figured that out. They were pretty much top-heavy in terms of momentum, command structure, everything - kill the slave masters at the top, and the pyramid goes down. And that's what we did.

So you'll understand what we were dealing with - there was no one to negotiate with, no one's hand to shake.

And it wasn't like they were ready to be our friends and huddle round camp fires singing kumbaya just because we'd fry-cooked their masters' heads with a plasma gun. Nah - they were pissed, full up of rage and hate and - for their first time in their lives - lacking anyone capable of telling them what to do. But they still had all the guns, all the high tech - all the gene-kicking superiority to run roughshod over pretty much everyone left in the world but us.

And, well... the other thing you've gotta remember is - well, we just didn't trust the rest of you. You gave up, remember? Turned over the keys to the world in exchange for the cure to cancer and a pat on the head. We couldn't let you choose, because if history told us anything, it's that you'd choose wrong.

We had to be sure.

We had to protect the species.

We'd proven we were the only ones that could.

I saw good men and women die from rejection syndrome when we stuffed their bodies full of steel to make them better soldiers. I remember the look on one girl's face after she watched her sister die in agony on the operating table. She asked what table was hers, and told the doctors to get on with it. She survived. She was one of the first.

We lost hundreds in a week without the bad guys even firing a single shot, because we had to catch up, and we didn't have time to do it safe. We didn't have time to do it right. The only thing we kept was our goddamn right to choose, and every last one of us who died went to the operating tables did it willingly.

That's not to say that some people didn't go there in chains. But that's what collaborators are for.

Do or die. Do, or everyone dies.

We were necessary monsters.

I gave the order every time, and I'd do it again. If I had my time back, the only thing I'd do differently is that I wouldn't have questioned it so much at the time.

Fair, equitable war is a luxury you have when it's ideology at stake. When you don't know, with absolute certainty, that the only thing that awaits you should you fail is everything you love being tossed into the grinder to feed an alien war machine. To prop up a dying species that had plagued the galaxy for centuries past its extinction date.

Some people say that they can't even recognise us anymore, but I can. My men, my women, they turned their arms to iron, their hearts to dust. I shaped them into machine and hate. I gave them mind-readers and magic. No road was left untaken. No sacrifice was left unmade.

We didn't have the cities, we didn't have the armies, we didn't have the time. We couldn't be sure we had the popular will. Prisons are what you make when you know you can contain things. We didn't. We had a handful of ruins and a mankind scattered to the winds in shanty towns and caves. They still held what few cities remained.

If we had a hundred years to fix things - a hundred years to make ourselves a civilization again - maybe we could have picked a more humane option. Maybe we could have figured out if they even deserved one. Or if they could ever learn to be anything more than killing machines.

But we didn't.

We had months, maybe, while we still held the momentum. If we waited, we'd lose everything. That we were here at all was the result of a thousand miracles, each one I had no guarantee of repeating.

So I gave the order, as I always had. I chose for the species, because you left me no choice.

Kill them all, wherever they may be found.

Kill them all, no matter the cost.

Kill them all.

With the advent of nuclear weapons and rising global tensions, who knew that World War Three would be the one to unite the world. The growing accounts of UFO sightings and very serious extraterrestrial considerations from even the most skeptical scientist hadn't prepared the world for it's first known alien invasion.

We were caught with our pants down. Multiple battleships blitzing into orbit with strange physics and impossible weapons caused a massive panic. Some thought this was the apocalypse, others likened it to a sort of biblical Armageddon, many had hoped that they were here with good intentions. When missiles rained, however, all hope was lost as panic swept the world. World leaders scrambled, military systems readied, and the populace prepared themselves as this may be last of our civilization.

However, what happened next surprised us all. Maybe we all instinctively knew. With all the infighting, nationalism, and racism that have plagued human existence maybe we should've known how fierce we are when attacked. "Us vs them" is very powerful when the 'us' is the entire human race and the 'them' is an attacking group of alien warlords threatening to end life as we know it.

The war lasted 5 long years as we fought with full power of the human race. World leaders finally putting there differences aside for the greater good. The alien scumbags weren't ready for the full force of human might. When the last of the warships were destroyed, there was a great celebration amongst all the races and people of the world and for the first time it may seem like the world might've finally come together as one.

A few years after the invasion another debate cropped up as the problem of the millions of hostile, stranded alien invaders that were left behind arose. There were many ideas floating around, some of the more extreme wanted to kill them all, but others opposed it as that would make us just as bad as them. There were many who wanted to talk with them, to learn from them, incorporate them into our way of life. That was a hard sell for those that lost family in the war. Also the language barrier as well as their unknown hostility towards human life would make that risky.

Someone had said, "Let's send them back to were they came from!" and for whatever reason that stuck. And so all the world's engineers collaborated together to re-engineer the alien spacecraft. It was a mighty feat, but after many years as the alien POW's were temporarily imprisoned, the engineers were able to get a few up and running. We packed in as many alien warriors in the vessels as we could and shipped them into the vastness of space. We had no idea where they had come from or where they were going, but it was our problem no longer. Our job was to boost our defenses, ready our troops, and hopefully human life may extend a little bit further.

These aliens decide to have a talk with the U.N. about settling a deal. Said deal will have the newly refugees make their home among the Hawaiian islands, portions of Africa, and the Dominican Republic. From there, they will work alongside the humans there to repair the damage from the yearslong battle. During the meeting, 1 of the Martian generals, Hoptek, is 1 of the few who speaks out against the deal. He makes claims that Earth started the war to obtain their resources to keep humanity from going extinct. Typical. Another Martian, Peony, wants to give the deal a chance to blossom into something greater: peace along the two classes. Her weakness, as Hoptek calls it, is wanting to care for the kids who lost their parents during said war.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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