The drone comes into myth so easily as if it had been waiting there: above the mountain, above the body, above the blue, above consequence — remote command, calibrated vision, a violence that wants to arrive already purified. What began in the polished moral weather over the skies of Afghanistan, the grave of Empires, now dreams of becoming automatic, outsourced, amorphic judgement, so that under that new halo, war starts speaking like fate.