Project Description

Milo Li

There was a time when the land lived and breathed and thrived. But now it lies dead. A barren husk. A wasteland of desolation. Devoid of life and hope.

Few remain now, toiling in the dirt, eking a subsistence out of the lifeless soil; or roaming endlessly, digging through the scrap for one more thing to keep going, one more thing to do to survive.

Survival. That’s all that’s left.

Only those with the resolve of the earth itself have survived. They’ve endured countless horrors, inflicted countless more. That was how they survived; that’s how they continue.

Across this void, there is one name that all know. One name that all obey. One name that all fear. The Milo.

His coming is heralded by the call of thunderous engines. Burning through the fuel he takes from those weaker, he screams across the deserts with a murderous howl. “”I am coming,”” it seems to say. “”Leave your belongings and flee.””

And most do. Flee. Run. Hide. Very few turn to fight, and when they do, they inevitably lose. Fighting The Milo is like trying to dam the ocean with nothing but your hands. Pointless. Futile. A fools act. Those that fight are made examples of.

Do you hear that now? In the distance? The repetitive drone of a crank-shaft. The steady sputter of an exhaust. The Milo is coming now. He seeks out your Marketing Clouds; to turn them into useful tools, which he himself will take from you, and survive this wasteland.

Flee. While you can. Survive.

Milo Li

There was a time when the land lived and breathed and thrived. But now it lies dead. A barren husk. A wasteland of desolation. Devoid of life and hope.

Few remain now, toiling in the dirt, eking a subsistence out of the lifeless soil; or roaming endlessly, digging through the scrap for one more thing to keep going, one more thing to do to survive.

Survival. That’s all that’s left.

Only those with the resolve of the earth itself have survived. They’ve endured countless horrors, inflicted countless more. That was how they survived; that’s how they continue.

Across this void, there is one name that all know. One name that all obey. One name that all fear. The Milo.

His coming is heralded by the call of thunderous engines. Burning through the fuel he takes from those weaker, he screams across the deserts with a murderous howl. “”I am coming,”” it seems to say. “”Leave your belongings and flee.””

And most do. Flee. Run. Hide. Very few turn to fight, and when they do, they inevitably lose. Fighting The Milo is like trying to dam the ocean with nothing but your hands. Pointless. Futile. A fools act. Those that fight are made examples of.

Do you hear that now? In the distance? The repetitive drone of a crank-shaft. The steady sputter of an exhaust. The Milo is coming now. He seeks out your Marketing Clouds; to turn them into useful tools, which he himself will take from you, and survive this wasteland.

Flee. While you can. Survive.