Long after the end of a war, after the ash settled, and after all forms of cohesion were torn apart, the muscles of an empire still twitch, ready to strike, and will remain so. Starships continue to patrol mindlessly, their crews long since dead. Orbital cannons remain primed to defend, firing indiscriminately. And the factories go on as usual, endlessly modifying, expanding, and producing. All to aid a war effort that no longer exists.

Yet there are no crews for the ships, no soldiers to wield the weapons. The AI software has deteriorated too much to operate anything with purpose.
POV:

We were put in stasis to ration manpower. If people died, there was no promise that new blood could replace them. So a surplus was gathered, and those not immediately needed were preserved. Before being frozen, we were told one thing:

“When you wake up, the war will be over, or you’ll be needed to help keep Dione B operational.”

(Couldn’t find artist)