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Tale I, ▲ The Warning Sign ▲ Edit
The sewers were cold and dark, dripping sounds from the filth landing from above echoed through out the tunnels resoundingly.
The stench was horrible, the muck the being stood within was ankle deep, the boots it wore kept it from tarnishing its clothing or touching its skin.
The white fabric flowed elegantly behind as it moved, not walking but floating up then hovering down the river of raw sewage and dead animals. The occasional siren above broke the silence, and it would stop moving and stay still.
When the sound faded it would move on.
The soft moonlight sifted through the storm drains and manholes, the sound of acid pouring into the mix of fecal matter and other human excretions was like that of a stone skipping on a pond, strangely soothing, too nice for a place like this.
Dry ground, it landed and brushed off the small amounts of dirt and spittle that had collected on its robes.
It slowly took off the draping white cloth, the robe fluttered with a toss towards a wrought iron bar and hung on it, like it was a coat hangar.
Peering upwards, the silhouette stood within the light of Luna, the manhole cover above it had been removed with a simple thought in its mind.
It squatted down, brought its fists together in a collective form, brought its heels together with a click, and shot its right hand upwards. And a brilliantly spectacular blaze of black flame shot upwards, the sight being what humans saw when observing dark matter energy being released.
Luna blazed, the surface temporarily darkened, then brightened by the particles collision. The rusted bright clouds would be there for years...
Luna itself was fine, but the warning sign would be remembered. The sign that humanity would rust, nothing more...
Tale II, ★ The Two Cities ★ Edit
He stood and watched the fire and smoke billow thick clouds of ash miles into the dawn sky, they had lost them both.
They were blamed for it, it wasn't their fault, but they were still blamed, prejudice, and "pure" racism was the cause.
He tossed his cigar into the damp morning dirt, he didn't need it. First his own kind attacked them, then another kind attacked them, now he was retreating to the former.
But him and his comrades wanted revenge.
And god damn it, they would get it.
The 8 missile tubes behind him were surrounded by offices filled with blood and bullet holes, the warheads were in place and ready to fire, on demand.
Normally a pompous member of the proletariat would be at this nuclear site, ready to fire, on the Commander-in-Chief' orders.
Well, he was dead.
A nice clean Barrett round in El Presidente's forehead, from about 3 inches away.
Enough about that, he thought.
The roar of wind from the tubes erupted, blowing his hat int the air. It landed at his feet, yet he was too busy watching the bombs go forth.
He closed his eyes and covered his face with his arms, then belayed those actions.
The flashes were gone, the city was gone, the new enemy was dead, the old enemy was gone, and the new ally awaited.