Eyes flutter open, blinded by the dying suns above them. The scent of dust, burning biofuel, and garbage entering nostrils as breaths are taken; lungs of synthesized air replaced by the results of mankind’s decay.
“W-what…” Madeline tries to pick herself up from the cobblestones, a pain stinging her side as her entire right arm collapses in protest. “Gods… above that hurts!”
Alto tries to breathe, standing first in the stumbling steps of a newborn child of mankind. “I-is everyone alright?”
Judge Murphy simply grunts to himself, a scarred face added upon it one more trophy from a grazing fragmentary shard of shrapnel. Rough hand touching the wound, nonlethal despite the slow trickle of blood falling down his cheek.
Samuel remains still in pose, hands extended in the projection of the gravimetric shield and lungs pulling air into a diaphragm; his entire statue suddenly drooping in the realization of locational transposition. “I am optimal.”
She clings to clothing, the sibling an utter mess of flowing tears and rage. Samantha’s screams forcibly choking upon spittle, a cough resounding alongside the incomprehensible speech to her revived brother.
They are alive.
“W-what happen…”
Ar stands there, absolutely still as the divine weapon folds back into its false, deceptive holster. Arcane alloy recondensing, mass bent together as they watch the square barrel disappear back into the boy’s forearm, fire control sensor suites return to fingers, and a munitions accessing facility folded into the midst of his wrist.
A perfect replication of a human being, a divine made flesh; still living amongst a dead world.
Lifeless eyes staring in aimless contemplation, processors crushing the events of seconds prior. Emotion suppressed by cold logic barely holding the soul together.
“Ar…Arsa…” Alto tries to speak towards the child, towards the god as he stumbles towards him. Eyes narrowed in the adjustment to near-blinding light, trying to witness the body of a god. “Y-you’re the One.”
Prostration at the foot of now proven divinity, a heart pounding and breaths staggered as the body throws itself to the dust in reverence.
They follow, in their own way. The profession of their own beliefs placed onto his soul, onto his simple existence. From the fearful glances by Samuel and Samantha, the cold gaze of Judge Murphy, and shocked expression written upon Madeline’s face; they all acknowledge Ar.
He just watches them in utter tragedy, the sight of ancient masters almost too much to bear.
He is still alive.
Judge Murphy breaks the silence, a command hidden behind the question as he orders forth knowledge. “Where is the GOD GUN?!”
He turns towards the Five as he gives the report, no pause in honesty. “I have destroyed the incomplete device. It can no longer be used by…”
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There’s a noticeable pause as he names the monster, a soul trying to comprehend his literal copy in the depths of the city. “... Arsa.”
They let the words rot in the space, in the silence of a pacified city. The name taken by the wind into the heavens above, the familiar name all too familiar to their collective memories.
“So that was him.” The Judge continues the investigation.
Madeline scoffs, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her side. “He’s not dead… is he? I mean, that couldn’t have killed him right?”
Samuel simply holds the sibling, a cold emotionless state turning to the woman. “Is that what concerns you?”
“Ok, you know what? This has been a day, alright?!” The Bandit attempts to use humor, a coherency found in the insanity of the transpired events. “I gotta rectify a lot of things before sleeping soundly tonight. Like… Ar… Arsa?” She turns to him, her voice suddenly slowing with respect. “You’re… you’re… what… ok you’re not the Arsa are you?”
“I am not an individual who desires the destruction of humankind.” Ar speaks to them, a supplementary six syllables in the standard language provided as he reads their expressions; a held truth to actions once committed. “Refer to me as Ar.”
They all process the meaningless letters again, more context provided in its creation as the childlike voice continues to answer spoken questions. “I doubt the termination of the individual that called itself Arsa. A termination would’ve required a directed, purposeful strike.”
And you’re not a traitor.
“Well that’s…” Madeline crumbles to her knees, grasping her side as a taken breath brushes the sharp edge of a broken ribcage. Adrenaline running out, a body suddenly in realization of its damaged state. “OW gods damn it!!!”
Alto pushes himself from the ground, to the Bandit’s aide. One arm braced beneath her right shoulder, the other slowly held towards the probable injury site. Words of care, quiet and purposeful. “Breath slowly, you’re injured.”
Long strands of hair falling beneath the wide brimmed hat, hiding the pure irises of the centralian bloodlines as she painfully coughs out the mildly flirtatious joke to the Gunslinger. “Hey hey hey, be gentle with me Alto.”
A hand carefully pressing down the individual bones, the woman’s reaction gauged between mildly annoyed to flooded with immense pain. One fused plate broken amongst three; three out of twelve individual support structures split by fours on her right side splintered through a point blank explosion.
“You’re Centralian right?” The Gunslinger asks in confirmation of physiology, reaching into his pouch for the bandages. “Or enough of a bloodline with the boneplates? I don’t want to…”
“How do you think I’m so pretty?” The woman chuckles back as she notes the green cross printed atop plastic packaging, watching as he moves to press a torn sheet towards the site of injury. “Ok, if you’re gonna bandage me with those things I swear I’ll…”
She’s stronger than she looks; the seemingly fragile frame taking the exploding needles of bone gel that surge into rib cages with only a single grunt of rage. “Holy shit… ALTO!!!”
Five seconds of burning pain before absolution, the release of painkillers automatically dulling the sensation within her upper torso. Gritted teeth released, loosening her grip upon the Gunslinger’s arm.
Samuel speaks his next thought, cold logic dictating the truth to the spoken word. “Does this imply Arsa’s continued existence?”
“Unknown.” The One replies instantaneously. “However I don’t doubt…”
“Continue this conversation later.” The Lawman interrupts, a lever action rifle retrieved and a stance centered towards the alleyway’s exit. “Our next objective should be to find shelter.”
“Of what threat do we require shelter from?” Samuel requests, the city seemingly devoid of gunfire and burning smoke. “The GOD GUN has not been assembled, should such a task not take priority?”
Judge Murphy brings forth the condensed briefing, logic and political will given to the four listeners. “With the death of Governor Newark and the city council, Field General Phillips is in control of this city. She will maintain that control by any means necessary. Retrieve your weapons, we need to get off the street now.”
The revolver, the anti-material rifle, and rotary machine gun are distributed by wielders, standing to face the world once more.