The raucous hum of machinery faded into silence. Lights dimmed and the cabin lurched forward without the energy to hold itself up, and heavy breathing was the only sound accompanying the flash of the emergency light.

One loud slam, barely enough room to maneuver another kick and the smoldering hatch hissed open to a metropolis decorated with wanton destruction. The wreckage only a speck in the side of a much larger impact.

Astonishing, anything was still there. So still. So peaceful. So lifeless.

A clatter of rubble at the edge of the crater. Two soldiers peered down their rifles and observed the lone pilot atop a dead construct.

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“He’s alive!”

The pilot lost the strength to stand, so the soldiers descended the crater. Their touch was numb, their words a blur. The whole world was a pulsing swirl of grey echoing across the interior of an opaque helmet.

Then, a rumble overtook the silent roar.

A murmur starting low and growing louder. Just as they crested the edge of the crater, it stopped, as if the city itself held its breath.

Hundreds upon thousands of souls flooded the street. A morbid migration from the devastation laid waste to their homes and families, their exodus interrupted to tend the young and infirmed.

When the figure emerged from the crater, supported under each arm, caked with dust and blood, a deafening cheer erupted from the streets.

The sun barely shone through the clouds, but their gratitude was blinding. Countless eyes fell on the crater’s edge, innumerable voices sang their thanks, so many hearts beating their thanks.

The pilot let himself fall from the soldiers’ grip. The struggle was over.

For now.