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One perfect Machine.
Doctor Thomas Light looked out through the large plate window, high above the dystopic city.
He stood there only for a moment, but a lifetime of pain washed over his tired mind. He tried to ignore the fire burning in his conscience.
The City was sprawled out below him. A sporadic scene of neon lights and structure fires were what shed the smallest drops of light around the otherwise pitch landscape that stretched on forever. From his high stand point, he imagined he could see vagrant survivors scattered in the street, nearly beating each other to death for the simple claim of a safe spot to hide. He could swear he saw a scrawny child trembling in the shadows, trying to keep warm amidst his lonesome. He swore he saw hope.
But he knew that couldn't be true. There were no true survivors. There were only broken cowards down there. There was no one strong enough to claim that they still had their freewill and life to live.
He stopped thinking about it. He had to. This city deserved no sorrow from him. Those people chose their own fate.
Light erupted from his stoic position in front of the window. A volatile mix of emotions sent his right hand to violently collide with the wall that was next to him. He felt his throat clench, like he was about to cry.
He lost His only Son to this city.
His Son who wanted nothing more than to release Man from the evil and tyranny which had shrouded this city for so long. His Son who believed in freedom. His Son who fought, and sacrificed his whole life, for an ungrateful cowardice population.
Light still felt the sorrowing chill on his soul from the night His Son was sent to death. A sea of terrified faces watched as an unfamiliar man came from the shadow and fought every hateful force that challenged him. He was a Godsend to these people, but all they chose to do was to watch him struggle.
His Son had one pure thought in his mind that kept him fighting for them. Freedom. A chance for each soul to love and live without fear of the oppression and hate. A chance for a beautiful world. but in the end, it wasn't enough.
Their numbers proved too vast. His Son stood in the center of a disaster zone, tattered, torn, and breathing in strained breaths when a dozen more appeared before him. An unseen voice whispered through a loudspeaker, "Kill him."
In his final moments, His Son was confused above all else. His mind raced with questions. "Why did it end this way? Why am I fighting alone? Were we wrong? Why are all these faces just staring at me? What about Light? What about my Father? Did I let him down?"
His body was ready to crumble under all the stress and punishment, but he still stood. He still believed. He gathered his strength and stood up, raising his fist to strike at another one of the assailant drones, he felt the final blow land from behind. His body fell limp.
"Is there no Hope?"
Light stood back in the distance, terrified and sobbing. He let his head hang down into his calloused hands. He watched through his fingers and tears as His Son's fate was decided. He cried out into the night as Hope died.
People covered their faces and mothers shielded their children as His Son was bludgeoned and ripped to shreds in front of them. Not a single one of them had even tried to utter a word of protest. They all sat and watched as the only man who loved them was destroyed.
As the terror of the battle calmed, His Son lay at the feet of a half dozen Mindless Men. Nobody knew how to act.
The moment seemed to last forever.
Quietly, a chant of broken words rose from the defeated Human Chorus, "We are the dead."
We are the dead.
We are the dead.
The fearful Human Chorus mourned for His Son, though they did nothing to help. They all went back to their homes and lives of slavery, selfishly keeping with them the memory of His Son.
His Son who fought to the end to tear down everything that stood between Man and freedom. Who believed with such conviction that there was something worth fighting for. Who believed that a spark of bravery would ignite a wild fire of heroes to appear from the crowds of cowards in the fallen masses of the city.
His Son, who was forsaken by the very people he wished to save, and died in vain.
Light came back to the present, inside his run-down tenement, his fist still pressed to the wall. He felt guilt hang heavily over him. He pushed His Son to fight for them. He wanted His Son to free them. Light use to believe in Man, too.
Doctor Thomas Light knew better now. They didn't want a savior. They just wanted a martyr. Someone to die for them. Someone to care, because they don't. They are a people that cannot comprehend. Light realized now what he only wished he could've grasped sooner.
There are no heroes left in Man.