The battle had ended hours ago, but the air still tasted like smoke.
Jin Arata picked his way through the rubble-strewn street, one boot crunching over a scorched billboard that had once shown the smiling face of the Azure Guardian. The colors were faded now, the grinning hero's helmet cracked down the middle by a chunk of falling concrete.
Everywhere, the aftermath lay in silence.
A building that had been three floors high yesterday was now just a jagged skeleton of rebar and brick. Twisted support beams leaned against each other like broken ribs, holding up nothing. There was no wind, but the fabric of a burnt bedsheet still fluttered weakly on an exposed clothesline, as if refusing to believe the fight was over.
A woman crouched in the corner of a collapsed stairwell, holding a small bundle in her lap. Her eyes were blank, fixed on some faraway point, even as a medic in an orange vest tried to pry the bundle from her arms. Jin didn't need to see inside to know the truth the battle had claimed another child.
The Guardians had won, of course. They always did. The "Voidspawn" was reduced to steaming chunks before it could reach the broadcast drones.
It was a victory that would play on the city's screens for days, set to music, narrated in that cheerful announcer voice. Another day saved. Another triumph of the Vanguard Guardians.
Jin knew the script by heart.
He stopped at the corner where the street bent toward the market. The scent of charred wood was sharper here, mixed with the metallic tang of cooling steel. The food stalls were gone swept away in the Guardians' dazzling crossfire but the metal frames still stood, warped and blackened like the skeletons of long-dead animals.
A handful of residents were already sifting through the remains, looking for anything salvageable. Scrap metal could be traded for food vouchers, if you had the patience to dig.
Jin crouched and began pulling apart a chunk of debris. His fingers were quick, practiced remove the panel, find the wiring, coil it into his pouch. A thin red wire, still warm to the touch, joined the others.
"You're late," a voice rasped behind him.
Jin didn't turn. "Was busy."
Kuro, a wiry man with skin like sun-dried leather, squatted beside him. One of his eyes was clouded white from an old burn, the other sharp and calculating. He nodded at the smoldering ruin ahead.
"Busy watching our heroes save the day?"
Jin's jaw tightened. He said nothing.
Kuro chuckled under his breath, a sound like sandpaper. "Don't worry, boy. The cameras never point this way." He reached into the wreckage, pulled out a bent cooking pot, and examined the dent. "Still good. I'll take it."
Jin let him have it. There was no point arguing over scraps.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the creak of metal and the distant hum of a cleanup drone overhead. Jin caught himself glancing up at the sky the smoke had thinned enough to see the shimmering barrier that hung above the district, still flickering faintly from the Guardians' energy attacks.
It would vanish soon, leaving only the rubble behind.
Just like always.
He stood and wiped the soot from his hands. The evening sun was low, spilling a reddish glow over the ruins. Somewhere far away, he could hear cheering the sound drifting from the massive public screens in the city's upper districts, where families watched the replay of today's "epic showdown."
For them, it was entertainment. For people like Jin, it was a reminder.
The Guardians were not here for them.
Jin slung his pouch of scrap over his shoulder and made his way toward the market square.
The district's streets were narrow and uneven, a patchwork of cracked asphalt and dirt. Every few steps, he had to sidestep piles of broken bricks or duck under the low-hanging wires that spiderwebbed from one leaning building to another.
The air here was different. Less smoke, more sweat and frying oil. The market had survived barely though half its stalls had scorch marks from the battle.
Vendors called out their prices over the low buzz of conversation.
"Fresh water sealed bottles, no cracks!" "Two days old bread, cheaper than clean water!" "Medkits! Half-used but good enough!"
Jin threaded through the crowd, the straps of his pouch digging into his shoulder. Every so often, a familiar face would nod at him neighbors, scavengers, and kids who'd grown up in the same maze of crumbling alleys. They didn't smile, not really. People here didn't waste expressions unless they had something to trade.
He stopped at an old man's stall. The table was just a splintered door balanced on two barrels, but on it lay neat coils of wire, stripped and sorted by color.
"How much for red?" Jin asked.
The old man's cloudy eyes flicked to his pouch. "Depends. Show me what you got."
Jin emptied the pouch onto the table: red, blue, and yellow wires, some clean, some still wrapped in bits of scorched plastic. The man picked through them with a careful hand, then set aside the ones he liked.
"This much for the red coil," he said, tapping a small spool. "And I'll throw in a half-credit chit if you give me the yellow too."
Jin nodded. It wasn't much, but it was enough for food tonight.
Transaction done, he made his way to the far end of the market where the public screen stood a towering metal frame bolted into the side of a building, its surface flickering with the afternoon replay.
A small crowd had gathered, heads tilted up, eyes wide. Children sat cross-legged at the front, their mouths hanging open in awe as today's battle played out in dazzling color.
On the screen, the Crimson Guardian vaulted into the air, his armor gleaming under artificial sunlight. The announcer's voice boomed, thick with excitement:
"With one final strike, the mighty Crimson Guardian delivers justice to the Voidspawn menace!"
The camera panned to the "monster," now lying on the ground in a smoking heap. Sparks burst dramatically from its armor as the crowd in the upper district erupted into cheers.
From here, Jin could see the small, jerking movements of its hands.
Not acting. Twitching.
His jaw tightened. He turned away before the replay ended. He'd seen enough.
Above the screen, a banner stretched across the building's wall, its bright colors jarringly out of place in the gray district:
"Vanguard Guardians Protecting Humanity for 50 Years."
Jin adjusted the strap on his shoulder and started walking. The market noise faded behind him, replaced once more by the quiet hum of the damaged district.
Someday, he thought.
Someday they'll pay for this.