Dark corners, shaded alleys, everything laid out and fallen to the cracks between imposing walls of concrete and steel. Almost oppressive. The arteries, the loading docks, the infrastructure subtly disused. The grungy streets that only seemed to exist to cater to these megastructures. These concentrations of life and happiness in spite of all those left outside of them.

Those whose horizons were taken away, who were denied all but the little sunlight that peeked around these vast slabs of gaudy expression. And who were ignored as just fellow waders through this so called bright future.

Not quite a full resentment though, not this deep into the sprawl still uplifting, just a common attitude that not everyone is fortunate. Not everyone is able to have a place up high. Not everyone can get everything they want. Unless...

You know the right person. And don't care what happens next. There are plenty who will cater to you. For a price. That is, when they're not skulking out of the oncoming rain for a smoke break.

Dim lights and flashes spared the burgeoning downpour of street level heat traps. The roving weather systems that roll between mega towers and dump their moisture en masse. An issue mitigated but still lived with. A couple of gathered flares making use of this rain shadowed alley, a dead end square that no one uses for anything productive. No one who valued their lives anyway. Some leaning against the old brickwork walls of the relatively ancient businesses behind them, others pacing through forgotten trash. Cans so kicked they're more like hockey pucks. One alone drawing the short straw and stuck facing back out to the street, forced to look back at their carved out comfort denied. The bright neon and wide hazard lights illuminating the downpour come to make their jobs harder. To put sneers on faces already pretty pissed off. Stuck with the boring shit no one wants to do. Guard duty.

A nonchalant gathering that couldn't be called a gang by the letter of the law. Inconspicuous niche filling that everyone knew but no one fucked with. Not because they couldn't just be smashed right into, their nightclub of a base raided to the ground, and the ever living shit beaten out of all of them like they never mattered in the slightest. But because they cover their tracks and don't give anyone the inch that could get their operation washed away in a tide of capes and flashing lights. A small spot in the shadows they could do as they pleased in. Because they don't fuck around.

But it still pissed them off to no end. Feeling powerless and having certain doom hung over their heads without the need for the metaphor. Merely remaining the darker grey not on the white's chopping block yet.

Diades. Given up on claiming heaven, they've settle for earth and humanity. An odd collection borrowing old and new alike, and conglomerating the disillusioned under it. Molding into the shape of even older organizations. Few traditions surviving the transition of the ages except common grunge. And the 'helpful' niche they fill.

Need your fix, they can provide. Need some company, they got plenty to offer. Need to feel like you belong, they're always open. Need to soften a fall from a few thousand feet as you rapidly lose all the cool you had, scream for your life, and flail about in freefall…?

Well they'll at least get out of your way.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

*KKKKRRAAAAKKKKkkkooooooooooooooooo*

The dust of ages and disregarded filth pillaring and pressing out every escape, concrete smashed at terminal velocity. By a body it certainly held no candle to. But still took its pound of flesh out of it in the echoing sharp obliteration of so many bones. Those small flares extinguished and kicked onto the ground or against their walls. Stung and rattled by overpressure and horror at the sudden impact proximity. Their small carved out peace caved in by some fool who couldn't take it anymore. Escape from rain turning to hard tack fallout. But… not splatter.

Irate bravado and made-small empathy coughed and waved away the dust. Fought back up to the pride demanded snuff. Slapped away the shell shock of some idiot's suicide and took back their rightly stolen spot. Leers and horror all pointed in the same direction, not a one feeling the mellow, just the want to kick the crap out of this stupid shithead's soup of a corpse for interrupting their time off. But all that ire only lasted for so long, under a fusillade sizzling buzz and new bone curdling snaps.

'That really fucking hurt!'

Dust reformatting back into actual skeleton, breaks so jagged they tear at everything in their way, joins and joints popping cacophonously in ears rebooting on their own. Threaded grace pulling its marionette back together after falling free of its binds, and feeling bleeding regret for ever thinking he would be. A contorting hand forcing its way round to the correct angle and grabbing at the cliff face it tore out of the concrete. Startled steps and gasps following suit under the last dregs of this snapping barrage. Whole body turning off its shattered impact crater, raising itself in shaky torturous order. Those same hands grasping at caved in features reverting and denying yet another death it was due. One last resounding crack snapping the neck back straight and on its swivel. Massaging away the molten look on his face as the only word Seth could think blurted out to fill the silence.

"Ow…"

A stand up from yet another crater he'd made rolled the world about on its sour axis, hand rubbing his neck as he took in the peace he shattered inadvertently.

"Sorry… hrrgh… I didn't know I was so high up."

Incredulous faces meeting his misread, like a rebuke of audacity and smothered awe. Sneers growing where horror once recoiled them. Nice fabrics and designer clothes dusted in grey and garbage. Slick spikes and complicated hair products guncked with refuse and aerosolized back street. Disposable income of undue proportions wasted by some random asshole falling from the sky and getting up like it was nothing. At least their nice chains and shiny jewelry were… familiar beyond acceptance.

The farthest of these rapidly being ignored goons. Strung around a scrawny neck between beating clean jacket folds. Shining beyond its normal narrow luster. Humming softly to the only ear that could hear it. Seth's soreness and pity falling away, as half understood words plinked off of him. Focus tracking up to meet the wearer of such a unique piece of metal. Staring right into his off guard expression. His own incredulousness turning smile rising higher than it should. As a hand tapping his chest.

Right where one of his suit's servos was dangling where it should not be.

"Where'd you get that?"

A lightning bolt of reversed compulsion, every face knowing, seeing, understanding more than should be known about what this one poor scrub was wearing. Horror returning like the downpour just a street away was more inviting. Those dusted jackets and designer flairs being flung out preemptive. Instant reaction like this was a possible occurrence, like it was expected in nightmares hoped to not come to life. All manner of firearms brandishing out from their holdouts, some excess in their technology, some simplicity adulterated. But all swinging to battery in fear wrought to bear. All made necessary by the terror they knew to have finally come for them. And all meeting nothing but the megavolt bristle of perception befitting those...

Who've taken what wasn't theirs.

A new bone curdling snap, a wrist shattered mid way through the motion. Revolver, lightened to triangular Swiss cheese, adding anvil to this sideways hammer swing meeting the draw half way. Though metal doesn't scream when it gets pounded into shape.

Another fashion forward jacket arm swiveling to reacquire the blur that just sent his friend spiraling in pain. And meeting the same open palm that had waited so patiently for it. The blocky shape of plastic and wires parading around like it was a gun finding no target, but its angle increasing more than that arm expected. Leverage, force, and an over inverted elbow turning that hardened horror into more straightforward dread. And a howling missile as that force whipped round. Well-dressed goons were still goons to be flung. Ammunition to be used against their own. Less extreme wounds that way, though no less adding to the hopeless desperation.

Two getting bowled together and tossed to the trash before they could get clear lines of fire. At least these guys seemed to have more comradery than the Dockers. Though maybe a bit too much desperation to see sense. A foot snapping up and kicking back behind at the one he'd seen pull a full damn sword out of his pants. Striking knee flat before inertia could get transferred. Seth leaning back to let him fall by, the elegant shape of sharpened layered metal falling ahead of the goon who tried to stab him in the back.

A matte surface, hard straight lines over wavy traditionalism. More carbon fiber than expected. But it was a weapon true and true, and one shwooped right out of the hand bearing it. Lightweight heft felt even from the grasped blade, and fine balance worked out as it was thrown handle first. One last hesitation at shooting their falling friend behind an expensively glowing sight, was met with that same elegance suddenly giving them a concussion.

The tough act not so deep or just not wanting to make this worse. Whatever the common intrusive thoughts, that was the last one with any intent. Leaving just the bearer of stolen goods holding the proverbial bag made real. As the alley fell to ragdolling thuds when all that speed came crashing back down. And quickly filled up with all the bodies groaning across it.

The downburst shower behind forming a new dead end to this dark place. Lit up by colors and neon catching every drop's prism. The dazzle and diffusion shadowing Seth's face as he advanced on this final fear stricken unfortunate. Retreat losing out to apprehension and apparently every bit of collective sense this group had. Becoming terminal as a smooshed can denied what little friction this thief had left. Leg slipping out from under him, dissuading balance already pregaming the angle, and an elbow cracking against concrete to spare the worst. Even as his judge and jury advanced with all the intent of an oncoming execution.

Kneeling down to strike more personal, to break him far worse than anything still settling in the dust, to make him suffer for a transgression disproportionately known and felt. So much in fact that the hand risen over him to crush him flat only kicked the wind out of his lung. As it clutched the object in question and hoisted its bearer by the chain he'd hung himself on.

That shadowed face pulling into his, as the light parsed the waning curtain. Expecting the answer that had caused them all to break character and try to kill him. Hazel eyes ringed in blue and only sending one impatient message.

"Well…!"

And only getting a cowering answer as the pressure proved too much. A finger pointing into frame and knowing its bearings too well. Directing all that ire and power to the brightest spot in the rain shower. Deep purple signage and immaculate façade saying all that needed to be said, as that hoist drew too tight for the chain. A straight pull snapping hard and taking back what was his. And carrying it along to retake whatever else these fools thought they could just have.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

As Seth marched to a new war all his own.

The small piece in his hand was little more than the cover off a servo housing, one of the finger joints based on its size. The top surface as silvery matte as it had been the day he forged it. No longer baring the weight of Ark metal menace darkening it to wrought luster. Simply bearing its inclusion to the structure as a whole, which tends to happen when you collapse yourself like an overstuffed star. Density of matter being what it is.

But something more immediate struck him as rain splattered across his open hand. Its threads still hummed. Still sang a tune familiar as he walked the straight line through gradually dying rain. It still held his power as it reflected off the violet hues ahead of him. The rest of the rainy day nothing but set dressing to the small choir that still carried on in harmony.

In a… different… harmony.

Flashes, bits and pieces like those left over from Resent's abuses. Stark rooms, harsh lights, and a masked dark face the only constants in the swirl. Someone barely alive yet overjoyed at the scene, stewing in emotion not far off avarice and vindication. Their flash threaded memories burned in as fresh notation that really shouldn't be there!

But this greedy acceptor wasn't alone. Others, too many others to see clearly and see willingly. A menagerie, an utter cavalcade of hands passed to. Both willful and dead. No images, no feelings, just raw differences in each new tune. And the cessations there in.

Like paint being layered over, to hide the blood. Like his armor had been passed alone as a trophy to be taken. Used. Only the opposite curb cut the trance of worry and utter rage spiraling around him. Forcing his eyes back up to the present more evenly hued.

To the door barring his way. Though, despite the curtailing of his once good mood, he was feeling at least a tinge of curtesy. He did break up their guards' downtime after all.

A clanging trio of bangs against sturdy metal, layers and hollows echoing it more than expected. Drawing attention to the smooth angles and hard rises plied into the façade proper. Style changes and hidden defenses all in one, better to bake it in than look like your expecting to be broken open. But expected it still was, an armored panel sliding open hard and disgruntled. Intimidating eyes glaring down hard at the intruder to their peace. The first layer of defense just a simple dissuading wither and a curt-

"Cút!!"

The slide slamming home to put the insult into better understanding. He wasn't really cutting the picture of refined solicitation, but it didn't succeed in the slightest. Another round, harder. Near enough to dent the outer spacing and shake the building for all the bulwark it offered. That slide bashing open like annoyance was the only threat, like they were the thing to be feared. Like-

"Was it not clear?! FUCK O-"

Like the tiny piece of reclaimed metal wasn't flicking between Seth's fingers. Like the smile behind it didn't read like the devil himself had come to take his due. Because the bouncer's reaction said all that needed to be said. This was the right place, and you don't keep a demon from what was his.

A sudden expenditure and that rainy day forced its way inside, door and bouncer both made to fly together in a horrendous screech and spall. Tight muscle still working off decades of entropy, but more than willing to kick in another door. A quaking cacophony as specialized defense and mundane guard both made landfall on intricate tilework. Soft body rolling wide to a wall, and hard form caving in spare seating as it came to a stop. That all couldn't but hear and fear. Their judgment had come, and-

*ccccCCCCCKKKAKKKANNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG*

And made quite the mess of things.

Armored façade plates fell in on their structure, opening this entrance way wider than it showed from the outside. Though its new walk in promenade sure seemed better. More light and less shadow to hide away the happenings on. And the…

"Ugh… Rhm…"

The rather… scantily clad servers caught in the crossfire. Drinks and company and ogling fodder. And uuggghhh… something Seth never really had to deal with. Tight faux leather, real cotton and too much skin, no imagination needed or allowed. Curves and bashfulness and… And desperation filled eyes. Too familiar to ignore or see as anything else. A shaking loose from the awkward and the blush, more pressing matters and proper thoughts to think. The poor hostess just a narrow margin away from collateral damage now stuck trapped behind her own serving tray.

"S-sorry about that! You ughh… should probably hide."

Her tray clattered like a weight unchained, or just plain old fearful failure of grip. She yelled and ran, side rooms on all sides offering plenty of cover and more than enough leeway. Though her heels made conformation of her safety a little hard to confirm.

'Seriously there is no need to run like that, take them off and get the hell out of here!!'

Another shake and realigning, and taking in of what all was really here. Dim lights made wet by the outside mid-day rain. Tiles slick and clattering with footsteps massing ahead. A wide hall ending in a large space far brighter, but not by much. A skylight flooded seating area, booths and tables squared around a central floor. A stage set up but disused, poles and pageantry coming into view as Seth added his own steps to those gathering. A clicking press beneath every smooth surface, though in disrepair and intermittent. A neat gimmick left over as clever spoiler, can't sneak with this kind of heraldic clacking. But it wasn't much use to those stepping into the light willingly. Or the one walking right into the firing line massing to greet them.

The same irate fashion show. Similar colors and styles all looking at Seth like he'd just broken into their hideout or something. Soft vinyl pants and slick jackets in red detail, all shouldering much heavier ordinance. Rifles both modernized and postmodern. Tech snaking out of tried and true frames, or bulking up squares thrumming with power. Guns of calibers and makes he'd never seen, a few magnetic and others just plain old lead death. And all of them pointing right at him, as he came to a stop under one last glaring demand.

A deep maroon jacket and a scowl that just screamed he'd expected this day. Dreaded it, but still couldn't just accept he'd made the wrong choices in life. The boss of this definitely not a gang, yelling at the top of his lungs from the equally crowded balcony overlooking this disused dancefloor. Trying too hard to fight his own fear down.

"This is who the League sends, huh!! Some scrawny Ah Charn!!"

Seth couldn't help but look down at the beaten and dust suit covering his arms.

'I didn't lose that much muscle, did I?'

"Can't even bother to dress right for the occasion, huh!! Too ashamed to be noticed beating up the little guy!!"

'They didn't have any real clothes, sheesh.'

"Well fuck you!! Fuck whatever gall got you here!! Fuck your stupid face!! And fuck all of you powered bastards!!"

"Hhughhh…" 'The more things change…'

Seth stood his ground as fingers and braces all tightened in expectation. But his arms rose alongside this oncoming. That familiar tune buzzing to meet it. A mad smile in the face of death just all too ready to show these fool the error of their ways. And the gravity of their fuck up in thinking he was with the League.

'The more they stay the same.'

"Fill him full of holes!!!"

*KRKRKRKRKKAKAAKAKAKAAKAKAKAKAKAKKRRRKKRRRRKRR*

A wall of lead and steel, gunpowder and magnetic force, fire and lightning all weaving together. Wanting nothing but to splatter him to paste on the floor. The first hypersonic, felt for the ribs it shattered on its unstoppable path. Kick and pain so fast it turned up numb. A blinding fire whiting out the world, muzzle flashes all congealing together. Splitting ear drums the last to go in this millisecond of preparation, full definition swiftly faltered as the storm hit for all of its worth. Flesh haloed in ballistic transference, chopped up in tumble and squash, battered in percussion too up tempo to harmonize. Bones became dust, blood to mist, organs to splatter, and smart-ish fabric to tatters over recoiling procession. A soup flowing out of each pant leg and splattering free in missed shot. As the barrage cut even perception to ribbonous refuse, staining tiles nearly all the way back to the rain. A cloud of excessive force and heated vitriol, of body made steam by overwhelming firepower. But all of it wholly pointless, and outlasted to the extreme.

The fog of war and vaporized flesh forcing a cease fire, a common thought with no need for unheard orders. They'd expended near all of their ammo anyway, drained batteries and overheated mechanisms. But still a silhouette persisted… sizzled… buzzed. Telling them too clearly that they hadn't just failed to kill their target.

Every face reared, eyes widened from indignation to full wrought horror. Every breath shortened, hearts beating wild. The narrowest step back spring locking a carried fear beyond the nightmares weighing it down. Their target snapping back up off his eviscerated sternum, spare lead clacking to the tiles. All under a reconstituting smile that told them the reality they'd dreaded had arrived. And snapping that lock with no semblance of pride left.

"HE'S A CUL-"

*ZZZZZZZAAAAAKKKKKK*

As a flying knee, wreathed in plasma and retribution, slammed home in the first-to-flee's face. Every new temporary fiber of their being matched and held on to. And dashed to the dark corner of this den of fools, with all the pain and none of the damage. An odd expectation taken in with their measurements, someone else feared for all the same reasons.

But who gives a crap!

A whipping swirl discharging that wreath like knives from a bandolier. Ragtag formation shattered in an instant flash and thunder, less uptake and more mundane nervous overstimulation. Muscle used against to toss them about. And leave Seth's landing clear to touch and go. Because no one else can have what he'd given away.

'No one can have what's mine!'

His foot his tile and shattered it in lift off, head slamming through old concrete and rebar supports. A missile of flesh and bone and impacted vertebra, but coiled tight to slam that pain around. A shower of shrapnel and back handed fists, two more goons to add to the pile of merciful disregard. Recoil and route catching those not blasted in kind, but just enough left to watch Seth straddle his entrance with that maniacal smile canting at full blast.

Two gunners playing at honor guard before their small lord caught wanting. Mundane firearms risen to meet and tear away this horrid glee. Cracking away at empty air as their target cut and slithered low, and put the hammer down on a knee most fitting. A cringing sound, joint snapped out of place, but both hands swiping back up to grab hold of that designer cloth. And hurl this new learner to the error of his ways right into the wall with his fellow erred.

The field cleared by force and so clattered to a calm, all seeing this victory undisputable as this new terror stretching back high, splaying the might simply unseen below nothing left of his cryogenic sleeves. Lording over the last needing to see this burning blue light. Stepping triumphant and menacing to entreat this small king to his raking comeuppance. Laws withstanding, stolen gifts were certainly something needing to be rectified. This dose of overdoing it more than acceptable to get this point across.

Don't raid tombs you don't respect.

Or… money doesn't need to buy everything?

It didn't matter.

That marron jacket was already flailing away, kicked loose by overpressure or just unmitigated terror. This den abandoned and its predators scattering to the winds or groaning on the ground. But the object of this cooling down act still needed to be found and reclaimed. But that was both easy and done.

A small tone, a resonance felt matching, a nice wooden door marking the boss's room. Luxuries stacked high like the four post bed dominating. Fine clothes and linens and all manner of comfort. A full bar and full armory, yet thankfully empty of occupancy. Maybe at least some decorum or semblance of empathy left beneath the gaudy. Or just too early in the day to call up an unfortunate server.

But all of this worthless and unneeded, only the thrum behind the hardened doors beyond called to Seth. A safe to keep stolen treasures away and hidden, yet still allow some to leave as trinkets and trophies and shows of loyalty. An irking fly in the face of everything that had happened because of this suit, all the pain tied in and blood soaked deep. Or that was the whole point. A conquered beast to show off as strength. Strength ripping into this metal mistake of pride.

Mechanisms squealed, tore, bearings squashed, and locks shorn. Hard dark metal bending under fiber enriched grip, power pouring in to loose this beast from its cage. To say it's not dead and its legacy not completed. Wrenching apart everything standing in his way. Slamming doors back into their unprepared housings, sparking hard and spalling to back light flash. A flash over contents freed to the air. And dreaded as the monster it used to be. Despite…

How little there even was.

A tension in the spark, that old fear risen and yet crowded out by something born of those flashed memories. Something worse. Jagged edges and loose detritus. Open joint cuffs and cut apart plates. Copper and titanium melted together and placed in their correct orientations, but bared to the world like a skeleton shouldn't be. And with so little to show for it.

The top plate of an arm guard, three fingers across both hands. Servos exploded for so few moving parts. Half the ribcage in no ordered succession. A few back plates and vertebra, but no lower posterior. The inner expansion joints empty of the tail. A knee cap, some broken apart thigh plates, join nowhere to be seen. A single foot, missing one of its central toe section, all claws ripped out. A right collar reticulating plate assembly just about crumpled, no structure beneath to keep it up. And topping it all, marking its visage like a bleached skull, was the faceplate down to those jagged broken teeth.

The reality that all those flashed memories weren't just fluke or happenstance. That someone had found and used his suit to their ends. And failed hard at keeping it whole. That the tomb left to mark his death hadn't just been raided. It had been defiled. And spread about to terrorize this world anew.

Someone had tainted his name.

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