Clockwork Theocracy

Chapter 1: You can never wake-up dully

He stood at the edge, the wind was quite insistent today.

There was some distance between him and the barrel of the gun looking his way. Not much to wonder, to think. He knew how it would end and in which way.

"Oh well, I did at least go a bit further than the last," He turned to look at the city glittering below his feet.

Sparks, neons, sound, and stories within. How lovely in its brutality. The cars go through the veins of the city, beating in a drum of every pulsing action. It spoke in shouts, car horns, and music. Such was its beauty. Or such was its hatred. It wasn't easy to tell in his circumstances.

How alive it looked. How much it killed.

"Is it my time to leave," He turned back towards the gun. There stood a man, grasping at the small pistol pointed at Forty-one's head. That gun, it took many lives, many loved ones, both from the Bear and him. Forty-one didn't know his name, not that there was a point in it. He was the bear, a bear holding a gun. Prey and Predator didn't need such formalities. Forty-one was already well acquainted with the Bear. Bluejacket, reverse white triangle behind his back, and his signature cigarette. If it wasn't there, it meant someone recently died.

They didn't have much dialogue. It was mostly Forty-one talking to his own with occasional grunts from the Bear. Yet he felt a sense of comradery, letting him have these precious last moments of time. He heard the slow cocking of the gun.

"For what it's worth, brat-" He pinched the cigarette at his mouth and threw it aside, grabbing the gun with both hands. "- you are the one I struggled with the most. It will be quick."

He hated those words. Did the actions of others don't matter?

The gun fired and the bullet made the union with his engine.

His eyes shimmered as darkness crept from the side.

His vision had the city he admired, disgusted.

Coming ever closer, Death hung moments away, yet it didn't bother him.

He hated what came after.

You can never let go

All had given

***

That day, bodies rained down in the sky.

Forty-two stood in front of the door under the cover of his house.

Splash after splash, sometimes bodies, sometimes only pieces fell.

Arms, legs, or full bodies. They differed in color, in appearance. Some of them were pink, others pale, some white, some brown, all red.

Drop by drop, they rained down the sky.

They painted the streets red, leaked purple, and died in black. Yellow, black, and white, yet they all looked the same inside. Born not out of steel, but something unseen. Red, purple, and many more colors. What it was, he wondered.

It seemed squishy, bending, feeble. How can even a human stand up with a body such as this?

What were they?

Were they even human?

Where was the steel? The glass? Fibers? Carbon?

Who and what were these people?

One fell down close, right in front of his house. Red splatter reached almost to his door. The pavement, the grass near, and the body itself were all painted red. Only two spheres devoid of light looked back at him. Neither lively nor dead, it was forgotten to rot.