A/N: In dedication to my sister, there for me through thick and thin. Life is tough, especially now. Stay strong. I love you.
Based upon the Black Veil Brides album "Wretched and Divine"
In the smoking remains of a once beautiful city, almost nothing remains. The wreckage is a mixed bag. Among the smoldering piles of unintelligible grey, the rebel scouts could see destroyed furniture. At their feet lay the last remnants of lies lived in the hunks of metal that were once utensils, the unreadable remains of books, the shreds of metal and rubber once known as cars. Perhaps the most debilitating for the tired rebels, though, were the evidences of souls long gone, untouchable. The bones of a family pet, the clothes of a decomposed person...the skull of a child, unseeing eyes turned skyward to salvation.
At the head of the group, the Prophet, his face lacerated by cuts and burns, knelt to meet the piles of refuge. He reached out slowly, his hand shaking slightly. His fingertips gently wiped away dust and grime from the pearly surface, revealing the gentle cracks of a skull not quite completely formed. His hand moved to the side, his fingers splaying like a tripod to support him as he suddenly felt a rush of guilt. This was...his fault.
His fingertips, tingling with the child's memory, felt an odd texture. Not gritty like the dirt or smooth like the skull or sharp like the broken glass. Soft, but dirty. He brushed away some of the ash and found, near the tiny bones of the child, a teddy bear. Its fur was matted and it was in awfully rough shape, but it was a teddy bear nonetheless. A faded blue bow even adorned its neck.
He took a deep, deep breath, pulling the bear from the wreckage and giving the child's skull one last caress. He stood, the bear cradled in his arms, and found the uncomfortable faces of his allies. The only one who wasn't looking away was his closest friend, the Outlaw, whose hand was extended as if he'd been planning to touch the Prophet during his long observance of the child's remains. Now, the Outlaw looked away.
"We've got to go, man. It's not safe here."
He shivered as if to reinforce the fact, a thick combat vest opened at the front to reveal his muscled torso, which undulated with the spasm. His token tattoo stretched across his stomach in a graceful arc, "OUTLAW".
"Ok, ok...Let's get going, Ash."
The Prohet responded, still holding the bear as he started to trace his way back to headquarters. They'd seen enough destruction for that day.
A/N: I know it's short, but I wanted to get my introduction out before I forgot. Next chapter will be a lot longer.