Memories
Trevor's grappling hook flew the glass, its shards mixing with the coming rain. He leapt out and the rope tightened.
Vor's eye found the target.
Trevor's flew and dropped faster than the rain itself, his silhouetted body gleaming in the dawn light.
Vor fired the gun. A beam the size of a baseball rod came out, and its victim let out a cry of anguish when he turned his head to see it.
Trevor cut off the rope and fell onto the black street. The first shot ignited his foot, but hundreds of others struck and surged against his body. The only he said before a beam singed through his throat was, "Never again." He gurgled a final breath.
Leon awoke in a sweat. He had fallen asleep in the recliner. Something's happened, he thought.
Then they came. Out of the alleyways and streets, cyclone blasters ready. They came, and filled all the area behind Trevor's smoking body, aiming directly at his killer. Every last one of them wanted to fire.
Leon flew out the door and began to run. His instincts told him to run. Through the streets and alleys, until he found what he believed he had lost.
Vor's rebels also came, bearing rocks and slings, primitive, but still a threat. An odd standoff commenced. Sweat dribbled down the faces of every soul there.
Leon stopped dead at 9^th Street, the dividing line of the city, and his breathing became fast and short at the sight. Trevor. The sight of his friend made him tremble. Trevor's body was locked in the position of what looked like a man gazing into heaven, waiting to be accepted by God himself. Leon ran faster past the bricks and cans. Past the rundown doors and mice. He didn't want God to take him now.
A boy ran out of the alley and skidded/kneeled at Trevor's body. He clasped it as if it were the only possession in the world. He just kept rocking back and forth grasping the corpse and murmuring, "Oh God, oh God, Trevor... I'm sorry... Sorry..."
After what seemed like forever, Leon's tear stricken face came up to glare at them all. His body was trembling from the convulsive sobbing. He glared at them all. At the hostages, and even Trunks.
All that were there felt the realization of what they had caused. Even Trunks himself felt the heavy load of guilt. Vor stepped back and disappeared from the crowd as fingers on triggers relaxed.
Mortar gazed down at his gun, and let it drop to the grass as he ran away. Several other young boys followed. An older man holding a pitchfork upon a warehouse roof raised his "weapon" high in the air, then brought it crashing down upon his knee. He tossed the pieces over the wall, letting them clatter on the pavement, and walked away.
Jim stood upon the horizon, slack with realization. "What in God's name have we done?"
No one could fire now. Both armies simply stood, and stared at nothing. All Trunks could do was place his hand on Leon's shoulder. The boy didn't even notice.
Jeremy sat on the couch, rocking back and forth. Memories of the times before Michael's death, when Trevor had visited. He was like a second father to them all. Even after the death, he paid the bills until the family could get over the shock. He had played with them, tennis, and soccer. Maybe just sat on the back step. Just sat there, as if his presence were enough.
Leon sat against the tree, letting the setting sunlight cover him. He remembered the epic battle against Cinder, how Trevor wielded that sword with the skill of legends...
"Cccccceeeeeyyyaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!" Leon screamed into the wind, his voice carried over the mountains. He hunched over and ground his fist into the dirt. Tears blurred his vision.
"May he go in peace." The reverend finished, crossed himself, and tucked his bible under his arm after closing it. The funeral parties dismissed themselves almost as a collective. Only one remained.
Trunks, in his black and dark blue cloak, slowly walked up to the coffin. He placed his palm on it. "Well, Trevor, it's been a blast." He gave a small chuckle at his remark, then got serious again. "You should know," he took a deep breath, choking back his sorrow so his voice was fuller, "that you died a hero. You saved us, from ourselves."
He turned his head behind him; the graveyard was empty. He turned back, and whispered, "You should have led us."
He put his head down and let his cloak billow in the wind. On the far horizon, a simple silhouette shown. Quite small and thin, thus not being a rock or person. Those that would peer closer would recognize the outline of a soldier's sword.
"And upon the ascending sun, shown in the Olympus colors, there the soul shall meet. To live with an immortal resolve. "That thou hath not died, but be reborn in thy creator". And let your relic stand erect, at the highest of points.
-- Trevor Marks, Direct Faction, First Class
Epilogue
The rain poured off the signs of Exodus. There was a loud knock on the door, hardly heard in the heavy rain. The door opened silently. There was an authoritative voice calling the time travelers inside. "Jim. Vor'. Come in. The Elite have been expecting you."
Relieved to get out of the rain, Jim and Vor entered the building, following the armor-clad man that had beckoned them.