“We stand here today, together, after another long and turbulent year,” began a man whose senile strained voice played as the melody over the base of the rainfall, a rainfall that occurred all throughout the vast region, coming from the dark gray sky that covered the full range of sight all the way to the horizon. The rain wasn’t necessarily harsh like that of a storm, for there was no thunder or heavy winds, rather it oppressed with a melancholic attitude.

“A year of struggles, of tragedies, of trials that have come at us from every angle,” continued the man’s voice as the rain continued to fall down from above, the wetness of the pour exhibited by the reflectivity of the silver skyscrapers that protrude up into said clouds, skyscrapers of various shapes and sizes, curves and edges. All of the skyscrapers emitted their own soft luminescence colored the same as their bodies, the glowing sticks like candles all in a complex and expansive array. All of the skyscrapers shared the exact same tone with no deviation, the same grayed tone just slightly brighter than the gray of the above clouded sky, a world toned in the same soullessness.

“Battered, bruised, we come here today in commemoration for the fallen,” he introduced whilst the droplets of rain fell all the way from the dark heavens above all down past the many silver blades like grass before colliding with a black shoulder, although a black shoulder with a faint blue luminescence which upon contact with the droplet absorbed it in such way that the shoulder itself did not appear to be wet but rather entirely dry.

Such was the same with the multitudinous other shoulders of the multifarious individuals who all stood clustered in a dense crowd, all facing one direction, dressed in diverse clothing of shirts and dresses with differing colors and many others who draped themselves in outerwear such as jackets and hoodies, all of their bodies fully encased in the same blue tone. None of their bodies appeared wet despite all the rainfall on their seemingly unsheltered selves, rather the rain failed to penetrate through the blue layer.

Undistracted by the rain, every single individual faced one direction, and at the endpoint of their casts were five huge rusted golden statues, each depicting an individual humanoid, all of them facing back at those in the crowd, standing side by side in a line with their hands on their hips and chests puffed.

The rightmost statue was of a woman dressed in a tight suit that expressed her natural body shape with the primary excess being a hood that sat behind the head. The body was decorated with exotic curvy streaks that looked almost alien, wrapping around the thighs and forearms, two trailing down the neck and curving around the chest smoothly like brush strokes before connecting into a belt, and others over the knees and feet. The most human part of the statue was the head, for whereas the rest had an extraterrestrial design, the head was that of a human with features of silky hair long down the back with trimmed bangs over the eyes. The expression was a heroic one with a stern glare which exuded confidence. It was the shortest of the statues, yet the nonhuman design made it one of the most interesting.

The leftmost statue was of the man with the leanest shape, also with an exposed slim head of a male with short hair groomed formally above open eyes also in the same heroic expression. Along the body was a design that mimicked a racing suit with dividing lines that sectioned underarm meshes and padding for the ribcage, thighs, and shin, as well as padding for the elbows and knees. On the chest was a large insignia that resembled the graphical representation of a tachyon, covering a sizable portion of the suit proudly.

Between the rightmost statue and central was one that wore the least armaments of the five, wearing only a sleeveless dress with a V-neck but large collar around a choker. The dress had a skirt composed of separate wide flags that draped down to the knees, flags that sat over the thigh highs which had a diamond shaped piece on the top front. The woman had a thick stream of hair that draped over the shoulders like a cape, her exposed face a similar expression to the rest.

Between the leftmost and central statues was one of a man with the heaviest of equipment, wearing a paramilitary suit that sported oversized gauntlets with visible cannons and launchers, a bandolier full of pouches over a suit that had sectioned plates like truly rigid armor, and sticks attached around the upper arms. Veiled over the shoulders was a chainmail piece, and the head was the part distinguishably human to reveal a face with a sharp jaw and long hair down to the shoulders which had strands beside the face, but parted to reveal the eyes well in full.

At last was the statue in the center, although one that was different from the rest for the particular reason that it lacked an exposed face, for instead that face was covered in a mask with parallelogram-shaped goggles and a vent down the left cheek shaped like a headset microphone. A hood sat on the head, connected to a much larger cape that cloaked behind the statue which otherwise had an intricate suit with a distinguished armor between the elbows over the shoulders and up the neck, a belt, and padding on the outer thighs and ribcage. There were more pads over and under the forearms which transitioned as gloves which had distinct thick plates on every knuckle. On the center of the chest was an insignia representing a cartoonishly simplistic pencil, which was the origin of a complex network of lines and trails that wrapped around the body, tracing through the arms, torso, and even past the belt down the thighs. It held the same stance as the others, but the lack of a face separated it from the rest.

The statues were noticeably grand in scale as referential by the size of the elderly man who stood before it, elevated by a gray pedestal, dressed in a black wool coat matching his long pants, also encased in a gentle blue hue that retained dryness. He had short balding white hair and a pale, wrinkled face, likely old enough to have great grandchildren. Beside him off the podium were also two men dressed in formal suits with eyes concealed by dark shades, their bodies built as weapons themselves with their height and shoulder broadness making them walls. They both stood with their hands behind their back as security, keeping silent. Further in the distance were the highrise of the city, surrounding and towering over them but from afar.

The three men and the statues were slightly elevated relative to the crowd that stared at them, requiring many within the crowd to keep their heads tilted ever so slightly up to properly hear him elaborate, “For those who had dedicated their lives to protecting us, for the heroes that gave us the push we needed through our darkest of days.”

“Because in times of troubles like the ones we face now, it is of utmost importance that we look back up to those who fought for us, those who did not ask from us or take from us but selflessly gave their all to make us the happiest they could,” followed the man who stood in front of the plaza, facing the crowd.

Indeed the statues were risen on its own pedestal, for in the center of the plaza they stood on an elevated colossal platform that from above was sculpted as a diamond-shaped shield with sectional divisions to distinguish four quadrants all intersecting into a smaller samely-shaped central fifth piece. This as well as the lack of structures in the immediate area helped to make the statues visible to the immense mob that stood in front of the memorial, one the size of an army all filling the huge plaza space all together out in the rain. Regardless of the unique colorations and styles of their attire, albeit the majority being of darker tones, they are all shaded in the same blue top layer that breathed a cold atmosphere.

“Heroes human just like us, who looked like us, who talked like us, who felt like us,” reflected the individuals in the mass by the structure, individuals both male and female but some as young adults whereas others were teenagers, matured, children, and seniors. Their skin was of all shades, their bodies of all shapes, their eyes of all colors.

There were young women in suits with long thick black hair, there were teenage girls in blazers over crop tops with vibrant emerald hair, there were fathers in sports jackets with full brown beards and bushy hair partly covering their tough skin along with senior men in leather coats and long white hair.

“They were people, they could have been friends without us knowing it, although in truth they were all of our friends were they not? They were the best of humanity: selfless, strong, persistent, they were not motivated by greed nor were they repelled by challenge,” recalled the speaker, lifting his arms up in the air, his sleeves rolling back as behind him the statues were being draped in trails of rainwater.

They still towered well over the people on the ground, standing like titans with knees far taller than an entire person, which presented them in a manner almost above human.

“They saved us from apocalypses and threats we couldn’t handle ourselves, but even more so, they inspired us and lifted us up to become better people, they helped us grow into not just victims who needed saving but a competent mankind that could face its own demons. They gave us the push we needed to make our home feel like one, and that is something no powers could have done,” praised the speaker as those five statues all with the same confident stance just stared back at the mob, motionless as the chunks of metal they were.

In the center, the one masked statue stood between the rest, staring forth beyond its lenses as the speaker appended, “And that…could not be any more true for Versepolis’s own hero, the protector who did not only smoothen the jagged forest that was our home, but taught us how to work together to be stronger than we could ever have been divided.”

In the crowd, the listeners followed the man state, “We are not the only world to mourn his loss, for the good he has done spreads across the Superverse, the good he and they have done. They have done such wonders in the time we shared with them, not only in the great feats of power they accomplished, but in how they reshaped the whole hundred worlds.”

Although while most of the crowd remained silent and respectful, amongst one of the many large families attending the service included a young boy well below teenage years –wearing a shirt that had a comic-like depiction of the same mask on the central statue– who tugged at the shirt of the adult man standing right beside him whilst complaining out loud, “Daddy, is it almost done?”

A few of the surrounding individuals shared a similar irritated glare that they place on the family, which the father immediately took embarrassment to as an adult woman beside him bent down and whisperingly scolded the boy: “Gerald, don’t be too loud, it will be done soon, just wait.”

Yet the boy persisted more, turning to the woman and prodding with greater volume, “When will it? I’m hungry! I want to go!”

A few groans washed from the annoyed sea, and upon noticing the scene that was being made, the man faced the boy again and pleaded in whispers: “Here, daddy will buy you yummy food if you show good behavior and stay quiet! I will get whatever you want, just be good and let this finish.”

The boy frowned but obliged, although still being struck by glances from those behind, younger attendees and those with greater age and longer white hair alike.

The group’s attention was lifted back up from the speaker’s continued address: “I admit, even in the years passed I have still struggled to find acceptance in their absence, for many of us had taken them for granted, legends who would always be standing with us. We let ourselves forget that they are still human just like all of us; they have a time to make their mark, but sooner or later they will need to rest, and leave this world to continue moving.”

In front of the five grand statues, the speaker raised his fist and declared with words propelled with gunpowder of passion, “But while they might not be walking with us, they are not gone! In the time we have had with them, they’ve made us better, they’ve made us braver, they’ve made us more heroic. They did not seek to rule us, they only sought to make us able to rule ourselves better. So even in their absence, we can not let their fire die out, it is now our responsibility, our duty to carry on their mission, to keep the fight going for them. We must show them, wherever above they may be watching us, that they did make their mark, and that they did make the worlds a better place. Because they might have been fighters, but first and foremost they were inspirations, and they have inspired us to be stronger, so we can not let ourselves soften now. They were truly, without a decimal of a doubt, heroes, and heroes do not perish, they live among those they save. They live in us now. So let us commemorate them, let us remember them, and let us carry on their strength for them.”

At last, the man dropped his arm and released an exhausted sigh, delivering one last nod before concluding, “That concludes the official service, thank you all for coming. May I remind you all that the elections are coming up, so it would mean the worlds to me if I had your vote this year. Thank you.”

With that final advertisement, the speaker then turned to the side and stepped off the podium, to which the two security guards became animated to accompany him on his departure.

Immediately the crowd began to disperse like a spill, people yawning and stretching before muttering and walking away.

Such a dense congregation all now trying to move was quite the mess of incoherent pathways, people bumping into each other and murmuring against one another, trying to find their way out as some of them motion away from the statues while others approach it.

A sea of voices tossed and waved in the cluster, the voices of teenagers muttering: “God that took so long” and some snickering followed by jests of: “How is he going to preach about taking charge when they’ve been literally sitting on the Gen S attacks?” retorted with “Well hey maybe he just forgot about them, I’d be surprised if he even remembers what he ate this morning,” which came with passing chuckles.

Like an omnidirectional current, pushing and thrashing from every direction, networks of people followed their own trails, some of them leading towards the statues.

Feet in shoes walked at their own paces, moving towards the elevated hovering platform which was accompanied by several rings also levitating but at lower deviations as the main was about a foot high if not more, thus needing the rings to function as steps. Since each level was floating, the base floor was still visible underneath, although darkened from the oppressive roofs right above.

With the wideness of the rings and the smooth transition between steps, the disorderly citizens strolled up the steps despite them being so clustered, shoes white, black, red, silver.

Chattering naturally followed the mob, although so compacted the words uttered were incoherent mixed altogether.

Herds of individuals walked around the statues towering above them, all in their heroic stances with sculpted confident expressions. Some of them just stood and stared up at the statues, paying their respects while others paced down the memorial.

One of those standing around was a woman who gazed up at the statue in the center in silence, her open hands together in a prayer. Her meditation was broken by the tug at her dress by a young girl who implored, “Mom, I thought you said we could go now! I’m supposed to meet with Betty in like an hour, come on!”

The woman, who appeared to be a maternal figure to the girl, exhaled a fatigued sigh and lowered her head before turning to the girl and dropping her arms to her side. The girl then, her hand still grabbing the dress, began to drag the woman away, the woman unhappily obliging while miserably lecturing, “We will be there on time, why does it always have to be a rush with you?”

Passing them was a teenage boy who paced straight forwards with his head fixated on a holographic screen right in front of him, which displayed the interface of a game containing aggressive humanoids charging at the screen, and in the teenager’s hands was a holographic blue handgun which he aimed at the enemies on screen while continuously tapping the trigger, causing the enemies on screen to collapse to the ground as though shot similarly to an ancient arcade game.

The teenager was completely focused on the game, fighting off the horde while slowly walking straight in the bustling crowd, the game making no outside sound as it was all contained in the player.

Suddenly the teenage boy walked straight into the shoulder of a man in a grayed leather jacket, causing the teen to be knocked backwards from a complete unawareness of his surroundings, and in the couple moments of his disorientation the enemies reached the screen where they were animated to bite at the camera rabidly like zombies. Only a few bites caused the entire screen to blacken, and for the text ‘GAME OVER,’ to appear over it in red with the text below reading ‘Round 43.’

The teenager immediately noticed the game over screen as the handgun in his hand vanished, and he groaned in irritation to the loss before then facing the still man he had bumped into and blaming, “Shit, watch where you’re going,” before tsking and storming away despite the utter hypocrisy to his rant.

Even struck and berated however, the man who was being referred to did not react, for he did not turn nor make a sound, instead entirely ignoring the teenager who left there soon after.

That man just simply kept his gaze up at the statues before him, standing at the center, his long white hair down his shoulders, yet strangely the hair was very discernibly frail but more so there were many bald spots on the pale head that left the hair in a scarce state. While there was still a substantial cape of hair, it was far from full, and the exposed bald spots presented an appearance that felt almost diseased.

Past and below the shoulder of the central state, amidst the flock of attendees all paying their respects to the statues before making their departures, stood one man in the middle whose head was lifted up, a man who looked to be well into his sixties at the very least, with pale skin not exactly ghoulish white yet having no traces of a darker tone.

That man just gazed up through azureous eyes as a gust of wind tossed his white hairs back, his biker leather jacket grayed not to an extent of antique but miles from shining new.

He just stood still as the world moved around him, the majority of people walking around him whether it be from the behind as most do but some walk in front, momentarily obstructing his view before they leave his sight.

Regardless of the occasional blocks, the man did not make an effort to relocate or readjust, he just stood with his gaze locked, just up at the statues.

From down on the ground by his feet, the man was a bug compared to the scale of the statues, his whole body magnitudes below the waist, for they were titans to him. That image was bolstered by the statue’s stances of exaggerated fortitude, chests puffed out, even the muscle groups carved in just to further present an image of might beyond human.

Compared to those golden titans that stood up high, hands on their hips, the old man was a puny ant, hardly even qualified as a shadow to their grandeur.

“Hey guys,” softly spoke the man with a weary, dreary voice, keeping volume to spread no further from himself, almost in a whisper.

Side by side the five statues stood tall and proud as the man greeted, “It should be nice to see you again, although every year these services feel like they’re getting trimmed, sooner or later perhaps it’ll be discontinued entirely.”

A sentimental expression was engraved on the man’s face, a slight frown and a complete looseness to the facial muscles. He just stared with drained eyes, reflecting in a murmur: “It would be nice if I had some good news to give, a report of the progress I’ve made. It would be nice if I had something to say to prove that I’m holding up the front well, or at least that I’ve made a breakthrough that’ll turn the tide.”

Tall stood the statue of the man in the heavy armor who glared with sharp eyes, in front of the man who admitted, “But I don’t have much to say on that note. If anything, they’ve only been growing stronger. Acts have been reported to be growing in numbers from both factions, and not only from the main city, but all across the globe. What used to be small groupings of three or five that I’ve run into are now entire gang operations all working in tandem; they’re like a hivemind with their speed, one cell gets attacked and all the others are already there in retaliation. It’s a network of gates that is steadily making it more dangerous to go after any of them, and the more I wait the more dangerous it’ll become.”

Proudly risen, the sculpture of the woman in the dress faced forth at the man who confessed with greater disappointment lingering in his words, “And every day I can just feel myself growing weaker. I’m steadily increasing the dosages, of course Orial has tried to stop me, he’s even begun fabricating increases to which I’m unsure if I should be more impressed at his ability to deny orders or his creative methods to deceive me. Either way, I’m not increasing the dosage to get stronger, I’m doing it to keep up, and even then I’m still getting weaker. It’s becoming unsustainable to even construct automated machinery weapons, that holosuit was meant to be an emergency auxiliary but I find myself relying on it more than my own abilities.”

Exhibiting the tachyon icon pridefully on his chest, the figure of the man in the race suit looked to the man who marginally assured in an almost desperate tone, “Nonetheless, I have at least retained my abilities to some extent, the estimates dictated that I wouldn’t be able to so much as push out a flame by now had I not begun the injections. And those abilities have helped in tight situations, there are limitations to static technology, and of course even with these cutting edge holographic tools systems there are always blindspots that I’ve been able to fill. So at the very least I could be doing worse…and every day I’m seeking out new formulas to improve on the serum as well as developing new systems for the suit. Honestly, this may be my first break this year if I remember correctly, it’s either running operations for reconnaissance and raids or it’s strategizing and developing. It…helps that Dana can pitch in from time to time, although I’ve been doing my best to limit her involvement for her own good, despite her attempts to pry through me. At the very least she can’t force sleep on me, and I’ve been able to put a stop to Orial’s sabotages to sedate me. It’s rather comedic…I’m unsure if my taste buds still operate properly anymore…my diet has been exclusively Royx for quite some time, although it’s helpful to keep me going and any health effects are negligible.”

Despite made of solid metal, the long hair on the effigy of the woman in the alien suit still looked silky and soft, as did her face that was directed towards the man that awkwardly summarized, “What I mean to say is, I am working, and I am making progress to combat the threat regardless of the enemy’s growth. I’ve been spending more time in the Pad so I’ve naturally advanced the productivity stations, and I’ve been learning to use the transporter more aggressively in spite of the dangers of precision hopping. So I…I have not given up…and I do not intend to…I have only pushed myself harder to- to do my best to do right by you, to make my best effort in carrying the mission the way you have done so elegantly for so long. I admit it feels as though I may have…softened slightly when it comes to soloistic work in the years I’ve spent by your side. I do find myself still having the habit of sculpting my workflow around collaboration, of choosing to delegate certain tasks for your specific expertise, perhaps it is just natural that way. But I can reprogram myself…it is hardly reprogramming rather it is rolling back to older structures of productivity. It is possible is what I mean to say, I will be able to carry on by myself…and while I still find myself relying on your old works and references from projects we had done in the past, eventually I should be able to sustain on my own.”

Faced head on by the silhouette of the one man whose face is masked, cloaking any expression, any humanity under the hood, the man released a gentle sigh before acknowledging more somberly, “I…understand that inevitably my abilities will continue to decline, and as I fight to retain my strength, my time here will only be further limited. Unfortunately I am not able to traverse the cosmos and liberate Earth after Earth, and there is a chance that the farthest I can get is the dismantlement of this civil war. Fortunately I have not picked up on any readings of another aberration after all these years, at least any that require outside intervention. I have also managed to evade the sights of…my brother…which has helped let me focus on this mission. I understand such a mission appears…miniscule in challenge to what we have faced…we’ve battled devils and cleared hells and I’m here dedicating my whole life to two gangs…even saying this out loud is…never mind. I am analyzing my capabilities objectively and assessing the maximum productivity my life can afford, and I can promise you that by the completion of this life I will have this war vanquished and activate this world’s healing process to reach a point in which it will never again collapse in on itself.”

All five of the judgemental titans of gold stood facing down on the one small man with patches of hair missing, and that small man gulped and recognized in admission, “I realize this is rather selfish, deciding only to save my world when your scope was much grander and more charitable. Ironically I guess I have in a way regressed to my former self, focused only on what is around him, ignoring the larger image, doing the bare minimum. I wonder how much of a favor I am providing to this world when there are many others who lack even the ability to fend for themselves. That was always the difference between me and you…wasn’t it…I sought to perfect the little I had whereas you laid your lives to improve all there was. I guess in the end…you will always be the better heroes…huh. Strong, capable, unbounded, you are everything that makes a good hero…which is where the difference between us lies.”

Another fatigued sigh exhaled from the man’s mouth before he lowered his head, only able to glance at the toes of the titans now due to just how minute he was relatively.

“Then again, me even drawing this comparison in the first place reinforces that statement more, doesn’t it? You taught me that any difference is one big enough, and here I am measuring achievements. I apologize if I disgraced you…I apologize for disgracing you.”

On one side stood the five titans in gold, and on the other side stood the one short man, the six being rinsed in the continuous rainfall that drops from the dark gray skies above, the skies that washed down on the whole city of monochromatic silver towers all the way in the distance for as far as the eye could see.

A few moments of silence passed between the two groups, as the voices of the other attendees to the memorial had been tuned out to nothing more than distant breezes, their voices filtered like there was a thick wall in between.

All five of the statues just stood in place, cemented in position, frozen in time for the rest of existence.

On the left was the hyperactive brotherly chatterbox who always had an idea in a flash and could brighten a light in any situation no matter how grim.

On the right was the soft spoken yet deeply insightful soul who always carried a warm aura around her and could calm any tense scenario.

To the left was the tough-skinned yet protective leader who always put himself up as the first line of defense for them and made everyone around him not only better at fighting but better at loving.

To the right was the tolerantly gentle yet defensively proactive guardian who always brought the most humanity in compassion and sought to ensure that everyone was together in equal harmony.

In the center was the impulsively charged yet strongly reliable hero who always brought to the table what they needed the most at any moment and drove himself to be the most help his potential could be pushed to in any given situation.

On the golden mask of the central figure was a decently clear reflection of the short man who stood far below, who raised his head up slowly to the mask, staring up at him with shimmering blue eyes, a gentle gust lifting his sparse hair as he frowned in silence.

He then opened his mouth to express, “I know I’m hardly completing a fraction of the work you’d have done, and I understand that perhaps there really was no purpose to my survival, to my life continuing on ahead. I realize all of this…this suffocating incapability…and at this instance there is truthfully only one rudimentary objective I have, one I understand is dishonorably selfish:”

“To ensure that when I too pass, there will have been justification for my existence.”