THWA-BOOM!
More than half of the apartment building's roof exploded outwards, releasing a massive cloud of dust that permeated the night sky and an even larger cloud of shrapnel which rained down upon every side of the structure with a projected radius of more than a block in each direction. The neighborhood was torn asunder by the horrified cries of unfortunate pedestrians, most of whom had clamored around the scene with their mobile devices out. They'd kept back up until the end of the street, filming the entry of the unknown heroine, the massacring of several families immediately afterwards, and the eventual vengeance she wrought upon them. The few that had remained after witnessing the initial gunshots had made to cheer but she'd disappeared before they'd so much as realized what had happened.
Now, a handful of them lay dead, bits and pieces of debris distorting their once curious forms. Survivors and on-lookers fled, with those few possessing family or friends amongst the fallen lingering, either to mourn or to make an attempt at salvaging the lives of their beloved. Gothic City was one of the world's largest, most densely populated cities. This disastrous event was but a microscopic blip on the map of tragedy one night in the dystopia could offer humanity.
One man, a thin steel pole stuck through his lower abdomen, looked up to the unforgiving night sky and, with tears of blood running from his mouth, screamed, "WHERE IS OUR SALVATIO - -"
BRAKKA BRAKKA BRAKKA!
Bullets from the gullet of an inconsiderate Kalashnikov silenced him before he could complete his dramatic death rattle, an opposing survivor from the ragtag team of fallen gangsters managing the act of murder as he lay on his side, both legs broken and rendered useless by the unknown heroine. He began to chuckle triumphantly before a slab of stone twice the length of his body kissed the earth his form was resting upon and flattened him with instantaneous effect.
Elsewhere...
"I wasn't expecting her."
The Midknighter sat upon the ledge of the only room thus far unaffected by the flames with the closest building to the apartment structure in his view, two female figures poised upon the rooftop, one of them distinctly recognizable. She had begun to speak to her accomplice when she paused and tilted her head towards his direction, her shoulders visibly stiffening.
"There we go."
His stark white visage made no effort at expressing joy at the sudden turn of events, face perpetually downcast and disinterested, almost as if the impending encounter bored him. It did not. In fact, he relished the prospect. But quietly. And knowingly.
Preparations were made in moments, with the Clown Prince Crusader donning both his top hat and his dark purple bowtie in one fluid, practiced movement, using the cane within one hand to direct the darkness around him towards the wall with the opened window, delivering an immense ball of shadow-comprised destruction to the plaster and forcing it outwards in what he considered a welcoming gesture. Then, he constructed a squeaky but sturdy chair and eased himself into it, body slouching lazily but not carelessly upon the seat.
With a dragon's throat of hungry fire just down the hall, the Midknighter folded his arms and tilted his head to one side in apathetic anticipation, body both unmoving and unapologetic.
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