What remains

Dust. Blood. Dust. Blood. The words repeating themselves in Rude's mind. The dust tearing at his eyes, causing them to sting and well with tears. Over and over, the words repeated while he fumbled around as if looking for something or someone.
The incident happened suddenly. He was told to speak to Mika and call of the bounty on Valeria's head. The last thing he saw, was the explosion, the crumbling. The ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ. The very same ones that still tore through his mind, reminding him of those he failed to save.

It took him back. Back to a time when he was the one that tore down a city. When he was the one that dropped a plate down on thousands of innocent people, costing thousands of innocent lives. Something that still haunted him to this day.

Blinking, as if he was trying to tear himself from the very depths of his mind, he found that he could once again see. The dust finally began to settle. As he tried to push himself off the ground, his joints groaned, swaying as he struggled to stand on his own.

His eyes scanned the now vast wasteland, once a beautiful space for people to hang out, which was now reduced to nothing. Reduced to dust. He could see the sorrow, the pain in the eyes of the others. But mostly, he could feel the glares, and one thing became clear.

The Turks would be blamed for this.

Was it worth it? To try and help the others if all they saw was a monster? Could he truly blame them? After everything, he had done to destroy their homes? Their families? No. Shaking his head, he tried to banish the thoughts.

Now was not the time. He could not forget his mission. His purpose for being here. Mika Valentine.

As soon as her name crossed his mind, a thought came to him. Was she responsible for this? Was she the cause of this tragedy? He wouldn't put it past her, after all,

she's done worse.

Making his way through the wailing crowd, he did his best to drone out the cries and suffering of those around him, burying his emotions deep down. Some of his training was useful it seemed. It didn't take him long, searching through the crowd,

before his eyes paused on a man in the corner. He seemed free of injury and was trying to calm down a crying teenager. Offering water and telling her to raise her head.

Quickly making his way over, he put on his best professional setting.

Coming to an abrupt stop in front of the gentleman, he cleared his throat, inviting the man in for a conversation. Not that he had a choice in the matter.

Now that Rude was up close, and could see the man easier, he realized the man was older than he was.

His shaggy brown curls, sweeping over his shoulders, specs of grey present if one were to look closer. Holes in clothes almost ripped to shreds. But whether from the collapse or from being poor, Rude couldn't tell.

The man turned his attention to Rude, a warm smile on his face as he held the bottle out to the man. "I'm sorry, did you need some of this? Please, take it. There's plenty to go around young man."

Rude stood there, in utter shock. The kindness of this man brought back feelings Rude forget he even had.

Feelings he had buried deep down since that day. But quickly, he regained his composure, and his body straightened as if asserting himself as a more dominant person. "Do not tempt me with such things. I have a job to do. Have you seen a dark-haired girl?

The name is Mika Valentine. We cannot find her and her friend, a redhead Valeria Hojo."

The man blinked, his smile never fading, the kindness never faltering, as he tilted his head studying Rude. "I am afraid I know not of who you speak of.

I know the redhead was caught in the buildings. I reckon she's dead." Sadness crossed his eyes, as he reached out and took Rude's hand, noticing that the Turk flinched. "My condolences for your loss."

Tearing his hand away, he harshly glared at the older gentleman.

"Thank you, but do not touch me. You may not act so familiar with me. I am Rude of the Turks. You will do well to remember that. Did you see which way the dark hair went?" Although he sounded well put together, and as if the death didn't bother him, Rude could feel his heart sinking in his chest. Another life lost. It shouldn't affect him, he was a Turk. They must not feel for the common people. And yet, he could not stop himself from the sorrow and pain that was rising within his chest.

Turning from the man, he did not wait for his answer. He knew where she was going. And he vowed to avenge these people. If Mika was not the cause of this, who could it possibly be?

Before he could even think, his feet were already walking away, his eyes trained on what was in front of him not daring to look back. Not wanting to see the suffering any longer. And that's when he heard it. A single thud. A body crashing to the ground.

Turning, he froze eyeing the man who only moments ago showed him kindness and who offered him water was now motionless on the ground. He felt a lump in his throat as he made no moves and watched others scramble around the motionless body.

He watched as the others in vain, try to revive the man. He watched and couldn't bring himself to do anything. And then the call was made.

"He's dead."  Turning back around, ignoring the people, ignoring the man, he started straight. Not once did he turn back, not once did he help, only to disappear into the shadows.