While it might have seemed like they'd won—mech destroyed, threat eliminated, city saved—Tatehan didn't feel like celebrating.
Not when he looked around at the aftermath and saw what the victory had actually cost.
He stood in the middle of what used to be a busy intersection in the eastern district, his armor still active, his helmet retracted so he could breathe the smoky air without filters. The street was unrecognizable. Buildings that had stood for probably decades were now nothing but piles of rubble, their facades collapsed, their interiors exposed like open wounds. Fires still burned in some of the wreckage, black smoke curling upward into the sky. Cars that had been caught in the crossfire were sliced cleanly in half, their metal frames melted and twisted where the mech's plasma cutter had carved through them like they were made of foil.
And everywhere, there was debris.
