AN:/ I lied. I wanted it done with.

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Renewal of the City

The death of the man did not cleanse the world – the death of a man cannot cleanse anything – but it scrubbed a tiny little blot off London and gave the chaos a staggering blow, just enough to give the good a little breather before really getting down to business. The rain that came in the spring couldn't purify the memories, either, or heal the bruises both visible and not, but it was a symbol in a time when symbols were all people had left to cling to in their ruined little world.

People started again, like the whole year had been spent asleep. It would take a very long time to recover, everyone knew that, but it was better than thinking about the nightmare that had been and gone. The government came back, in England at least, and it wasn't long before the static went away (whispers of the devices that brought it on didn't, though, not for a very long time) and there was news on BBC1 again. It was only six months before they had HD channels and cable, though it took a year and a half for them to stop showing repeats.

Doctor Who went off the air until Royal Mail started up again and the internet came back online, at which point there was a flood of petitions demanding it back.

Apparently... well, a symbol for a shattered world. Does it really need saying?

The police force came back too, not the crippled thing that had fed from a dead man's hand before dissolving under the weight of its own corruption, but the boys and girls in blue, officers and representatives of the Law. It was a little embarrassing, really, when they went to the houses and asked if there had been any bother. Only embarrassment, though – nobody could spare the effort to resent people for doing what they would have done themselves. The small-time criminals who had kept their heads down and the big-time criminals who had had the sense to flee didn't return, didn't stick their heads out of their lairs for quite some time. The few who did were found dead or worse, and nobody sought justice for them.

And as for the three on the bridge (the three wise men as some wags started calling them) they just melted away into the jostling crowds of London. It wasn't all that surprising. People found it easier to forget the horror if they also forgot the heroes.

But as someone once said (and who, I've forgotten):

Heroes don't exist – and even if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.

AN:/ ... End. Completely. For real.