I didn’t want to say ‘sorry’, and echo the kid in the car.

I almost asked if there was anyone I could call. I stopped myself when I realized the answer could be no.

“How about we get away from here?” I asked, keeping my voice soft. “We can go grab a coffee or tea, and you and I can talk.”

The man looked at me, as if just now realizing there was a person right next to him.

“It’s got to be better than violence,” I said.

“I don’t—I’m not violent,” he said, sounding very small.

The heads of the crowd turned in reaction to something outside my field of view, and the old man’s head turned as well.

Behind me, it seemed. A man in costume. It was a good outfit, too, more in the dollars that had been put into it than in terms of looks, but that was personal opinion. Partial discs of metal seemed to intersect his body, forming a look where he looked like a blender caught mid-whirl, axe blades and metal rings jutting from his breastplate, armguards, leg armor, and even his face, with blades running along one brow and cheekbone to frame one eye.

There were heavier blades at his hands and feet, such that it looked like he shouldn’t be able to walk or even stand without difficulty. As it was, he had one end of his long-handled axe resting on the ground, the length of it bowing beneath his weight as he perched on it, one arm outstretched to one side, hand gripping the head. He was crouching on the thing while it rested at a diagonal, in a way that looked like he’d wipe out if the end of the weapon lost traction on the roadtop.

Fuck me. Not what we needed right now.

The old man started to stand. I helped him.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Minor accident, we’re just waiting for cops to come and assess things, take numbers.”

I was barely done speaking when someone in the crowd said, “We don’t need you.”

I watched him glance over the small crowd, looking for the person who had spoken. He kept looking out for the speaker as he told us, “There’s some police on their way. With all the reconstruction and the lower priority, they’re trying to get through the traffic right now.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “Thank you.”

He nodded. He looked deeply disturbed by the one comment he’d heard. I caught a glimpse of the emblem on his sleeve. A badge, not a personal symbol or icon, but part of the team he belonged to. Advance Guard. They were a team with an agenda to push. The world had ended, and they were pushing hard for a better and different tomorrow.

I could respect that.