There's no place like home...
The dropship collected everyone from the beach and sped off towards home. “Home”. The word never sounded so good.
“If you look out the windows on the right, you’ll see Bielefeld,” Dr. Smith’s voice said over the cabin’s speakers. “We’ll have a better view once we settle over the beach.”
The ship slowly circled the city, offering everyone a view of it. Different districts stood out from each other yet everything melded together to fashion the city into one twinkling jewel.
They flew over the
Industrial District, which gave them a different view of DownTown across the river and the Government District beyond it before finally coming to hover near the Strip (Market) District.
The ship set down on the beach, but their arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Fireworks illuminated the skyline as citizens expressed their appreciation of the their Defenders’ return. The sand on the beach reflected the vibrant red, blue, violet and silver flare of the chrysanthemums blossoming overhead.
The people hadn’t forgotten all the times the Building Residents had come to their aid, nor did they forget that their lives had been repaired with the help of some of those residents and their people. Fire engines and police cars blasted their horns and let loose their sirens as word spread. Windows were flung wide and people cheered; it became a roar to rival any sports stadium on earth or beyond.
The fireworks revealed the main street of the Strip District which was close to the beach itself. Thriller’s walking gun squatted in a public park which bordered the seaside. Memorial Park was further down the road to the left where a giant giraffe sculpture lifted its graceful head (and tongue) to the night skies. This was where Dora’s memorial would be held.
To the right, the tree-lined Subabsurdus Street joined with the main street… and the Building quietly sat there on the corner, waiting for them to return. The grounds had been restored, and the woods still formed the backdrop in the back garden. In that rear yard was the pavilion which Minerva had stood on when they’d first taken refuge in Tent City. Even Bran’s hangar had been replaced at the very top of the Building.
Citizens had set small fabric flags at the edge of the front lawn for those Building Residents with known nations. Others had left small notes or candles as an expression of their gratitude. Neighbors, who normally lamented all the noise and supernatural nonsense stemming from the Building, came out of their homes to applaud the Defenders, and clapped them on the back or shook their hands. O.C. Demens, their landlord, stood on the front steps to hand them each a key to the front door as well as their apartment keys.
The Building was restored inside, and the Lobby greeted them. Thriller’s Thinking Bench, the phone booth, the different doors leading down to the Bomb Shelter and the Chaos Apartment, the flight of stairs leading up to the communal kitchen and dining room… all of it was there. Brand new. Sparkling. Home.
The Defenders would, of course, need to set up their own apartments and furnishings again.
The noise lasted a while longer before the good people of Bielefeld came to their senses and went back to their lives. Quiet was restored again.