June 28th, 2055.

New York, Times Square.

The witch was tied to a wooden post, a pile of dry kindling beneath her. Around her were the tyrant’s soulless machines, strombringers - enforcers made of steel and lightning and iron hearts. Beyond them were the people - citizens - curious faces as far as the eye could see. The nation had come to watch her die.

Behind her, the tyrant stepped up to a podium, flanked by two more stormbringers. He cleared his throat. “A-hem!”

“Ladies, gentlemen. We are gathered here today to witness the end of an era. Behold!”

With a dramatic flourish, the spotlights surrounding the witch lit up, throwing her into full view. The cameras focused on her, every screen in the square displaying her distressed form. The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed, seemingly indifferent to her predicament.

The tyrant’s mouth curled up into a grotesque grimace. “This woman you see here, gentlemen - and ladies -” He cleared his throat. “This criminal is the last of her kind, of a kind of people steeped in depravity, who wanted - who would break, have broken down the very moral fabric of this country. Bad people! Bad, very… uh, very bad people. No traditional values!” He shook his head.

“And so! As with the rest of her kind, she has been sentenced to be burnt at the stake!”

Half of the crowd cheered. The other half traded uncomfortable glances, but none moved forward to stop it.

One of the stormbringers hurled forth a bolt of lightning, striking the kindling. As the flames burned and crackled to life, suddenly, every screen went black, plunging the square into darkness. And then a single line of words displayed itself on each. Two words.

A mother’s name.

As the populace looked around in confusion, a voice issued forth from every speaker, speaking the name. Loudly. Firmly. The voice of a legion.

The name vanished, shortly replaced by a second. Then a third. A fourth. Many.

The tyrant was distraught; he looked just as confounded as his people, if not more. He slammed his hands on the podium. “What’s going on?!” he shouted. “What’s happening?! I don’t like it! Stop it! Shut it down! Shut it down! Shut! It! DOWN!” He flipped over the podium in his tantrum, as the stormbringers sprung into action. Some tried to restrain him, others held back the audience, still others attempted to find the perpetrator. The square erupted into chaos.

Then, as abruptly as they had begun, the names stopped. And then, a single phrase:

“We are here.”

As the flames licked the soles of her feet, the witch began to laugh.