The roar of the plaza was a cacophony of mindless adoration, a sea of voices screaming for a savior that didn't actually feel the warmth of their praise. To the Avatar, the cheering was nothing more than a frequency to be processed, a data point in a chaotic environment.
It was a geological construct, a masterpiece of stone and logic operating at a staggering 97.3% behavioral accuracy. It didn't feel the triumph; it merely simulated the microexpressions of a man who had just survived a cataclysm.
It was a performance of humanity so precise that the distinction between soul and stone was invisible to the masses.
The tension in the air was thick, heavy with the scent of pulverized rock and ozone, when the equilibrium was violently shattered.
THUD.
