The World Of Steam

16

After having taken over the meat plants and ground the workers into a fine paste, the mob made their way towards Buckingham Palace, bringing the fight to their arch nemesis. One man in front of the mob carried the flag of the United Kingdom in his hands, leading the way. Everyone had grouped together, creating an army. It may have been small, but it was more than enough to defeat one man. They may not have had the power of the king, they may not have had the elite military training that the royal guards had, but they had numbers, and that was more than enough to secure victory for them. The king was going to be taken down with one swift motion. His comeuppance was quickly nearing and nothing would be able to stop it. The most hated man in the country was not going to get away that easily. George VII was the cause of all of this madness, death and destruction, and as a consequence, he had to pay for his horrific crimes. Life before he was crowned was simple, but after his coronation, the people had to deal with machines and gas that choked anyone that came near them. It had to stop. Swift justice had to be dealt. He, of all people, had to see what it was like to fight in a war. He himself had to see what type of misery he had put the people through, what type of torture they had to endure to survive. With crimes such as these, there was only one sentence that could be dealt out to him. Doors opened up and the royal guards immediately poured out of the palace, forming ranks, joined by beefeaters, all equipped with spears and axes, ready to defend the king and crown at all costs.

"Clear the way!" A booming voice shouted out. The mob instantly cleared the gates and a pair of trucks backed up towards the palace. Some people attached large anchors to the gates. The trucks revved and sped up, tearing both of the gates off of their hinges, letting them crash to the ground. In an instant, the mob poured into the palace grounds like bacteria to an open wound, nothing being able to stop them from doing so. Some guards held grenade launchers and shot out the canisters onto the courtyard. The canisters clattered onto the ground, spilling out tear gas. The mob was enveloped in the smoke and stopped their advance, blinded by the chemicals. Their eyes spilled out their fluids as they stung, burning red. They choked as the gas entered their lungs, coughing and hacking. Others with gas masks made their way through the cloud, meeting their enemies. The royal guards aimed their machine guns and without hesitation, began to shoot down the advancing mob. The flag bearer waved his pride and glory in the air amidst all the chaos around him. Two seconds later, he was shot down. Bodies fell, the flow unceasing, but others jumped over corpses and fired their weapons at the guards. The guards and the mob met each other and the battle began as the church bells rang. The guards fought resiliently, slashing their bayonets, but most fell as they were quickly overwhelmed, outnumbered by far. One beefeater swung his axe at a man, separating his torso from his legs completely. The battle raged on, corpses quickly piling around both armies. The ground was covered in blood, turning the palace grounds into a red battlefield. King George VII quickly made his way up to the balcony of the castle, his priceless robes trailing after him, and looked down at the madness. He frowned, watching the ungrateful people slaughter one another. They did not understand. Nobody did. Maybe not even his own guards. They were just hired to protect him. Most of them probably did not even care about the state that the country had become. The king looked at the horizon. London was in flames and the roaring of the war was vibrating all over. The murky gas clouds turned red with fire as the sky burned. Suddenly, the doors opened up and George turned around, seeing a platoon of royal guards.

"Your Majesty, we have to evacuate immediately." One of them said urgently. George nodded and walked up to them. The guards parted, allowing him in and then closed again, surrounding him at all sides. The guards began to march through the palace, their hands on their machine guns, prepared to kill any intruder. They walked towards the exit doors at the side of the palace and opened them, making their way towards freedom. They were suddenly greeted by a firing line, rifles pointed right at them. A blaze of bullets was unleashed and most of the guards died instantly as the lead tore through them, no armour being there to protect them. The survivors were quickly gunned down before they could aim and George looked at his demise. He turned and his eyes widened when he saw the giant gas powered tank roll up to the palace gates. It hissed steam from all sides, escaping from valves. The brass armour was dull and rivets covered the entire vehicle, but the tank stood strong, not allowing anything to take it down. The barrel lifted up and it fired, flames exploding from the muzzle. The shell flew over to Buckingham Palace, destroying it, toppling it over. Windows exploded, chunks of the palace crashed to the ground. Another shell was released and the two middle pillars of the palace shattered, spraying concrete and glass everywhere. The mob suddenly surrounded George and grabbed him, heaving him up into the air. His crown fell to the ground and was quickly snatched away by one man. He held it up into the air as a trophy as he followed his allies. George could do nothing but see where they took him as he was carried by the angry mob. It was then, that his blood suddenly ran cold. Placed near the Victoria Memorial, was a stage with an executioner block on it, a wicker basket in front of it. There was a judge standing beside it, dressed in black robes and a white wig. Next to him, was an executioner that held a greatsword in one of his hands. The point of the sword was stuck into the ground and he rested his hands on the pommel, eagerly awaiting to carry out the sentence. He was dressed in a simple short sleeved top that showed his large and muscular arms. He looked like he could have crushed the king's tiny head in one hand, but decided to go with the traditional method. The mob carried the king up the steps onto the stage and then pushed him in front of the judge, forcing him to his hands and knees. The mob then retreated to the front of the stage, waiting for the show to commence. George stood up onto his legs once more and looked at the judge.

"You stand here guilty of abuse of power and intoxicating the city and its people." The judge said to him. "You shall be executed by manner of decapitation. Do you wish to say any last words?"

George turned to the mob. "Alright! I'm sorry!" He shouted at them. "I'm sorry for everything that I've caused, but of course, I know that won't change your mind. You all want me dead for this, of course you do. But don't you understand?! I was trying to protect this country! Those machines that were built are there to protect us from an invasion!"

Suddenly, the mob turned into a cacophony of swears, slurs and raging yells. Some people started to throw litter at the king. The one man that held the crown of the king suddenly threw it at the tyrant. It hit him in the face and the cross on top sliced his cheek open, causing the wound to pour fresh blood.

"Just kill him already!" One man at the front of the crowd yelled.

"Think about what you are doing! This is treason!"

"You are not our king!" Another shout echoed out. George frowned and sighed deeply.

"I have nothing else to say." The king uttered his last words.

"May the Lord have mercy on your soul, Your Majesty." The judge said. With that said, he forced the king to his knees and placed his head onto the blood stained chopping block. The executioner stepped up to the doomed king and raised his sword. He swung it downwards, lopping off the king's head in one fell swoop. The judge walked up to the severed head and picked it up by its hair, taking the fallen crown in his other hand. He displayed both relics to the crowd. Blood splattered onto the stage as the head quickly lost its fluids. The decapitated head of the king looked around, its eyes moving, blinking, staring at the bloodthirsty crowd, taking everything in. Five seconds later, it stopped, and the kingdom plunged into darkness.