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Plowshares Into Swords [IC]


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"I fired my full magazine into him," said the soldier as he fell to the ground, freed from Push's kinetic bonds. He pushed himself to his feet, but he still seemed to sway in place. "And then I reloaded, and did it again. I did it from Maputo to Johannesburg, until I could see the rising sun through what was left of his chest. And that was when I knew release. There had been a victor. All, for once, was well. And that was when we -- me and my host -- knew our purpose. We knew it was to mete out justice, righteousness by arms. Let the truth be written by the victor."

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Sil nearly had to jump out of the way as the lightning struck the spirit,

"¡Hijo híbrido de una cabra de billy!"

She glared at Warlock and let out a breath but settled a bit when Push didn't repeat the idiocy and actually approached,

"Thank you for catching onto that too."

She walked over and looked down the spirit,

"I have to say, that is absolute horse spit. That wasn't righteousness, it was revenge. It was revenge for a betrayal, a cause and effect and what you're doing now has absolutely nothing to do with that. What you're doing now is just violence, pointless, meaningless violence, that is forcing a bunch of people to make choices that they'll regret for the rest of their lives. But, you still have a choice, you have always had a choice, you can let this all go, let the hate and violence die and let people have their will to make their own choices again."

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The soldier held his Thompson gun, considering it. His head lolled briefly, and he looked at the group -- but seemingly with a different set of eyes. "But this is who we are." This was not the man's normal voice; this was something primal, something made from drum beats and fresh blood. "From the time of the first tribes. Through the rock, to the spear, to the sword, to the bow, to the gun. Since turmoil and tension has reigned over creation, I have guided its flow."

"'Guided?'" Cannonade stepped forward. "You've gotta understand, this stuff isn't necessary. God knows I've wanted to pound the crap out of some assholes, but if that was the first thing I did whenever anyone pissed me off, I'd be leaving behind a whole trail of hurt. There's always gotta be the possibility of negotiation, of the middle ground. Some people won't ever go for it -- they've got their rock, they'll die on it -- but you can't just force every conflict into a goddamn fistfight. Not everyone's a soldier, and not everyone's suited for war. There's always got to be the chance for peace."

"And there is." The second voice looked up. "Once they see what their dispute has cost. This is what I have done since the forging of the world. What would you have me do? Take up a silent vigil instead?"

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"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, Roland. And many can't find peace, even after the conflict is done. Many who kill in the name of a conflict can't stand themselves. They have feelings, and a conscience! Have you considered that? Many people take their internal pain to their graves. Not every conflict merits death, or even pain. Diplomacy can do so much, and create peace in nations. Not all humans are war-like. As heroes, we all try to keep the peace." Warlock looked at the man with a hard stare. He was ready to take him down in an instant if this plan failed.

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The soldier considered his gun. "Perhaps..." He looked out to the city below; where once he had exulted in the sounds of tumult, now he seemed to regard it dispassionately. "Perhaps we have forced the hand of the world. It is my duty to guide conflict and shape it... but it is not my duty to break the dam, or throw an ember in the straw." He stretched his free hand out, reaching towards the night, and sliced the air, as if cutting invisible strands. The noise in the city below slowly began to die down -- the crunching of metal, the shattering of glass, the myriad shouts.

He turned back to the heroes. "There was... and still is... a hunger deep inside. It may have pitted Roland in his last few moments, and in its rage, appeared righteous. But now comes the time to guide, and not sow. We... thank you. There is work to be done. Properly, this time."

With that, the soldier crossed the roof, walking to the stairwell. He passed through the door and was gone.

"I... think that was a success," Cannonade said. "Keyword being 'think.' Always a chance we may have to track him down and feed him his gun. What the hell was he?"

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Sil let out a sigh as Warlock didn't continue the fighting and let down her hands while the dude started talking again. She waited quietly, not responding, or really giving any input as he left the seen. Instead, she turned to Cannonade and said,

"I have no bloody idea. But that's a common a trend nowadays."

She started stretching a bit and cracked her neck, than looked around.

"Good work though, and thanks, for well being able to stop. Gotta admit, I really didn't want to myself. I wanted to pound his hide all day, but it seemed a bit too convinient a solution you know, too easy to be the right choice."

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Push slung his hammer wordlessly over his shoulder, then tapped his commlink and looked out over the city, somewhat morose. He saw the lights of Lazarus rise up from the alley where he'd left it, and approach across the skyline at top speed towards the rooftop.

"...Yeah. Would've been satisfying as all hell, but..."

He trailed off, then shook his head, grimacing beneath the scarf. Seeming to settle something in his mind, he then turned and offered a hand to the others.

"At least we got the job done. Nice work, guys."

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Warlock shook Push's hand, looking into his peer's eyes. "Thank you, Push." He turned to the others, his eyes seeking sympathy. "About what happened before- I don't know what came over me. I guess his spirit got to me, too." He sighed, and put a hand to his head. "I just...that's a side of me I've never seen before. The one that lashes out at what makes it angry. I'm glad we were able to solve it with diplomacy though, instead of violence."

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