The screams of the dying don't bother me much, but that hasn't always been the case.
Hell, there was a time when the thought of shooting a bunny filled me with sadness and remorse. Mostly because they cute as all heck, with them long floppy ears and two short nubby horns sitting over top one another in between their big round eyes, but also because I thought that the bunny might have a bunny mommy, bunny daddy, or bunny babies who'd miss them something fierce if I went and shot them dead. Was difficult not to empathize with the bunny, because I done grown up wishing I hadn't killed my mama and for my daddy to stay home more often instead of leaving so often. Plenty of nights I'd sneak out to the wall, which back in those days was right next to Ms. Dawson's confectionary store, and I'd climb on up to stare out at the forest and wonder when my daddy would be coming back or if he was already dead and I just didn't know it. Lost Uncle Raleigh too, and I saw how hard that was for Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray, so I didn't want to bring that sort of sadness to no bunny family.
That soft, silly, sympathetic Howie had to grow up quick though, because my daddy knew that no one soft would make it out here on the Frontier. He didn't force me to shoot that first rabbit, didn't tell me I only get to eat what I kill or any nonsense like that, but he brought me out hunting every chance he got and had me help clean his kills until I was ready. Taught me how to hunt responsibly too, like how you only kill what you can eat, avoid killing young or female animals during times when they might have young to look after. There was a lot more to it, but the one lesson that always stuck out was how you never take a shot unless you're sure it'll kill, and if you do screw up, you track the wounded animal down and put it out of its misery.
A rule that don't apply when it comes to hunting humans. Fact is, there's often an advantage to leaving your wounded enemies alive, because if your foes got any humanity in them, they'll be incentivized to help save their people, which means they might come out of cover and risk their fool necks to save their wounded brethren. Even if successful, it typically takes two healthy men to tend to one wounded, whether it be dragging them into cover or providing first aid to their injuries, so from a certain perspective, wounding one can be seen as tying up three enemies all at once. Long term, you also gotta account for the fact that wounded soldiers are a drain on resources, which can lead to funky things with regards to logistics, since now you gotta build a field hospital and deliver food and medicine for non-combatants who ain't nothing but dead weight when it comes to warfare.
A real cynical way to look at it, and intentionally wounding opponents ain't a tactic I've used myself. It's a valid one all the same though, which is what I tell myself as I listen to a kid younger than me screaming like a stuck pig and wailing for his mama. It's a harrowing sound to be sure, all high pitched and hoarse at the same time, with those raspy, scratchy breaths of someone who's on their last. The kid out there don't know it though, as he's screaming in sheer agony while panicking a fair bit, because unless his mama is a part of the team attacking us, I don't think she's in any position to help him.
Still calls for her all the same, and try as I might, I can't shut his voice out as I skate across the badlands in search of some way to engage the two sharpshooters who done opened up on the camp. I can see where they are from the muzzle flash of their guns, but they both picked good spots to perch in, elevated ridges on either side of the riverbed with enough cover for both to lay behind and clear lanes to provide support to one another should I approach to take one down. They ain't the most accurate shooters I seen, but they ain't half bad either, and I don't fancy my chances in a head on approach against their fast-firing semi-automatic weapons.
Far as I can tell, there were only 5 Vanguard in total, 3 of whom have already been dealt with. Two are dead, shot down on the charge, and the last is the one screaming his lungs out somewhere down in the riverbed. The humane thing to do would be to head over and put him out of his misery, because unless I saw wrong, my Bolt took him in the belly and he ain't walking away from that. A bad way to go, though I suppose there ain't many good ones, and the worst part is I just so happened to catch a glimpse of the kid's youthful features in picture perfect clarity as he went down, all lit up by the flames of my Firebolt as it took him down with his raised Maoser in hand.
He came here to kill me, so why should I feel any remorse for what he's going through now? He fucked around and found out. A lesson learned, but not a lasting one, because his life is measured in days, hours, or even minutes if he's really lucky, because a slow and painful death by sepsis is one of the worst ways to go. Won't bleed to death because the Firebolt is hot enough to cauterize wounds even as it makes them, but that don't make it better. I seen a man die from a gut shot before, and he was already too far gone to save when we came across the scene of his shootout with some outlaws.
Should've given him his last rites then and there, but he was so deep in denial he begged my daddy not to send him on his way. We all knew the score, but my daddy heeded the request all the same and we done dragged his bleeding, screaming, dying self a good 18 hours without rest and stuck around for another three days as he languished away in a little hut in a village with no real way to treat him. Not because they didn't have no doctor, but because there wasn't nothing anyone could do to keep him alive. Wasn't nothing slow or gradual about his death, and he died in slow inches fighting every step of the way. Long and arduous, that's the best way to describe, and he fought an unwinnable fight while his buddies did what they could to keep him alive even though the real mercy would've been to let him drink himself into a stupor before putting a Bolt through his heart to finish the job.
Like I ought to do for the kid down in the riverbed, but I can't risk exposing myself to rifle fire just to end his suffering a little sooner. What I can do is wrap this fight up quick, which is ideal in more ways than one, because the Aetherarm fire coming from the camp has got me all sorts of heated. Must be another team of Qin out here, but there ain't no way to help my people since these marksmen got us pegged. If I turn tail to head back to camp now, that's just giving them free rein to pick us off from afar. Don't matter how many shots they miss, because from the sound of their big, booming rifles with them tinny mechanical silencers, whatever guns they packing are Metamagicked up to the gills and likely Second Order Bolt Cores too.
Can't rightly snipe them, as they hunkered down on their elevated positions to present as small target as possible, and I can't even see them because I can't use Darkvision with the Nanfoodle and I don't got any other long-range rifle. Even if that wasn't the case, Darkvision ain't perfect, and between their camo cloaks helping them blend in to the stones and the muzzle flash messing with my vision through the goggles, I can't rightly make out either one of their profiles and can really only guess as to where they at. If I had a second or three to post up with the Nanfoodle and line up a shot, I'd give myself a 50-50 chance to hit it from my 50-metre range, which ain't great, but ain't terrible. Problem is, they'd have better odds because there ain't much cover to be had out here, so I'd hafta more or less stand out in the open and give them at least two free shots a piece.
That don't mean I don't do nothing of course, as I zig and zag all about while circling the one on the eastern side of the dried riverbed and taking pot shots at both just to keep their heads down. Gotta put some pressure on them so they ain't getting free shots off, but they're starting to acclimate to my speed and irregular movements so it's only a matter of time before they hit their shot. One is all they'll need, though maybe I'll just end up like the kid down there and get shot in the gut. If I'm being honest, I'd much prefer a quick and clean death to a slow, lingering one full of teary goodbyes, especially if I gotta watch someone I love go down trying to save me.
Or you know. I could not accept death and just kill them both, then put the kid out of his misery before heading back to save my family. Optimism, yeah? Still, I can't help but wonder, if that was me dying down there all gut shot like that, would I call out for my mama, or for Aunty Ray?
Dark thoughts to consider in the middle of a firefight, especially one where I don't got the upper hand, but I'm torn between pushing on forward or retreating away into the night and trying my luck at a literal shot in the dark. Neither option is good, because pushing forward means presenting a larger target to them shooters, whereas retreating means leaving them free to take potshots at my family down the way. The Faerie Fire would make it real easy to pick their shots, and I can't help but glance back even though I don't got Eagle Eye and can't make out heads or tails of what's going on over there. All I can do is trust in the girls to take care of themselves until I can deal with these two shooters without getting myself got.
The solution is simple, but far from easy, as these things rarely are. Reaching into my sparse consumable's pouch, I pull out two grenades and hard pivot to zoom straight at the closest shooter, keeping my head down and path erratic at the cost of speed and momentum. The first grenade gets lobbed out to somewhere round about halfway between me and my target, and it shatters on impact to erupt into a dense, purple Fog Cloud. One that measures 6 metres in radius, which sounds pretty big as 12 meters in a straight line is like 7 people lined up from head to toe. Don't seem all that big in practice when you counting on it to block line of sight between you and two shooters with a big honking rifles though, not at these ranges. The snap-hiss of rapid-fire Bolts flying by me is all too close for comfort, because it ain't like a little fog is gonna make them forget where I was. That's why I ain't a huge fan of Fog Cloud, because it always sorta felt obvious where I was gonna be, and if you fill that fog with enough Bolts, then you got a decent enough chance to hit.
Which is why I also use a Misty Step to drag me 10 meters to my left, away from where they done last saw me while they hopefully focusing on the Fog Cloud. The fact that they start hosing the Cloud down with Second Order Bolts shows that I was right to burn a Spell there, and I make use of the time I done bought myself to cover more ground and get as close to the first shooter as I can. Mostly so I can lob my second grenade right on top of him, with a throw that's more of a Hail Mary than anything else, and it lands close enough to do the job as it erupts not in another Fog Cloud, but a burst of noise and light.
Once bitten, twice shy, that's what they say, and after seeing my first Fog Cloud, I was hoping them shooters would be all wide eyed and focused on the task at hand so as not to lose me in the mist. All the better for my Flashbang to blind them both, though the further fella won't be all that affected, which is why he gets a second Flashbang all to himself after I count off 5 seconds and get a little closer. Then he gets a Fog Cloud too, just so he can't see shit even after he recovers, buying me precious time to skate up to the closer marksman, hop up onto his ridge, and put a Bolt through his chest while he's still disoriented and frozen with shock.
Flashbangs are a real nasty piece of work, one I should probably experience for myself sometime so I can know how they feel. If I'd've known it'd be this easy, I would've held off on the second Fog Cloud to make it easier to shoot the other marksman across the way. Costs me an extra fifteen seconds to get back to my Floating Disc and drive it across the dried riverbed, where I pop a Bolt off at the dying kid who looks much too young to be here. He wasn't screaming no more, just groaning and whimpering for his mama, with both bloody hands folded over his gut and a ghastly, twisted expression etched across his youthful features. Looks the same age as Who Sheng, maybe 13 at most, and I can't help but wonder who thought it was a good idea to send him against me.
Even if he was the best trained kid you done ever did see, he was still only 13. They didn't have any more experienced Vanguard to send after me? Why's he even out here in the badlands? They couldn't find someone a little older and more seasoned, like the marksman I just gunned down without a second thought? This kid's biggest concerns should've been homework and making friends, not dodging Bolts from the Firstborn out here on the Frontier, a lesson he didn't learn half as good as he ought to, though I suppose he didn't do too bad considering it took two shots to finish him off instead of one like his friends.
Jinfeng's words echo in my head, delivered in Who Sheng's voice with her customary clipped tones. "It is our place as the elders to offer guidance to those younger and aid to those older in a time when it is most needed." My daddy and the Marshal expected the same, trained me up because they saw how I had so much potential, potential they wanted me to use to help people same as them. Instead, I'm out here killing kids, and I can't even put all the blame on the Republic, because I know good and well these people didn't come out here to kill me. Not initially at least, not until I opened my big mouth and declared open season on all Qin in a threat I didn't entirely mean, but wasn't all that far from following through with.
Aunty Ray said it, didn't she? Even if I really truly meant it, wasn't nothing to be gained from saying it out loud. Who knows if that kid down there was one of the ones who looked up to me like Jinfeng claimed? Might be he was so disillusioned by the real thing, he volunteered to be here, to come kill the traitor he once idolized but had turned his back on his own people. Don't rightly know why it bothers me so much, because it ain't like this the first kid I killed. Or even the one who got it the worst. Won't ever forget little Joey, Joey Junior as it were, the Innate with the blue-spiked head who done killed Josie. I killed him for that, made him hurt and scream and beg for mercy. Cut his arms up and scalped him right in the streets I did, with him screaming and writing the whole time while I watched him suffer, and that never bothered me none.
Because he deserved it. Didn't matter that he was a kid, or that he was probably just as messed up as the Qin kid in the riverbed. Neither one stood much of a chance from the start really, raised by the wrong types and taught all the wrong things, and both came to a bad end at my hands. Can't help but remember how disappointed my daddy had been when he realized I killed them three those three Vanguard who shot him. "They are misguided," he told me, literally using his dying breath to speak for the people who killed him. "Have been lied to all their lives, so show them the truth with your actions and accomplishments. They are not your enemy. Remember this, Hao'er. You were not born in the Republic, but you are still a Son of the Republic, the Firstborn of a new generation, one who will lead your peers and your people to claim the Frontier."
How disappointed would my daddy be if he could see who I've become now? I ain't no Firstborn, just a killer and thug, a mercenary at best and murderer at worst, one who scalps and slaughters the kids he was supposed to inspire and murders men like Deputy Corey Macintyre and Conner Bell just because they was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I keep telling myself that it couldn't be helped, that circumstances forced my hand and their deaths were justified in the grand scheme of things, but that just ain't true. I done fucked up plain and simple, and I'll have to live with my mistakes for the rest of my life.
A good man would own up to his mistakes, confess, make reparations, and serve time for his crimes as it were, but I ain't ever claimed to be a good man. I'll take my secrets to the grave, but that don't mean they don't weigh heavy on me, a mountain of regrets from which I will never be free of. This here is just piling it on, and if there come a day when it all comes a crumbling down, I won't have no one to blame but myself.
Even after all that, I don't pull no punches against the second marksman, who I gun down the second I spot him come running out of the Fog Cloud. Towards his ally, not away, meaning he was of a mind to help out even though he had to know his partner was probably already dead. There's something to that, a camaraderie and duty that I wasn't expecting, as I was watching for him to appear on the other side of the ridge where he might well have taken another shot at me. Instead, he shows up front and centre to take a Firebolt to the chest, and his dying screams make me want to put this fancy rifle away and never bring it out again.
A shot with the Rattlesnake silences him for good, and I push it all out of mind to focus on the task at hand. Mostly because I just heard another big rifle go off, the same as the weapons these sharpshooters was using but coming from the other side of the wagon. Breaking out into a cold sweat, I double time it back to the wagon just in time to see Tina get the last of her prisoners in line, all trussed up and behind cover from the third sharpshooter who still out there in the darkness. The Faerie Fire done been dismissed, or the caster killed, though I assume it's the first since I don't see no dead bodies lying around. Just goes to show how different my thought process is, because even when they come under fire, Tina and Aunty Ray got room enough to pull their punches and take prisoners. Ain't ideal, because it's always more dangerous to take a prisoner than to stack a corpse, but I suppose they handled it well enough.
Don't love knowing they took the risk they did, but that's just who they are, and I'm just glad no one I care about was hurt.
Finding the last sharpshooter is simple enough, and after testing the waters, I realize he's a man alone and fighting scared, so I put a few Firebolts close to his position as I hurtle towards him until I'm well within range to speak. "Surrender now, and I'll spare your life," I shout, while taking cover behind a bit of rock where I can keep an eye on him without aiming down sights. Don't got much stomach for more killing tonight, not after that kid, but this guy took a shot at my family, so I'll make an exception for him if he don't do as I say right quick.
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Not that I expect him to, and he don't disappoint as he unloads Bolt after Bolt on my position. I move around and put out shots where I can until I get one so close he can't help but break and run. Then it's just a matter of putting a Bolt through his back, using the Rattlesnake after running him down of course. There's killing and then there's killing, and I've no desire to see anyone else burn to death tonight. Normally, the heady rush of victory is something to be cherished, but I gain no satisfaction from this battle today, not even when I pick up the man's fancy rifle to have a look-see at what he was packing. It's a nice, solid weapon that looks like the AK47's bigger, meaner cousin, which tells me it's probably of Soviet make. Could see myself using one of these, especially if it can be modified like the Ogre's Bane to turn it fully automatic, or at the very least equip it with a Burst Bolt Core instead of Bolt 2 to put more Bolts downrange.
With the fight over and done with, I figure I ought to head back and grab them other two rifles too because you can never have too many guns. As an afterthought, I grab the corpse at my feet and pile it onto my Floating Disc to bring back to the wagon alongside the rest of his dead companions. Couldn't take no prisoners, but I might could see about sending the dead back home with the rest, if only to avoid giving them another excuse to come calling to collect. Furious as I am over this attack on my family, I can't help but grimace as I return and see the prisoners once more, because they children one and all, just four kids who don't know any better. Three look down as dogs, including one who can't stop crying, while the fourth kneels in haggard defeat until he sees me coming up to him. Then he straightens his back and holds his head up high to glare at me in open challenge, before opening his mouth to deliver an actual one after the fact. "Hao Wei! I admit defeat, but not to you. I challenge you to single combat with blade or fist! Do you dare accept?"
Rubs me the wrong way it does, not just the challenge itself, but the way he delivers it, like he ain't already on his knees and bound with rope. Instead of replying, I look to Tina and say, "If you can't find no rags to gag them with, I got a pair of dirty old underwear that'll do in a pinch."
Don't get it twisted. I ain't none too happy about having to kill no kids, but that don't mean I'm gonna play nice. The kid who challenged me goes all red in the face, but I pay him no mind and head over to check on Aunty Ray, who's standing ready with her Whumper and a tired look on her face. She ain't none too happy about having to fight off these kids either, nor about all the bodies we done left in our wake. To lift her spirits some, I give her arm three quick squeezes so as not to get in her way, then say, "I recall someone tellin' me that these men here just wrangled up an Abby horde and tried to take a run at us, so I best play for keeps." Glancing at the four prisoners and back at her, I give her a soft smile and ask, "Rules for thee, but not for me?"
Giving me a frosty look that's got more love than chill, Aunty Ray retorts, "I also recall sayin' I ain't here to tell you your job, so I'll thank ye kindly not to tell me mine." Her shoulders slump at the end of it all as she looks over at the prisoners too, her heart no doubt breaking to see what she sees. "They're just kids Howie. Young 'uns who got no business bein' out here."
"I know." Though I try to sound cool and detached as can be, there ain't no fooling Aunty Ray, who catches something in my tone and gives me a look of concern and commiseration. "They came at us hard though, so they only got what they deserve. What goes around and what comes around, remember?"
"I hear you," she says, leaning in to touch her shoulder to mine for just a little bit of comfort. Doesn't say the next part though, the part where she wishes none of this had to happen, because even though they ain't entirely free of all blame, you can't really say I'm wholly innocent here either. I done said what I said and threatened to kill them all, so ain't like this aggression was wholly unprompted. My conscience should be clean, but it ain't, and that bothers me more than it should considering these people just took a run at me and my family. Rather than dwell on it in the moment, I grab a Floating Disc sled and bring it out with me to collect them other corpses, three of whom are younger than young, while the two sharpshooters were older same as the Scouts I done captured earlier in the day.
Who are all still bound and helpless when I come a skating back with the bodies and stop to collect them too. They don't say nothing, but Qian's crestfallen features speaks volumes when he sees the kids stacked atop my Floating Disc and lowers his head to pay his respects. Which makes me all the angrier, because it ain't like I wanted to kill them. Not really, but they didn't give me no choice now did they, opening fire on us like they did in the middle of the night, so they got what's coming. This ain't on me. These kills were justified, so why should I feel so… guilty?
That's a word I use all too often when I kill a man. Justified. I had good reason to kill these Qin kids. Same good reason I had to kill Junior and his wannabe gangster friends back in July and the Puglianos after the fact. Wasn't wrong to kill Ronald Jackson and most of his Vanguard National crew either, or them sad sack bandits who tried to rob me, Errol, and Sarah Jay on our way up to Meadowbrook. Thing is, I'm starting to see it now, starting to understand why folks still look at me funny even though I'm almost always justified in my kills.
Because sometimes, justification ain't enough reason to pull the trigger and end a life.
Seems obvious in retrospect, but sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees. What might've happened if I'd taken these fellas down without killing them? I probably could've done it. Thrown out a Spike Growth to hold the three kids in place and give them a chance to toss their weapons aside and surrender instead of killing them outright. Some might call that going soft, but really, it's the harder choice, because you gotta be confident in your skills to take a man alive, and while many think me too big for my britches, I've always tried to be objective about what I can and can't do. Know your limits, that's what my daddy always told me, so that I could know when to work within and when to push them. With that in mind, my mantra lately has been to shoot first and let God sort out the rest, because I couldn't afford to start a fight off on the back foot, and I always go for the kill because I ain't confident I can keep myself safe while bringing prisoners in alive.
Or in other words, I've been fighting scared. I thought I needed that edge, that extra advantage, that readiness to inflict violence and harm to keep myself unharmed. Aunty Ray had it right. I was careful, but then I let my guard down, and I been overcompensating ever since. Wayne even pointed it out, how folks can make a living travelling up and down the Highway all throughout the year, making my high body count an outlier among travellers. Didn't pay him no mind, but now I'm thinking he wasn't all wrong. Said it didn't I? I bring the wrong sort of energy to a chance encounter, one that screams I'm looking for a fight, and that sort of thing is contagious, so end of the day, I've been reaping what I sowed and more often than not overlooking that fact.
These kids? They was out for blood here tonight, but they wasn't the last time we met. Couple days ago, they wanted to bring me in to the Republic alive and well, were too afraid to even pat me down or make eye contact while taking me prisoner. Today though? They was armed for bear because I done declared war on them, and they came ready for it. I asked for this fight, so I at least share some of the blame, and if that's the case then, am I really morally justified in killing them all out of hand? If I had held my tongue a bit, warned them off from coming after me and mine instead of threatening to kill every Qin on sight, would they have still tried to kill me like they did? Difficult to say, because I can't know what another person might do.
I can only control what I do, and I ain't been doing much of that lately.
Be less like Uncle Raleigh, and more like my daddy. That's what Aunty Ray told me, and even though she was being a little tongue in cheek about it, she wasn't wrong to say it. She knew I was running off to look for trouble, to kill some fools and feel better about it, and even though I didn't find them, I ended up doing it all the same. Now I've gotta swallow that bitter pill of regret, because I see that my enemy ain't all a bunch of Republic drones who hate me for what I am. No, they're mostly just kids doing what they thought was right, or what they was ordered to do because they done ate up all the party lines and don't know any different. I mean, even if they harboured any doubts, I done threatened to kill anyone who looked like them moving forward, so why wouldn't they feel justified in coming after me?
Eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. I never really got it before today, but I'm starting to see it now.
Too little too late for the bodies piled onto my Floating Discs, a bunch of kids who had a bright future ahead of them until I came around. Wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be the Firstborn, the shining example for my generation to look up to as I lead them all as the tip of the spear in the war against Abby. That was my dream growing up, and truth is, a dream I still cling to even though I can't hack it anymore. So where did it all go wrong then? When did I become the man I am today? An angry, bitter, scared little man who shoots first and cares nothing for no one besides his own? I could've spared these kids, sent them packing to risk life and limb on the journey home, or brung them in alive if I worked a little harder at it. Might not have been as cut and dry as killing them all, but at least I wouldn't be feeling all conflicted like I am.
Because like always, Aunty Ray was right. Ever since my daddy died, I've been picking fights with anyone and everyone I can, and it's only gotten worse in recent months. Now I'm here hauling the burnt bodies of a bunch of kids who might well have looked up to me a week ago, right up until I opened my mouth and crushed all their hopes and dreams. Much as I hate the title, they were right to foist it upon me, because unlike my daddy, I might well truly be the Yellow Devil.
Ain't no cure for regret, and I'll be living with this one for a while longer yet, one to add to the ever-growing list. What I can do is try and do better moving forward, to reflect on my actions and be more like my daddy, more like the Firstborn he wanted me to be. That ain't ever gonna be me, the standout talent and hero of a generation, but that don't mean I gotta toss it all aside and go in the complete opposite direction. Might be there was a middle ground I could've found with the Qin, somewhere between where we were and where we are that wouldn't leave me stacking bodies of kids I was supposed to lead and inspire. They wasn't wannabe gangsters out for blood, but staunch soldiers who believed they was doing what was necessary to protect them and theirs, and while most don't care much for them, I'm of the opinion that intentions matter.
The world can't just be black and white, with the outcome being the end all be all that there is. Good intentions gotta count for something, and I've been working with anything but for too long now. That's why the town turned on me, why the Marshal is so disappointed in me, and why Aunty Ray is so afraid to leave me be to do as I please like she has in the past. Because they can all see the man that I've become, someone who's only a little better than the bandits I gun down because I'm in it for all the wrong reasons, and that matters. I ain't no lawbringer like Sheriff Patel or Sheriff Glover, no righteous man like the Marshal or even a good one like Marcus who was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. Nah, I'm just an angry, bitter man who kills because it's all I'm really good at, and I can't stomach the thought of a quiet life without any bloodshed to be had.
Carter saw that early on, tried to steer me away from the mess I done found myself in. He don't relish the fight like I do, don't seek it out wherever it might lie. No, he avoids it as best he can, will swallow his pride and struggle to make ends meet and pay his protection fees even though he could've easily killed Michael and his goons with laughable ease. That there is real strength, the strength to endure whatever might come in order to keep his family safe, and I envy him that strength. Just look at what I done. I couldn't stomach the thought of these Qin getting away unpunished, so I done rode away from my family and left them in the lurch out here in the badlands, with an Abby horde only a little ways away and no safety or solace to be had. Didn't find them, but might well have led them back to our campsite and endangered the people I love the most because I wanted to let off a little steam with a good bit of bloodshed.
Should've stuck with the wagon and kept my family safe instead of running off looking for yet another fight. A fight that came to me as it were, and has left me feeling all sorts of sour, because now I'm going over everything I done lately and not liking what I find. I ain't been living these past few months. I've been tempting fate, fixing to go down in a blaze of glory or suicide by guard, and I didn't much care which way it went. Can't say I wanted to die, but I gotta admit I wasn't all that concerned about the future, so make of that what you will. At most, I wanted to make sure my family was taken care of even after I was gone, which is why I wanted to bring Tina out to the mesa in the first place, to show her the Aetheric Condenser and how to maintain it after I'm gone. Could say that I was just playing it safe, covering all my bases as it were, but truth is I'd recognized my risky behaviour might well see me dead soon enough, and rather than change anything about myself, I simply accepted the risks and made plans for what might happen after the fact.
That ain't normal. To be prepared for death just like that without so much as batting an eye, and while I might've believed I didn't have nothing to lose, this trip has shown me just how much I still got left. Three people might not seem like much, but to me, they're my world, my everything, so it's high time I started acting like it.
Talk is cheap after all. Actions speak louder than words, yet my words and my deeds have placed me and my family in more danger, not less. Threatening to kill any and all Qin on sight and coming out here to kill the kids acting in retaliation to those threats is why we're in this mess, why we haven't gotten much sleep in the last 48 hours and likely won't for another 48 hours moving forward after all the ruckus we made. All because I couldn't keep my mouth shut and felt like uttering threats backed only by a belly full of ire. My daddy never issued threats. He spoke facts, and people respected him for it. They didn't much like him, but he gave it to them straight. You pull a gun and he'd shoot you dead, no two ways about that, with none of the rage or violence I rely on so often to get my point across.
Just goes to show how much more I can still learn from my daddy, both from his lessons and the way he lived his life. It's so easy to see the difference, because I handled Qian the way my daddy would've, but dealt with this attack in my usual fashion, and we can all see how that played out. Not great for me or them, because not only am I saddled with all these prisoners, corpses and regrets, but the noise of our brief fight done brung the Abby horde back towards us. I can sense them coming, having cast Detect Abby in between collecting guns and corpses and finding them much too close for my liking. Still far enough off in the distance, but not all that far considering the speed with which they are approaching, and now I can't even leave the prisoners behind in good conscience.
Because that'd be as good as killing them, or worse, subjecting them to a fate worse than death as Abby incubators, and I don't have the heart to disappoint my loved ones any more than I already have.
It ain't easy though, because I know good and well the smart move is to drop all the dead weight and leave them for Abby while me and mine get gone. It's a tempting proposition, because 7 living prisoners and 6 dead bodies ain't a bad haul for them angry Feral, and might well be enough to calm their tempers and send them back into hibernation. Doubly tempting when the scowling, arrogant shit looks down his nose at me again and declares, "If you are too afraid to accept my challenge, then so be it, but a soldier can only be killed, not humiliated." Meeting my eyes while struggling not to glance down at the bodies by my feet, he trembles in place with hands bound behind his back and declares, "Mínguó wànsuì!"
Probably meant for it to sound confident, all calm and stoic as can be. Same as his daddy even, because I see the resemblance now, a man who was proud and unafraid as he stared down the barrel of my Sturm and Kitiara Squire and saw the rage in my eyes. That man didn't blink, but the kid most certainly does as I snarl and grab him by the collar to give him a good shake. "So you ready to die then, boy?" I ask, putting that sharp inflection into the word which I myself hate so much. "Ten Thousand Years of Longevity to the Republic, that's what them words mean don't it? You ever stop to think why you use that phrase the way you do? They way your daddy did before I shot him dead?"
The kid's eyes go hard and ugly, and I drink it all in, because hate and anger is something I understand. "You say it because you think you gonna die, but you don't care because the Republic will last another ten-thousand years. That sound about right?" I don't even wait for the kid to nod, because this ain't about him, not really. It's about my beef with the Republic which done dragged these kids into it, done got three killed by my own hand and leaving me reeling under the weight of what I done. It ain't just because they kids, but made all the worse for it, because my daddy trained me to protect the women and children, to look after those who could not look after themselves, and I done disgraced him here today and over the last few years too.
"Well you wrong," I say, throwing the kid back to his knees so I can glare at the other three young ones to make sure they paying attention. Don't none of them meet my eyes, but even the shell-shocked crying kid has stopped sniffling to listen, while the three scouts kneel with heads bowed like good little servants waiting for punishment. Which pisses me off even more, because it makes me feel like the bad guy, and from their perspective, I can't say that they wrong. "The way I see it, those words are a declaration of all the years the Republic has taken. Ten Thousand years for the Republic, and you know where it got them? From fools like you ready to give up their lives." Meeting the first kid's eyes, I scowl at how he seems wholly unrepentant, stubborn as a mule and unwilling to listen. "You want ten thousand years for the Republic, but you only get eighteen. That sound fair to you?"
My words hit a nerve, because loathe as he is to admit it, he ain't ready to die. He's scared and full of regret, grasping at straws to justify how he'd ended up like he is and parroting things he done heard but don't fully comprehend just to feel better about his circumstances. He came out here to take my head, that much is true, but he never once considered he might come out on the losing end, because he's young and dumb and full of vim and vigour like most kids our age usually are. Youth ain't usually a time for considering the consequences, but for taking chances and hopefully coming out on top, except this kid didn't do so hot, and neither did his friends.
So now they staring down the figurative barrel while the big, bad Yellow Devil looms over them in threat, and they all terrified of what comes next. Was a time when I hated the name, because my daddy didn't deserve it, and then I embraced it because it's what I thought I wanted to be, but now I hate it more than ever and don't want nothing to do with it.
The kid in front of me ain't ready to accept my words for truth, is still deep in the cool aid and ready to give his life for his nation, but his nation don't give two shits about him. "Told you already that your daddy said the same thing before he died," I say, so furious I can't keep my voice from shaking as I do. "He knew what was coming and had made his peace with it, because he'd done his patriotic duty and that was enough. Didn't matter that he was leaving a son behind to live out his days without him. He was happy to give the rest of his years to the Republic, because that's what was expected. I ain't gonna ask how'd that work out for you, because I already know the answer. I will ask this though. How many years he get? If he was the same age as my daddy, then they both only got thirty a piece, robbed of a good fifty more probably if they was lucky. Call it another twenty-five each, and that's fifty years between the two of them, and another fifty for the other two who died that day. A hundred years right there, a good one percent of those ten-thousand years you done called for the Republic." Gesturing at the bodies by my feet, bodies the kid has yet to even look at, I ask, "How many more years we got here then?"
The kid meets my gaze in open defiance, and furious as I am, I want to grab him by the back of the head and force him to look upon what I have wroth, but I done made that mistake before with Errol and don't need to make it again. Instead, I look away and take in my handiwork, see the face of the kid who was gut shot and screaming for his mama and all of a sudden, I've gone back almost ten years to being that stupid, stilly kid again, the one who done cried because my daddy told me to shoot a bunny that was much too cute die.
The kid ain't hurting no more, but I know good and well it's only beginning for his mama and the people who loved him.
"Stupid is what this is," I snarl, fighting back my tears not just because I killed these kids, but because I hate what I've become. I don't want to be here, standing over a bunch of bodies I done just made and reeling from the fear of almost losing my family tonight. A tribulation I done brung down on them myself, because for all my talk about keeping my family safe, as soon as my blood gets hot, I go running off and leave them to fend for themselves, now don't I? "The Republic's got their ten-thousand years and then some, so they ain't gettin' so much as a minute of my time. You want to die for the Republic, then say the word and I'll send you on your way, but don't think that the Republic will thank you for it."
The kid blanches, and though I can see him struggling between his pride and his life, he's smart enough to know I ain't playing around. So he settles down and looks upon his fallen comrades for the first time, and that face alone is enough to make me feel like the Yellow Devil once more.
Anger floods through me once more, and this time I embrace it fully and direct it into something productive. Abby be coming, and Cowie and the horses can't do another 12 hours of running, much less the 48 I suspect we'll need before we get safe and sound behind the walls of New Hope. So if running is out of the question, that means I gotta fight and kill some Abby a most welcome palate cleanser after this mess here tonight.
Yeah, I don't much like the moniker folks gave my daddy, but tonight, I'll put the fear of the Yellow Devil into Abby even if it's the last thing I'll ever do.
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