Parallel II: A New Ordinance

13-WORN BOND

"There's a warehouse nearby, we could hide out in there and plan our next move," one member of the crowd shouted out into a sea of eager listeners. She pointed in its direction and we began to head toward it slowly and carefully. It was likely that most of the invaders were asleep at this hour, but we still wanted to make sure we didn't run into any trouble. Mothers with young children attempted to muffle their confused cries as the bugs hidden deep within the grass chirped freely and loudly as if one natural outcry was to be prohibited, yet another was irrevocably accepted. We got to the back door of the building and peered through its window to check for any sign of threats. "Do you have the key?" I asked, yet the man solemnly shook his head. "No, they took it from me some time ago, but I'm sure we can find some other way in..." He trailed off in a deep, meditative thought. "When they took me from the warehouse and claimed it, we were still working, and during working hours we typically don't lock that door so we can get in and out easier," he continued, "Meaning that they've locked it up themselves... they could still be in there." Suddenly, John, Troy, and many others in the crowd looked right at me. I knew exactly why.

After a few moments, I allowed the crowd to hide around the corner of the building. I could feel my heart pound with fear. In one hand, I held the gun John gave me, and with the other, I prepared to knock on that door and bring the threat of death to myself and, in far greater likelihood, everyone in that crowd from the prison. Perhaps I was, in some way, being used as bait in this fight, but I didn't mind. This fight was a clearly important one, it was a fight for the safety and lives of all of those people, those families, those children... If a risk to my life was disqualifying for an action of mine, then I don't think I would've done much of anything over these past years. But this felt different. This was a conflict that I felt truly meant something, and I didn't feel the slightest bit of doubt that I needed to knock on that door. So I did. I waited a few moments, the gun trembling in the hand that I kept behind my back. I heard nothing for quite some time, such a lengthy period, that I nearly turned around to face the crowd to my side. However, as soon as I began to turn my body around, the door started to slowly creak open, a foul squeal coming alongside it and filling my entire body with a scornful dread.

As the door opened fully, it revealed a small, young man standing there. He looked not much older than me and very normal. Instantly, I was reminded of Vilatamar, the boy I had known in the cult. The one who had taken sympathy and pity upon me despite the seemingly unanimous spite and vitriol that coalesced around me on a daily basis there. "Hello? Who are you?" He said, his voice full of innocence. Why did this keep happening? Why did, at every turn, I encounter a young soul placed into a group of soulless hatred? I didn't wish to take the life of someone who didn't sound deserving of any such punishment or attack, but I had no choice. I pulled out the gun and nearly fired, but soon enough, my thoughts were clouded with a strange idea. I pointed the gun at him carefully and with great caution, but did not fire, instead, I spoke. "Is there anyone else in the warehouse with you?" I asked. Perhaps it was foolish to hope for a truthful answer, but I had to try something to prevent myself from just taking another life when it wasn't truly necessary. The scorching embers of anger after Troy's injury and the fear for my life from back in the prison had both died down and now I wished to spare any bloodshed I could.

The boy looked at me with a face of unmistakable terror, which was understandable. His lip quivered as he pathetically tried to formulate a response. "Um... I... Well... It's just my father and I... Please..." He trailed off whilst looking into my eyes with a purely human expression; innocent fear. Those officers from the prison, most of the cultists I had ever had to bring to death, did not show any fear when threatened, and if they did it was not the fear of innocence, it was the fear of guilt. They did not fear that their life would be taken away for an unjustified reason, they knew exactly why they were in the situations they were in. Confident smiles as attempts to perpetuate their disgraceful evil, even in death, laughs to minimize the retaking of power that I had occupied myself with in this attempt on their lives, or terror that they would not be able to continue committing their acts of malice, these were all very familiar. But this face of pure fear, I hadn't seen it all too much, and it was a contagious expression, one which scared me whenever I saw it. Due to his response and his expression, I could tell this was no murderer, this was no monster.