I look at Glory Girl and purse my lips. If I were standing here simply as Taylor Hebert, I would have continued apologizing, explaining, making excuses, throwing up my hands and lowering my eyes. Because Glory Girl is a Hero! A girl I genuinely admired, whose poster hung in my room. You understand? How often do you talk to someone whose poster hangs on your wall? And she's the only one from the entire pantheon of Taylor's heroines that I've seen like this - face to face. I haven't yet met Narwhal or Alexandria... though, Miss Militia... but I felt considerable reverence before her too.
I probably would have even started begging her. Getting on my knees and grabbing at her with my hands, then sobbing inconsolably. But... today I'm not here as Taylor Hebert, the shy girl who has walls full of posters of half-naked heroines in tight costumes. Today on the wasteland by the "Colosseum" stands Administrator. I'm being filmed from all sides, not just by Leet and Uber, but I'm sure - dozens of phone cameras, if not hundreds. Some are even livestreaming. Today I represent not just myself. Today I'm the tip of the spear, the top of the iceberg, I represent dozens, hundreds of people here. Lisa Wilbourn, who believed in me, Thomas Calvert, who didn't have much choice, Noelle, whom I promised I'd find a way to return her body, Trickster, whom I promised I'd fulfill my promise to Noelle, Jane "Mama" Rodriguez, whom I promised nothing, but I'm her boss, and herboss can't be a whiny mess. I also represent my father, to whom I promised that no one would ever bully me again. I represent the people of the Docks and the Center, who want to live in peace and safety. I represent that weeping girl whom my operators pulled out of the APP's underground brothel, to whom I promised that it would never happen again. And of course, I represent myself. Hebert the Seventeenth, the proud daughter of the Heberts.
And you also represent us. - a voice sounds in my head: - even if it's not the greatest legacy, it's still something. No one can push the Butcher around. It's time to teach her a lesson.
I should have called myself the Teacher, - I scoff, tilting my head to the side, stretching my neck: - I always have to teach someone.
That's life, Taylor, live and learn, - the voice in my head smirks: - make her hurt. But not too much. Since we're keeping up appearances… make her hurt, but do it quickly.
Today I'm going to take you down and deliver you to the SCP, as I should have done a long time ago! - Glory shouts, raising her hands and getting ready to fight!
Glory. - I say, turning my head to her: - I hope you understand what you're doing. Please step aside. You've already attacked me. You've attacked a representative of the Administration. You have your first warning. Stop the aggressive actions. If you want, we can wait for the SCP together; they've already been called.
You can't buy me with those tricks, Taylor. - Glory raises her hands: - you can buy the entire SCP, you can bribe Director Piggot, you can pay off or blackmail the mayor, but you can't buy me!
Oh, for God's sake. - I roll my eyes: - I'm not going to fight you, Glory.
And I'm going to beat the crap out of you! - Glory lunges at me, swinging her right fist at my head. It all happens in an instant - just a moment ago she was flying at me in a heroic pose with a look of rage on her pretty face, and the next moment she's lying on the ground in a cloud of dust, which she kicked up as she fell with all her speed. Ouch.
She groans, trying to lift her head, but I knee her in the back and bind her hands behind her back with metal cuffs. One of the Butcher's abilities is to grow metal on surfaces he touches. And these aren't ordinary handcuffs with a short chain between them that she could break with a simple movement of her hands; no, this is a massive chunk of metal that her wrists sink into, as if it were cast in that shape. The same happens with her legs. I stand up, look around. I pick up the pieces of my helmet from the ground, pressing the front panel to my face, and the piece of the right panel to my ear.
Report on SCP arrival. - I drop into the radio, hoping the comms still work.
Tssht. ETA five minutes. The Armory and Miss Militia are on their way. - the voice crackles in the broken earpiece.
Got it. I'll handle it myself. Romeo Tango Bravo. Execute.
Tssht. Roger wilco. Over. - I toss the helmet fragments aside and look at Glory, who is writhing at my feet, trying to free herself. I smirk, seeing her hair flying up. Of course. She's trying to take off. But… she's not just in cuffs. The metal goes underground; half of the wasteland is a massive device designed to keep one very hot girl in place. The Taming of the Shrew - that's what I'll call this move. Glory is strong; she can lift cars and twist telegraph poles into knots… but even she can't lift the underground metal structure, which now resembles tree roots, going down nearly twenty meters and sideways for a good hundred!
Glory growls something unintelligible, trying to break free, but to no avail. I sit down on the ground next to her, crossing my legs. I'll have to wait for the SCP; otherwise, I might be misunderstood.
Unfortunately, you're no match for me. - I say, and Glory quiets down, listening: - you never were.
What was that?!
Pain impulse. Just a quarter of the usual power. Confusing, isn't it? Like your entire nervous system is on fire. Very hard to stay on your feet. If it's your first time, you have no chance at all.
Bitch.
What can I say? - I shrug: - listen, stop acting like a spoiled brat. Life is unfair; accept that fact. And really, what's with the black-and-white thinking, heroes-villains? Life is colorful.
I hate you so much!
Yes, yes. I like you too, Glory. Lie down, save your breath.
You! I will kill you!
Oh? Just like that, without trial or investigation? Just because… how was it - "on the grounds of mutual dislike"? And who among us is the villainess? You don't have to answer, Glory. - I lift my head and look at the starry sky: - that was a rhetorical question.
Why? Tell me - why?! - she says, lowering her voice: - why? Why do you kill people left and right, as if they were just rag dolls? Does it give you pleasure? Why… I thought I could trust you!
Listen, I already apologized. I could do it all day, but you don't care, do you? What's the point? If you had given me a chance…
So you give me the chance? By killing people!
I always give them a chance to realize their mistakes and surrender. I give a second chance. To everyone. And I ask the same from you, no more.
Yeah? Then what about my second chance?! Why am I still lying on the ground in this humiliating position?!
If you promise not to fight, I'll take the metal off you. - I reply: - we can talk civilly.
… fine. - Glory says hoarsely into the sand.
Sorry, I didn't hear you. - I press.
I won't attack you, okay?! Do you hear me?! Let me go!
Fine. From now on, watch yourself, young lady. - I can't help but jab and with a flick of my finger dissolve the metal into the air. Glory immediately jumps to her feet and flies into the air, hovering half a meter above the ground. She looks at me warily. Did I make a mistake? Well… so what. If she attacks me again, she'll get a second lesson, much more painful. Interestingly, I thought she was smarter than Sophia, but it turns out Glory can argue with her when it comes to stubbornness. The Phantom Stalker immediately understood that I was no match for her and tucked her tail, while this one… and I didn't even speak to them in the language of strength at first; I made it clear that it was better to talk to me than to throw punches. What is the purpose of speech if not to negotiate, rather than beat each other up? Because if I rip Glory or Stalker's head off, no Panacea will sew it back on.
You keep your word. - Glory says, looking at me: - you… don't seem so… but… how do you do it? You…
I kill people, yes. - I nod: - I have a friend, Dmitry. A good guy, a fifth-tier operator from Russia. No cape, nothing like that. A cheerful, kind fellow. And he has a personal graveyard that's almost as big as this wasteland. He's not here right now; he would have quoted Dostoevsky to you. I'm not that much of a scholar myself; I only remember "I am a trembling creature, or do I have the right."
Don't change the subject!
I'm not changing it. Why do I kill people? Partly because I have no other way to solve issues. And yes, many of those bastards who kept girls tied to beds and filmed snuff videos probably should have gotten a lawyer and a trial. But I don't have time for that. When you chop wood, chips fly. I understand the humanists; I wouldn't want to be on the other side of the gun myself; I asked the SCP for just that - a lawyer and the right to defense. I guess I'm a hypocrite. Yeah… what can I say? I'm a hypocrite. I need my city to be as it should be, and it will be, or I'll die trying. Let it be so. And if anyone stands in my way - whoever it may be - people, beasts, demons, Reapers, or even Buddha himself - I will walk through them. Or die. It's that simple, Glory. I have no right to lecture you; I have no high moral ground; everything I do, I do because I want to, and nothing more.
You're just a selfish person, Taylor…
Oh, yes. I'm a selfish person. I want everything to be fine for me. But unfortunately, I can only be fine if my loved ones are fine. And those loved ones have their own loved ones. Experiencing happiness behind a high fence topped with barbed wire and machine-gun towers around the perimeter… that's not really happiness. Not quite happiness. So I want to make this world a little safer and kinder. Of course, if it takes killing a certain number of people to do that - I will do it. How am I different from any dictator or tyrant in the past? Probably not at all. I'm no better than them. You are better than me. People like you, Glory… you're either naive and young, or truly wise and enlightened. Unfortunately, I'm not there yet.
Taylor, it's not too late… I mean, my mom says it's too late, but I don't want to believe that. - Glory says: - surrender, please. Admit everything and… maybe they'll even forgive you; you're one of the Butchers, it's a temporary madness; you're not that deep down…
Right there, I'm itching to agree with you. - I say: - but I won't abuse your trust again. After all, you gave me a chance, and I promise never to mislead you again. So… unfortunately, I am who I am. I have my own path, and I won't spare myself or others while following it.
When did I give you a chance? - Glory squints.
Just now. When you first accepted my offer and asked me to free you, promising you wouldn't fight. And then - we're talking and still haven't torn each other to pieces.
I'd tear your throat out if I could, you know… - Glory grumbles: - you're a damn imba… you should be thrown to the Reaper, let it choke on you.
You mean this forced truce, and if I were weaker, you'd have beaten me long ago, breaking your word? - I lean back, resting on my hands and looking at the sky: - is that so?
No, but…
So we managed to talk today without tearing each other into tiny pieces. Of course, I assume the pieces would have been yours… but still.
You're unbearable, Taylor. - she says, and I look at her. She's hovering half a meter above the ground, not far from me, her face focused, and her eyes narrowed. Somewhere nearby, the siren of SCP vehicles sounds. The evening has just begun, and everything is already off plan.
You know, I just thought. - I say: - you probably have a ton of questions. And yes, I owe you for that time. Let's sit somewhere in a cozy corner where they serve decent coffee and good desserts. Dress in civilian clothes, we'll sit, talk. Finally, let's put all the dots over the "i" and the sticks over the "t." Because every time it's like this with us - first we beat each other up, and then we talk. If I didn't know you personally, I'd assume you had a fetish. That you're a masochist and love being tied up and whipped.
Taylor! Argghh… and I just promised not to fight!
It's hard to keep your word, Glory…
Stop calling me that. Just Glory.
So, just Glory - how about we meet up later? Let's finish here today and… I know a nice Italian restaurant; it's quiet, and they have private booths, no paparazzi.
I'll need to change. My mom will tear my head off.
You don't even use it anyway.
Taylor!