Casual Heroing

Life is a matter of perspective. If you watch Madagascar with a cynic eye, it’s the tale of an old person who spent his whole life doing meaningless things, a drug addict, an egomaniac… or you can just have fun while you are at it.

Taking a person’s life is no different.

You can question yourself in a thousand different ways and come to a thousand different conclusions. Or you can just pull the trigger and enjoy the consequences of the act. Often, killing might bring a net positive to the people around. Change is always welcome. It’s like having too many old people around. Ideas live and die with them. If they are tyrants and monsters, you kill them and you kill those ideas as well. And if you want a radical change in society, you need many people to die. If they don’t die swiftly, then new ideas will have a hard time blossoming.

Change is not always good. There are many idiots in my generation. Many who lost sight of what really matters, blinded by the most stupid cause that makes them feel like they matter. I suffered racism, discrimination based on my last name or the fact that I’m a woman in a field of men. Not field, fields. Engineering and criminal activities are usually the domain of men. And maybe that’s why the big criminals are dying out. We should have had women be gangsters, not stupid idiots who think with their penis.

When I look at the corpse bleeding on the ground, I wonder what will happen to the people who manifest about the right of homosexuals. Will they go shoot the people who denied them whatever it is that they want? Or will they be the one who get shot? What about the environmentalist? Will they shoot the companies that just think of profit and endanger the world? Or will they get shot? What about the less fortunate in the banlieues? Will they shoot the rich people who relegated them at the fringes of society?

The last one is the scenario I’m interested in. Poverty will not come to an end in one night, but I hope that people at the top will be afraid. I don’t care about all battles, especially some of the more ideological ones or the ones about some civil rights. I respect those who fight them, but I’ve fought a broader war. I’m hoping that those at the top will tremble in fear of those who have been oppressed. I hope that the employee in the rich company who worries about the most stupid issue will be shot in the street and that his co-workers will start worrying about their safety, about the conditions the hospitals are in. People will notice that maybe our health system is collapsing when there will be no gauze for their gunshot wounds. And at that point, they shall arm themselves and bring a storm of change.

Will change make me feel differently?

I look at the corpse and inhale the smell of animal meat and half-giant blood. I put the gun back in my pants and go upstairs. No one is in the shop and there’s little traffic at this hour of the day.

…

“Where have you been?” Mia asks me with a frown, clearly fidgety after spending an hour on her own in a building that supposedly takes care of criminals.

I wave a hand at her and look around.

“Cordius is not here.”

She shakes her head.

“Is everything—”

Suddenly, the door opens and the half-giant I just mentioned comes in with a serious face.

“Let’s go. No one wants to wait for this meeting.”

“Mia come with me,” I tell the girl while looking straight at Cordius. I need her to learn, and I need him to know who calls the shots.

Cordius doesn’t flinch at my words, he simply holds the door open for both of us.

…

We walk toward the most famous part of Leggiadra, the Glass and Steel District. The half-giant economy mostly holds itself afloat thanks to the export of glass and steel. Every craftsmen dreams of working among the lunatics populating this place. From what Licinium told me, the [Mayor] of Leggiadra barely holds any power. No one respects him and he’s a puppet of the Glass and Steel District. He never mentioned more than that, though. Even he was a bit skittish of—

Did Licinium work—

“This house,” Cordius says while pointing at a building before the we enter the district proper, where the forges and the glasswork go on all day without stopping, and where people stare at scraps of metal for hours, or days, on end.

“You talk first. Make your proposal to them and they will listen. If they don’t like it, you will be expelled from Leggiadra and we will cut every single tie we have with you. Do not threaten them.”

I listen carefully and enter a seemingly normal house. But I can smell the thick dust that is created while working steel. I find around ten half-giants waiting on couches and chairs, all silent and looking at me.

There’s a weight in this room, something that is clearly not natural but a byproduct of levels and classes. This is their competence made manifest.

Putain.

I slowly take out a cigarette and light it under the eyes of everyone. A girl has to take the edge off with something, and it helps me with my hands. I usually fidget with my hands when I speak to groups.

…

“My name is Cassandre El Maddouri. I come from another world.”

Not even a twitch at my first two sentences.

I take a puff and exhale, taking time to ponder what to say.

“I am interested in the half-giants’ economy and battle. I am an engineer by trade, but not by class.”

I take another puff of the cigarette. Better to speak straight sentences and not make long-winded speeches.

“I killed nine convoys of [Merchants]. I assume Cordius already showed you the corpses and I can testify to that under truth stone, spell, or contract.”

They have contracts as well. Magically enforced contracts.

Nasty.

I take another puff.

“I wield a deadly technology from my world. I’ll be taking it out now. Slowly.”

I see some of them tensing slightly while I move a hand toward the bag of holding, not the gun in my pants. I take out an unloaded gun and a few bullets while holding the cigarette between my teeth. I drag a rather small table by half-giant standards to the center of the room and place the gun on it.

“You can examine it. This is a gun. It shoots bullets made of steel at incredibly high speed. It can kill with one shot. I know how to manufacture guns and all their components.”

I let them connect the dots of what I just said. I try not to focus on anyone speficically and I move my eyes from one to another in measured beats. I take two puffs of my cigarette this time, noting that the fingers holding the tobacco stick are trembling slightly.

“I killed all those [Merchants] and their [Bodyguards] with one of these guns. A bigger model. A month ago I did not have a class.”

Silence, once again, as I take yet another puff.

“I was fighting a war in my old world and I’d like to fight another one in this. I have no qualms with helping, especially when we consider how cowardly your enemies are acting. If possible, I’d like to visit Kome as well and bring guns to the Vanedenis.”

That’s it. I just keep smoking while the people in the room eye each other, but especially one rather young half-giant sitting alone on one of the couches. While some start whispering to each other, more and more look in the direction of the young half-giant. This one, instead, just looks straight at me with a contemplative expression.

He suddenly stands up and takes up in his huge hands the gun I had placed on the coffee table. This man is probably closer to three meters than two in height. He turns it in his hands and, even though he never handled one before, he starts taking it apart with ease. The gun quickly comes apart; he’s probably following the instructions his skills are giving him. How he can do that without a screwdriver or anything else is a mistery.

Magic?

“This is too small for a half-giant,” he says, “but the metalwork is impressive.”

He starts putting the gun back together after staring for a few seconds at the individual components.

“We can scale the gun and make bigger bullets as well. I don’t know if this can penetrate enchanted armor.”

He picks up one of the bullets and brings it closer to his face to give it a sniff.

“[Alchemists]’ work,” he says passing the bullet to an older man with a cool pair of glasses on his face. Then, he stares once again at me.

“Cassandre El Maddouri, I’m Melior, the leader of the Glass and Steel Council. Why does a Human try so hard to do what even most half-giants are afraid of?”

I look at the cigarette, who’s now at its end, and I take out another, lighting it up with the first.

“I was making guns in my past world and my cause wasn’t as clear as the one I have here. Half-giants are suffering from idiotic choices and the fear the others species have for you. That’s a worthy cause to fight for.”

“Have you ever harmed, or do you plan on harming any half-giant?”

“I killed the idiot who tore down his father’s legacy an hour ago, the son of Licinium. His body is still in the basement of Marzallium’s Books.”

Most people in the room freeze, but not the leader.

“Licinium worked with us. We bought out his books. His son was indeed a sore spot.”

He gestures toward Cordius and the [Guard] steps forward to listen to a few hushed word from the taller half-giant and then he head out.

“This will be taken of. Have you harmed anyone else?”

“No,” I answer.

“Do you plan on harming anyone else?”

“Only if we need to.”

The leader turn toward all the others in the room and apparently communicates non-verbally with them.

“We have work to do, Cassandre El Maddouri. Your offer comes at the right time. Come with me.”