AKA: A rough as guts almost-monologue from a character in my current WIP.
Lack of editing warning.
Caring isn’t an advantage, little one.
It’s the thing that lets the humans under your skin. It gives them power they have no right to posses over one such as you. You think I’m being cruel to say they’re beneath you, but the truth is that they are. They are beneath you. They’re physically, intellectually, entirely weaker than you, mortal as fireflies, and just as likely to be inadvertently squashed by your journey through their lives.
Look at them. Can you honestly say they’re your equal? Haven’t you noticed the way they hide behind you, waiting for you to save them? Even your precious little soldier cowers behind your skirt like a child. How is that your equal?
And yet, here you are, falling over yourself to give them power, to make them your equals. Gabriel has failed you, clearly. Have you ever actually seen an army, little one? Have you ever, ever seen a General bowing and scraping for the respect of his underlings? They don’t, in case you were wondering. They don’t ask for respect. They demand it. And if those under their authority refuse to obey? What do they do?
They make it clear: fall in, or get the hell out. Those are the only two options. This is how you win wars: by making everyone in your army accountable for themselves. You give clear boundaries, and you do not ever let them step beyond them.
“And if they try?”
Kick them. Throw them into something hard. If all else fails, kill one. Like all pack creatures, they’ll soon learn who the alpha is. Until they respect you, until they accept that you’re in charge, you can’t be friends with them. You can’t be friends with someone trying to overthrow you. You’re strong. Too strong to believe yourself unable to control a rabble of mortals. If you want them to survive, you need to control them. You need to stop throwing yourself in front of bullets- it’s time for them to learn to get out of the way for themselves.
“How do I protect them? I don’t… I don’t want their blood on my hands.”
It’s not your job to kill yourself protecting them. They’re adults, capable of choosing their own paths. They’ve chosen to fight, each and every one of them Respect them enough to accept that choice and their acceptance of the consequences. Soldiers die. It’s war, what do you think they do? They fight, and they die, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
“Rule one: soldiers die. Rule two: doctors can’t change rule one.”
Neither can generals, kid, and like it or not, that’s what you are. There’s a war coming, and you’re letting your soldiers act like petulant children. The longer you let them shirk their responsibilities and toy with your emotions, the less chance you have to bring them home alive. Your humans are lazy. They know the quickest way to avoid effort is to play on your fondness and protectiveness. Do you think Michael’s soldiers are lazing in their strongholds? Do you think he cares whether they’re in the mood to run drills? Or do you think they’re training their asses off, ready to slaughter you all? To slaughter all of us. Even now, they’re training. They’re looking for weaknesses, and your army? They’re weak. And until that weakness is removed, you’re all vulnerable.
You say you care about them, so prove it. Give them a leader they respect, and one they obey.
“And if they don’t?”
They die.
writerlyscrawls 