Chapter 9: Liberation
Imported from SF2 with no description.
Chapter 9: Liberation
Perspective: Daniel
Gordon stared out at the group of disheveled anthros, captives rescued from a recently located AFA camp. I didn’t know what the AFA had done to them over there, but I didn’t ask.
"There have been a lot of others like you," Gordon said to them, "ones we’ve saved, and whether they decide to join us or not, they always ask the same thing: ‘What do I do now? How do I move on from something like this?’ After what you’ve seen, what you’ve been through, you’ll find it impossible to return to a normal life. I know you’re full of fear and hate and rage. I know you’re changed now, you can’t ever go back to who you were. Maybe the person you are now scares you. But if you let your pain consume you, that’s all you’ll ever feel. Hate. Rage."
He let these words linger before continuing.
"The world is dark, full of unimaginable evil… but you cannot let it drag you down, because it will crush you. The only way to fight it is to be better than the ones who hurt you. This group is not here to establish justice, to bring down mighty and righteous vengeance on those who may deserve it. We’re here to make sure what happened to you doesn’t happen to anyone else, ever. We’re here to take drastic action in drastic times, to stop our people from dying. Our enemy has shown us the worst in humanity. The only way to fight that is to show them the best in us."
He allowed the crowd of onlookers to disperse and made his way toward us; Eddie and I had been watching from the sidelines.
"Damn, I’m tired." he sighed. "I’m tired of all of this… the death, the violence, the hate. I’m tired of looking into the faces of people who are more afraid and more angry than they’ve ever been.
I’m tired."
"We all are." Eddie said. After a silence that felt longer than it probably was, I added, "I keep turning over this one thought in my head, thinking about how it could have been if we had released the virus as planned, if things had gone off without a hitch. I kept imagining this perfect world where no one died and we all got what we wanted and everyone was happy. Then I realized how dumb that was."
Gordon looked at him.
"There was something my mother said to me when I was… I don’t know, five, maybe?" he continued.
"We’d just lost our dog and unlike most parents they were actually honest with me about what happened. I was, you know, understandably upset, but then my mom leaned down to me and said, ‘You’ve known that dog all your life. If you look back on every memory with him as a sad memory, all of your memories will be sad ones. You have to learn to make them into happy ones.’ I think that’s what we have to do. We can’t change what’s happened, no matter how much we wish we could. We just have to be glad for the good things we had and what we have now and move on."
——
I looked down at the semiautomatic 9mm Beretta M9 on the table in front of me.
"God, I hate guns." Gordon sighed. "I hate using them, I hate having them used on me."
"I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect my first day of weapons training to start with a line like that." I said as he stood across from me.
"Everyone always told me your first experience firing one of these things was supposed to make you feel powerful, like give you a rush, a thrill, you know?" he sighed. "The first time I fired mine, I did feel powerful.… but it was a power that scared me. It just felt… wrong. This kind of power…" He hefted the weapon. "The ability to so easily take another person’s life? No one should have that."
"You… you’re what every cop and every soldier should be, Gordon." Lana said, smiling. "I mean, I know so many people… far too many people, who use their guns just to use them. Just to have them. You respect the power behind your weapons, use them only as a last resort."
"They should be." Gordon said. "Even if a gunshot doesn’t kill you, it can just as easily cripple. The bullet can break up inside of you and you’ll need some serious surgery to get the pieces out. It could bounce off a bone and go right into an organ and there’s the end of your normal life. Not to mention the scars—physical and mental. These things fuck people up."
"You’re gonna do that thing now, aren’t you?" Lana asked, looking at him.
"Thing?" I asked.
"Whenever there’s a new recruit, he tells the same story." Lana said.
"About the first time he shot a gun…?" I asked.
"The first time I killed someone." Gordon said.
"Oh." was all I could say.
He sat down with a heavy sigh.
"I was on a rescue mission, clearing an AFA camp, just like the one we shut down today." He grit his teeth. Darkness flashed in his eyes. "Damn, I hate those places. They put our people in cages. Make them sleep in their own piss and shit… Our job was to go in and get them out. Set them free. We succeeded for the most part, but I just had to go and be brave, offered to be the last one out so I could watch everyone’s back. I should’ve been watching my own…" He sighs. "There was a guard. This kid… young, blonde, with a southern drawl. And a gun."
"He came at you and you fired back?" I asked.
"Not exactly." Gordon said. "I smelled him coming and got the drop on him. I pulled my gun and tossed his away." He took a breath and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "He must have known from the look in my eyes that I had never killed anyone. He didn’t raise the alarm, didn’t… didn’t even go for his gun. He begged for his life. He told me the AFA had recruited him four weeks ago, that he had just been patrolling the halls. He said he had no idea what they were really doing to the ones they captured."
"What… were they doing?" I asked hesitantly.
"You’ll sleep better not knowing." Gordon said. "The, uh… the kid insisted that if I let him live he wouldn’t tell anyone we had been there, that he’d forget my face. I’ll never know if anything he said was true. I lowered my gun maybe half an inch and at the first sight of doubt in my eyes, he went for his weapon. Instinct kicked in. He didn’t make it halfway across the room."
No one said anything and after a moment he added, "Blood is notoriously hard to wash out of everything. Not just the stains, but the… the smell. I swear it was in my fur for days. It’s rather metaphorical, I guess."
Another silence that could have been either ten seconds or ten minutes.
"So there’s another story I’ve been wondering about…"
We looked up as Eddie strolled into the room. There was no telling how long he’d been there, possibly lingering in the doorway or just outside, but I figured his fox ears had picked up everything.
"How’d this whole thing get going?" he asked, sitting down. "I mean, clearly you’ve got some military connections just like we do, but what’s the whole story?"
"Don’t you have… science shit to do?" Gordon said, raising an eyebrow.
"Studies show the brain does some of its best work when it’s not trying." Eddie said. "So, go on. How’d this little group of yours get together?"
If I were Gordon, I’d have pointed out that the FSF was in fact older and much more developed than Second Strain, but the grey wolf shrugged this off and leaned back in his chair.
"Well, Lana and I met first, on a train between New York and DC." he explained. "We bonded over shared ideals and she offered to train me in self defense. Now, I’m not fond of guns, but this whole virus thing had only just started and we both knew the world wasn’t going to be a friendly place for the new anthros."
Eddie grimaced slightly at this, but said nothing, so Gordon continued.
"Anyway, one day she was showing me my way around a firearm and she got called away on important business. She was in the Army, so I didn’t ask. But she left the gun there and when I went to return it to her, I ran into Kaleb for the first time… as he was being harassed by an AFA supporter."
"Yikes." I said. "What happened?"
"Well, I pulled out the gun and told him to back off." Gordon said. "Idiot never even thought to check if it was loaded. Kaleb thanked me profusely afterward and we’ve been friends since. But that was the day I realized that the legality of all of this didn’t matter. If I had waited and gotten a permit for that gun, I wouldn’t have been able to save him. God knows what might’ve happened. That’s why we started the FSF, why we do what we do. To save lives."
No one said anything. No one could think of anything to say. Gordon let out a slow breath.
"I just… I thought I could be like a superhero or something, you know?" he said: "I mean the protagonists in movies and comics always seem totally comfortable with guns and what they can do, with the idea of killing off bad guys like it’s nothing. They’re just faceless goons, minions of evil. They don’t mention that those people have families and lives of their own. I guess people romanticize the word ‘vigilante’ these days. I got so swept up in doing the right thing, putting myself on the line because I thought giving it my all meant getting out there and throwing punches. Except then the punches turned to bullets."
Something dark shone in the back of his green eyes; maybe he was remembering the boy’s face. I didn’t ask.
He continued, "I thought by being active I was helping more than I could otherwise. When I saw the chance to help, I took it. Now I can’t help but think maybe the way I did things before was the better way, back when I was just… you know, some random guy tweeting inspirational quotes and poignant platitudes to help people feel better about the shitstorm the world was going through."
"Remember what you told me when you picked us up?" Eddie asked. "You said you weren’t here for the mission. You were here to set it straight. You’re the one who keeps them all on the right course, Gordon. Who do you think they would be without you?"
"Yeah…" Gordon sighed. "But who could I be without them?"
"You wouldn’t be you." Eddie said. He looked at me. "You may have made this organization what it is, brought these people together under a common cause, but it’s also made you who you are. You could have stayed home, sure, but then you would have just felt like you could have done more. I think wishing you did less is better than wishing you did more."
Gordon stared at the table.
"Adrian." he mumbled. "Adrian Garnett."
Eddie and I looked at him.
"Was that… the name of the kid?" I asked hesitantly. "The one you—"
"It’s mine." he said. "My actual name is Adrian Garnett."
I raised my eyebrows at Eddie as his ears rotated toward Gordon.
"Gordon Grey used to just be my fursona." he said, still not making eye contact. "Then it was a pseudonym I took on, basically just a patchwork of different names I liked. Like a stage name, kind of. Grey is, well, an obvious reference to my fur color, but Gordon is actually the name of the main character in one of my favorite video games."
"Half-Life?" I asked. Gordon looked at me.
"Yeah." he said.
"‘The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world…’" I murmured, quoting the game.
"Well… nice to finally meet you." Eddie said, smiling at him. Gordon—Adrian— finally looked up and returned the small smile.
"Likewise." he said.
"Also, speaking of names…" Eddie snickered, "can we talk about the moniker of this group of yours? The ‘Furry Strike Force?’"
"Yeah," Gordon sighed, "I didn’t pick the name. Argued against it, in fact, but Lana and Kaleb were both so enthusiastic about it."
Eddie chuckled.
"Well, you two probably have your training to get back to." he said, standing.
——
I left the break room feeling uncertain about my new knowledge. Knowing the functions of a gun didn’t make it less dangerous in my mind and Gordon’s profound words had had an effect on me.
These thoughts were interrupted when I pulled out my phone (a new one, specially modified to be untraceable and with a military grade phone case—the perks of being the Second Strain site moderator) and saw a text from Eddie: "Come to the lab as soon as you see this. It’s important."
I walked toward the sterile white lab and heard a conversation from around the corner just before I entered the room. I may not have had the superhuman hearing most of the anthros around me had, but I could still note a tone of anger and a voice I didn’t recognize. I peered around the corner hesitantly.
"I understand you’re upset." Eddie was saying to the snarling cheetah anthro. "You have every reason to be. But I stand by my decision to create this virus. I’m prepared to die for this cause and for my people."
"What about the ones who didn’t want to die?" the stranger growled. "We didn’t ask to be a part of this war you’ve dragged us into!"
Eddie actually smiled at this remark, then replied calmly, "You know, someone else pointed that out to me before. That time, I almost let it destroy me. I thought I had ruined everything, that by creating this virus I was just sending thousands to their deaths, but then I realized… No one in any revolution ever asked to be a part of it. You think the patriots who died in the American Revolution asked for their friends’ and familys’ blood to be spilt? You think the soldiers of the Civil War asked to be surrounded by strife? You think Martin Luther King Jr. asked to be plopped into the 60s to change the face of our country? No. They just had the courage to try and help. I’m sure there are those today who would gladly lay down their lives for such a cause, those who, if you gave them the choice, would have traveled back to those days when things were bleak, to fight for our future, but the people in that time didn't get to make that choice. I created this virus because I was afraid if I didn’t, no one would. I would love to live in a perfect world where we could have found a way to make sure no one died, but the world we live in is seldom perfect. I did what I had to do. I know people have died and I’m sorry, but the rest of us are still here. Now. I know I thrust you and so many others into this painful, tumultuous time. I know I didn’t give you a choice, but what you can choose, right now, is whether to help."
The cheetah exited the room silently and I moved past him.
"That was an interesting conversation." I said.
"Daniel, I’m glad you’re here." Eddie said, turning to face me.
"We’ve got something to tell you." Jess said, smiling.
I looked at the three of them and they looked back, smiling brightly, proudly.
"Wait." I said. "Did you…"
"We finished it." Eddie said, grinning. "The first prototype of the second strain is done."