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redhoodinternaldialectical · 1 year ago

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"Murder is Werewolves" - Batman

I don't got the SPOONS to do this thought train justice, I have seriously been trying to write this thing for MONTHS so just, idk, have this half baked skeletal outline of the essay I guess:

I don't believe that Batman's no-kill rule is primarily about rehabilitation or second chances.

His refusal to believe that Cassandra could have killed someone when she was eight years old because "how could a killer understand my commitment not to kill" is absolute fucking MOON LOGIC from a rehabilitationist standpoint. No jury on the planet would think for even a second that she could reasonably be held accountable for her actions in that situation! Her past cannot condemn her to being incapable of valuing human life under a rehabilitation centering framework. However, Batman's reasoning makes perfect sense if he believes that killing is a spiritually/morally corrupting act which permanently and fundamentally changes a person, and that corruption can never be fully undone.

Dick Grayson killing the Joker is treated both narratively and by Batman as an unequivocally WIN for the Joker. The Joker won by turning Nightwing into a killer. Note that this is during a comic in which the Joker transforming people was a major theme! Batman didn't revive the Joker because the Joker deserved to live; he revived the Joker to lift the burden on Dick.

His appeal to Stephanie when she tried to kill her dad is that she shouldn't ruin her own life. He gives no defense of Cluemaster's actual life. Granted this is a rhetorical strategy moment and should be taken with a generous pinch of salt, but it fits in the pattern.

When Jason becomes a willful killer, he essentially disowns him, never treats him with full trust ever again, and... Well, we can stop here for Bruce's sake. Bottom line is that his actions towards Jason do not lead me to believe that he thinks Jason can become a better person without having his autonomy taken from him, either partially or fully.

The Joker is, for better or worse, the ultimate symbol and vessel of pure, irredeemable evil in DC comics now. He hasn't been just another crook in a long time. He will never get better, he will only get worse. If you take it to be true that the Joker will not or can not rehabilitate, then there's no rehabilitationist argument against killing him.

Batman does not seem to consider it a possibly that he'll rehabilitate. Batman at several points seems to think that the Joker dying in a manner no one could have prevented would be good. Yet Batman fully believes that if he killed the Joker, he himself would become irredeemable.

Batman's own form of justice (putting people into the hospital and then prison) is fucking brutal and clearly not rehabilitative. He disrespects the most basic human rights of all criminals on a regular basis. It is genuinely really, really weird from a rehabilitationist standpoint that his only uncrossable line is killing... But it makes perfect sense if he cares more about not corrupting himself with the act of killing than the actual ethical results of any individual decision to kill or not kill.

In the real world cops are all bastards because they are too violent to criminals, even when that violence doesn't lead to death. Prison is a wildly evil thing to do to another human being, and you don't use it to steal away massive portions of a person's life if your goal is to rehabilitate them. In the comic world, Batman is said to be necessary because the corrupt cops are too nice to criminals and keep letting them out of jail. I don't know how to write a connector sentence there so like I hope you can see why this bothers me so damn much! That's just not forgiveness vibes there Batman!!

I want to make special note here of the transformative aspect. You don't simply commit a single act when you kill, no, you become a killer, like you might become a werewolf.

The narrative supports this a lot!

Why did Supes go evil during Injustice? He killed the Joker. Why did Bruce become the Batman Who Laughs? Bruce killed the Joker. Why was Jason Todd close to becoming a new Joker during Three Jokers? Because he killed people, to include the Joker.

Even if these notions of redemption being impossible aren't the whole of his reasoning (people never have only one reason for doing what they do) it is a distinct through-line pattern in his actions and reasoning, and it is directly at odds with notions of rehabilitation, redemption, and second chances.

So why does he give so many killers second chances?

Firstly because this doesn't apply to all versions of Batman. Some writers explicitly incorporate rehabilitation and forgiveness into his actions. You will be able to provide me with examples of this other through-line pattern if you go looking for them. The nature of comics is to be inconsistent.

Secondly the existence of that other pattern does not negate the existence of this one. People and characters are complex, and perfectly capable of holding two patterns of belief within themselves, even when they conflict to this degree. You can absolutely synthesize these two ideas into a single messy Batman philosophical vibescape.

Finally and most importantly to this essay: he has mercy on killers the same way that werewolf hunters sometimes have mercy on someone who is clearly struggling against their monsterous nature, especially if they were turned in exceptional circumstances or against their will. They understand that they are sick, damned beasts, cursed to always be fighting against themselves and the evil they harbor within. It is vitally kind to help them fight themselves by curtailing their autonomy in helpful ways and providing them with chances to do some good to make up for their eternal moral deficiency.

I think in many comics Batman views killers as lost souls. Battered and tormented monsters who must be pitied and given mercy wherever possible. (The connections to mental health, addiction, and rampant, horrifying ableism towards people struggling with both is unavoidable, but addressing it is sadly outside of the scope of this essay.)

Above all, the greatest care possible must be taken to never, ever let yourself become one of them, because once you have transformed the beast will forever be within you growing stronger.

To Batman, it is the most noble burden, the highest mercy, the most important commandment: Thou shalt suffer the monsters to live.

#batman #batman negative #batsalt #okay hopefully that will let peeps who don't wanna see me rant against bats avoid this?#i could write several books on the moral and ethical philosophies at play in the Batfam tbh #I'm like kinda mostly happy with this #pretty good for being slammed out in three hours while baking brownies #inspired muchly by my friend's talk about Batman acting in accordance with Presbyterian predestination #and how he is one of the most carceral of all superheroes #all people merely revealing through their actions what sort of person they already are #punishing them in the hopes they can suffer enough penance on earth to escape hell #how that can look like rehabilitation or redemption at a glance #but functions in a fundamentally different way #anyway hope this mess was an interesting read!#damian's tomfoolery

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divinewill · 29 days ago

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Capítulo Veintiuno: Forever Freefalling Around the Pale Blue Dot

As always, the liquid in my lungs felt heavy and burned intensely, but I had learned to push through the initial discomfort and acclimate to the situation. The seal on my face, securing the breathing mask to my nose and mouth, pressed tightly against my skin. Air entered my helmet only as much as needed to avoid interfering with my vision, as images were projected onto the semitransparent visor.

The needle punctured my femoral artery and began replacing my blood with PFC—a substance heavier and more oxygen-rich than blood. My kaijū-based chimerism allowed me to use it as both a blood and air substitute, with no negative side effects. I could feel its pressure in my veins and heart as it coursed through my circulatory system. A bitter taste flooded my mouth as I swallowed it, flooding my digestive tract. This fluid was highly effective at allowing oxygen to permeate my lungs and even enabled my digestive tract to absorb oxygen if swallowed.

All the while, I listened to the voices in my helmet:

“Kaijū-sealing hex bindings operational up to ten spacelike dimensions.”

“Manuṣya-sealing hex bindings operational.”

“Initializing PFC ionization.”

“PFC circulation and filtration functioning at 98% efficiency.”

“PFC blood substitution complete.”

“Electrocardiogram cleared.”

“Magnetocardiogram cleared.”

“Echocardiogram cleared.”

“Ballistocardiogram cleared.”

“Psychogram cleared.”

“A¹⁰ synchronization established.”

“Scale compensators functioning.”

“Cockpit at stable at default values.”

“Recharge voltage has cleared the threshold.”

“Microchimeral telepathy, subtle but stable.”

“Entanglement-based quantum communication between ADA-Systems 1 and 2 and the neodeī stable.”

“Neodeus synchronization with ADA Systems and pilot secured.”

“All autonomous systems operational.”

“Synchronization of potēns between pilot and neodeus, complete.”

“100,000 low earth orbit satellite trajectories calculated.”

“Adjusting for katabatic winds.”

“Catapult ready for liftoff.”

“Orbital base will be in position within T-Minus nine minutes.”

“Solar weather forecaster warns of an incoming halo coronal mass ejection. It should miss us by 30 seconds.”

“Concealment-spell activated.”

“Thermoelectric generating plates installed. Battery storage affixed.”

“Launch prerequisites achieved.”

“Pilots, please verify communications systems operation.”

I responded, “Read you loud and clear. Hard to hear you through the cacophony, though.”

The voice responded, “Excellent. Just sit tight.”

I recited in meditation, a prayer: “南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。南無阿弥陀仏。”

The time was soon approaching where I would have to fight my first kaijū. Our best diviners converged on a timeframe of two weeks after the G² Impact. Yet what really preoccupied my thoughts were Ms. Mālhlin, Ms. Breedlove, and the poor girls rescued in the first ASO.

I then prayed, “พระอวโลกิเตศวร โปรดโอบอุ้มข้าพเจ้า เพื่อน ครอบครัวและสรรพสัตวท์ ้งัปวงไวใ้นหัวใจของท่าน โปรดมองพวกเราด้วยดวงตาแห่งความเมตตา พวกเราทุกข์ทรมานอย่างมากและเรารู้ว่าความรักของท่านแผ่ไปทวั่ ทุกพ้ืนที่โปรดระลึกถึงพวกเราในยามเช่นน้ัน ท่านไดต้้งัปณิธานว่าจะตอบสนองอยา่ งรวดเร็วเมื่อสรรพสัตวร์้องขอความช่วยเหลือ บดัน้ีคือเวลาที่ท่านจะทา ตามสัญญาน้นั”

I heard a voice coming from my helmet’s speakers. “How’re you holding up there, Bunchûai?”

I asked, “Is that you, Dźugi?”

Dźugi responded, “Indeed, and please call me Lala.”

I responded, “Alright, Lala. To answer your question: I’m doing fine. A bit excited to fly for the first time.”

Lala playfully remarked, “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you fly before. You weren’t all that elegant.”

I laughed, “Yeah, levitation for a human and for an 80 m humanoid kaijū is different. For one, our drag coefficients and masses are distinct.”

Hyechin chimed in through the same line, “Oh, don’t pay her any mind. She’s as anxious as you.”

Lala indignantly dismissed her. “Me? Anxious about flying? WARMASTER Jeż wouldn’t have given us anything he didn’t think we could handle.”

I knew that Lala was being truthful, and that Hyechin was projecting her own subconscious anxieties onto her.

I asked Lala, “Are you prepared to die?”

Lala, with a grin audible through her voice, said, “God will call me on His schedule. It’s nothing for me to worry about, so long as I glorify him in the way I live my life. Sure, I may need some time in purgatory to resolve some imperfections, but everyone who goes to purgatory will go to Heaven. That said, we are ageless. So, I intend to live longer than even saint Methuselah, God willing.”

I asked her, “How can you be so excited? Aren’t you at all worried?”

Lala told me, “Of course, I’m worried. But I’m excited because we’re gonna be superheroes.”

Hyechin chimed in, “Say what?”

Lala explained, “My great grandfather was a fan of comics. He once told me, ‘We love our superheroes because they refuse to give up on us. We can analyze them out of existence, kill them, ban them, mock them, and still they return, patiently reminding us of who we are and what we wish we could be.’

“I remembered those words when that Lolita Princess from America appeared to help with the Human Salvaging Operation in Japan. I saw a video of her the night before this all happened, in a news report from the City of New Providence. She was a real superhero among us, and her presence inspired the metahumans of Japan to reveal themselves and become heroes too.”

“When videos of her praying over the dead and dying went viral, I thought to myself, we’re witnessing the birth of a superhero society. One where the old stories become real.”

Hyechin and I invited Lala to continue with our attentive silence.

Lala continued, “After all, ‘The Word of God became man, that thou mayest learn from man how man may become God.’ What we saw was a young goddess. A little Christa. As embryonic gods, siblings of God the Son, and children of God the All-Father, we act in persona Christi when we evangelize the nonbeliever. And what better evangelization than to save the life of a stranger for no other reason than they need you?”

“My great grandfather had a thesis: that the overarching story of American comics was implicitly about divinization. He told me that one of the main continuities—I can’t remember the name off the top of my head—was primarily about gods walking among mortals to show mankind how to be truly human. The other one was largely about men filling the role of the gods in their absence. That’s why there was a token human in the first’s elite team, and a token god in the latter. He was a devoutly Catholic man in an increasingly secular dystopian era. He also told me about another company which was more modest in its narratology, but which was explicitly Catholic in its foundations.”

One of the male pilots, Alphonse, chimed in, “The first company was DC Comics, the second was Marvel Comics, and the third was Iconic Comics, just to be clear.”

Hyechin greeted him, “Hey, Alphonse! How long have you been listening in?”

Alphonse admitted, “I joined about the time Lala started talking. I just wanted to wish y’all luck on our first flight.”

Lala responded, “That’s sweet, Al, but I don’t rely on luck. Skill will lead us to victory, so luck will be on our side.”

Alphonse left us with, “Glad to see you’re as excitable as always, Lala. I must remind you that you still owe me a game of go.”

Lala promised, “I’ll play you after we settle in our new quarters. Deal?”

Alphonse said, “It’s a date.” Then logged off our voice chat.

The other pilots were mostly keeping to themselves

Hyechin told us, “Speaking of settling into our new quarters. Major Byrd asked me to see if ya’ll’d prefer a chicken and durian curry or a surströmming pizza with nine kinds of expensive cheese when you get situated on base?”

I responded, “What an oddly specific pair of options. Does she have any century eggs?”

Lala, clearly amused, said, “No, but deviled century eggs sound amazing!”

I jokingly derided, “You’re either insane or a masochist.”

Hyechin rebutted, “The Thai ladyboy doesn’t like southeast Asian cuisine, ey?”

Lala said, “You’ve got to enjoy the finer things in life. After all, the English conquered a third of the world for women and spices.”

I reminded her, “Granted, but they also had the discipline to be fine with just eating bland food from time to time. Which might have had something to do with how they conquered so much of the world in search of those very spices.”

Hyechin replied, “You only live once, and for us, that might not be that long…”

Lala boldly speculated, “Or we might live longer than fabled Śreyāṃsanāthaḥ (श्रेयाांसिाथः).”

Hyechin chimed in with a quick-witted sarcasm, “Why be so modest? The rate of proton and vacuum decay are the only known limiters to our theoretical lifespans. Although, we’d spend it looking as we are now.”

Lala responded, “So what’s the problem with being adventurous eaters?”

I joked, “Is major Byrd offering us a beer as well to eat that?”

Hyechin laughed, “Heavens no. She just has durian and surströmming on hand.”

Lala commented, “Not that alcohol would have any effect on us anymore anyway, so outside of partaking in the Eucharist, the whole point of alcohol is lost on us. All we’d get is a bitter taste.”

I remarked, “That’s one thing we neodeus pilots share with WARMASTERs and Phase Two WARMASTER Program dropouts.”

Hyechin asked, “Elden, do you think you’ll get a roommate, or are you gonna have your own room again?”

Lala wandered onto the subject. “Well, it doesn’t seem right to have you bunk with men… but it doesn’t seem right to put you up with a woman either… but there’s also limited space on the orbital station.”

I mused, “I’m not sure. Normally, I was allowed to live with my mother to avoid possible impropriety, but that’s not possible now that we’re moving to the orbital base. So, it depends on what the higher-ups think I am. Do I have an aberration of a singular sexual form? If so, am I a man because I can father children, or am I a woman because I can conceive children? If so, why do I possess the reproductive powers of both sexes? That seems to run contrary to the Monophysitist view. Am I some kind of hypostatic union of the male and female form? Dimly reflecting the union of apparently incompatible opposite natures in your Dyophysitist Christology? Or am I some new form derived from the simultaneous combination and abrogation of the complementary sexual forms? Mirroring the doctrines of Miaphysitism? Whatever the decision, I suspect the ASSDF grappled with it extensively. Or, at least, more than I could have.”

I asked them, “Be honest, what do you think I am? Are you a Monophysitist, Dyophysitism, or a Miaphysitist?”

Lala laughed, “Putting us on the spot there, eh?”

Lala proceeded, “Well, considering that you have the potentiality of both fatherhood and motherhood, and it doesn’t feel appropriate that a hypothetical sibling would call you sister or brother, a Miaphysitist interpretation of your nature makes more sense. You can’t be your own opposite, and male and female are complementary opposites, after all.”

Hyechin was about to answer, when the radio cut her off. “Launch initialization process complete.”

To cut down on the cost of fuel, WARMASTER Jeż gave us the power of psychokinetic flight. This was necessary because my neodeus alone weighed 6,875 metric tons dry. Lala’s neodeus, the smallest, stood only 15 m tall, and consequently weighed only 45.28 metric tons dry. Hyechin’s neodeus, though not much smaller than mine, at 50 m tall, still had a dry weight of 1,678.5 metric tons. Our largest neodeus, belonging to Alphonse Kingsley, was a staggering 500 m tall and so weighed 1,678,468 metric tons at dry weight. Without recourse to borrowing the power of flight, it would be impossible to launch these cyborgs without recourse to costly chemical, nuclear, or antimatter boosters. Even with the myriads of superpowers possessed by the engineers within our ranks, these cyborgs were a nightmare to construct. Despite the challenges, the USSDF still managed to create ten neodeī of wildly varying size and were still working to produce more for the coming age of monsters. In fact, we had more pilots than neodeī, creating a rotating cast of child soldiers to prevent burnout in the coming apocalyptic conflict.

Our location in Marie Byrd Land ensured that there were relatively few satellites overhead, though the path to our destination was much more densely peppered with satellites of concern. The last thing we wanted to do was cause a Kessler syndrome. To avoid such a civilization-crippling disaster, the ASSDF and ÆSSDF collaborated with the USSDF and carefully planned our trajectories.

The countdown began. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Lift off!”

The launch pad catapulted each of us individually along the guiding rails to the surface port, but instead of decelerating, we activated the psychokinetic levitation temporarily granted to us by WARMASTER Jeż. Our borrowed power allowed us to accelerate to 11.2 km/sec (25,000 mph). The combination of mass, surface area, and speed caused an explosive break in the sound barrier, wreathing the bodies of our cyborgs in friction-derived flames. The shockwaves threatened to push us out of formation.

I felt the intensity of the heat bearing against my neodeus’ skin, but I felt no pain. The thermal nociceptors of my cyborg were inactive, as the intense heat and friction posed no harm to its body. Simultaneously, I felt myself grow unbearably heavy in my seat. The fluid surrounding us and the biology of our neodeī both acted as inertial dampeners, protecting us from the force of acceleration.

We hurtled past the troposphere, punched through the stratosphere, and shone like a meteor through the mesosphere. We crossed the von Kármán line into the thermosphere, were we reached our destination at 340 km above the surface of the Earth’s equator. There, we witnessed the Migdal Orbital Station, hitherto cloaked by a combination of metamaterial technology and obscuring Hecatean pseudo-magic, reveal itself to us.

WARMASTER Jeż, without spacewear, awaited us in orbit. Using the same ability that he lent us, he beat us to our destination. He saluted us; we saluted him, and he flew off to the GSSDO’s lunar base. He was able to reach his destination in only thirty seconds.

The orbital station bay opened, and we positioned our neodeī in the hangar. Lala docked first, followed by Hyechin, then me, and finally the boys. Ladies first, after all. Another WARMASTER jumped from the still open airlock of the base, his orbital arc indicating a descent to Earth’s surface.

I had heard tales of a WARMASTER totally immune to fall damage, remaining unharmed by atmospheric friction or the impact of with the ground when jumping from space. Since orbits themselves were simply stable free falling, he could theoretically cause a Kessler cascade, as collisions with other orbiting bodies would constitute fall damage, and therefore cause him no harm. His other powers were unknown to us

Once the hanger was sealed and filled with breathable air, I waited for the PFC in my circulatory system to be replaced by my blood. Automated systems pumped the PFC out of my lungs and stomach via a nasogastric tube, so my lungs filled with air. The cockpit and my flight suit remained immaculate as the fluid inertial dampener was drained from it, thanks to their non-stick surfaces. The cockpit repositioned itself to enable my exit from the open mouth of my neodeus. The image was reminiscent of a mother crocodilian carrying its young within its mouth for safety reasons.

The source of artificial gravity on the base depended on the specific section. The spinning rings utilized centrifugal force to simulate Earth-like gravity, while the cylindrical stem and icosahedral masses at either end relied on a specific species of rdưn known as gravitomateria. A pseudo-magical crystalline substance which generates an orientable gravitational and/or antigravitational field

We offloaded our gear, slung our rucksacks on our backs, carried extra bags by hand, and were led by security to a war room with 3D holographic projection technologies. There, we filled out paperwork and receive our orders, included the assignment of our living quarters, chain of command, and a detailed briefing on the map of the orbital base as relevant to our role. As with a military briefing, this paramilitary briefing was dry, tedious, and ladened with various redundancies alongside genuinely novel information—not of which was always necessary or even accurate. True to military tradition, much of our duty was to “hurry up and wait.”

Hyechin, Lala, and I were all to be roommates with Major Byrd. A revelation which made sense of the earlier question, as Major Byrd would’ve known about all this beforehand. At noon, we three made our way down to the mess hall, using the transparent maps projected onto the visors of our helmets. We were then given an actual tour of the base, by security

Afterwards we ventured to the designated meeting spot for Major Byrd. We waited for a time, and I volunteered to grab us all some snacks from the nearest vending machine. After picking up some chocolate bars and three cans of sweet tea, which I placed in a lunch box in my bag for transport, I overheard a verbal altercation. I activated the record function in my helmet by pressing the button on my flight suit’s wrist to document the situation.

I pretended to struggle with the vending machine. Thankfully, since the bodies of neodeus pilots do not produce lactic acid or other fatigue toxins, we didn’t tire even carrying all these bags all day.

The altercation appeared to between a female WARMASTER in a stern conversation with two male WARMASTERs. Throughout the history of the WARMASTER Program, only three women ever completed their horrific transformation. Among women, they were the most resilient, but something about the transformation twisted them in a way it did not the men. I recalled WARMASTER Jeż sharing with me his theory: that men survived the WARMASTER Program because it is an innate masculine desire to sacrifice everything in defense of something worth loving. The honorable sacrifice of the self, he argued, was the masculine desire.

WARMASTER Alexandra, a Greek woman, talked with two male WARMASTERS: Hunter, a strong Anglo-American, and Michelakakēs, a proud Russian. Both men seemed displeased with her. Even I was aware of WARMASTER Alexandra’s bloodlust, which disfavored her even among her fellow supersoldiers. WARMASTER Hunter was a specialist in precision shock-and-awe tactics, while WARMASTER Michelakakēs was essentially a combat medic. WARMASTER Alexandra, on the other hand, preferred psychological warfare and total destruction in operations.

I heard WARMASTER Hunter as he said, “Is that so? Willing to put that to the test? Or need I remind you what happened in your duel with WARMASTER Jeż.”

WARMASTER Alexandra, ever the bloodthirsty hot head, immediately snapped back with a flurry of words too fast for me to follow. That’s when a rat with surgical scars atop the vending machine made its presence known to me. It was one of WARMASTER Alexandra’s many surgically altered, remote-controlled animals, integrated into a massive swarm intelligence which she constantly monitored. Not wanting to provoke a WARMASTER, especially one so bellicose as her, so I took the hint and promptly speed-walked away from the scene.

When I returned to the waiting spot, Hyechin and Lala were already deep in conversation. I handed them their snacks and politely declined to join their conversation. I closed my eyes and started to think about recent events —chief among them, Mālhlin’s marriage proposition.

An intrusive thought struck me, and I absentmindedly voiced it while recalling Plum in her Kyanonesian attire. Entranced by the memory of her beauty, I muttered aloud, “ᡥᡠᡥᡠᠨᡳ ᡨᡠᠮᡳᡥᠠ ᡩᠠ ᠠᠨᠮ ᡳ ᠰᠠᡵᡤᠠᠨ ᠵᡠᡳ ᡳ ᠪᡝᠶᡝ”

Hyechin creased in half, laughing, while Lala turned beat red.

Lala demanded, “Please keep your perverse fantasies to yourself. Thank you.”

It took a moment to process, but when I realized that I not only said that out loud, but that Lala could understand Manchu, and thus understood what I said, I felt an overwhelming embarrassment.

Lala asked me, “So, you met one of the Mālhlin sisters while they were wearing Kyanonesian garb?”

I confessed, “Yes. How did you know?”

She glanced at Hyechin and said, “How do you think?”

Hyechin apologized.

I suddenly remembered what a male friend told me about not trusting female friends with sensitive information. As misogynistic as that might’ve been, he might’ve had a point.

Lala asked me, “Which one?”

I told her, “Plum and Qhaŋ.”

“You were probably fantasizing about Plum,” she guessed

Sarcastically, but still embarrassed, I retorted, “I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

At 16:00, we three would meet Major Byrd. She was a woman in her 30s, with fine, straight, mid-backlength, red hair styled into a bun, green eyes, and fair skin. She was quite a personable woman, even in her uniform. She was clearly eager to host us during our stay on the orbital base.

Major Byrd lead us through elevators and winding hallway mazes. During the walk, she told us that the Supreme Commander of the Global Strategic Self-Defense Operations WARMASTER Rage was due to meet with the Queen of CANZUK and the Bishop of Rome, who was also the Emperor of the Confederation of the Church, before any other geopolitical leader. This was due to the longstanding co-operation of these two governing institutions with the GSSDO. While no one knew what the Supreme Commander’s religion was, we did know him to be a theist, though he was neither an Anglican nor a Catholic. After all, no atheist had ever led the GSSDO.

She mentioned a kaijū was predicted to appear soon in Volkstaat, the Cape Republic, or the Zulu Kingdom, and plans were underway to respond.

Crossing the threshold into her quarters, we donned booties from our bags and thanked her for hosting us.

“Welcome home!” she said with a warm smile.

Her residence featured beautifully painted scrolls of koi lining the walls.

Lala excitedly inquired, “Um, Major, are those paintings calligraphy?”

Major Byrd, somewhat surprised that anyone picked up on this, gladly explained, “Yes, actually. These are poems I wrote in Tsevhu.”

“This is a language?” Hyechin asked, “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before, even considering our history courses and exposure to literal aliens.”

Lala told her, “It’s a conlang that was developed in the 2020s. It’s form and structure blur the line between calligraphy and drawing. The koi and the ripples all encode phonological, grammatical, and syntactic information.”

I asked her, “How do you know that?”

Lala explained, “You remember how WARMASTER Jeż gives us all presents on our birthdays and Christmas? Well, he tends to give me Church approved bible translations in various artlangs. Last Christmas he gave me a Church approved Tsevhu bible translation.”

She gleefully showed us the book from her bag and added, “On my birthday, he gave me Sindarin and Quenya Bibles in Tengwar!”

Hyechin asked, “Can you read it?”

Lala said, “A little. The text on the paintings is a bit beyond my pay grade.”

Major Byrd told her, “I could teach you the language, if you’d like.”

Lala lit-up immediately at the suggestion, but I reminded her that we still had things to do.

We unpacked in our shared rooms, while Major Byrd got changed into a tank top and short shorts without a bra and prepared the dinner. Hyechin, Lala, and I also changed into shorts, a casual shirt, and, unlike our new guardian, socks.

When it came time to eat, we all ate our rancid smelling food together.

Lala, given that she’s Catholic, recited, “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Hyechin gave thanks with, “잘 먹겠습니다.”

I simply said, “頂きます。”

A phrase from a language my Manchu ancestors despised, and with which I sought to reconcile my family.

We chatted as we ate, to get to know our host better

The conversation started with me, “So, Major Byrd, what’s your power?”

Major Byrd admitted, “I don’t have one.”

Lala asked her, “So you’re a TradHu?”

Hyechin asked, “Did your parents have any powers?

Major Byrd told me, “My mother had the power to see relationships of love with her eyes. From sight alone, she could see the networks of love defining friendships, marriages, family ties, and charity, as well as gauge their depth and intensities. My father was able to bring recently deceased domesticated pets back to life, but neither feral animals nor people. Regardless, unlike my siblings, I wasn’t born with any superpowers. Which is fine by me, except for the fact that being a carrier means that all my potential children would have superpowers. That could get unruly.”

The use of the word ‘potential’ stood out to me.

I asked her, “Ms. Byrd, you don’t have children?”

Major Byrd reminded me, “Nope. The GSSDO outlawed IVF over a century ago, so I’d have to find a husband to have children.”

I shyly asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, what stopped you from finding a husband?”

Major Byrd confessed, “Let’s say I don’t think it would be fair to trap any man, especially a good man, in a marriage with a woman who would find his touch repulsive.”

I apologized.

Major Byrd, clearly not intoxicated with the moderate amount of alcohol, flirtatiously joked, “I mean, you could help me with that, after all. I am running out of time and were it not for my inability to romantically love a man, I would have already had many children. Instead, I was cursed with this same-sex attraction, incompatible with my inner maternal desires. But you’re a real cutie. Moreover, since it is within your power, and nature, for fatherhood, it wouldn’t be homosexual now, would it?”

Her eyes pierced into my soul, and I stammered a response as blood flushed to my face and phallus. Hyechin and Lala’s reactions were outlandishly comical, but I couldn’t recall the specifics, given all my attention was on the ripe fruit before me.

She giggled at us and said, “But lucky for me, I don’t actually have to be that desperate as to pursue an adolescent. It seems the recent batch of rescues from the first ASO has brought us some similar potential husbandwives. If there is a God, maybe he had pity on me?”

Lala sternly but politely protested, “That wasn’t funny.”

Hyechin was flushed deep red in the face.

Major Byrd deflected, “What, you don’t think looking for a husband in the ASO is a good idea? I’m pretty sure all of you have HSO-based ancestry. Hyechin, I’d guess you have ancestors salvaged from Korean and Chinese purges. As for Lala, basically all our Romani members are descended from men and women salvaged from the Porajmos. Why can’t I find a suitable spouse among our new wards?”

Lala protested, “You know that’s not what bothered us…”

I told her, “Do you want to know what my position on this is?”

Lala simply said, “Enlighten us.”

Major Byrd quoted who I would later learn was Ayn Rand with the same authority as one might quote Aquinas, Maimonides, Plotinus, Dogen-Zenji, or Udayanācārya, “Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person’s sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they’re taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment - just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! - an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience - or to fake - a sense of self-esteem … Love is our response to our highest values - and can be nothing else.”

There was a hesitation before I asked her, still drunk on sexual arousal but recalling what she said moments ago, “Do you believe in God?”

This caught Lala and Hyechin’s attention

She paused for a moment and admitted, “No. We may live in a world of apparent magic and superpowers, but I see no reason to think that these, in any way, imply the existence of God. Moreover, the orderliness of these ‘magic’ and ‘superpower’ systems subjects them to scientific scrutiny, and there are remarkable parallels between the metaphysics of Objectivist individualism and how potens manifests in expression. Leading me to believe it is simply a hitherto unknown aspect of the natural world, requiring no supernatural explanations.”

I asked her, “Then, what is your religion?”

Major Byrd smiled, “I am a neo-Objectivist. A disciple of Ayn Rand in a post-Metahuman world.”

She chuckled, then said, “You don’t need God to understand that homosexuality is antithetical to human nature. Even those of us with exclusively same-sex attractions can recognize this disorder.”

I asked her, “So you’re just screwing with us?”

Major Byrd didn’t answer my question. Simply stating, “Yup. Just a little bit of playful banter. You really think either the USSDF or the ASSDF would risk assigning such valuable assets as yourselves to anyone who didn’t pass a complete background check and telepathic screening?”

She whispered under her breath and slightly annoyed, “I’m a lolicon, not a pedophile.”

None of us had anything to say in response to that, since we all knew she had an unassailable point. Major Byrd might have been a bit of a flirt, but the GSSDO wouldn’t have assigned us to her if she was going to be a danger.

We then divided up the chores, before spending the night play a first-person shooter game as a group. That’s when we discovered that our caretaker had an almost savant-like knowledge of firearms, down to specific variants only a historian might know of. Needless to say, she dominated us in gameplay, even when we teamed up against her.

At 23:00, I took a shower and then a bath after everyone else before heading to bed.

Due to the cramped living conditions on a satellite, Major Byrd, Lala, Hyechin, and I all shared a room together. Major Byrd, strangely, preferred the bottom bunk, so I slept on the bed atop hers. Lala slept on the bunk bed above Hyechin on the opposite side of the room.

We holstered our pistols at the side of the head of our beds, while Major Byrd rested her rifle on a singular gunrack at the head of her bed. The rifle at the head of Major Byrd’s bed was well-maintained, and had a coded text engraved onto it. I wondered what kind of cipher she might have used in its encryption: Caesar, Vigenère, Atbash?

Hyechin and Lala passed out quickly, exhausted by the tediousness of the day. I, in contrast, was having a difficult time sleeping and suspected that Major Byrd, while quiet, wasn’t actually asleep.

As Lala trailed off into her somniloquy, I asked Major Byrd, “Are you asleep?”

She responded, “Not yet. Something on your mind?”

I asked her, “What did you name your rifle?”

She laughed, “Never had a roommate, have you?”

I admitted, “Not really. I’ve never been allowed to sleep in a barracks due to my intersex condition.”

She confessed, “I named my gun after my first love: Sam.”

I told her, “That’s sweet. How old were you when you met each other?”

Major Byrd confessed, “I was seventeen, and she was twenty. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Curly blonde hair, azure eyes, graceful. Admittedly, I was too immature, and we dated in secret. Moved by all-consuming limerence. Possessed by an Erotic energy and enchanted by a Cupidian crush. She was my Kāmadeva, and I could have written sūtras to her as my iṣṭa-devatā… but, as you might have guessed, that didn’t last. As Aphrodite must remind all Venusians that she isn’t just the goddess of lustful passion… she’s also a bloodthirsty goddess of war who takes pleasure in scandal.”

I asked her, “What happened to her?”

Major Byrd confessed, “She froze to death on the surface. It was a suicide.”

I told her, “I’m so sorry that all that happened to you.”

Major Byrd changed the topic. “I know it’s not right for us to ask you to fight monsters that can cripple nations in a single act, but we don’t have any reasonable alternative. I really appreciate what you’re prepared to do, but I can’t ask any man to sacrifice his happiness for mine. Each man’s happiness is not merely a means to any end. Rather, it is its own end. Its own purpose. So, find what makes you happy, and cultivate it.”

I admitted, “If I’m being honest… I don’t know what makes me happy. I mean, I’ve always felt a sense of melancholia: a sense of lack without any apparent reason.”

She quoted Atlas Shrugged, “Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists… it is real… it is possible… it’s yours.”

I told her, “For what it’s worth, Ms. Byrd. I hope you’ll get to be a good mother.”

Major Byrd replied, “Thank you.”

I told her, “Good night, Miss Byrd.”

She told me, “Good night, Elden.”

#original story #original character #superhero #worldbuilding #philosophy #theology #critique welcome #webnovel #dark fantasy #linguistics #buddhism #objectivism #catholicism #super soldier #military moe #military science fiction #metafiction #magical girl

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