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Justice
"Dead men reveal no secrets."
No one could accuse them of not trying, but still they had nothing. No lives had been taken—yet. More than one of them wondered about morals, wondered about the fine line, wondered about their ambivalence; but never aloud. If (when) the chance came...could they, knowing what he had done?
Every life ought to matter.
No fortress can be held forever.
"Evil never changes its nature."
They yearned with unholy passion for it. They had wanted it for so long. Their desire for justice had been corrupted. They were the ones who had wanted it from the beginning, from the very first incident.
They did not understand what it was they were demanding, and yet they wanted it so much.
"Each and every one of us has the right to security, the right to feel secure."
He understood, though, and wanted it all the more. She was wrong—it wasn't because he was heartless and wanted to see the suffering, hear the pleading, feel the power and control. No. He was cold—ruthless—but not cruel. He did what was right for his own People. He wanted it for justice. Lives had been taken, and someone had to pay. An eye for an eye.
He hated sympathy for those who did not deserve it.
"After what he's done, how can you still defend him?"
She mourned their decision, of course. She fought against it. Few listened; fewer cared; none understood. She could not stop the flood with only her hands. And yet…how? How could he? After all they had gone through together, after all the changing, could he really have turned back? The cold, hard facts ripped at her.
Every life ought to matter...
"Do you not want justice?"
He was watching, watching from above, and powerless to do anything about it. He wanted more than anything what no being could give him: to go back. He hated being unable, being defenceless, being unaffected. He hated that he could do nothing but watch and wish. He hated the hypocrisy, the unwavering sense of duty, the selective justice. He hated that the innocent should die while the guilty walked free and blameless. He hated self-pity.
And he worried about her. He wondered if she was becoming like him.
The Great Ones could—or would?—not help him. They told him to be patient and wait. He had never been patient.
"It's better this way, for the good of us all."
It was one of the few times in his life where he felt scared, vulnerable, helpless. Alone. Who could help him? Who could save him? He tried to call out, but they were all lost in the fog, far away from him.
He was a child again, and the monsters were coming closer.
No, he cried out, it wasn't my fault!
Silence.
He could feel them coming closer now, coming to take—and give—what they thought was deserved.
No! Please! You don't understand!
It was too late.
An eye for an eye...
"Ladies and gentlemen, there is no other solution. He must die."
Somewhere no one would ever dream of looking for her, she smiled her sinister, beautiful smile.