The Power of War

When man is nervous, he does stupid things. He forget his morals; he forgets his fellow man. He fights. He kills.

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The chilling wind slowly wrapped around the steps to the building, the sun had hidden itself deep beneath the winter clouds and the crowds were beginning to gather, worried faces exchanged amongst the journalists, setting up cameras which would broadcast the speech to the world.

Jean-Jacques had been waiting for almost two hours, watching the last leaves of Autumn blow across the pavement and unused pieces of paper soak up water from the murky puddles that littered the streets. His parents had gone to find a space where they would be able to see the podium clearly and he'd wandered through the crowd trying to keep warm. He could feel the chill slicing through the air, past his woolen scarf, and captivating the hairs upon his neck, whistling abrasively past his ears and seeping through the holes in his hat.

Looking up, he could see buildings tower into the sky; huge monoliths etched onto the landscape. Through the space in an alleyway he could see the clouds swirling around in the sky, their presence like the solemnness hanging over a funeral procession - and that's exactly what today felt like. A funeral procession.

The speakers crackled. The screens burst into life. The crowd fell silent. Hundreds upon thousands of heads turned towards the steps of London's National Gallery - like an army calling upon their General for their orders.

The voice boomed across the square; the city, the world. It seemed to be the only sound that could be heard for miles around.

"You have waited patiently, you have waited with resilience and you have waited with an outstanding loyalty. I thank you; each and every one of you, for that devotion and allegiance..."

"Speculation has reached it's peak. The dangers that face the galaxy are very much upon us, and, for the first time in our generation's history, our planet is at war. No amount of perseverance or persisting can re-establish our vital needs or links. Our neighboring planets and galaxies have forced us both into conflict."

"But I say this. Our great world will sustain itself. We will fight until we stand victorious. Our forces have been empowered to take everything that is ours; we shall strip our enemies of their honour! We shall remain strong and we shall remain united; fighting together, fighting for one another. Fighting for freedom..."

--

Those words were etched into his memory. Jean-Jacques vividly remembered the panic-stricken look on his everyone's faces as Commander Johnson announced the war, particularly on his parents faces when he returned home.

Now, 10 years later, they were dead. He remembered that vividly too.

An unjust killing of any description, by the very forces that were supposed to protect them. His house had been selected as part of the nationwide "cleansing" operation, unbeknown to himself or his mother or father. The glass shattered from the window frames, smoke filled the room, combat troops ripped the door from its hinges and, the next moment, his parents were thrown to the ground and shot in the feet and hands.

They had suffered the most brutal torture for many generations. Tied to chairs in their kitchen, they had their hair plucked from their scalps and doused in gasoline. This toxic entity was then placed in their mouths before been set alight; burning the flesh that held their throats together. All their bones were broken, one by one before the troops left; the blood stained footprints traipsed through the hall.

Jean-Jacques had watched on in horror from the utility closet. The bolt on the door was firmly latched and the only light that filtered in, was that of the sunlight and the flames from his parents burning carcasses.

He was now the Head of Law Enforcement Standards Authority - the person solely in charge of how the world's enforcement teams handled their assignments and how they would distinguish between that of a perpetrator and that of an innocent and frightened citizen. He knew that the days where the terror and harm from that which he had witnessed were long gone, but he also knew that there were followers that remained in the shadows, the fiercely loyal companions of a withered and corrupted administration, and he would not rest until every last one of them was pinned against a wall; a nail through their skull, bone smashed onto the floor of their houses, blood seeping down their torso and their souls sent to hell.