“It takes someone who has power to wield it,” I said, cutting him off as I buttoned my blouse. It felt vaguely silky, and I suspected it was one of the ones Kat had bought for me with a company credit card. At some point I’d had to distract her from Janus’s comatose state when he’d been down for all those months and sending her shopping had worked pretty well for a day or two. I’d had to send her back to get bigger sizes after the first trip, but once she’d figured that out, she’d done a decent job. I had stuff in my closet that I’d never even worn.
Which would probably come back to bite me in the ass if they ever held a budgetary hearing, now that I thought about it.
“Wielding power for the sake of it, just to whip it out and swing it around, is the least impressive thing,” I said then hesitated, realizing what I’d just said. “You know what I mean. This is the type of thing Century probably sits around and talks about. ‘When we’re in charge and all-powerful, bwahaha, things will be different.’” I finished buttoning my blouse. “Yeah, congrats, you’ve got power. Why not try using it responsibly? Why not try using it for actual good instead of running over everyone who disagrees with you?” I shook my head as I started to pull on my slacks. “All these maniacal egos, I swear. It’s like being a meta breeds a thirst for power that rivals any Evil Overlord stereotype.”
Power is a need in and of itself, Gavrikov said, sounding sullen. Those who drink from its chalice become intoxicated by its sensation and want more and more. Think about those … what do they call them? Wildfire metas? They commit a crime, then another, and escalate from there as they test their limits. They use their power in ever-increasing ways, asserting it and drinking deeper from the cup.
It’s man’s way of making himself a god, Roberto Bastian weighed in. Think about it. You use your power to shape the world in the direction you want it to go. Like the Russian said, wildfire metas are a great example. They use it for personal enrichment, for robberies, to kill someone who pisses them off. They set themselves up and create their own direction from life, writing over the plan other people have for themselves with force and violence. They play god by taking away the choices of others.
This is how it has always been, Little Doll, Wolfe said. Killing is man’s way to manifest their own reality by removing the elements they don’t care for—by force. This is what the old gods did, bending wills to their aims by threat and coercion, by killing when necessary. They shaped and built their world in the image they desired. This is what power offers you—the ability to bring your vision to life.
“With force,” I said, sliding a boot on over the holster and gun I habitually kept strapped to my ankle. I had lost more guns than I could count at this point. Probably another budgetary hearing for those. “By pushing their will on others through force.”
There were democracies back then, weren’t there? Zack asked. He’d been quiet up to now.
For a time, Wolfe said, almost shrugging. Then … empires. Tentacles that grew within them to make them easier to move in one swift motion. Threats around, threats abound, and all the while the strings get tighter and tighter. The unity made it easier for the gods to rule from behind the curtain. He made a little contented sigh. It was fun to watch.
“It doesn’t look the U.S. Government means to let Sovereign rule from behind a curtain,” I said, staring at myself in the mirror in my room. I slipped on my jacket over the holster I carried. I looked tired, bags under my eyes, which fit well with my assumption that no one around me was getting much sleep at the moment. “Somebody is going to rip the curtain right off.”
Don’t fret, Little Doll. There’s always a way out.
“Oh, yeah?” I considered myself in the mirror, tried to make sure I hadn’t missed a button. I may have had meta speed, but I still had to fasten buttons as slowly as a human. “What’s that?”
Power, of course, Wolfe said, and I could see his Cheshire grin in the darkness of my head. The Little Doll is so strong that almost no one could restrain her at this point. No one could catch her, if she didn’t want them to.
I stared at myself in the mirror and realized what was implicit in Wolfe’s statement. That if someone tried to hold me accountability for my less-than-legal actions, I could fight back—and probably win. I looked into my own eyes, the blue with the green flecked in them, and realized I hadn’t stared into my own eyes in a while.
If they came after me, would I have the nerve to pick up a gun and start shooting at some poor FBI agent who was tasked with apprehending me? Or some soldier lined up with his brothers, M-16 in hand, with orders to have me surrender or take me down? Because it might have to come to that.