In every case, laws are made by the ruling party in its own interest. A democracy makes democratic laws, a tyrant tyrannical ones, and so on. In making these laws, they define as 'just' for their subjects only what serves their own interest, and they call anyone who breaks them 'unjust', and punish him accordingly. That is what I mean. In all states alike, 'justice' has the same meaning, namely, what is for the interest of the one established in power — the one that is the strongest.
So it is a sound conclusion that the meaning of 'justice' is the same everywhere: whatever serves the interest of the one in power, the one that is the strongest.
— Thrasymachus of Chalcedon, Plato’s The Republic
Click. Click.
Justin’s thumb flicked across the safety of his pistol. His fidgeting was in vain – it did little to relieve the agonizing burn building within his chest, as he crouched impatiently against the rough limestone. His knees ached from being pressed into the rocky floor, and the chill of the frigid cave air seeped into the bones of his fingers and toes. The graze across his left palm throbbed.
Click. Click. Click.
Lately, he had been feeling restless and irritable. It was probably from the stress – the mounting casualties, the hours of briefings and negotiations and speeches, the sleepless nights, the unending strategy meetings, where he and his fellow Overseers would painstakingly deliberate over their plans again, and again, and again.
But the hard work had paid off. Recruitment had soared, the denizens of liminal space rallying around the M.E.G.'s defiant battle-cry. The Lost and the Eyes of Argos too had come to their aid. Together, they had tactically dismantled the Veiled parishes across the Initial Twelve, one by one. If the operation went well, the atrocities would end right here, today, at the heart of the last great Veiled stronghold in the caves.
The M.E.G. would triumph at last.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
“Stop it. It’s loaded.”
Justin glanced toward the blue-clad figure on his left.
Unlike him, the marshal was still. Stoic. Silent. From the moment they’d first arrived, she had knelt unmoving, with the posture of a perfectly disciplined warrior. Her back perfectly upright, hands resting gently on her lap, she peered silently over the stony ledge toward the parish in the gloom below. Reverent and serene, she bore the image of a monk steadfast in prayer. Justin envied her armor – the faint cyan glow of the glyphs emblazoned on her pauldrons, and the deep navy cloak draped majestically over her glinting mail.
The Overseer poised himself to reply. He turned toward her, straightening his shoulders to display the prominent eagle emblem over his chest.
“Sorry, what was that?”
The marshal’s helmet swivelled calmly to face him.
“I said stop it, boy.”
Justin's knuckles tightened over his pistol.
“What did you just call me?”
There was no reply. Haughty eyes peered out from under the marshal’s helmet, proud and unrelenting. Within the Overseer's chest, the burning sensation flared.
“May I remind you that for the duration of this operation, I am your commanding officer-”
“Oi.”
A tall, cloaked figure strode up from behind, his head almost grazing the ceiling of the cavern. Justin felt his stomach twist. The Arbiter of Justice himself stooped down beside him, setting his war-hammer upon the floor with a dull thud. He turned to his subordinate, his glowing crimson eyes piercing through the darkness beneath his hood.
“Let ‘im be, Amestris. Stay focused.”
The marshal glared at Justin in disdain.
“Yes, my lord. My apologies.”
The burning sensation within Justin’s chest dissipated instantly, replaced with a wave of self-satisfaction.
“Forgiven,” he retorted, nodding curtly. He turned away, hiding the smug smile creeping over his face.
As he did so, a green light flashed to his right, where the radio had lain silent for over an hour. Justin snapped to attention and hastily reached down, snatching up the receiver with trembling fingers.
“Quick Match One to Stretch. In position, over.” Reed's voice rung out, crisp and clear. The sound was a melody to Justin's ears.
“Finally. Copy Quick Match One; come in Quick Match Two, status report, over.”
“Quick Match Two, we’ve been engaged on the south side near the doorway. Mainly threes, fifteens, thirty-ones, and those damned spiders… I count about twenty-five hostiles remaining, quickly thinning out-”
The thunder of a firesalt grenade emanates from the receiver.
“Correction, fifteen hostiles… Theo’s just taken out another chunk of ‘em. Be advised, priests have withdrawn into the building and may be headed your way, over.”
“Copy Quick Match Two, over and out.”
Justin peered out over the ledge. Down in the chamber below, the doors of the Grand Parish had begun to rattle violently, as the creatures within strained for release. The cacophony of wild screeches reverberated across the walls of the cave.
Looking down, he flicked open the safety of his pistol in earnest, and racked the slide.
Click. Ka-chunk.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The blood rushed to his head, his heart thumping loudly in his ears like maddened drums of war.
BOOM.
The doors beneath flung open. A horde of wretches swarmed forth, like rotted intestines spilling from a gutted carcass. The creatures raced up the walls of the cavern with frightening speed, limbs flailing wildly, putrid ooze flying from every orifice.
Thrill surged through Justin's veins.
All at once, M.E.G. operatives and Argosic watchers alike sprang out of hiding, and opened fire. The approaching abominations melted away in a rain of pyroil and almond water.
Taking a final deep breath, Overseer-A hoisted himself up on the ledge into full view of the raging conflict, and issued his clarion command.
“ADVANCE!”
With a fleshy squelch, Justin wrenched the crowbar from the wretch's skull. Reed winced as bits of flesh splattered onto the parish's tiled floor.
"Gross, dude."
"Hah!" Justin smashed the weapon into the dead creature's face a few more times for good measure. He grinned gleefully as Reed backed away, his face contorting in disgust. The ooze, mingled with blood, spilled out beneath their boots, the creature's brains leaking onto the ground through its smashed skull.
"Can't believe you're this squeamish… 'specially since you're the one who uses Jimmy."
"That was… once a person, y'know."
"So? We've done it a favour. That thing's been a monster for who knows how long. And now it's dead."
He flicked the crowbar, gunk flying off the makeshift blade affixed to the hook, and held up the weapon. Since he'd last seen it, Jimmy had received more additions. It was sporting a proper rubber grip now, and at the end of the hook spikes had been welded on — a far cry from the dull grey instrument they had found all those years ago.
"I see Jimmy's gotten an upgrade." Justin paused, admiring the craftsmanship, as he handed back the crowbar.
"Yep… gotta keep him in tip-top shape. Good ol' Jimmy… been with us from the start."
Reed smiled, reminiscing the times gone by. He bent down, strapping the crowbar back onto his thigh. Fluids still dripped off the blade, trickling down to join the puddle of sludge pooling under their feet. "You ever miss the early days, Stretch?"
He straightened up, wiping the grime off his hands and onto the front of his shirt.
Justin snorted. "Why would I? Look at what we've accomplished today!" He kicked the dead wretch beneath him vindictively. "The Veiled were monsters. And the M.E.G. — we're the ones who fight back the monsters. After today, everyone finally knows what we're capable of." He stepped over the corpse, strolling past the pews and toward the altar.
In his wake, several operatives jogged up and flocked around the body, grasping it by the limbs. Dark ooze smeared across the ground as they dragged it toward the door. Around the room, watchers and operatives alike hauled the bodies, slumped all over the splintered pews, in the same direction. A hundred more lay outside, piled together and waiting to be burnt. Reed glanced at the scene for a moment, hesitant, before following behind his friend.
"Well… what I mean is, you and Andrew have been pretty stressed out recently."
"Uh, duh. We just fought a war."
"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. You think we should maybe… wind down a little, now that it's all over?"
Justin paused, letting Reed catch up. He stared up at the stained grey glass that loomed above the altar. Faint light streamed through the mural from the fires burning outside, illuminating his face in a monochrome glow.
"It's… not over though, is it? There's… more… for us."
He fixed his gaze on the horned goat in the center of the mural. It leered down at him with a sinister, malicious grin.
"More places to see. More colonies to build. More evil to fight."
Reed stood at his side, silent. Wordlessly, the two friends stared up at the profane mural, bathing in pensive thought.
"Maybe… maybe it doesn't have to be our fight."
Justin frowned.
"What do you mean? We're the glimmer of hope. Everyone is looking up to us to lead them."
"Well, it's not just us. The Eyes of Argos, the Lost, the B.N.T.G., Camp Amber… they can pick up the pieces. And even with the M.E.G…. you don't have to be the one to bear the weight, you know. We could take a step back. Maybe even settle down somewhere. The Backrooms don't revolve around-"
"Captain Lestry?"
The pair glanced back toward the doorway. An operative stood clutching a radio in his arms, staring expectantly at Reed. He rolled his eyes.
"Be right there." He turned back toward Justin, and gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
"Think about it, Stretch. We don't have to keep doin' this."
The vanquished stared into the eyes of the victors, and smiled.
In fact, he would not stop smiling.
Broken and bound in shackles on the floor, Grand Priest Lunaire Praetoris the Fifth responded with nothing but masochistic glee at every assault — physical or verbal — hurled towards him.
The Eyes of Argos, at first stoic and unmoved, were themselves beginning to get impatient.
"For the last time, we command you: in the name of Justice, give us the location of Nox and Arcan."
With one foot on his head, Marshal Amestris dug the tip of her spear further into his shoulder blade. Blood spewed from the wound, black and horrible, to no avail. The priest neither screamed nor jerked nor begged. There was no reaction — not so much as a twitch at the pain. He turned his head toward his captor, a smile still plastered across his face, blackened irises staring up into hers.
"Justice yields to the strong… and you are cowards."
With a scream of frustration, the Inquisitor wrenched her spear from his tainted flesh and threw it aside, kicking the prisoner in the face with her heel. In desperation, she looked toward the Overseer, who stood leaning against the altar, arms folded. Thus far, he had done nothing but watch the proceedings, with an odd, macabre fascination. Raising her arm, she pointed a gloved finger at him.
"We have done everything we know to do. You — you M.E.G. folks. You try."
Justin knelt down, staring at the disgusting specimen grinning before him. All manner of strange glyphs were tattooed in black across his wrinkled face. Most he could not identify, but there were some that he recognized — an inverted cross. A crescent moon. A swastika.
He recoiled in disgust.
"Don't you get it? We've already won. Now tell us where the other Grand Priests are, and maybe your death will be quick and painless."
"You and I both know that is not what I deserve." The prisoner beamed up at him, unfazed.
"Why are you smiling? You lose. You've lost everything."
"Oh, indeed. I do not deny that."
"Then what's there to smile about, you sick freak?"
"I have lost. You have won… but we have won also."
Justin's eyes were transfixed upon the priest's jagged, blackened teeth, set crookedly into his rotting, necrosed gums.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"If you have defeated us, then why am I alive?" The prisoner leered up at him with glee. "Why do you kneel here before me, begging for scraps, as a dog from his master's table?"
Fury blazed in Justin's chest. Clutching his pistol, he raised it overhead and brought the butt of the weapon down onto the prisoner's scalp. There was a crack as the iron surface connected with his skull, and a dull thud as his face connected with the granite floor. Though the priest made no response, Justin repeated the motion several more times. He relished in the savagery, raining blow after blow onto the prisoner's bleeding head.
"Give us what we want, you piece of shit."
"Yes, ye-e-e-s…" the prisoner began to laugh. It was a horrible wheezing shriek, nauseating as the screech of sharp bone scraping against metal. The awful sound reverberated, echoing across the ornate walls and pillars of marble. The surrounding watchers shrank back, revulsed.
Throwing his weapon aside, the Overseer grabbed the priest's smooth, bald, head with his palm, forcibly lifting back his head. Languidly, Grand Lunaire looked at Justin. His beady pupils pierced past his frightened eyes and into the depths of his soul.
"Enjoy your inheritance. One conquers, and the conqueror takes the seat of the conquered one." Blood trickled down from the priest's forehead. Like a snake, his tongue came wriggling from his mouth to lap up the stream, staining his lips with the darkened flow.
"W-we're… we're nothing like you." The Overseer's hand, still clutching the priest's skull, began to tremble. Blood dripped from the prisoner's chin, and onto his knees.
"How sure of that are you, child? We are in your flesh and bones. Our root is inescapable. Our rot is inevitable. Descendance shall come in eclipse, and together, we will blot out the light."
Justin let go in horror, the priest's head falling back onto the ground with a sickening thud.
"Mark my words: We are always in control. Nothing changes under the dark of the lightless sun."
He gazed downward. Blood caked the Overseer's open, shaking palm.
"Enough." The Arbiter of Justice stepped forward, war-hammer clutched in his hands.
Gladly, Justin got up and stepped back, as the terrible figure towered over the captive.
"If he won't answer to mortal flesh, he will certainly answer to me." For the first time, the prisoner's eyes widened in legitimate terror, as Argos raised his mighty weapon.
Justin turned away, walking down the steps of the altar. But he could feel, somewhere behind his back, the priest's gaze still fixed upon him, his wicked, lurid grin seared eternally upon his mind. As the war-hammer came down, he uttered three final words, branded forever after into the Overseer's soul.
"Enjoy your power."
M.E.G. — Bettering Humanity