Mettle

  I used to be like you. I used to be courageous, brave, and true. I used to be a hero, as people call it. Once upon a time, my armor was the brightest shade of white; of pure resolve and intentions. I used to be the paradigm of righteous conviction. I was all of that, and more. Just like you. And just like you'll come to know, my status proved to be my downfall.

  You won't notice it at first. At first, the job is easy. Kill somethiong here, save someone there. The choices are simple; the lines of division are dark and clear. As time goes on, however, the lines will begin to truly blur. The more trust that's put into you, the more complicated your decisions will become. No longer will you simply defend those that can not defend themselves. Eventually, you'll be called upon to kill them.

  You won't even think about it, though. I sure as hell didn't. By this point, you'll be able to justify the atrocities you'll commit. They'll tell you to do it, and you will; blindly believing them when they tell you that what you are doing is for the protection of the innocent. You'll be so blind that you won't even notice when your armor begins to turn; to tarnish.

  You remember the day that you received your armor, don't you? Couldn't have been all that long ago. I remember when they gave me mine. I remember the searing pain as the symbiot bound itself to my soul. People die during the process, you know? They say that those who don't make it are the unworthy ones. That their souls contained darkness, and the armor burned them out of existence to prevent its own corruption. Some kind of final safeguard.

  If that was true, how in the hell do you explain me? My armor is blacker and darker than a coal mine at midnight. What exactly did they tell you about me? That I was some common thief that found a way to override the armor's purpose? Did they tell you that I used dark magics to exert my will on the armor? That's impossible. Those with the kind of power necessary to do that no longer have a soul substantial enough to for the armor to bond to.

  Do you remember what they told you? That the armor is a direct reflection of the state of your spirit? That this armor receives its power directly from soul it's bonded to? Think about that for a second:  your armor is as white as fresh snow, while mine... well, I already went over that. By that definition, that would mean that you are pure while I am the exact opposite. But how is that possible? The armor is protective of the power it gives, they say. So protective that it will kill any individual with just a shred of evil within them. And yet, here I am.

  I am not trying to change your mind here, make no mistake. I know that you are going to kill me, and that you are going to kill me because the Council has deemed me evil; declared to the world that I am a monster. I am not going to fight it, or you. I just need you to know.

  I used to be like you. I used to be a hero. But I sinned. And that's what I need you to understand:  no matter how you justify it, no matter what the Council declares, you will sin. And your soul will know it. As the days turn to months, and the months to years, your spirit will corrupt. The amount of lies you tell yourself will not change that fact. I used to be like you, once upon a time. What I need you to know is that someday, you going to be exactly like me, Gabriel.

  Yes, I know who you are. Your deeds are well-known to me. To be completely honest, I hoped that it would be you that was entrusted with the task of reclaiming my armor. That's how it started for me, as well:  an assassination.

  You are about to be tested, Gabriel. You won't even know it. I hope you fare better than I did.

  Alright, I've said what I needed to say. Good luck, kid.

​  I stare into the old man's eyes, a vibrant shade of blue. I almost feel pity stirring within me, but his armor, black and muted, is enough to kill the emotion within me. It truly is a testament to his evil. The Council was right:  he would try to manipulate me and turn me to his side. The world will be better off without this demon.

  I raise my pistol, silvered and shining, and place the barrel between his eyes. My armor responds to my intentions by shifting its components and expanding to form my faceguard and helmet. The old man closes his eyes. I pull the trigger.

  The Council's will be done.