ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Love Thy Enemy

Vignette - Love Thy Enemy
Dramatis Personae Malthus
In Absentia	2013-07-23 '
Location
"Sir, permission to speak?" The question came from a younger soldier, dressed in preparation for the last battery of training before tomorrow's operation. Malthus glanced up from the monitor; on the screen was footage of the protest over the Mendel Clinic announcement. "Of course, Sergeant. At ease; speak freely. My door is always open for my troops." The response came automatically; Malthus' full attention settled on the young man. "Sir -- it's -- a bit of a personal question," the soldier admitted. Malthus smiled, small and polite: "Ah. The scar?" "No -- I mean yes, but -- well. There's -- rumors going around that," the soldier continued, before taking in a breath: "You founded this organization because they -- gave you that scar. Muties, I mean." "Mutants," Malthus corrected, although his tone was gentle. "Please, Sergeant. Sit." He gestured to the chair in front of him; the sergeant quickly complied. Malthus then turned the monitor to him -- showing him the frozen image of a man, colorful and bright, a moment away from being tased. "Are you familiar with this man?" Malthus asked. The soldier stared at the image for a few moments. "Yes, sir," he replied. "We've all been briefed on--" "Jackson Holland," Malthus agreed. "Probably the most dangerous mutant in New York City." "--that's. Part of -- I don't understand, sir," the sergeant admitted, his tone hesitant and cautious. "According to the briefing we were given, his only power is producing shields--" "His power," and now there was something piercing in Malthus' tone, "is not what makes him dangerous." "--is it his. Politics?" Malthus produced a world-weary smile: "No. It's because he loves us." The soldier gave Malthus the blankiest of blank looks. "Mmn," Malthus said, steepling his fingers. "I see I have lost you." "He's dangerous because he... what?" the soldier asked. "Because he loves us?" "Perhaps 'love' is too strong of a word," Malthus said, carefully. "But in the broadest sense -- he saved the mayor from an assassination attempt; he saved Norman Osborn from rogue mutants -- he even protected members of the NYPD. Why? Because," Malthus' eye focused back on the screen, "he refuses to yield to hate. To hate your enemies is to empower them, Sergeant. It's to make them into demons. To lose track of what they really are. I do not," Malthus turned, tone sharpening, back to the soldier, "hate mutants." "...do you, uh." This question was asked much more hesitantly: "--love them, sir?" Now, Malthus smiled; a rare, genuine expression of amusement: "I do not make the mistake so many men in this day and age make: I do not mistake hatred for strength and love for weakness. Love is strength. You must first come to understand them for what they truly are -- you must come to accept them, embrace them, and yes -- even love them." "Then," Malthus added, his eye darkening, "you destroy them."