Hercules

Part Three

Myra weeps for me, as I'm unable to summon any real tears of my own. I only shake. My hands, arms, legs, everything shakes. The leather chair makes me feel so small, so unable to do anything. My wife continues crying in the corner of my office. I take a quick look at my ashen-faced wife. It wouldn't surprise me if she never stopped crying, if her tears were eternal. Slowly, as if gears in my neck are suddenly rusted, I turn forward to face the window.

The morgue had alerted us shortly after the mob had subsided, everyone either dead or fleeing. We needed to come down and identify her body. All that had remained was her leg and half of her face. It was still enough to ID her. Enough to bury.

"No!"

My wife had screamed at the sight of her. I'd been too dumbfounded to do anything other than stare at her bloodied corpse, specifically her eye. Faye's deep brown eye still looked alive, as if ready to blink. She didn't have any dull, deadness that you'd come to expect when facing a corpse. There was so much fear in her eyes, it was hard to believe that it was merely an impression of what had once been. A shell.

Poor Myra had lashed out at the first doctor who dared come close. Her fist had connected with his nose, sending him sprawling up against the wall. We'd been sent away after that, cooped up in my office for what seemed like an eternity. Her funeral would be next Tuesday.

It hadn't been just her that had been killed in the riot. Hundreds, potentially thousands, had lost their lives. Of those who survived, like Faye's boyfriend, most were in critical condition. The shots of the mangled, gnarled corpses are everywhere now, plastered all over the TV. Interviews of survivors replaying over and over as well. They're all shifted as to support the narrative that we, Hercules Inc., should remain in control of the Other Side's monsters.

Unfortunately, it had done nothing to stop future mobs. As of right now, a third wave of protesters stands outside in the courtyard. The blood hadn't even been washed away yet, and already new meat was lining up, ready to be devoured at the hands of the Hoards. What pushed them to take such drastic measures? To throw away their lives, as if they're worth nothing? And I would be the one giving the order to end their lives. No use pretending it would be someone else.

It would be me. Me. I'd send them to their deaths.

Buzz

"Yes?"

I croak like a frog as I speak, barely able to get that single word out.

"It's time to give the order, sir."

I crumple my free hand into a fist, the guilt pounding me over the head. All this pain, I couldn't handle the pain. Myra's cries are merely the backdrop to the real show- Watching the cracks in my composure finally break in full, revealing the sniveling coward behind it who sentenced his own daughter to die.

Choices lead to disaster. They can be dangerous.

But cowardice is more so.

I burst into soft, salty tears before giving my answer.

"No."