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“Yeah. Me too,” I say ruefully.
“How many has she had?”
“Orgasms?”
“Spawn.”
“Oh. I don’t know. Three, so far? I think? They’re trying to make more.”
Connor starts pacing back and forth across the clearing. His hair has grown out a lot since I last saw him. He must be on a leave of absence from work. It’s almost down to his shoulders in a thick mane.
“Of course they are. The monster will breed her until she can’t be bred anymore. She’ll produce hundreds of mutants over her lifetime. They have to be stopped.”
“I don’t think… I mean. I don’t think she wants to be stopped. It sucks when people have kids and lose interest in their old lives, but we have to accept that as part of their personal journey of growth and not be bitter and weird about it.”
I’m getting to give him the lecture I’ve given myself many times, and it feels good because I’m starting to sort of believe myself. It’s so much easier to be righteous when you have an audience.
“This isn’t about someone getting knocked up and quitting their job,” Connor growls. “This is about something much worse. This is about a population explosion of mutants.”
“Oh. So it’s like, kind of a, well, bigotry thing?”
He snarls at me and nearly lunges. I take a quick step back as his eyes start to gleam with zealous menace.
“It’s not anything like a bigotry thing. Their kind is inherently dangerous. They’re not like normal people, or even traditional supernaturals…”
“The more you talk about this, the more prejudiced you’re sounding.”
He clamps his jaw and gives me a steely look. This conversation is now officially going downhill.
“You need to decide what side you’re on. The side that turns human women into monster incubators, or the side that freed you from your wounds forever.”
“I’m grateful for what you did for me. Don’t get me wrong. But ultimatums are always a shitty strategy. Order doesn’t want a fight with you. The mutants don’t want to get into war. They just want to live peacefully. They were designed to save humanity, they said. They were made to be heroes!”
“Made to be heroes is not the same thing as being heroes.”
“Just like being made a monster isn’t the same thing as being a monster?”
I am definitely winning this argument, but as with most arguments, I’m not actually winning anything of any substance. The more good points I make, the more entrenched the chief seems to get in his original viewpoints, which sucks because I’ve always liked him, and he’s always looked out for me. He’s not an enemy. He’s my boss, and he was a great fucking boss. In the end, it’s that goodwill, and not my arguments that make him soften a bit.
“You were always smart,” he says. “I let smart women get away with far too much.”
“Speaking of, is that Randy Carrot’s bright red curly hair on your collar or are you experimenting with a new style?”
I change the subject adeptly and watch him bristle. He doesn’t want to talk about this, but I also get the impression he really fucking needs to talk about this to someone, and I’m about the only person who understands all sides.
“She got wind of this entire thing. Not just the mutants, but the supernaturals, and of the war brewing. I’ve had to take extreme steps to stop her from publishing.”
“You mean you’ve kidnapped her.”
“Yeah,” he says, without any kind of shame at all.
“Christ. Remember when we used to uphold the law?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes you have to do what’s right, and not what’s legal.”
“We’ve seen people go to jail for acting on that sentiment.”
“Yes. We have.”
