The front lawn of the IAW headquarters was packed with people. Cameras flashed from every direction. The placards being waved above the heads of the fulminating mob all but obscured the main building from sight.
The agitated clamor of the protestors blended with the incessant chattering – err, reporting – of the newscasters to form a white noise that sent sharp jolts of pain through the back of Ruban’s head.
Sighing, he parked less than two hundred meters away from the massive iron gates and stepped out of the battered old SUV.
He was immediately surrounded by a cacophony of reporters and protestors, each straining their vocal cords in an attempt to be heard over the others.
“Are you here to negotiate the release of the arrested HAVA activists?” asked the petite woman closest to him, the press card around her neck identifying her as Rohini Pillai from The Ragah Times.
Before she could continue, a placard-waving redhead in a too-tight skull t-shirt elbowed her aside. “They helped you kill that vile monster,” she cried, swinging her placard agitatedly to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the crowd. “They deserve to be honored for their sacrifice.”
Tuning her out, Ruban glanced at the placard. ‘Avenge Our Martyrs’ – it said in bold red letters. He supposed it referred to the two idiot cultists who’d managed to get themselves killed during the attempted-lynching at Kanla Park.
“Your statement should be enough to get them into house arrest while they await a proper trial.” A burly man, at least two inches taller than Ruban, opined from the side. “Those brave family men don’t deserve to rot in prison for the crime of defending their homeland against Aeriels. It’s bad enough we lost two of them during the attack.”
“Even us lowly civilians have the right to fight back when attacked,” cried the redhead, reinvigorated by the support.
“Release the champions of liberty!” Someone screeched from the background.
Ruban closed his eyes in frustration. It had been two weeks since the incident. But public interest in the lynching – and the cult that’d orchestrated it – refused to die down. If anything, it seemed to be growing.
Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d been mobbed outside the IAW headquarters this week.
As he struggled to push through the agitated, jostling crowd, Ruban’s eyes landed on the tall, pale figure that cut confidently through it, approaching him from the direction of the main building. The crowd parted seamlessly to let him through.
Ruban stilled, lips pressing together into a thin line.
He knew the press would be here, so what did it matter which one of the vultures circled him tonight? It wasn’t as if he could give them anything of use. He was as much in the dark as they were about what to expect at the meeting.
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Still, Viman Rai of CXN News wasn’t the anchorman he’d been hoping to see here this evening. The man had spent the past year publicly extolling the virtues of the reinforced sifblades and calling for a faster roll-out.
He’d used every spare slot on his (very popular) show to interview prominent anti-Vaan fanatics, providing them with a national platform. He demanded that all Hunters should be equipped with reinforced sif, regardless of rank. He even advocated for able-bodied civilians to be trained in the use of reinforced sif – ostensibly for the purpose of ‘self-defense and the defense of their communities’.
As he walked through the crowd, the protestors around him cheered. The disparate, clamorous voices became one, raising slogans for the release of the arrested HAVA activists and the purging of all Aeriels from earth.
“Ruban Kinoh. What an honor it is to see you here.” Having finally closed the distance between them, Viman Rai extended a hand, smiling warmly. “I take it you’re here to petition for the release of the bravehearts who fought beside you at Kanla Park.”
“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.” Ruban exchanged a firm handshake with the senior journalist. “As you might know, the arrested cult-members were illegally carrying a reinforced sifblade. That’s a major cause for concern, since these are prototypes that haven’t even been fully authorized for use by the Hunter Corps. A group of civilians wielding an experimental weapon such as that would endanger not only themselves but also everyone around them.
“As such, I’ve been asked to help the IAW investigate how HAVA gained access to a reinforced sifblade, given their production and supply are so closely monitored by SifCo. The cult-members must remain in custody until the investigation is over, as I’m sure you understand.”
“I see,” said Viman Rai, his smile suddenly stilted. “So the IAW wants to gatekeep the only effective defense we have against the growing Aeriel threat.”
Murmurs of indignant disapproval rose from the protestors surrounding them. Cameras flashed as a few of the nearby reporters shoved their mics in front of Ruban, bellowing their questions in an attempt to be heard over the furor.
“Hardly,” Ruban said, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. “The IAW is acting simply to prevent any misuse of reinforced sif. As you rightly said, it’s our only real defense against a potential Aeriel threat. The IAW has a duty to ensure it’s used as effectively and ethically as possible, wouldn’t you agree? Especially after what happened last year with the feather mafia.”
“I’d say that’s all the more reason to allow law-abiding civilians access to the reinforced sifblades, wouldn’t you?” Viman Rai asked mildly. “Criminals like Janak Nath will do what they want. Your laws won’t stop them from acquiring reinforced sif, if it suits their purposes. How fair is it, then, that our law-abiding citizenry should be left defenseless against the Aeriel menace? While the criminals – both in and out of government – build their own private militias armed to the teeth with reinforced sif.”
The crowd roared its approval.
“You and I both know, Mr. Rai, that criminals aren’t born. They’re made.” Ruban shook his head. “The law-abiding citizen of today can be the criminal of tomorrow, given sufficient opportunity and provocation. Janak Nath was a Hunter before he became a mafia kingpin, was he not?
“The reinforced sifblades are powerful weapons, volatile too. Better men than you and I would be tempted to play God, with unrestricted access to such destructive power.”
“Is that the IAW’s official stance?” Viman Rai asked, an eyebrow raised. “Would I be wrong to assume that this sudden concern for ‘ethics’ has something to do with the rumored alliance with Vaan?”
The incessant clicking of a million cameras echoed through the air, drowning out both curious enquiries and indignant cries of protest from the onlookers.
Ruban said nothing. Sidestepping Viman Rai, he strode towards the iron gates, the crowd parting to let him through.