Warforged in Equestria : Chapter Seven - Old Wounds

> So you stare at them.
> And they just stare back.
> None of you know what to say to break the silence.
> So none of you say anything.
> You just stare...
> And in the silence you can't help but think.
> Think of the times you'd seen so much worse than hiding.
> You think of the time after The Last War had ended.
> You remember the objection to the presence of your kind in cities.
> You remember how the objection turned to open protest.
> You remember how the protests got larger and larger.

> And worst of all you remember when they got violent.
> You where there with those sympathetic to the plight of your kind.
> There where few.
> But those that came to protest where many.
> It hadn't been much different from other protests you had been too.
> The men and women where loud and arrogant in there protests.
> The sympathetic where zealous in your defense.
> And you where there quietly listening to both sides.
> Waiting for the right moment to speak up in your own defense.
> Waiting for a moment that never seemed to come.
> Well...
> It did come eventually...
> Just not in the way you had in mind.

> You don't know who struck first.
> What you did know was that what started as a vocal but otherwise peaceful protest...
> Even if it was a hateful and evil idea at its core.
> Had suddenly erupted into a riot.
> Those sympathetic to your kind had no weapons.
> Not even simple things.
> You and those of your kind didn't either.
> Why would you?
> Your war was over, you just wanted to find a home, and something meaningful to occupy your time.
> But those who came to protest...
> They had come with one intention.
> Getting rid of your kind.

> And if they couldn't do it with there voices...
> They would do it with weapons...
> So try with weapons they did.
> But they where civilians.
> Men and women who had, even during the war, lived there lives in comfort in the cities.
> You and yours...
> Constructs built with one purpose in mind.
> War...

> No Warforged is ever truly unarmed.
> Your fists are made of metal and wood.
> Your body is the same, made to take a hit.
> Your instincts and sense are honed for battle.
> But you where outnumbered.
> There may have been fifty of your kind and perhaps twice that many sympathetic to your kind.
> But the rioters...
> There where hundreds...
> Mostly armed.
> All furious.

> When the fighting erupted it fell to your fifty to defend not just themselves but those who stood by you.
> Those who could had armed themselves with make-shift weapons, boards, planks, bricks, stones, anything they could use really.
> Those who couldn't had only there fists.
> When the rioters had surged everything had seemed to slow.
> The first man to attack you had been wielding a club.
> You remember his swing.
> Slow from your right.
> You had wrenched the weapon from his hand and struck him with a left hook.
> The force behind your punch produced the sound of cracking bones, and blood had shoot from his mouth splattering on you.
> At the time you hadn't cared.

> The next man hadn't even been attacking you.
> He had slipped past in the second it took you to drop the first and struck an unarmed man behind you.
> The man was on the ground a gash across his head from the blow he'd taken.
> His assailant had his arm raised, a club in hand ready to strike another blow.
> You had something to say about that.
> A punch to the shoulder had literally spun him to face you.
> A slam to the face had killed him instantly.
> And yet you still hadn't cared.

> What you had cared about was the wounded man on the ground.
> He had not come for a fight...
> He had come to defend you, and your kind, with words and ideas.
> As it should have been...
> Instead he was on the ground bleeding.
> You remember picking him up, and carrying him away from the battle...
> That's what it had become...
> Not a fight. Not a riot...
> A battle.
> So you carried him away from it.

> You had simply bull-rushed your way through those that tried to stop you.
> You plowed your way through those that stood to stop you.
> They had simply bounced off of you as you ran.
> When you had finally cleared them, your focus went to simply getting this man somewhere out of the fray.
> The place you chose was nothing more then a small alley.
> As you set the man down he just looks at you.
> A nod, which you assume to be of thanks is all he can muster.
> You simply nodded back.
> Satisfied that you had secured this mans safety, you turn back out of the ally.
> Even from here you can see where the protest had been.
> The rioters had been routed and had already begun to run now.
> A few of your kind where on the ground, you assume inert of dead.
> But the amount of men and woman from both sides...
> That was when you felt something.

> Rage.
> Hatred.
> Disgust.
> You had come here to allow men to speak there minds, even if you didn't, COULDN'T, agree with them.
> And they had done this...
> And all you could do was look down at your hands.
> Your hands and your body, caked in the blood of those who had tried to stop you.
> To kill you and an innocent man who had come to your defense.
> As quickly as it came your rage was gone, replaced in an instant by sorrow.
> As you stared down at your hands, all you could do was ask...
"Why..?"