“Allow the enemy to get away?” Gilgamesh repeated the woman’s words to himself by muttering. “We had the upper hand?” He was playing a role in an attempt to make anyone watching not realize that the woman was an alien, but her responses made it seem like she truly was a soldier of Earth. She must think I don’t know she’s not from here, Gilgamesh thought with amusement, letting the insults she threw at him bounce off like twigs. His five men were still aiming at the two children, awaiting orders to fire or a moment where it would be warranted without his command. “Nimrod?” he said loud enough for his soldiers to hear and turning his head slightly so that his men knew they were being addressed. They chuckled briefly at the rare moment that their commander demonstrated some humor.

“We can’t let those poets go,” the woman said. And on and on she went, talking about how dangerous they are and a possible plan to trap them, even agreeing to talk after the two children were taken care of. Gilgamesh’s incredible hearing allowed him to listen to her voice at a capacity that none of his soldiers could, which allowed him to determine that she wasn’t acting. Despite this, even his soldiers began to display confusion, knowing that if she were trying to pretend to be a human, she wouldn’t be going out of her way to take control of the situation. So she knew about poets, Gilgamesh thought with awe. Poets exist on other planets.

He wondered what the implications of this were and didn’t know whether to be happy or angry. Happy that there would be more to kill, but angry that he may die one day having not killed nearly enough. Evidently, even on other planets poets couldn’t keep themselves out of trouble. It seemed that this woman shared a common enemy with Gilgamesh. Nevertheless, her portraying the danger of poets and the urgency in her voice to have the children killed sickened and angered him. He didn’t kill poets because he thought they were dangerous. For him, the concern of their danger belonged with the cowardly politicians and the CIA. His killing of poets was nothing short of personal and he considered such public confessions of their danger as a weakness that brought strength to poets. He would know. He himself fed upon the fear of others. It was his life now.

“You fear these children?!” Gilgamesh bellowed as he began to walk toward her at a leisurely pace. He saw his men attempt to go with him, but he signaled for them to hold their position. He never carried or used firearms. He didn’t need them. And his sword was more for show than it was for practical use. He presumed the woman wouldn’t see his approach as a threat, but it didn’t entirely matter to him in the end. Fear was something he instilled in others, not the other way around. “They’re garbage! If they’re not a threat now they never will be!” he bellowed as he paused from walking and quickly drew his sword.

He unsheathed it as though he wanted to cut the air and, although it couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, something erupted from the sword when he did. This fact was made abundantly clear because everything that stood in the invisible force’s wake were cast aside like toys and every particle of dust kicked up, demonstrating the location of the force as it quickly made its way toward the children’s current location. It was like a concentrated shockwave.

“Let the civilians worry about how dangerous they are,” he said, sheathing his blade. “The civilians who break our laws against protecting and hiding poets from those looking for them—let them worry about the danger. Then they’ll stop. Then poets will be out in the open,” he explained, making his way to the woman, beginning to see how small she was for a woman who knew how to use a gun. “Then we’ll CRUSH THEM!” he said, pausing from his advance once more and turning to look at the children, the volume of his voice rising higher than it ever had so far. It was unnatural. Windows from nearby buildings instantly shattered from the its volume and the last two words he said echoed in the streets. He turned back to the woman casually, showing no strain from his efforts and finally made it just a few feet away from her before stopping.

“It must be clear that you’re far from home, soldier,” Gilgamesh said, speaking at a volume that she alone could hear for the first time. “But your not acting like it makes me wonder. I think we share a common goal, but I need to know more about you. You should know that this is just a demonstration. The real battle will be elsewhere,” he explained, hoping that he could get some information. “What’s your name, soldier?”