“The most noble intentions,” he sighed. “That’s what you say to your prospective father-in-law. And yet, you both know, those unimpugnable intentions involve some rather unspeakable activities—crude, biological acts for which man never quite escapes shame.”
“I’m not trying to fuck this guy. I’m trying to kill him.”
He stared at the impish figure smiling up at him. What had been rumor then urban legend then exaggeration, had formed out of the ether of contradictory tales an unimpressive, middle-aged man, a man bald with a round belly.
“Yes, and you’re going to kill him to save the world—best of intentions—and it has nothing to do with your hyper-competitive nature or his popularity. You’re not doing this because you’re jealous, but you’re also not not jealous.”
“I didn’t come here to be psychoanalyzed. I came here to ask for help.” The big man folded his arms, but his face fell as he found himself unintentionally flexing his muscles.
“We’re all actors, in the end, and worse than that, masks others wear.” He smiled at his visitor. “I am no exception. I want you to think me clever, recognize my talent. He does too. Do you think anything he does isn’t tainted with pride?”
“Your point?”
“You cannot defeat him. He’s stronger, smarter, faster, but he’s not God. He’s as human and as broken as the rest of us. His motives are as pure as our own.”
“I know,” the big man’s head bowed. “But I came here to you to ask how to defeat him.”
“The same way you would defeat yourself.”
Tale Told 