Adventures Of Oakheart, Issue #005

Issue #005 – – – – – controlled by Wayne Gildroy – – – – – Credits 88

Oakheart was good at brooding.  He supposed it came with being a living tree, he did not see the need to rush pointlessly.  If something was difficult and dark he was ready to spend the appropriate time mulling over the facts and considering his options.  He wasn’t bulletproof and he had seen those hunters show no compunction about using lethal force, nor any real remorse after they had done so.  He might have lasted a bit longer than the young man but he was fairly sure the outcome would not have been much different.  It was in his nature to feel responsible for others – hadn’t he always tried to keep people safe?  But there was no useful function to be served by beating himself up over something he couldn’t change.

“They would have killed me too,” he rumbled, this obvious conclusion being clear in his mind.  “Nothing gained by that scenario.”  He determined that, instead, he would look to garner justice for the young man in the longer term.  He had a feeling that this strange new world was not a “quick fix” if it were even in his power to fix it at all.  “He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword,” he said sadly, remembering some phrase from his past.  “Very well,” he whispered, gazing at the old abandoned fountain as if it were some ancient altar before which he could pledge earnestly.  “If these hunters are quick to kill, perhaps they will find that Oakheart will bring violence back upon them?”
Yes, he thought to himself, his countenance grim.  It was clear he must work in a different way.  If they would bring murder into his domain then he would respond in kind.  “Please let them try again,” he growled.  He did not sound like himself – but the world was not itself either, so perhaps this was the logical recourse?

The early morning light saw Oakheart lurking amidst the copse near one of the main gates.  He could see commuters, even at this hour, beginning to make their way into the place where they would toil their day away.  Time passed, more pedestrians appeared, the city got busier.  A group of surly young men were gathered near the old steel arch, several of them sitting on the steps that led up to the Lincoln statue.  These, he could see even from this distance, were real gangers, not the fakery he had witnessed the night before.  He thought he recognised the colours, East Fivers?  Something like that.  Mostly teenagers, not really doing any harm right now, just hanging out and scaring passers-by with the sheer fact that they were there, dressed like that and in a group.

A cop approached, though there was something odd about his uniform.  Instead of the usual blues, his jacket was black and his cap adorned with a steel logo – it looked like a bull?  Oakheart listened, though at this distance he couldn’t quite make out all the words.
“Move along now,” One of the cops instructed aggressively, his hand slipping suggestively to his nightstick.  The young men swore at him, gave him the finger – typical shows of youthful faux-masculinity, but not particularly threatening or aggressive, as gang responses go.  The second cop decided he didn’t like it anyway and produced a taser.  Now the young men came to their feet, appeasing.  “Hey man, take it easy,” He thought one said.
“No need for that, man,” Said another.  “We’re going!”  The cop tased him anyway, the young man crashing to the floor and thrashing there as the high voltage charge burst through his nervous system.  The first cop was laughing.  “Hey boys,” He sneered: “Your pal peed his pants.”
Oakheart could see from the dark stain that the young man did appear to have soiled himself.  He frowned at both the rough behaviour and the unprofessional tone of these officers of the law.

Just then one of the youths pulled a gun from where it had been tucked at the back of his jeans.  The atmosphere changed.   “You think that’s funny, shocking my bro’ ?” The young man spat.  “You think you can just do whatever you like, right?  Well maybe you won’t still be laughing when I make you a few new air holes?”
The cops weren’t laughing.  The first one narrowed his eyes: “You don’t want to be playing this game, kid,” He said.  “Our gang is a lot bigger than yours.  You fire that gun, you and your boys will be running for the rest of your short, miserably, drug-addled lives.”
“Put the gun down, Carlos,” one of the smaller young men pleaded.  “Louis is fine, look.  He’s fine.”  The fallen youth did not look fine.  His face was swollen from where it had hit the concrete in his fall.  His hands were grazed and he was pale and shaking.  His nose was bleeding.  His lip was split.  But none of that was going to kill him.  The second cop, who had produced his own gun and was pointing it at the fallen man, certainly did seem able and willing to kill him.
“So what’s it gonna be?” Said the first cop.  “Put the gun down, or your ‘bro’ here,” He sneered the word ‘bro’ like it was an insult, “Is the one who gets the new air holes.”

Oakheart could see this standoff was not going to end well, though he could not immediately decide who was in the right.  Both sides seemed to have spiralled quickly out of control and while the cops had been unpleasant, rude and brutal with the taser, the gang clearly went about armed as well.    To make matters worse, none of them were actually in the park, but just outside it.  And there were so many people around now.  Anything he did would be a real spectacle.  Oakheart had almost resigned himself to sitting this one out as well when something happened to complicate the situation.

“No, Josie!  No!” Shrieked a woman who was struggling with four large grocery bags while chasing after her little girl.  The child, perhaps six years old, was in turn chasing after a cat, clearly with the intention of petting it.  The cat, apparently not willing to be manhandled by this strange and noisy little human, ran right between the cops and the gangers.  It was a perfect scene – if some aspiring photographer had captured that moment on film then it almost certainly would have won awards.  It had foreground and background interest, it was dynamic and it was thrilling.  There was emotion, there was danger, there was a frenetic combination of movement and intention.  Either the cop or the teenager were going to fire their weapon and Oakheart could see there was every chance the innocent child would be in the worst possible place at the worst possible moment.