Is this some bad action movie? It must be. With Arlo as the unsuspecting hero and you as the unrelatable villain. He's perfect, he's beautiful, he's got a love interest and he's loved by his supervisors. And you? You've got a habit. You lust for a woman that ignores you, you're ugly as sin with scars all over your body and you've got a dastardly plan to usurp the throne from your leaders. Not to mention your cocky attitude. And we all know what happens in the end of bad action movies. The hero gets the girl, the promotion, the win when the final showdown finally happens. And what of the villian? What is he left with? If he is not killed, he's left no better than broken. He's hauled off to jail, a television set broadcasting the wedding of his lost love and the hero that took him down. Even his physical body breaks down, the years of drugs and being thrown into sudden detox taking a toll, ravaging the body like a flame ravages the forest. So is this it? Is this the end of your story? Are you a villian tossed to the wind, to be forgotten, name only mentioned when it suits the victor to puff up their own image? Perhaps. But perhaps not.

And he comes when you call and you moan, his pace agonizingly slow. If he's going to kill you, you wish he would just hurry. He's gloating, he must be, mocking you as he walks this way, thinking of all the ways he's going to smash your head in and force you to suffer before you die. He wants to defeat you fully, to make your last thought one of your ultimate failure. He doesn't even want you to be happy in the after life. You try to tense your muscles, to force your body to get up and... and do what? You won't run, you're not a coward, but you can't fight him in this state. You don't know. But you try anyways. Too bad you took too many of your plants. Your body responds sluggishly, if at all, and your legs paddle useless against the sand. You're going to die. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

But then something different happens. He doesn't put his hoof on your head, he doesn't lean down to your ear to whisper devil-inspired sweet nothings, he doesn't even try to kick you or bite you. He just looks, watching you, and your eyes flicker over him, trying to understand what is happening. And you still hate him, and you want to destroy him with every fiber of your being, but you can't fucking move and... And this is the worst day of your life. And then something even your rational brain couldn't understand, let alone your drug-hazed current one. Get up. You narrow your eyes, not trusting him, ears falling back. But then he speaks again, and you're left confused. He really doesn't want to kill you? I'm not worth dying for after all.

Trying to do two things at once has never really been your forte, but you've got to figure it out now. He reaches down, nudging you roughly... giving you encouragement? Does it even make sense? So now you've got to figure out what exactly his plan is and try to get up? Fuck again. This day is only getting worse. Still, something in his touch seems to awaken your otherwise useless muscles and you find enough energy to make yourself sit, and then even stand, hooves spread comically wide to keep you from falling over again, head held low because you can't find the energy or muscle coordination to pick it back up. “Why?” Why didn't he kill you. Why did you help you? Why did he even come over here instead of letting you lie in the dirt?

On your side, the air hitting your now sand-filled wounds stings, demanding that you wash them free in the salty water, but you don't make a motion to move yet. You want to know. Because you wouldn't have let him live. Is this the hero's paradigm? To save everyone, even his enemy?