Thankless and dissatisfied. How can a nation of invertebrates, cowering under the boots of rival nations discover the misguided courage to attempt and ‘protest’ me? Have I done something wrong or unjust? Like unruly children that have learned nothing of the world’s horrors or capacity for devastation, they think they know better than I, their elected president. Fools. I’ll show them that they need me. They need everything that I have offered and promised, just as they had demanded for when I was running for office.
“Monsieur Mercier, dissenters have reached the outer gates with signs. They’re rather enraged Sir, but they lack weapons from the looks of it.”
Quinn shifts his stern gaze to the militant standing before him. After he had dismissed the traditional personal guard and hired his own group of blackwater soldiers, people weren’t as trustworthy as they had been. It bothered him not. Only a handful of the nation’s soldiers could be trusted, but even they had their moral limits. Afraid to go the distance that France needed of them.
“Do they have hands?”
The guard in black fatigues and pistol strapped to his hip raised an eyebrow. Perplexed whether the question was literal or rhetorical. Against his better judgement, he nodded in affirmation, grinding his teeth in fear that The President would call upon his left hand sentinel known only as Cognus, infamous for acting as the Presidents own living armament.
“Then answer me this, Soldier. If they have hands, they can turn them into fists, correct? And if their hands become fists, they become weapons.”
He stood slowly, grasping the edge of his table and gritting his teeth, thousands of scenarios and endings playing out in his head that had depended on how he handled this delicate situation and what would be deemed the appropriate response. His eyes darted at an apparitional schematic or chessboard, inspecting himself as king and his army as pawns. It would be time soon enough to call upon his Knights and Bishops. Even the Queen and Rooks perhaps.
An hour later
“Ladies and Gentlemen of France.”
The old microphones and sirens utilized in World War II once again buzzed back to life, this time however, reverberating with the sound of their President who had done well to cause a stir within a few self proclaimed separatists that disagreed with the way he was attempting to handle things.
“Without provocation or rationalized deliberation, a strong, loud and admirable crowd stands before the home you elected me to reside in. They wave signs and banners mocking the government, myself, and in turn France, because of my failure as President to swiftly acknowledge the recent hate crimes that have been committed these past few months. I stand humble as they order an answer from me and I am nothing but a servant to the people and so….I will respond.”
His last sentence was breathed out slowly as if he would regret that it had come to this. Falsely emulating guilt and shame that his people turned upon him. Artificially of course on the exterior, but within his own mind, he was aware that this was an eventual obstacle on his path towards French achievement. There would be dissenters, rioters and looters. They assert there is no violence intended, but they come with fire in their hearts and clenched fingers. Civil War is inevitable, but there would only be one victor, and this endeavor of a coup would fail. Quinn was no Louis XVI.
“This assemblage of fellow citizens are lead by Americans. Why are foreigners stepping on our soil when we begin to strengthen ourselves as a nation and their country ventures to cut diplomatic ties? Is this march of so called, ‘peace and equality’ not similar to their own that spurred the destruction of Gothic City? I am but a man. As much as I try or desire, I have no control on the free will of others. Yes, I signed the execution orders of Adeline Clemence, a infamous terrorist who happened to be a mutant. Would I have not done the same if he were human? Answer me that.”
He let out another long sigh escape his lips through the intercom, once again, with mock mortification. Luring in those that were now becoming skeptical.
“If you suspect me of arming soldiers with non-lethal means of apprehending individuals suspected of crimes, then you are correct. I have. Are these means of capture strong enough to restrain mutants? Absolutely, because they need to be. If you have suspected me and fellow officials of preparing the orchestration of a mutant registration act….Then you are also correct.”
He was ready for the yelling and frustrated shouting as these plans were only rumors, spoken in dim bars or hushed political meetings but it was almost complete and ready to be signed by the fellow branches. He needed to explain further, to sympathize with the mob, particularly the outnumbering humans.
“….but before you hurl your disgust, ask yourselves again, ‘do we need not register a gun?' 'If I am a master of martial arts capable of lethal force, do I need not register my body?' 'If I hold anything able to effectively cause harm to others, do I need not register it?' I am not asking for the purging nor the expulsion of any group of peoples." YET LOL
"Only that they comply in what may pass as a registration act. For the safety of those that do not carry arms. For the people that were not imbued with powers beyond our understanding at birth. For us average people…Thank you for listening and hopefully, understanding. Please now, disperse. France today, France Tomorrow.”
His finger let go of the loudspeaker, letting the red button the reset into it’s off position before turning to the assembled people before him. The likeminded ones that understood what it was Quinn was truly trying to accomplish and shared a likeminded vision of a world without the rapidly growing and outnumbering mutants that seemed to have plagued the world. Still under the guise of the President, he left his ivory suit and mask hidden and protected with his dual cutlass pistols, ready to snag them when they were needed most.