It’s seven thirty on a Tuesday night, and Bob X (the superhero slacker from these old threads, with powers similar to those of the Byrne-era Superman) is wrestling with a dilemma. Two miles in front of him is a small army of psychos, equipped with high-tech weaponry and orkish misanthropy; two miles behind him is a pacifist commune which said army intends to massacre. The pacifists’ leader has asked Bob NOT to intervene using force; he says it would be better that they all die than contribute, even indirectly, to a culture of violence.
And now for more details. Half an hour ago, Bob was flying to Chicago (where he lives) from Tokyo (where he had picked up a PlayStation custom modified for his unique physiology). He was over the airspace of a failed African nation-state (you pick one) when his super-senses detected a guy in a Gundam-type mini-mecha about to attack a family of four–mother, father, and toddlers. Slacker or not, Bob has a policy of not letting things like that happen, so he dropped the game system and sped to the rescue. He arrived not quite in the nick of time–soon enough to save the father and children, but two seconds too late to save the mother. Understandably pissed, he yanked the mecha’s pilot out of the suit to question him. The pilot was badass enough not to be intimidated even by the threat of glowing laser eyes, but fortunately the mecha’s logs was readable, making his next destination clear.
Leaving the mecha pilot in the wilderness (hopefully to be eaten alive by a nearby pack of hyenas), Bob took the survivors to their home, a village a few miles away. It’s a place Bob has heard about on CNN–a commune called the Sons of Nunuku-whenua, whose residents–of many races and nationalities–consider themselves the spiritual heirs of the Moriori . Bob asked to speak with commune’s leaders; in ten minutes, he was talking with their founder, Micah, and his twelve top advisors, all men.
“Here’s the deal,” Bob said. “A few minutes ago, I saved your guy Paolo and his kids from a member of the Purifiers. That’s a group of psycho assholes who claim to want to reclaim Africa for Africans, which involves attacking small villages, killing everybody who’s not black enough but for their taste, but sparing the nubile virgins. I’ve dealt with them before and was way too merciful last time. They’re heading this way and will be here in minutes. You guys need to take cover while I–”
“Wait,” Micah said. “Can you promise to deal with them non-violently?”
“Huh? Of course not. I’ll promise not to kill anybody I don’t *have *to–people who’ve surrendered, who are retreating, who’ve been knocked out, and so forth. But if I pull punches because I’m trying not be lethal, some of the bad guys are likely to slip through and kill some of your people. I can’t allow that–”
“I’m afraid I must ask you to,” Micah said. “We are absolute pacifists, Mr. Exeter. We believe all human life is sacred; we do not commit violence for any reason, and we cannot countenance others doing so on our behalf. If I allow you use the devil’s ways on our behalf, we will bear the stain of guilt.”
“But that can’t be a problem for you,” another elder commented. “Why don’t you just dig a trench around our compound at super-speed? Or pluck the Sons’ bullets from the air, or vaporize them with your heat vision?”
“That shit only works in comic books,” Bob replied. “If I zip around catching bullets one at a time, I’ll create sonic booms that’ll be just as dangerous to regular folk. Digging a trench at super-speed will shake your commune into dust, and the heat vision–never mind. This is no time to discuss super-power physics. These guys have ordered an asskicking and I gotta go deliver it.”
“Please do not do that, Mr. Exeter,” Micah says. “Not if it means doing violence. We will be the change we wish to bring to the world. If we die today, it is the will of Heaven, and we will be martyrs to the cause of non-violence. Please leave us so that we may gather our followers and pray.”
The rest of the elders all agree.
“You guys are fricking idiots,” Bob says.
With that he flies off. But not far. A quick super-vision survey reveals about five thousand people in the compound–mostly families like Paolo’s. Turning his elvish eyes towards the Purifiers, Bob sees two dozen mechas, a similar number of tanks, and five hundred infantry. Having encountered the Purifiers’ tech before, he’s sure he can handle this force, but not without risk of killing any of them. So he announces his presence and tells them to turn back or get hurt. Unfortunately, his assessment of them as psychos was spot on; even knowing who he is, they keep coming. Moreover, leaving the first Purifier alive was a serious mistake; his buddies saved him from the hyenas, and now they don’t believe Bob has the will to kill. Bob can stay or leave, the Purifiers say, but either way they intend to mow down the commune.
Should Bob do as his gut tells him–lay down the hammer on the Purifers, and thus impose his will on the Sons of Nunuku-whenua–or honor Micah’s request–and let the commune be exterminated?