Ready, Set, Go

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.”

He said it just before I left, the two of us sat in the dark, side by side and pinkies locked. “It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.” Just that, a single sentence cutting through the night’s silence. An acknowledgement of a sort, the closest thing to a goodbye the two of us would allow ourselves.

Of course, I didn’t understand what he’d meant at the time. Too weighed down by the thoughts of what I was about to do, with the uncertainty of my future, of the risks and dangers and all the thousands of ways that everything could go horribly wrong.

Which was his point. It doesn’t matter how pure your intentions are, how fervent your beliefs, it’s all meaningless if ultimately, when you act, you don’t expect to win.

It’s always framed as heroic. The bold protagonist, bravely walking to his certain doom, facing insurmountable odds. He tosses out some one liners as he leaves, allaying the fears of the plucky band misfits who he’s, somehow, come to care about: maybe a ‘see you on the other side’, some reminder to deal him in next poker night. Maybe someone even expresses concern over his chances - he turns in the doorway, tells them: “that’s where you’re mistaken. The only threat out there, is me.” He pauses between the ‘there’ and ‘is’ to emphasise his point. Maybe he points. Always cool, always in control.

And yet, just before he leaves, before he joins the fight and beats the bad, emerges victorious, gets the girl, and so on and so on, before all of that, there’s that moment, just the one, where the mask drops, and he falters. And in that moment, he knows he’s going to die. Of course he is, he can’t win. He’s outnumbered and outclassed, he’s out of time. But he pushes ahead anyway, because….

Because he’s come this far, and giving in now would be giving up. Because he owes it to his friends, to the people he’s left behind, and because this way at least they’ll live if he can’t. Because at least he’ll have tried, at least he’ll have done something worthwhile. At least his death will mean something.

And then he saves the world and defeats all his enemies, gains his reward or, even better, respect, and goes on to live a long and happy life, until the next sequel. And it depends on the protagonist anyway - some ‘heroes’ are cocky pricks, no concept of humility or their own mortality.

But ignore all of that. Let’s assume for a moment, that the hero can die. That the heroes can lose and the bad guys can win, and that stories don’t always have happy endings.

The hero dies. He dies because he was too weak on his own, because he walked into odds he knew he couldn’t beat, because he wasn’t willing to risk those he cared about so he went it alone. He dies because he was brave and stubborn and never gave up.

It makes for a compelling character, to be sure. A tragic story. But at the end of the day, the sacrifice, however noble, is meaningless. What use is trading your life for a lost cause? Death, and for what? A short lived sense of righteousness? Nothing changes, nothing improves. 

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.” There’s no use going through with a plan doomed to failure, because it’s a waste of time, a forgone conclusion. If you think you’ll lose, you’ve already lost, because the only plans worth trying are the ones with any chance of success. If your plan won’t work, then you think of one that will, because if a cause is worth dying for, then it has to be worth living to fight again. You’re no use to anyone once you’re dead.

And so it’s all well and good to laud the hero’s bravery as he marches to his death, but it doesn’t matter if he doesn't believe he’s going to win. You can’t fight the good fight if you’re expecting to lose, because if you expect to lose and you fight the fight anyway, then you’re not fighting for good at all. It doesn’t count if you’re not willing to do whatever it takes to come out on top, because then you’re not fighting for your beliefs, for your cause, you’re fighting for yourself, to make yourself feel better, to make yourself feel like you’re helping, like you have a purpose. You’re fighting to protect your people, and you’re putting them in danger either way because you know you’re gonna lose. It doesn’t count if you’re planning your defeat, because then all you’re doing is making everything about yourself. It doesn’t count if you’re only looking for the moral victory, because it changes nothing in the long run. It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat, because that’s not heroic, because heroes don’t lose!

Smart man, my brother.

Just a shame I couldn’t have figured out what he meant before I went and got myself captured.

* * * * *

Somebody’s knocking at the door.

I don’t know why. It’s locked, and not from the inside. My response has no bearing on whether or not I’m about to receive company. A show of courtesy? Typically that kind of behaviour is better received by people you haven’t kidnapped, but I’m hardly in a position to be criticising people’s forethought.

You know, considering all the time I’d spent running gruesome scenarios, death or imprisonment or torture, I really should have tried to figure out what happened to people who did get captured. I don’t remember reading about their hospitality, but I’m sure there must have been some accounts somewhere. Is knocking standard procedure?

It is a nice room. That’s a mark in support of my hypothesis. There’s a bed and everything. Maybe I am meant to open the door - but I know I heard someone lock it. Also, I think my leg may be broken. The point is, I’m not getting up to open the door - to invite in the persistent knocker, or to check its security - anytime soon.

I guess I could invite them in. Maybe that’s the play. Maybe I’m about to get a recruitment pitch, and they want me to buy into the illusion of the talk being on my terms. Another trick that generally works better on people you haven’t kidnapped.

Or maybe the knocking is there to send me spiraling trying to figure out its purpose, trying to figure out the right way to respond, until I’m second guessing my every move, putting me into a state of panicked paranoia that could ultimately leave me more vulnerable to interrogation, even though that feels counter-intuitive, because

Breathe.

Or, it’s just there to be a minor annoyance from a bored guard.

Stay focused.

They won’t keep me in here forever, it wouldn’t make sense. Sooner or later someone is going to come in, and I need to be ready when they do.

Game plan: play along. I don’t have a hope in hell of getting out as I am now, just one leg and no intel. So answer their questions, and keep the stories straight. Feed them the right lines, and wait for their reactions - a conversation only becomes an interrogation when one party stops paying attention.

And as to that point, find a good position, defensible, with full sight of the room. A pillow’s hardly a weapon, but it’s what I’ve got, and I’d rather have it than not. I’ve made some mistakes - probably more than I realise, to be honest - to get to this point, but now, finally, finally, I’ve figured out what the game is, and this time I’m playing to win, actually win.

And a pillow is an incredibly easy-to-disguise weapon, on account of it being a, pillow.

The knocking’s stopped, traded for some fumbling with the lock. Get ready.

And that’s the handle turning. Set up, back against the wall.

“Ms Bhave, if you wouldn’t mind answering just a few questions…”

Lets go.