War Comes

War had come to Manta Carlos. Not a true battle, not a true war, but War.

A part of Havoc registered that he probably shouldn't been surprised by the idea that war not only had a physical form, but by the fact that it was on the island, but it was hard to really be surprised by anything anymore. By the time Havoc had made it to the cafeteria for breakfast, he'd easily passed five impossible things every single day.

For that matter, he was an impossible thing. He could make fire effectively from thin air.

The fact that concepts could be people didn't really register as a surprise after that.

It was easy enough to find the bar the other student had mentioned--the bar where War went drinking--but less easy to figure out which one was War. He wasn't even sure if War was there. Maybe he had the night off. Maybe the whole thing was an elaborate prank played on new students.

Havoc decided he didn't really care, getting a glass of water and earning himself a firm look from the bartender before settling in to watch and listen.

The first sign that something was wrong was that Havoc could hear war. Not War himself, but war, the distant sounds of shots fired, of guns being reloaded, of explosions.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong, but even so he caught himself shifting ever so slightly, preparing for a fight that wasn't going to come.

Instinct over emotion. Instinct over logic.

Instinct over all.

The aura didn't quite effect Havoc the way it did others, even if the distant sounds of fighting did. He couldn't make up his mind on if he was hearing things, or if a battle was coming, and he cupped his palms together, a tiny fire springing to life for a brief moment before spluttering out, his control poor in less than perfect conditions.

The biggest tipoff was that no one else was bothered when a large man who appeared in the doorway, walking over to the bar and sitting down a few seats down. The sounds were louder, as if they were just a street or two over, and Havoc turned his head to the side, noting that the intensity of the sound didn't change.

They weren't really there.

"Are you War?" He abruptly asked, leaning forward slightly to look at the large man.

As much as Havoc had made an involved and pointed effort to seek out War, there wasn't actually a real reason for it. He didn't have anything in particular to ask, nor was there anything he sought. Really, he was there because he was curious. What would war be like, if war was a human?

Wise, apparently. Wise and protecting with the slightest undercurrent of something else. The serious look made Havoc tip his head slightly, his expression just as blank as ever, but then it was gone before he could even try and guess at any greater meaning.

"I was curious," Havoc said simply. "I wanted to know what war would be like."

Even so, it did bring a question to mind, which Havoc wasted no time in asking. He didn't see the point in not asking, even though others might have considered it rude.

"An embodiment? Does that mean there are multiple Wars?"

How odd.

The aggression felt like little more than a slight buzzing to Havoc. He didn't really feel anything nearly as much as someone else might have, but it did still have some slight effect on him. Given the option of fight or flight, he would be far more likely to pick fight in War's presence, even if the aura hadn't quite had time to work its magic on him.

"I see," he confirmed. It made sense. There was no one true god, nor one true set of gods. All gods were real on Manta Carlos, although how real they were seemed to vary heavily.

"So you are not our war," Havoc noted, wondering if the War of Earth would be significantly different. Maybe the wars reflected their own cultures views of war? Or maybe it only reflected how War was themselves.

It was all rather confusing, and a good dear more philosophical than Havoc had any interest in being.

Havoc wasn't used to drinking, but he wasn't adverse to it either. He could certainly handle a single mug without getting drunk--just a bit tipsy--and he turned his head to the bartender and gave a little nod of confirmation when the man looked at him. It was only once that was done that he turned back to War, offering his hand for a shake.

"My name is James Havoc," he said by way of introduction. "I'm a part of the United States Army."

He worked for them. Or had worked for them. He wasn't entirely clear, and his exact status was a great big question mark. It was possible he'd never be able to go back, not with his powers, but he wasn't willing to give up on that yet.

Havoc raised his eyebrows slightly at the mention of the man's name, because it was impossible to hear it as anything other than Victory Strife. At the very least he acknowledged the pun, even if he claimed it was unintentional.

"Havoc is fine," James corrected politely, unclear if there was a point to explaining the idea of military nicknames. The man in front of him, beyond being the personification of war, was also an alien personification of war, and there was no telling if nicknames were a part of his tradition as well.

"Soldier," Havoc corrected. "Is the term used more often here. Not many would consider themselves warriors, since it implies something more antiquated."

He certainly didn't consider himself a warrior, even if War recognized him as one.

"It would be difficult for me to explain my position without knowing how much you know about the US Army. I'm a ranger, if that means anything to you." Which it probably did not. "But I am on leave until my powers are taken under control."

Havoc wasn't even slightly bothered by the idea of spilling his life story to a stranger. Nothing about it was secret, and while he could certainly keep his mouth shut when things were important, the fact that he was a ranger was a matter of public record.