Protests again. I sit, on the bus, staring out into the sea of faces - and listen to the anti war chants. I think there are a few prayers from the daughters of peace as well, calling upon the goddess to lend strength to the protest. I don't care. I light my pipe weed, and take a long drag to steady my nerves. Fucking hippies.

I look at my hand, then down to what is left of my right arm a stump with a yaun-ti graft on it, special gift of the surgeons of Saigon. A snakes limb, it isn't a hand, and can't hold a rifle, and can barely grab my dick when I need to let off some stress. I grunt, coughing. The pipe-weed is going to give me cancer. That's what the diviner said, anyway. Fuck 'em, he took an MM to the forehead and painted my gun red with his brain matter. 

Lucky bastard.

"END THE WAR! END THE WAR! END THE WAR!"

I want them to shut up. I glance out, the sea of grey and white moving against the armored, rune-marked chasis of the bus, just enough strength in the push to touch, but not enough to over-ride the antipathy marked into mithril.

Six warforged stand to form an honor guard for we wounded vets. I glance at 'Tet, a little bronx kobold who lost an eye and had part of his jaw rebuilt. He's uglier now, but has no shame. I bump fists with him and pat his back. I've got him, little fuck helped me out there.

Warforged. Feh. Protests about the 'mechs as well, I presumed. They were created, who cared what the 'bots thought and wanted? They didn't even have souls. But I respected the uniform it wore - and looked at the six that formed an honor guard - each pulling out the chamber-wand and preparing to deal with threats as required. Non-Lethal magic only. I wasn't a wizard I just used the tools given to me. I'd have dropped a few fireballs on the crowd.

I slithered forward, my snake tail dragging. I drew my hand down for my mithril knife, but remembered it was left on base. We were all disarmed before being released. I felt my fangs extend. I wanted to bite them.

"Liam?" 'Tet said. His small voice a squeak, but strong. He was stronger than I wanted to admit.

"Yes?" I hissed, gazing down at him. He never feared me, the grunt he was could stand up to a Lamia Ranger and not blink. 

"Relax. I've got your back."

I looked up. The doors opened, and the ward lowered. I would have to move to the life of a civilian now. Wounded, missing an arm with a useless snake tail, and hated for being a soldier when my country called.

Fucking hippies.

"I know." I said.

"Don't have to be scared. Come on, let's get a room, before we figure out what to do, alright?"

I nodded. Little fuck was right. I faced the crowd, and slithered out...