“The hand pulls the safety off, the finger pulls the trigger.”

“Isn’t it funny how often, what we fear the most is harmless on it’s own? A cowardly wolf with no pack, a hatchet abandoned in the flesh it is stuck in, the dark alleyway concealing nothing but air, paving and litter. And yet, we must remain forever vigilant – the wolf may find its kin, the maniac may return for his weapon, the filth may lurk in, seeking a hapless victim. There is a reason for fear – it isn’t just mindless superstition and paranoia.”

“Many fear you, Grimskull. You wear the visage of death itself. You once wreaked havoc across Arcadia, one of the four horsemen of Apokalypsis… And what sad spectres of what once was you are all now! The only plague Gemini now spreads is naïve hope, instead saving her festering blue waffle for numero dos: Her lovesick little plaything, El Tamagotchi Muerte. Then comes Drewitt, the once-harbinger of War, now content to be a brokeback cowboy with no Huckleberry to Finnish in… So what is left of you, hm? How are you continuing your legacy? Oddly enough, exactly the same as you were before.”

“You see, Grimskull, you are a gun. You are to be handled with care, approached with respect and not to be played with. The problem is… Is there a finger on the trigger? You had Jon The Revelator, a man who yearned for blood and you were only too happy to please Master. Then, the great betrayal – the candy-skull candy-ass locked you out of the treehouse, and suddenly you’re a pistol when a sledgehammer is needed to break down the wall.”

“So when you return, what happens then? You find a new owner. Another person to point you towards a target, to do the thinking you are incapable of doing. You joined the Preservationists, and Zeus aligned your sights with his eye… Until his eyes were closed. Then you fell into the hands of Ares, a man who could wield a sword but didn’t know his barrel from his magazine, and next thing we know, you’re firing fucking blanks. Ineffectual, not commanding respect, not punishing the disrespectful, not harming those who play with you.”

“I have never wielded a gun in my life. I have never needed to. I am strong enough and determined enough to sully my hands with the blood of my enemies, and delight in licking my fingers clean. I have no patience for guns. Guns are weak. Guns are a last resort for the pathetic… And last week, guns stole my sunshine, because some dumb cunt thought he was a better marksman than he was and his armoury couldn’t make up for his incompetence. I watched a bullet go through my Gravy’s head, and I don’t know when – or if – he will be back. Until then, I will dismantle every gun in Arcadia in his honour. I will corrode your mechanisms, bend your barrels, sabotage your ammo and restore the hierarchy – Power is for the strong. Death is for the weak.