Eye of The Storm

[Thaal Sinestro]

The horse bucked and whinnied as Nelson McDowell ambled into the stable, holding his cowboy hat on his head. “What in the hell are you doing in here, HK-“ his thickly accented voice was cut short when he saw what remained of his partner.

Oil dripped down in thick streams, a puddle of black with collecting below it. Battered fragments of the hunter-killer machine’s dangled limply from its eviscerated casing, a tangle of gutted wires and circuitry suspending it from one of the J-hooks in the roof. Its arms had been posed with its palms outward, almost apologetic. The word “THIEF” was burned into its chassis in bold, accusatory letters. “Oh my god…” he whispered, fear saturating the old rustler’s voice as he pulled his hat from his head and clutched it to his chest.

A deafening crack filled the space and a bullet ripped through Nelson’s thigh. His wide-eyed reverence was suddenly snatched from him and he screamed, grasping his leg. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his blood leaking from between his fingers.

“If you’ll wait just a moment,” Sinestro said calmly and put his rifle down, “I’m almost done.”

He picked up the tongs and hammer, banging down on the tip of a long, red-hot brand. He lifted up his work, appraising it before setting it back on the anvil and making a few adjustments. “Ah, that’s good enough,” he said, tipping his wide-brimmed hat back with a smile.

He donned a thick leather glove and took the brand by the handle, discarding his other tools. Sauntering over to the immobilized McDowell, he knelt down and held the bright iron in his face. “Do you know what this symbol means?” the red man asked. In response, the thief turned and began to crawl away. With his free hand, Sinestro grabbed the injured leg and buried his thumb into the bullet hole. As the man screamed, Sinestro dragged him back. “No?” he asked incredulously, “Well let me tell you. It means Fear. It is my symbol.”

Bringing the brand close enough that the man could smell the smoldering iron and feel its heat, Sinestro released his hold on the wound. “With that said, I have just one more question. Do you think you can answer it for me?”

Gasping, Nelson nodded, sweat pouring down from his hairline. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, “I-I kin try.”

“Who do you work for?” Sinestro growled, the embers of the yellow iron glinting in his eye.

The horse thief shook his head, “Nobody! Nobody! We jus’ got our own thing goin’.”

Sinestro’s eyes narrowed, “I’ll ask you one more time.”

“Honest!” Nelson shouted, terror overtaking him, “We don’t work for anyone! It was jus’ us! I swear!”

“I don’t believe you!” Sinestro snapped, standing up. He pushed the brand down into the thief’s chest, a hideous sizzle accompanying a sudden burst of steam. “TELL ME!” he screamed.

“I SWEAR!” Nelson yowled, writhing under the heat of the brand, blood sliding down his ribs, “I SWEAR, I SWEAR!” The moments hung in the air as the wound cauterized. “PLEASE,” he begged, “PLEASE STOP!”

Sinestro pulled the iron from the man’s chest and threw it across the room with disdain. He snatched his collar with both hands and lifted him up over his head. “Either you’re telling the truth, or I’ll find out that you’re lying.” His face contorted into an angry sneer, “You want to be telling the truth.”

Nelson swallowed hard and nodded, shaking violently as the piss leaked down his pant leg.

“Good.” Flinging the man down into the dirt, he adjusted the saddle on the stolen horse and removed a rope from its saddlebag.

“What ya gonna do with that?” Nelson groaned from the floor.

Securing the rope to the horse, he replied, “Ensuring you get a fair trial.”

Scooping the aging man off the ground, Sinestro dropped him on the saddle and lashed him down like a sack full of potatoes. His branded chest stretched and cracked as he was bent backwards, his limbs pulled taught in every direction. Groans turned to yells as the leg with a bullet in it was roughly bent and manipulated to accommodate a hookup to the speeder bike.

Double checking his knots, Sinestro nodded in satisfaction. Walking out into the final moments of daylight, he held his fingers up to his mouth and blew, the whistle signaling his faithful mount down from the mesa to join him.

He lashed the stolen horse’s lead to his camel and climbed up. He cracked the reigns and commanded, “Hut!” As the beast slowly moved forward, the horse followed it and brought the hovering speeder in tow.

Looking back at the stable, Sinestro withdraw a small box from his pocket. Using one match to light the others, he made a crackling fire and tossed it behind him into the stables. The matches landed on a large patch of dry hay which went up almost explosively. As the daylight sank, Nelson watched as the remnants of his operation went up in flame.