"Oh, come on!"

"They come to our town—"

"—so if you know what's good for you you will throw your weapons down right this second and you will leave and you will, again, thank me for saving your lives."

"Thank you for saving our lives," say the four simultaneously, throwing their guns to the ground, turning tail, and running like hell.

He waits until they're out of sight before dropping the menacing affect and grinning. "Thank you, guys, that was really nice of you."

"Most of these guns don't even shoot," says Hal from where he's standing up from behind a crate, clicking his trigger uselessly several times to prove it.

"Oh, I know. But clearly they didn't, so thank you for playing along."

"So..." starts Jill from where she's getting out of hiding. "Did I hear you say you're Zash the Stampede?"

"Wait, what?" says Gabriel.

"That fool, Zash the Stampede?" sneers Lin.

"Does that mean I can say I got turned down by Zash the Stampede?" says Dennis.

"Zash the Stampede, me? That's crazy, it'd be like saying John the Drunk is actually Frank Marlon!"

They all look at each other and collectively decide to drop the subject.

That's what he'd hoped, yeah.

Except John the Drunk, who hangs back while people disperse so he can talk to clearly-not-Zash the Stampede.

"We were rudely interrupted," he says.

"You know, that was very rhetorically convenient for my point," he says, starting to lead the way on a walk. "Guns can help people by making things more equal. Or they can help people in other ways than that. And there are other things that can also help people than guns, and other ideas than making things more equal.

"And what I was saying was that helping people is much more than that. Helping people is about meeting them in the middle, it's about understanding what they need. It's about knowing what the world is like and meeting it in the middle, too. It's a lot harder, and a lot more complex. It's not just giving people guns."

"I know all of that, I didn't think guns were the only thing—"

"But you don't really see," Zash interrupts him, stopping walking and then turning to face him. "Because you're also a person to be helped. You also need to make yourself feel better, you're also a person who deserves kindness and love and peace.

"I know it's unfair. I know it's horrible that the world is going to keep turning while the most important people in it are gone. But if you're going to be alive then you gotta live. You gotta face the world, you gotta see these people who have, who have...

"...they love you, you know? They give you hell but you haven't starved, they've sheltered you and kept you around. Hilda keeps asking after you, Jill is an enormous fan, they all went along with it when you told me your name was John. If you go to them and say, hey, I need help, they'll help you. You can find your life again. I know it's been years, I know you don't know what life there is left for you, but there is a life here left for you. I just know it."

"And I'll help, too. I can't stay here forever, but... I can be here a while. Clean your place, bring you home when you inevitably relapse, bring you back up. You're not alone, John. Trust in people. Let them help you. Let us help you."

"That's easier said than done. I need a fucking drink, and I don't want to, and they're still dead. You know? They're still dead."

"Yeah. But you're not. Live for them. Live for us. And most of all, live for yourself."

He lifts his hands up to grab two fistfuls of his own hair and pull them out in frustration. "Just who are you?"

"I thought I'd said? I'm Zash the Stampede."