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dycefic · 2 years

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The Trolley Problem

Again, sorry about the slow updates, but long Covid aside, as followers of my main Tumblr will have heard, my laptop keyboard is on its way out and typing is getting increasingly difficult. I've ordered a new wireless keyboard, but it hasn't arrived yet. 🙄

Anyway, back to the superhero universe! warnings for death, police, attempted murder, supervillainy, and ethical dilemmas. Also swearing.

“Choose,” the villain purred. She didn’t know his name. She was new, she hadn’t learned them all yet. “Who lives? Who dies? Who will you save, little hero?”

Flitter trembled. “I’m not making a choice,” she said, and her voice wasn’t as firm as she wanted it to be, even through the voice-changer. You’re gonna let both those cages down, nice and easy.” One cage full of nurses. One cage full of juvenile offenders. He’d said so, and she could see the scrubs and the jumpsuits for herself. He really wanted this to be a dilemma, and she didn’t know what to do, aside from telling him not to do it, and when did that ever work?

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He laughed at her, hands caressing the controls that suspended the two cages over the street forty floors below. She couldn’t remember his name! She recognized the costume, the jagged streaks of green and white and vivid yellow. This was a dangerous villain, the same guy who’d cut off both of Player One’s legs with some machine just a month ago, and she’d only been a cape for a couple of weeks, she wasn’t up to this guy’s weight in any way even with powers, and she couldn’t remember his name -

And then the villain’s head exploded. She saw it burst before she heard the sound of the gunshots, so they’d come from some distance away. There was red… stuff… all over the wall behind him, and as the body toppled she jumped forward to grab at the handles he’d been toying with - but it wasn’t necessary. Neither cage had moved.

She moved closer and wondered if she should check the body, but… the whole top two-thirds of the head was gone. Trying to take a pulse at this point would just be creepy and weird.

She was still trying to figure out the controls - and trying not to throw up, which was a terrible idea in a full-face mask - when she heard footsteps approaching. Boots. Not trying to be sneaky. The little sounds of clothing, including a creak of leather. When she looked up, she saw an older woman - maybe forty-five, maybe fifty. Not a costume, she was wearing regular clothes.

And, when she stepped into the light, Flitter saw the rifle slung on her back. “Did you…” Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat a couple of times. “Did you shoot him?”

“Yup.” The woman didn’t sound concerned about it. “Move over.” With casual expertise, the older woman started pressing buttons and moving handles. The two cranes swung out, and the people in them made some noise, but in a few seconds, the cages were over the next roof and being lowered carefully until they hit the gravel with a crunch. “Never bring them down on the same roof, if you can help it, and don’t let them out right away. Useful tip. They’re going to freak out and you don’t need to deal with that. That’s what emergency responders are for.”

Flitter was shaking. “You… you killed him.”

The woman paused, then gave her a sort of sympathetic look. “First time seeing someone die up close?”

Flitter nodded, swallowing hard.

“You’ll get used to it.” The woman sighed. “They all do.” Then her eyes shifted, looking past Flitter, and she raised her voice. “Day late and a dollar short, Box.”

The Boxer was an old, old-school hero. He’d been active for more than eighty years and still looked exactly the same. Right now, his customary faint scowl had become a lot more pronounced. “God fucking damnit, you’re supposed to be in Delaware!”

“I came back to visit some old friends.” It was strange - the woman looked like a civilian, but she was talking to the Boxer like she knew him. Usually only capes did that. “Just happened to be in the area.”

“Bullshit you happened to be in the area!” The Boxer’s fists were clenching and unclenching. “How the hell did you… no, forget it, I know you’re not gonna tell me. How the hell do you still have a fucking sniper rifle?!”

“I don’t. This is for hunting.”

“How do you still have an open carry permit!?”

“I haven’t committed any crimes.”

The Boxer made an incoherent angry noise kind of like a dog growling, and Flitter pointed a shaking hand at the body of the villain whose name she still didn’t know. “You have now!”

The woman looked down at the body, then back up at the two heroes, and shrugged. “No, I haven’t.”

Flitter stared at her. The Boxer turned away to put his fist through the nearest wall. It was a brick wall. That didn’t seem to worry him.

“But… murder?” It came out like a question, and Flitter’s face felt hot under her mask.

“Not here in Vermont it’s not. In Vermont, which has a robust approach to self-defence laws since Dilemma went active thirty years ago here in Burlington, as long as my use of deadly force ‘was reasonably necessary to repel the perceived threat’, to myself or to a person or persons unable to defend themselves, it qualifies as self-defence and is not criminal.” The woman shrugged, smiling in a way that was more rueful than smug, despite her words. “In addition, the statutes regarding capes, super-powered persons, etcetera, article three stipulates that when a known and identified villain is threatening civilian persons, no non-powered person can be held to have used excessive force.”

“Article three was meant to cover the actions of police and military, and you know it!” The Boxer had moved up beside Flitter, and though he still sounded angry, the hand he laid on her shoulder was very gentle. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“Shock. You might wanna get her a hot drink or something.” The woman gestured at the cages on the next roof. “And let them out, since you’re such a good guy.” She unslung the gun, laid it on the ground, and sat down on the edge of the roof a few feet away from it. “I’ve already called the cops. They should be here soon.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you still don’t prepare them for the trolley problem.”

“She’s been active for two weeks, and I’ve been busy!” The Boxer sounded a little angry… and, under it, guilty. “Player One got… retired… last month.”

“I heard.”

His voice softened. “Is that why you’re here?”

Hers didn’t. “Maybe.”

Flitter cleared her throat, half-raising one hand. “Uh…. What’s the trolley problem?”

“It’s a philosophical thing.” The Boxer shrugged. “One of those ethics word problems.”

“It’s also a go-to for the bad guys,” the woman said grimly. “They love it. ‘Choose between saving the kid or saving the world’, or ‘let me kill you and I’ll let the civilians go’, or ‘choose who lives and who dies’ like this one. They just love the idea of forcing a cape to get blood on their hands.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “See, in the trolley problem, you’re on a trolley, and you’re coming up to a fork in the tracks. On one side, one person’s tied to the tracks, trapped in a car, or otherwise unable to escape, on the other, five people are likewise unable to avoid certain death. You have to decide who dies.”

Flitter swallowed a couple more times. She really wanted to throw up again. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah. Especially when it stops being a thought experiment and actually happens to you.” The woman jerked her thumb at the cages again, then reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and flat - a plastic card, it looked like. Maybe two together. She fiddled with them while she talked. “The idea is that the ethical thing to do is save the greatest number of lives, right? But the trolley problem is a con.”

The Boxer groaned. “Sometimes an ethical choice is an ethical fucking choice, R… Lou.”

“Not debating that. But the trolley problem, specifically, is a con. The person placed in the position of making the ‘choice’ is told that they have to choose who lives and who dies, and bear the moral consequences, but that’s not true. No matter what the kid had chosen, she wouldn’t have been responsible for any deaths.”

Flitter felt a little better. “I wouldn’t?”

“No. The trolley problem forces a false choice. If you’re trapped in a trolley and about to kill one or several people who are tied to train tracks, and no other options exist, you’re not actually being allowed a free choice. The trolley problem’s ostensible protagonist is actually one of its victims.” She gestured at the mostly-headless body. “The real culprit is the person who put all those people on the tracks and shoved you into the brakeless trolley.”

“That doesn’t mean that the ethical answer to the trolley problem is to kill the person who posed the problem!” The Boxer sounded like he’d said that a lot of times before.

“Of course it is. Shit like this doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Box. In any situation in which a villain is going to kill one of two groups of people, there’s almost zero probability that this is the first and last time they’ll attempt murder. Ergo, the answer that saves the greatest number of lives is always to kill the person who posited the problem.” The woman folded her arms. “You know it’s true.”

“But it’s not right,” the Boxer almost wailed. Flitter suddenly felt kind of sorry for him. He cared about people. Nobody could do this job for more than eighty years if they didn’t. The idea that shooting someone in the head without warning wasn’t a bad thing to do was an idea that was just the wrong shape for his brain.

“Maybe not. But ‘right’ and ‘necessary’ aren’t always the same thing.”

The door onto the roof opened, and several cops came through with their weapons up. Flitter tensed, and tried to pretend she hadn’t. They couldn’t tell she was black under the costume. This was fine. It was fine. Law and order was theoretically on her side in this situation.

The Boxer’s hand was on her shoulder again, and he squeezed slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “They play by the rules when I’m around.”

“Drop your weapon!” one of them shouted, and even Flitter managed to look at him like he was insane.

“I’m sitting down three feet away from the weapon, which is on the ground,” the woman said very dryly. “It’s as dropped as it’s gonna get.”

The guy started to yell again, but the oldest one smacked him across the back of the head. “Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself, dumbass.” He holstered his gun, and glared at the woman. “Ms Harmer, you moved to Delaware. We checked. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Visiting old friends.” She held out the thing she’d been fiddling with. “Here’s my driver’s license and my open carry permit. There’s the gun, which is still loaded so be careful. There’s the body of the supervillain calling himself, if I recall correctly, Inferno. I killed him in defence of two groups of civilians who you’ll find on the roof over there, in accordance with -“

“With Vermont state law regarding self-defence and the statute exempting non-powered persons from excessive force against supervillains. I know, I know,” the cop said, frustration dripping off the words. He barely glanced at the cards before handing them back.

Flitter blinked. “She’s done this before!?”

“Nine times in the state of Vermont, to my knowledge, counting this one.” The cop glared at Ms Harmer. “It was four in Delaware last time I checked, but it’s been a while.”

“And not a single charge laid.” Ms Harmer stood up. “Do you want to take me in now, Phil, or would it be more convenient for me to stop by in the morning to make my statement?”

“You - “ the overenthusiastic cop said, pulling out his cuffs.

“Forget it!” the older one snapped at him. “Just… forget it. Harmer, be at the station at nine.”

“I know the drill.”

“Sir, you’re not just gonna let her walk away - “

“Flynn, she’s done this thirteen times, weren’t you listening? She shot a known supervillain while he was in the commission of a major crime! She was sitting here waiting for us with the gun on the ground and her ID out! She confessed! She’s not a flight risk!” ‘Phil’ glared at Ms Harmer, then at the two superheroes. “Next time, at least try to stop her… not that that’s easy,” he added grudgingly. “Just… get lost, all of you. We’ll take it from here.”

When Flitter tried to move, she nearly fell over. The Boxer grabbed her and held her steady until her knees stopped buckling. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, kid. First time you see a head explode shakes everyone.” He patted her back gently, and took her arm and guided her towards the stairs. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

After a moment, an equally gentle hand gripped her other elbow. “You’ll be fine, kid.” Ms Harmer’s voice was still as calm and level as ever. “And if there’s no-one around to help next time, remember that nothing that happens is your fault. The only murderer in the trolley problem is the one who poses it.”

“Unless I kill him,” Flitter said quietly. “Then it’s me.”

“Well, yeah,” Ms Harmer admitted. “Self-defense laws don’t apply to capes. You probably wouldn’t serve time over something this clear-cut, but the other capes’d push you out if you crossed that line, even if the cops didn’t put you away.”

“There are rules.” The Boxer still sounded upset.

“Yup. There are rules for capes, and rules for cops, and rules for civilians, and the important thing to remember is that they’re not the same rules.” The woman’s hand was steady. “Sometimes you have to choose.”

The Boxer snorted. “Like you did, Ray?”

Ms Harmer stopped on the stairs, and turned to look at him. “Rachel Zimmerman is dead, old man,” she said, and her voice was very cold. “You know she is. She died on your watch. An idealistic young lawyer who moonlighted as a superhero called Scale, and died in one of Dilemma’s deathtraps more than twenty years ago. You attended the funeral. You attested to her death when the body couldn’t be identified.”

“And then you turned up,” the Boxer said, and Flitter saw what might be tears in the hard old eyes. “And I knew I was wrong.”

“You heard a voice that sounded like hers and got sentimental.”

“You know things only Ray could know.”

She leaned in close, and her whisper was as bitter as ice. “Prove it.” Then she turned away, hopping the railing to land with a thud on the next flight of stairs. Flitter heard her boots moving fast on the stairs.

The Boxer just stood there, his shoulders slumped. “I can’t prove it,” he muttered, so quiet that he might be talking to himself. “But I know.”

Tentatively, Flitter put her hand on the big, muscular shoulder, like he had for her. “It was a trolley problem?” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I always told her not to kill. Never to kill. Then we went up against Dilemma, and… they were kids. Little kids. Dilemma…”

“He made her choose?”

The Boxer’s head bowed lower. “No,” he said, even more quietly. “He made me choose.”

Flitter nodded slowly. No wonder he was so upset. “She said it wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him, knowing it probably wouldn’t help but not knowing what else to say. “She said that the person given the choice is another victim.”

“Yeah, I know. She always does.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was a good person, she never woulda wanted me to save her and let a bunch of little kids die. That she ain’t mad about. But she knows, and I know, that I coulda killed him. I coulda saved both, and I didn’t, because I wanted to be the good guy… and good guys don’t kill.”

Flitter felt the chill of that all down her spine. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.” But now it was all she could think about. About this happening again, looking at some other monster playing with human lives, and realizing that even though the trolley problem wasn’t a real choice, she did have a choice… and what the consequences of that choice would be.

“Yeah. That’s why she does it. So kids like you don’t have to make either choice.” He sighed again, then shook his head. “But you don’t gotta deal with that right now. Come on, kid, let’s get that coffee. Maybe talk.”

Flitter nodded. “I’d… definitely like to talk.”

She didn’t look around for Ms Harmer when they left the building. But she wondered. Player One had been around for more than twenty years, she was pretty sure. Visiting friends, she’d said…

#superhero stories #my superverse #the trolley problem #it's a trap #different people follow different rules

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