Rachel remained silent until Steven finished speaking, and then spoke.
"Lucky you, then," she said, with more than a hint of bitterness in her voice.
She then sighed, closing her eyes and tilting her head down. She spoke.
"Steven... I'm only going to tell you this once, so I suggest you listen very, very closely."
Rachel paused for a second, as if gathering her thoughts, before speaking again, raising her head to look at Steven in the eye as she did so. Her voice was calm, and her tone was gentle, as if she wanted to blunt the harshness of what she had to say as much as she could.
"These people are sending us off to war and, in war, it is inevitable that people die," She told Steven, "Yes, I know that I'm stating the obvious, but the reality is that most civilains --which is what you are, and knowing how to fight doesn't change that-- don't really get what that means. It means that your best friend can die. It means that the person you look up to can die. It means that good people can die. It means that someone's friend, someone's son, someone's, daughter, someone's father can die. It means you or I can die."
"And... they can die in all sorts of ways." Her breathing went a little strange. "All sorts of stupid, pointless ways. They can die because your superior officer made a mistake, or to accidents. They can die to a mine that an enemy left buried in a field. They can die to snipers or artillery or bombs, not even given the chance to fight back. They can die because of something you did or didn't do. If they're lucky, there'll be enough to hold a funeral with."
"And, knowing that everyone on your side could die horrible, pointless, violent, unnecessary deaths, you have to be ready and willing to do the same to the enemy." Her grip on Steven's shoulder was like iron, and her gaze was little better. "You have to look at brave, brilliant people, at good people, and not hesitate in killing them... because they're the enemy, and for everything good that they are, they're trying to kill you and your friends and will succeed if you don't stop them. Permanently."
Rachel released Steve's shoulder to point outside, at the improvised hospital Steven had just come from. "Remember what you saw? Can you imagine yourself doing that to someone? Can you imagine making someone feel like you did when you thought you lost Garnet?"
She shook her head, dropping her arm so it hung limp at her side. "I don't think you can," she told the boy, "You're not a violent person, Steven. I can tell. But, even if you never pick pick up a rifle or a grenade in the time you're here..."
And then, something changed about 362. Everything from her posture to her stance to the way she breathed changed minutely, but what really changed was her eyes. There was something cold and heartless in her gaze, and it flowed over into her voice.
"Can you handle seeing me doing that to someone?" She asked Steven, "Or worse?"
There wasn't any hint of boasting in 362's tone, or any indication that she was bluffing of exaggerating. It was a statement, delivered as plainly as if she was telling the time of day.
She'd done worse than what had been done to the bodies outside. Many, many times. Just how much worse was difficult to tell.
Numbuh 362 held that cold, heartless gaze for a second longer... and then she sighed, and she was back to being... well, as "normal" as she was comfortable being right now. She raised a hand and squeezed Steven's shoulder again, the contrast between that gesture and the icy coldness she wielded a moment before so sharp it was jarring. "Staying here or going is your choice, Steven," she told the boy, "I'm sure that you can help us if you stay; maybe as a combat medic, saving lives instead of taking them. But... just remember what I told you, okay?"
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