Tales of the Master.

As one hunter cackled in glee, the slash of cold wind overwhelmed him.  He sneezed.

The suddenness and abruptness of the sneeze startled the other hunters, but they resumed in earnest and ignored the outcast.  The sneezing hunter had been exiled.  Weaknesses such as sneezing would deem you unfit to serve.

The occasional sneeze became more frequent, and the hunter soon began to sneeze rapidly.  The others looked at him in disgust.  They pointed and cursed at him.  They spit before his feet.  The ill hunter paused for a moment and stared coldly at the others; his eyes were blank and empty.  Soon after, he keeled over.

Deceased.

The other hunters wasted no time opening fire on the fresh corpse, and they cackled as they did so.  The innocent stared in disbelief as culture and morals peeked in from the window behind them.  It wasn't the past they once knew anymore.

The hunters picked up the body and carried it to the flame they created in the center of this circus show.  They incinerated the corpse and pointed at all of the innocent as the body burned.  The innocent watched, not in terror, but in pity. 

One of the hunters drew his rifle.

As he did so, he began to sneeze as well.

The buzzards above had almost a grinning expression on their face.  Maybe it was their turn to claim this body, they thought.

The spectator was nowhere in sight.  The sneezing hunter showed the same symptoms as the last and before long, he collapsed as well.

His uncouth comrades grew angry.  Once more they opened fire, however, this time, the innocent made their move.

They used their numbers to overwhelm the preoccupied barbarians.  The cowardly artillery began to bulldoze the innocent, however, their controls began to malfunction soonafter.  They were electrocuted from within their vehicles of death, and the innocent gained the advantage. 

The buzzards screeched in delight. 

It was March.

Blood was an understatement.

The innocent were victorious.

However, what was the price they'd pay?

As they stood, dominant, over the ones they so pitied, what had they become?  As one of the individuals snatched a rifle from the cold hands of the dead, he looked at his brethren. 

He smiled.

No longer would they fear these savages.

They would become them.

As this man gave a rousing victory speech to his soon-to-be followers, one woman pointed out to him that he was bleeding from his nose.
Soon after, he began to sneeze.

The other innocent individuals that he just fought with stared at him, coldly.

They pointed their newly acquired guns at him.

He was now the outcast. Seen as a traitor. Seen as a threat.

The spectator overhead regained his rightful place atop the clock tower.  Culture had been taken from its throne and replaced by supremacy. 

Conflict.

The black scarf danced in the cold wind.

The Spectator grimaced.