Pig's box of madness and despair

It should be funny.

Think about it, the shady organization that takes magic and puts it in a box, so that nobody can see it, and if that box is strong enough, and everything goes right, only a few people die.

It should be funny.

Men in labcoats or armed to the teeth, going out to make sure no one takes magic out of its box, so that magic cannot hurt anyone, so that magic isn't seen.

It should be funny.

Saying we keep magic locked away, but whenever it suits us, taking it out of its box, so it can hurt people for us.

It should be funny.

But it's not. Because it's a choice. A choice made by thousands of men and women, the choice of risking our lives daily, until a breach, a break-in, a shootout or another million things that can happen, do happen. And that's where it all ends, with a bang, a blast,a boom or a thousand other horrors hiding in the dark.

How sad.

It's sad because it's the choice of thousands of men to spend their lives protecting humanity, and to be forgotten for it. The men, the boxes, the magic, the mission, all come down to that choice. The choice of others over themselves, no matter how much some of us may deny it. It's our choice to die.

We should laugh. But it's not funny. When we end, people won't remember us, and if they do, then, we failed.

So that's why we aren't laughing.
We can't laugh.
So instead,
we secure,
we contain,
we protect.