Halo: Restitution/Prologue

 PROLOGUE  ZERO-SUM

DATE STAMP ANOMALY LOCATION UNKNOWN ASCERTAINING NECESSARY INFORMATION

He tossed, deep in sleep, unable to escape the images that flooded his head, random, unordered, chaotic, reviling, lurid. The flash of a suppressed weapon here, the snap of a cracking vertebra there; a flash of an upturned face, eyes filled with tears, mouth silently pleading to be spared, for mercy. Mercy withheld, the widening of the eyes as the victim realized where they were, the smooth and greased precision of the hair trigger's path, the familiar kick of the rifle butt into the shoulder plates, the crimson flash of bright life blood ejected from its broken domicile, splashed on the white of the snow, the grey of the cinder block wall. It hit him like one thousand spiky fists of cold realization, burning and twisting and laughing at his remorse, mocking his attempts to shut it out, to close it down with the technique of apathy, so calloused now from repeated use. The parade of faces came next, one after the other, cold dead eyes in various shades of accusation, regret, shocked surprise, and bitter acceptance, staring, staring, deep into his eyes, past him, through him, into him. Reading his thoughts, relentless in their dark march across the plains of the mind, accompanied by the percussive sounds of shots, ringing out from different calibers, different guns, different atmospheres. Every place he'd been, every face he'd destroyed, everything always came back to him in the end. The faces drew closer, and he could recognize them, or at least the shades of who they may have been. The evil one smiled calmly and said, lips drawn back over a predatory smirk, as it had been so many times before, "Got another one for you, Operative. Another one.  Another one..."

The next face took its turn to speak, raising its bored and unfocused eyes to an audience of none, reading as if from a script, "We here at the Medical Review Board find nothing wrong with the physical or mental condition of the operative in question that could not be solved by a few days rest. We also prescribed this medication..."

"...Another one for you..."

"...To reduce symptoms in the case of..."

A new face arose, its eyes filled with tears of disappointment, attempting to understand, but finding no reason which they could cling to, no explanation.

"How? Tell me how you can do it. I don't... don't understand..."

"another..."

"pills for the patient"

"task for you today, little errand I need you to run"

"why? why would you do something like that?"

"how did the last"

"strange that he's not"

"respond, Empire Two-One"

"package delivered..."

"extract, extract, extract"

"why? why? why?"

"Respond. Respond.  Empire Two-One."

"You'll do it. I don't care how, I don't care about your reasons, you'll damn well do it. Because I told you to."

"Wake up."

"Respond, respond, respond, respond..."

"Wake up!"

He jolted up from the place he had been lying, vision quickly adjusting to the darkness of his surroundings. The holoprojector next to his bunk glowed indigo, then cyan, as a form gradually appeared atop its dusty dais, flickering as miniscule flakes of dirt and grime filtered across the surface. The woman that appeared was familiar, but it took him a second to realize she was saying something to him. Translucent lips formed soundless syllables and the face lifted and contracted in upset concern. The figure waved her arms emphatically, as if trying to draw more attention to herself.

"What?" he finally managed to say.

"Thank God," the construct said, reprovingly reassured. "You were in a pretty bad nightmare from what my sleep-cycle analyzer could tell. You do realize that if you'd been in armor I could have stopped that before it started?  We got those meds for a reason, you know.   I could tell them that you haven't been taking them..."

"No. Don't do that.  It's... well, I guess I've just gotten used to it.  Reminds me what I am."

"I don't like to see you like that. I really don't.  Next time promise me you'll let me intervene."

"You do what you think is best. What did you wake me for?" He got to his feet, dragging down the rumpled service undershirt that had ridden up during his tossing and turning.