Laconic

In the corner of a small, dilapidated apartment a small Holo-TV had been playing the same new report for hours on end.

“We have breaking news of a massive explosion at an apartment complex in downtown Monastir, Police along with local UNSC forces have restricted access to the area but many suspect the growing Insurrec-”

The report cut off; the man let out a shuddering sigh, raising bloodied, trembling hands to covered his face to hide tears he no longer had as his mind took him back, back to what brought him to where he is.

* 3 Weeks Ago*

James William Herefordshire was a simple man, he woke up, went to work, got paid and he came home to his tiny, dingy apartment and repeated. Over the years he grew sick of it, he had sought a life of excitement, a life where he could make a difference for the better-he wanted to be a role model for someone, somewhere since he never had one.

Maybe that was since he’d never had one, not until his absent father suddenly reappeared ten years ago on his 16th birthday. Or because he had stormed out of the house, full of confusion and anger, spending the next few years drifting away from his parents and towards run-ins with the law. Or because his father’s shrinking military pension barely let them scrape by,  the veteran was forced to look at returning to the city to work before his son had even left the house.

But now here he was, outside a dilapidated metal door, in a seedy alley in what made the rough parts of his neighbourhood look safe. He had heard much of this group, they fought to liberate the people of New Harmony from the oppression of the UEG and their glorified attack dogs in the UNSC.*This* was his chance, to serve something greater than himself and make a difference in people's lives.

He was interrupted as a heavy metal klang rang through the alley causing him to jump, never getting the chance to react to the bag placed over his head and the heavy blow that followed.

James awoke, head pounding, faced with the suspicious eyes of a gruff, bearded man - and others flanking him, armed, their faces covered.

“Who are you. Why are you here.” the man rumbled in a deep gravelly voice

“M-my name, I, I’m James, James Herefordshire” *he stammered.* “I-I he-heard about your g-group and I-I wanted to join”

“Tell me *James* why would you want to join us” the man said in an almost *amused* tone

“I’ve always - I’ve always just wanted t-to serve something, something greater.” He pushed on, sensing opportunity. “I share your beliefs - I used to think I could make it in the system, but it did nothing while i wasted away.”

A pause.

“And tell me James, what are you prepared to ***do*** about it” he asked as he searched James’ face for weakness.

“Anything” he said ,for the first time, with total conviction in his heart and fury in his eyes.

“So you are...well then, Welcome to the Insurrection” the man reached his arm out and shook James’ as he chuckled.

The next few days and weeks, were a blur, learning to use guns, make explosives, even capturing and kidnapping others. To him, it seemed to come naturally, their leader - Scorpion - rousing skills he didn’t know he had, even seeming to grow friendly with him. His old life, however, would not so easily be left behind.

* 4 Hours Ago*

A garbage truck lumbered towards the opening of a new set of affordable apartment blocks. It was the latest of attempts made by the UEG to improve their standings with the locals. As they neared the driver, a longtime get away driver, spoke up.

“Same as usual, we pin the gas, pop the smoke and jump” he said to James

“Yeah, yeah, not my first rodeo”

The two fell back into silence as they neared the building and pinned the accelerator with a heavy concrete brick before dropping smoke canisters to cover their escape just before the truck crashed through the gates, erupting in a massive explosion and later a huge dust storm as the building collapsed. As if on cue, his phone began to buzz, not wanting to keep Scorpion waiting about the new-

“Henry?, Henry please - please tell me you got out!” His mother. His mother, screaming, thinking she had called the elder Herefordshire...

James froze. His phone falling from his hand. He saw himself move but never felt it, saw himself climbing across the rubble yet he never felt the scars as he dug through it looking for something, anything in the hopes he was wrong.

He felt glass pierce into his hand as he picked up a small, broken case, within it, a small, engraved, ceremonial revolver. Beneath it a small metal plaque read.

*“Awarded to Sgt. Henry William Herefordshire for exemplary bravery against the Insurrection”*.

He held the revolver close, caressing and trying to clean it as his body wracked with sobs, despite his will to keep looking he was pulled away as the area was cordoned off.

He aimlessly wandered the city clinging to the revolver almost like a scared child. Somehow, he had found his way to his apartment, he sat in the darkness holding the gun close to his heart as he muttered desperate apologies to it, feverishly wiping away the dirt, tears, blood and grime. He stayed there for hours, curled around the gun, the silence broken only by his pleas for forgiveness, which while whispered rung in his ears like sirens. He barely heard his window opening, the lock cut through from the outside, his mentor climbing inside.

The voice, however, he heard. “Where the hell have you been? We thought the dogs had go-”

“Did you know”

Feigning confusion he responded.

“Know? Know wh-”

“*Bullshit*. Did. You. Know.” James growled out, he lifted his eyes to meet Scorpions.

“Yes….I did.” A sigh, one that knew it was pointless to pretend any longer. “I had to know how far you were willing to go.”

“So you, you made me Kill. My. FATHER!?” James roared - and for the first time in a long time, Scorpion felt a pang of unease.

“What do you care?” Scorpion shot back. “You hated him anyway, and you made a promise to us.” And then, one step too far: “To your new family.”

There was a long silence - a silence and darkness only broken by flecks the polished revolver in the hand of one man and the wind rattling the window behind the other.

“I’m not a hero. My father was, and I - I’ve let him down, too many times. Not this time.” Before Scorpion could respond, the room was filled with noise, by light - and when James’ eyes cleared, Scorpion was slumped to the floor, the wall behind him covered in blood.

There was one more thing to be done, though. One more loose end to be tied. And so it was.

The police report would say that it was an internal coup, but the ONI-curated news articles would say that an unnamed agent had infiltrated the cell to take down Scorpion himself. In death, he would certainly be called a hero, at least. In death, he made a difference.