Underlying Motivation

The Spartan, or should I really say, The Assassin stared blankly at his bloodied hands. They were trembling of course, but not because of a murder or a daily assassination of one of his most prestige targets, but because he just got through holding a deceased loved one. He witnessed the scars that covered her body, like someone or something had dug it's nails into her, tearing her flesh. Someone had clawed away at her, the gashes told the whole story. It was horrible, he could hardly bear to look at her. He now sat criss cross against the wall with anger and sadness building up inside him. He felt the world falling apart around him. His focus deteriorating the more he held her. pain in his chest was excruciating. It literally hurt just like the deep gashes that surrounded his beloved. He needed something; something to ignite the fury inside him.

He could only envision what his competitor was capable of and who or what he would target next: An orphanage, a hospital, the world? He took out his combat knife with a passion. His tool had been issued to him by the UNSC. The knife itself had saw many deaths throughout history; scarred and battered by the essence of war, but still sharp enough to kill a few hundred more. He clenched the knife with all his rage and desire to end the life of the sick monster that killed her. And that is what he would do. He would make it his goal, and use his fury to fuel his motivation inside him to carry out the objective to see that his mission would be a success.

He heard the sound of footsteps echoing off the walls of his mind, getting closer and the sound more distinct. The clacking would almost echo that of an unhoofed horse. He let his rage take over; let the motivation pour itself into the target that was approaching toward him. Just like a lion leaping towards its prey, he leapt towards the unknown confines of his imagination turned reality, only to find his target was not his target, but a figure clothed in silk. His vision adjusted to better focus on the man that was now standing before him and to his side, a Sangheili clad in white armor.

"Who, who are you?" He said with exhausted curiosity. He began to loose control and felt lightheaded. He fell towards the man, and the Sangheili reached out and caught him just before his head would crack open and disarmed him of his weapon.

The man in silk, looking towards the Sangheili with a faint smile, placed his hands on his hips akimbo style: "We found our suspect. Let's take him to UEG police headquarters to interrogate him for the murder of Amanda King."