"Go for entry."
A concussive blast rippled through the door, sending dust, twisted metal shards and smoldering bits of wood ricocheting into the small apartment. Two shadowed, armored figures crashed in after the debris, the lights from their silenced SMGs flickering through the billowing dust cloud.
The first of the two ODSTs spun right, checking the corner as he emerged from the tiny entryway, kicking a pair of child-sized rubber boots aside. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breath rasping tinnily inside his visor as he scanned the dimly lit room for his target.
Their mission here in Polonius City was Damien Korsakov, a known Insurrectionist informant whom ONI had finally deemed worthy of death following a deadly car bombing. This mission, the same as dozens of others. Find the target, if necessary extract information, execute. Another day, another kill, all part of the plan for peace. All worth it to protect the people on Earth and the colonies. To save lives.
As the trooper emerged into the kitchenette, he spotted a flicker on his motion tracker behind the counter on his left. He dove, wheeled, and leveled his SMG straight into the terrified, glassy-eyed face of a little girl. She looked about four years old, and was staring at him the way she might have stared at a monster emerging from her closet. Clutching a doll to her chest.
The ODST froze, momentarily unsure of how to react. The girl screamed loudly, and dropped the doll. Took off running into the back bedroom. The second trooper, a veteran sergeant, cursed and sprinted after the little girl, the first following him closely.
The two soldiers burst into the room, found their target. Damien Korsakov knelt on the floor in the center of the room, clutching his crying daughter, whispering into her ear. A loaded handgun sat on the nightstand. The man had dropped it to hold his daughter, lost his chance to fight back.
The younger trooper advanced into the room, firearm held ready. Korsakov raised his head, his eyes red-rimmed and his mouth a hard line. His hands, resting on his little girl's shoulders, were shaking, but not with fear. With anger. The ODST had seen this same anger before, behind loaded guns and in violent mobs. It hadn't affected him before. This was different. This time, he understood it. Felt it. His own daughter would be curled up in a soft couch on Reach right now, her mother reading her a story. No fear, only peace. This little girl was about to see her father shot down.
The Insurrectionist spat at him through gritted teeth. "End it, UNSC monster. Do your duty. Show my daughter the kind of people you really are."
Behind the trooper, his sergeant snapped at him. "Take that Innie down. Now."
If he aimed for the man's head, the girl would be left clutching her daddy's lifeless corpse. If he aimed anywhere else, both father and daughter would die together. More merciful.
The girl pulled her face away from Korsakov's chest, turned and stared with huge, tear-filled eyes at the ODST. His gun's barrel wobbled downwards, his conscience pounding at him for the first time in years.
The sergeant growled, "Take the shot. Collateral damage, soldier."
Take the shot. Kill them. Execute a family to protect your family. For Earth. For the UNSC. For your government. Do it. Shoot. Patriotism matters, your humanity doesn't.
Humanity.
In that instant, the ODST felt a sudden surge of resolve. He whipped his gun up, pointed it where it needed to be pointed.
And pulled the trigger.