Orders, he had only followed them, orders, yes they were, it was a traitor, he hadn't just killed a brother, Fox knew this to not be true, but he still believed it. He believed a lot of false things, but he often believed them to spare the pain of everything what he'd done, all the pain he'd caused.
The rest of his men stood around the body of the deceased trooper, the man he had killed. Fox couldn't bare himself to look at the corpse, it hurt him to much.
Was the thing he did right? Was it wrong? He honestly couldn't tell the difference between right and wrong anymore. The answers to his questions were based upon one's point of view anyways.
Fox took a deep breath. He removed his helmet and let it fall out of his grip. It hit the ground with a loud 'thud'.
Maybe he had just followed orders, but that didn't make his actions right. Orders could be wrong, or right, or neither. Fox wasn't sure what the order he had been given was.
He let a tear slide under his cheek.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and closed his eyes.
Good soldiers follow orders, good soldier follow orders, good soldiers... They... Follow orders.
(A/N: Sorry for taking so long. I just wasn't happy with this one honestly. But idk if it's actually good or not.)