OK, I'm not gonna beat around the bush. This story is going to be following the whole canon as closely as it can, so that I can avoid OOC as well as make it flow a bit better. I know it's a jump, but essentially, Colonel Sinclair has been relocated off the planet onto the Hades so the Chairman could avoid the bloodshed. P.S: This is through Episode 11 to 19.
It had all happened so fast. Only a matter of days and just like everything in life, it all seemed to fall into place - the Republic and Federals being eliminated. The remnants of Project Freelancer being burnt along with the rest of this planet whilst the spoils of war were pulled from the ashes. Before it all fell apart.
The UNSC Hades was currently on a patrol line, 5 sectors away from Chorus, Whilst too far for any of the planetary scanners to reach, not even those in the capital and with the radio jammer set up at Armonia by Charon Industries, there was still a clear signal between the warship and the space pirates on world filtered through their comms, so they wouldn't have to worry about any unwanted signals from either side.
Onboard the massive warship, Sinclair kept the radio frequency on the Charon Industries team as he listened to it all. That idiot Felix rattling on and on about how clever he was and how pathetic they were for trusting him. The ensuing explosion over Locus's enraged scream. All he could make out was a vague cacophony of high-pitched gunfire and screaming before the static settled in as Locus growled; "Call Control".
Sinclair rolled his eyes. When it really came down to it, Felix was just as stupid and arrogant as those 'soldiers'. He should have been retired years ago, or at the very least rendered silent so that he wouldn't have to listen to his incessant gloating anymore. The man always claimed it to be a 'special technique' he used to throw the enemy off, but really, it was a severe liability that needed alteration. It was a gratifying thought, thinking of how much that mercenary would scream before his claws would sink into his throat, enough to spill blood and rupture his vocal chords, but not enough to drown the windpipe within it. Or something more subtle, perhaps if the Chairman were to complain. He'd just have his mouth forced open, his tongue held out to be severed or burnt. He really didn't care as long as he got to see how the man would struggle through that agonising euphoria. The way he put it, it was almost comical. Like listening to a child trying to sound fierce and threatening. Truth was, though, not many people would laugh when they saw the result of such punishment.
Pain is a virtue. Suffering is its reward. How could one scream out in agony and fear of being cut open without seeing the one with the knife and letting in rage and defiance flow like his blood. To push himself to the shatter point before taking the knife from his tormentor and thrusting deep, intimately into his heart. That was all there was, and that would be all there ever will be.
Of course, that slip-up wouldn't he last mistake Felix would make.
As he headed into his quarters; an large, dark room, with only the basic requirements such as a desk with a built-in computer detailing reports for new assignments, enemy profiles and research as well as basic amenities, he began to process this sudden change of events. It was not unlike the Chairman to leave out loose ends so carelessly.
As he turned to his reports, shuffling through each file, he then came across one that caught his eye: A news report months ago that read:
'COLOURFUL SPACE MARINES STOP CORRUPTION'. Alongside the title was an image of those sim troopers, with one in cyan armour at the foreground, shaking hands with the Chairman. Sinclair studied the picture; the one in front with the Chairman looked proud; yet the way she stood, her posture, the way she stared right back showed an aura of defiance.
Agent Carolina, the former 'ne plus ultra' of Project Freelancer.
From what he had seen from surveillance footage from Charon Industries facilities seized by Project Freelancer during its brief tenure, he noticed how efficient she was; the levels where she would push herself were staggering. Very little energy wasted in her movements and capable of rolling with the punches when they came down. How she had survived where so many others had died was hardly surprising,
However, nothing was perfect and her flaws were just as overt as her talents. Her abilities as a leader were patchwork at best, though a more appropriate term would be pitiful. On nearly all of her missions as a team leader, he studied the security footage and looked at how she interacted with her teammates. At the Shipyards, the last straightforward engagement between them both, he saw how she shouted orders at her team, but they refused to listen. Again, no surprise there, she had ordered her sniper to charge directly into suppressive fire rather than retake a canopy within the rafters. But once she turned her attention back to the guards and spied a cloaked figure charging forth, she threw all else to the wind, even her own team aside for the prize.
Now he knew. It was never about the mission. It was about her success.
To take hold of everything the enemy held, to prove not only your prowess on the battlefield, but your code and which side of the board you would stand on.
She knew that, and she would throw away everything that meant anything to her just to advance.
Shifting through debriefing messages, Sinclair soon found his new assignment, a direct-to-video call, highlighted in sanguinary red. Opening it, the familiar, aged face of Malcolm Hargrove rose into view.
"Colonel Sinclair", came the terse statement. He was clearly not pleased.
"Let me guess. The mission was a failure", droned Sinclair
"Your opinion on this matter is irrelevant, Colonel. Your abilities on the other hand, are. So I would advise you listen to what I have to say". The Chairman stated, a cold glint in his eyes.
Sinclair leaned back, curious "Continue, then".
"Following the recent failure of our operatives and the purge of Chorus' remaining factions, the simulation troopers have managed to forged an alliance between the Federal Army and the New Republic. I needn't remind you how valuable the alien technology on the planet is to our goals, Sinclair. However, these men were…considerate enough to send me a formal declaration of war. In short, they believe they can put us down like they have done with Project Freelancer".
"And so, you need a flag-bearer?" Sinclair asked
"I need a butcher. Someone who can sweep the board and take the king. I have issued a statement to the Sub-Committee and the UNSC Security Council, detailing the incursion on Chorus as a substantial insurgency hoarding Forerunner relics as weapons of mass destruction. We're done playing softball, and you will have full authority to deal with these simulation troopers as you please".
At this, much to the Chairman's surprise. Sinclair did not laugh. He didn't grin with sadistic glee or gnash his teeth in anticipation of what was to come. He simply gave a mocking smile and said.
"I'm sure the Red team will be very pleased with my offer, Chairman. I'll have the Hades return to Chorus' orbit immediately".
"You will be returning to Chorus without the Hades, Colonel. I will not waste precious resources on one colony. The Staff of Charon will rendezvous to your current location in approximately 35 minutes, and will escort you to Chorus personally".
Sinclair scowled, but nevertheless nodded in acknowledgement. Following that statement, Sinclair grew more immersed.
"Will I have any additional assets for this mission, sir?" he asked, fixated.
"I cannot confirm that, Colonel. But I assure you, you will have all that you need to handle this throughly".
Sinclair chuckled. "That'll be enough for me".