A/N: Okay, so I think it's fair to say that I failed miserably at getting this story updated. I'm really really sorry about that, there have just been a few things going on lately. I'll try and do better in the future. :/ Also, I ended up splitting this chapter into pieces because there was a break in the story that I thought deserved its own real break, so chapter 3 should be up relatively soon. Thanks again for reading, comments mean a lot. :)

Chapter 2

Fio knelt low to the ground in a crouch as she reloaded her revolver, her fingers moved with expertise, rapidly slipping each bullet into the small weapon. Once she had filled the chamber with ammo, she spun it back into place and rose into position behind the steel platform that served as her cover. The sound of helicopter blades still thundered above her position along with the rattling of heavy gunfire. Taking a deep breath, she slid quickly and gracefully out of her hiding spot and into the open, wasting no time to put Morden's body in her crosshairs and pull the trigger. Six cracks rang out in rapid succession and the evil mastermind doubled over in the belly of the craft. Fio darted back into her hiding spot before the helicopter's pilot could riddle her with bullet holes. Instead, the lead trailed behind her swift form and slammed into the metal platform, raining sparks onto the ground. Fio's breathing hitched-that was a little too close for her liking. Wiping the sweat from her brow and reaching into her back pouch for more rounds to refill her pistol, she glanced off to her left to see her commander, who had locked onto the hovering aircraft and was putting the machine gun to good use.

Marco felt no remorse about what he was doing as he watched his rounds make solid contact with Morden's body. The man was a war lord when all was said and done and had proven many times already that his quest for power would never end until he had obtained complete domination, even if it meant destroying the world and rebuilding from scratch. He had already caused destruction around the globe on a massive scale, and along the way he had dealt many blows to Marco that struck much closer to home. As far as the war went, Marco had been in it for a long time, and as a result, he had seen many good men and women, both military and civilian, get ruthlessly mowed down. It pained him as both a soldier and a man to watch his friends and comrades slain by his nemesis's army on the battlefield, and as time passed and old wounds refused to heal, that pain had morphed into a deep-rooted anger. These losses combined with Morden's constant pursuit of his own selfish desires had instilled a deep hatred within the commander, and at the moment, he was fusing every last bit of that rage into each bullet that he fired. For Marco, the war between Morden and the PF Squad had gone on too long as it was, and Marco had been ready to lay down his gun in pursuit of a peaceful life a long time ago. However, as fate would have it, Morden had his own agenda and outrageous schemes, which wrought havoc on an international scale and kept early retirement out of the question for any of the PF Squad, especially the commander and his elite squad of combat specialists. And so, Marco again found himself in the smoke and haze of war, using his pent up fury as a weapon in an attempt to end the never-ending conquest of General Donald Morden, unleashing hell on the compact craft hovering above him. He littered its belly and sole passenger with bullets without pause, a fierce determination in his eyes, until Morden ducked back into the chopper for cover and slammed the door shut, seeking shelter from the onslaught of ammunition.

At this point, the poor helicopter was smoking every way it possibly could, having obviously been dealt a massive amount of damage in the onslaught it had just faced. The propellers sputtered and sparked, as did the controls in the cockpit-the craft wouldn't last for much longer.

Meanwhile, Fio had finished reloading her weapon and had leaned out to shoot down Morden once again when he suddenly wrenched open the door to the chopper and without warning, shoved out the business end of his rocket launcher. Fio, caught in mid-stride, had no time to react as the barrel of the weapon swung down and pointed directly at her position. Figuring he had little to no chance against an angry soldier behind a mounted machine gun, Morden figured a change in target would earn him better results in the fight, and had thus locked Fio in his sights.

On the ground, it was almost as if time had stopped. Fio's eyes widened in fear as she watched the rocket launcher swivel into position to blow her to a pulp. Her body tried to react accordingly, desperately slamming her foot into the ground in an attempt to counter her momentum, but in the back of her panicked mind she knew that her movements were in vain-there was no way she would make it in time, and as if right on cue, Morden began to pull the trigger…

Suddenly, a thunderous gunshot roared across the field and Morden's head jerked back violently, the shock throwing off his aim and sending the rocket that was meant for Fio off in a direction far from the battlefield, where it struck something and detonated harmlessly in the distance. Morden's body staggered for a split second in the helicopter's crew compartment before crumbling to the floor with a loud thud, his rocket launcher slipping from his suddenly limp hands and dropping to the ground below.

Fio was in shock, her body frozen in place as her mind raced to assess what had just happened. Almost immediately, her eyes shot to the right where she saw Marco out in the open, kneeling to the ground with his handgun drawn and smoking, a fiery look on his face.

"Don't even try it, bastard," the commander muttered, rising from his kneel, his weapon still trained on the place in the helicopter where Morden fell. He briefly glanced over at his subordinate, who was staring at him in shock, the close call still rattling her senses.

"Are you alright over there?," he called to her, directing his attention back to Morden's hiding place. Fio began to move, slowly and shakily at first, to Marco's side where she nodded silently and mentally tried to shake the adrenaline rush that was keeping her nerves shot. That was a dirty trick, Marco thought inwardly. Take down the weaker link to gain an advantage in numbers and firepower-smart, but low nonetheless. Marco's lips pressed into a thin line. He had promised himself that he would never again let a soldier die on his watch as long as he could still do something about it, and he had no intentions whatsoever of losing someone who was as important to him as Fio. As the saying rightfully goes, over his dead body. At his side, Fio had finally caught her breath and shaken off her near death experience, mentally praising Marco for his unrivaled skills with a handgun, as nobody else she knew could have made that shot in time.

In the air, things were not going well. The helicopter's pilot had been clipped by one of Marco's penetrating machine gun rounds and had been bleeding out for quite some time. As a result, he was rapidly losing his grip on consciousness and his ship was no longer being piloted correctly. The engine had already been shot and was a lost cause, but without a pilot, there wasn't a single hope of Morden ever landing semi-safely on the ground. At that moment, the helicopter began to spin out of control and spiraled dangerously close to the duo on the ground, who instinctively ducked, when Morden's body was thrown from the belly of the now flaming craft and landed on the ground with a sickening crunch mere feet from Marco and Fio, who both had their guns aimed directly at the General in a flash. The helicopter spun off and landed in an explosion of sparks and flames farther away. The two eyed Morden's body warily, searching for any signs of movement or life, not wanting to walk right into some sort of trap. Morden was a motionless heap on the hard earth. He didn't even appear to be alive.

"What do you think…is it finally over?" Fio's soft question entered Marco's ears as they ran a visual check over Morden. Her voice was a welcome change from the roar of heavy gunfire in his mind.

"It's never over with him, you know that. He's planning something…", Despite Marco's words, he couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed over what he just said. The man at his feet had been shot countless times by a mounted weapon, taken a bullet to the skull, and was flung from a flaming helicopter three stories in the air. It was physically impossible for anyone to survive that ordeal. However, this was Morden, and Marco would be taking no chances.

Cautiously, Marco approached the General's corpse and toed it gently with his combat boot before giving it a rough nudge. No response. After few more moments, he sighed, holstered his weapon, and gestured to Fio, who was a few feet behind him. She slipped her revolver back into her hip holster and approached Marco, staring down at Morden's crumpled form once they were even. He looked pitiful-his limbs had been mangled by the fall and were twisted in ways that shouldn't have been possible, and blood had thoroughly soaked his bullet hole-riddled uniform. Fio wretched, catching Marco off guard.

"What, this bothers you? After all the stuff we've seen?" he asked, clearly puzzled by her sickness.

"He was still human-", she started.

"Pushing it." Fio half grinned, half frowned. Despite his twisted methods, the man was still human, and seeing bodies that were deformed and mangled in such a brutal way did and would most likely always get Fio's skin to crawl. It was one of the many downsides to being a sensitive soul stuck working the front lines. Marco sighed again and gently nudged Fio's shoulder comfortingly. She tried to smile, forcing a small smirk to appear on her lips, but it quickly faded in the moment. This fight had been going on too long-that was undeniably true, but it still wounded her to see a person in such a misshaped, broken heap, even if it was the all evil Morden. At the end of the day, Fio still had a heart, despite how much it bled in the field. That fact would most likely never change.

Finding herself still transfixed on the body at her feet, she blinked hard, forcing her eyes off the ground and up to the man at her side. Facing him, she had half expected to see a hard set expression on his face, or maybe even a faint smile, since the warlord of the century was at long last just another dead body at his feet. Instead, what she saw was darker-a deep rooted sadness in his eyes…an unexpected pain that seemed out of place, given the situation.

"Marco?" She questioned, confused. He didn't respond. She toed the ground awkwardly for a moment, running through a few reasons of as to what the commander could possibly be upset about before peeking up at him again, the question embedded in her eyes. He for a fact did not have a bleeding heart attached to his shoulder like herself, so why? She watched him for a moment longer in questioning silence before he finally stirred, staying quiet for a moment before looking from Morden's twisted body to Fio, the fading sun casting shadows across his face. It was then that Fio saw it-a quiet anger behind the pain. She scanned what she could, patiently waiting for an explanation. Moments passed and Fio had nearly dropped the question when she heard him mutter something beneath his breath.

"What?"

"It isn't right…" He mumbled, turning back to face the ground.

"What is?" Fio asked.

"This," Marco gestured to Morden's body in the dirt, "it isn't right."

"What do you mean?" Marco folded his arms across his chest, a tired look in his eye.

"This man is responsible for so many deaths around the world. He ruined nations, destroyed villages, ravaged cities and treaded over anyone who got in his way without hesitation…" He trailed off, the images of fallen brothers and sisters in arms flooding his memory. The words hung in the air for a moment and sunk in, lowering the mood of the entire scene. Fio was quiet, absorbing every word. Marco was still for a few moments before he shifted on his feet, mentally shaking the depressing memories away before he continued, "And he didn't care one bit. Forget the stolen blueprints and weapons, he was a murderer before a thief. This death…he deserved something so much worse than this. He could have suffered a hundred times over before he died an agonizing death and it still wouldn't be enough to atone for his crimes." Marco bit his lip, "This end is too good for him."

Fio didn't say a word. She breathed deep and released a heavy sigh. She understood all too well where Marco was coming from, and to be honest, she couldn't disagree with the guy. From a personal standpoint, she hadn't planned on her life leading her into this occupation one bit, but as soon as she landed in S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S, she quickly found out exactly why everyone was so passionate about their quest to end Morden's campaign. The man was nothing short of a beast in human skin, and that was putting it kindly. The crimes he had committed around the world would leave scars on families and countries for generations, some with no hope of ever being resolved. His name would be burned into history with a trail of chaos behind it, much of which would mark the world for decades to come. Countless lives had been lost and families had been destroyed. Worst of all, none of the damage could be undone. Sure, in the long run, Morden's campaign could eventually be seen as just another mishap for the world's history books, but for now, the amount of time and effort the world would need to get back on its feet classified the whole ordeal as a massive international tragedy. So yes-overall, Marco was right. This end was too good for him. Fio shuffled in place for a moment, unsure how to respond. She settled with a tiny nod and a hum of agreement. After all, what do you say to someone who had seen what he had? There's only so much comfort a person could give to someone who had been scarred by the truth.

They stood in silence for what felt like hours, brooding over what their journeys in the resistance had brought them and how they had changed. It had seemed like an appropriate time to reminisce, but for some reason the thoughts ended up weighed heavily on the duo, as if all their wartime memories were protesting to any prodding or examination. In the end it was simple psychology-the mind trying to lock away the tears and blood and wounds, but things are never that simple. Fio and Marco had both seen too much, done too much. The burdens they carried would undoubtedly follow them for the rest of their lives, quietly clawing at the back of their minds until time and age silenced them. There were things that they would accept, others they would bury, and even some that they would have the courage to share with others, but for now, the silence broken only by the occasional whisper of wind across the empty, barren expanse of land seemed to say everything. The war was over; it was time to go home.