Baka baka baka! Stupid ordering system. I uploaded the last document in my storage... but document "10" doesn't go to the end, it goes between "1" and "2". Retarded computer.

But hey, thanks for pointing that out! You guys are awesome!

It's occurred to me that I never actually described Rooney's appearance. Can I ask what people generally imagined him as before I make my own decision?

To all my faithful readers and reviewers: Thanks a lot for continuing. One more blurb, and our protagonist will finally get to meet Isara…

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It was with a raised eyebrow that Celes watched the blonde haired racist panic in an epic fashion, commandeered weapon ripping itself out of his hand right as he turned and fled.

"TRAP! TRAP! DARCSEN TRAP! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

If it weren't for the seriousness of the whole operation, he would have exploded with laughter at the man's absolute lack of comprehension. "Sir, should we pursue?" he fired off to his superior a dozen meters off to the right.

"Negative, Jacelern. He's given us an excellent plan. Circle around –"

As much as he would have liked to agree, his eyes drew back to the center of the road. The Darcsen child was now triply stunned – once for her mother's death, once for her apparent death, and one last time for her salvation. He wanted to stop the fighting, to simply run over to her and comfort her as best he can. Every instinct ingrained into him as a medical student screamed at him to throw down his weapon.

"Jacelern, that's an order. Fall in!" The Lieutenant's voice approached a bark. Five years of medical school fought with six months field experience with Lieutenant Karst.

There wasn't even a chance.

The former student spun on his heel and pipelined into the Lieutenant's wake, all limbs tucked in as tight as possible, perfectly hidden by the fence. The bend of his body was too low, making firing impossible – but it didn't need to be. Stealth and protection were the only things that mattered.

It was Unit 29-4's first operation, on the Federation/Empire border, against an artillery battery. Shallow drainage ditches around each gun the only cover other than the machinegun nests and magazine in the center of the quartet. It was a cunning construction – any illusion of victory after making it to the guns would be instantly broken once the heavy weapons began firing.

None of them had any illusion what the outcome would be when they heard they were to capture or otherwise disable the post. Fifty fresh conscripts underneath a single officer with combat experience, the only one among them who did, were going to get thrown as a sacrificial suppression force so that the armored companies could punch through. The First Europan War had claimed almost every other male, and each one who had survived made sure to immediately made sure to make himself an officer – or a tank pilot. The Empire did everything to ensure their survival, but foot troops were little more than scouts and cannon fodder.

But their grizzled Lieutenant had a plan for everything. A week before, after receiving the scout reports, he had forced them into the strangest drills, running through tiny sewer pipes for hours each day. When they made the attack, as expected all the gun crew immediately withdrew to center; heavy weapons unleashed in the squad's direction. Any other squad would have been cut to ribbons while attempting to assault.

Instead, the guns hit nothing but dirt. Not even the top of a head poked above the ditches, as the unit carefully filed into ditches like clockwork – quite literally just like a drill. The Federation soldiers stuck to their machineguns in futility too long, only at the last moment reaching for their grenades – too slow, as dedicated demolition charges flipped out of the ditches first.

Explosions, then a final, earthshaking one as the magazine went off. A huge, blue ball of fire. The battle was over. The battery was theirs.

And when the casualty reports came back after the advance, infantry deaths in the hundreds, Unit 29-4 looked at each other, not a single head missing from their tables, and vowed to follow Lieutenant Karst as long as the war lasted.

Celes let his jaw open in exertion, but more importantly a feral grin, as he dedicated himself fully to the operation. He was the Lieutenant's tool – and right now, they had Gallians to chase.

He had always had trouble killing – he had never seen a reason for it, when facing the enemy, it was so hard to find a motivation to pull the trigger. He had fought mostly with his skills of medicine, letting the others use bullets to survive.

Fortunately for the racists, medical philosophies ordered him to preserve life. Unfortunately, if he wasn't behind a line of guns, it was his responsibility to raise one himself.

And so he did, footsteps landing in the Lieutenant's own.

His superior stopped, peered over the fence, and blindly slid his handgun over the side of the fence, firing a series of quick taps before moving on. Celes matched his move, looking over the rough wooden barrier. He saw nothing more than a few fleeing bodies, now dragging a wounded member with them; added to their misery by emptying the carbine's magazine in their direction.

"Suppressing fire, just harass them, don't let them realize that it's just us!" Celes jerked and followed in the direction of Lieutenant Karst's voice. Twenty meters farther along, they were wrapping around the side of the village fence.

They popped over the edge again, and were treated with a second look at the fleeing group, although at a much further distance. Without needing to remain truly hidden anymore, they aimed and fired. The small caliber rounds lost most of their power with distance, but that wasn't the main purpose. The slam of metal into their armor was enough motivation for that particular group to keep fleeing.

This time it was Celes who led, flipping over the fence. They couldn't just circle the town, and the Lieutenant had expected as much from his subordinate.

As they fought, Celes's last vestiges of morality broke down. He no longer held the illusion that he could simply shoot for limbs, the ground, or the nearby air, but allowed himself to line up shots that a cold-blooded marksman would have been proud of. When they encountered a pair of men attempting to break down a door with their rifles, Celes fired straight for the trauma points. Fortunately for the hunters, this was where the armor was intentionally the thickest, but the intention to kill was undeniable. They fled the moment they recovered.

The feeling grew worse as they harried the duo further, planting a couple of rounds between their shoulderblades which was sight enough for another hunter to lose heart and begin fleeing with them.

A proning hunter, apparently waiting for someone to come out of a deadend alley, found his shoulder blade shattered as shots from the Lieutenant's pistol cascaded into it. Even as he scrambled up and skittered away, Celes was able to riddle a leg with the contents of an entire magazine, frowning as he watched him limp away. He didn't feel remorse because the man's wounds were most likely crippling. He felt it because he hadn't killed him.

And in this vein of bloodthirst, the operation continued. A stocky bearded man was shot and chased off from around a corner, two women were wounded from behind a tree, and a fourth round faced hunter had a shot clip his forehead, knocking him unconscious to be dragged off by a couple of his compatriots.

Ironically, the panicking blonde was the last in the village, running around confused, hearing the shots but unable to find any of his squadmates. When he rushed blindly past a tree which Celes had hid behind, it was the perfect chance to down the one who had screamed trap – more accurately, was still screaming about that – and begun the entire flight. But upon raising the carbine to take a headshot the moment he crossed Cele's position, Lieutenant Karst stopped him with a hand on the barrel of his weapon. For a moment, he was confused, but then he grunted and followed once more. The panicking man was more valuable to them alive, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

It took the screamer a little longer than normal to realize that he was all alone, all while Celes's finger itched on his trigger. Finally shutting his mouth, eyes darting all around him in paranoia, he made a straight dash back for the hill, the same crest that they had come from, the same crest that they all went back too and over, retreating in an unorganized mob.

They hadn't even bothered to take the ruined gun with them.

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So, I decided to break Celes's morals down a bit. Expect them to come back up again once he realizes what he prefers more... he's not going to remain like this for long.

If I ever decide to extend this story, note that the flashbacks will be made into scenes of their own – unless you'd prefer that already?

Coming up, the villagers will meet their saviors – as will Squad 7's Isara.

But it's not happening without reviews. See that button. CLICK IT. DO IT. DO IT NOW. Even if it's just an affirmative, every last word you leave is another reason for me to return to the computer. Go, go, don't let me delay you any further!