(A/N) So guys, time for an actually on-time update, I know, hold the applause. This is one of my personal favourites, because, slightly surprisingly, I found it really moving, and I hadn't really experienced that from Jerem6401 before, which is why this chapter really stands out for me. I hope you all will feel just the same as I did, because this really is a great chapter.
Another call just to let readers know that we're still searching for someone to write for Carolina. Anyone interested should contact me within the next few days for more details, otherwise it'll be too late!
Enjoy!
Chapter Ninety-Five - The City of Triestina
Agent Maine
Written by Jerem6401
"War does not determine who is right, only who is left" – Bertrand Russell
Maine calmly made his way down the metal halls of the MoI. The call to the main chamber barely roused his attention anymore, and certainly not a sense of fear or dread. Seems in these chaotic times the Freelancers were being summoned to the bridge almost every day. Most likely it was debriefing for the next mission, intel about the location of some new Innie commander, or maybe just another pointless training routine. Like mindless animals the other Freelancers would line up in place, desperate to hear their orders so their place on the scoreboard might improve.
And he went along with it, every time, because deep down he knew that he had no choice. But he wasn't like the others. He saw through the veil the Director had cast over everything. He knew the truth.
"Idiots," Maine growled under his breath. The scoreboard proved nothing. It was just a way of making weak soldiers feel better about themselves, and stronger soldiers feel like they had a chance to relax. You can never officially prove how good you are. Not until you die, or all your enemies do. Then you'll know your limits. Your true best.
"I'm not gunna be able to bail you out anymore, man," Eli said with a punch to the chest. The two stood in a small room, with four bunks to house the squad. It smelled of beer, and the walls were adorned with different posters. One was a massive Metallica poster over Eli's cot. Maine looked down at where the contact on his chest was made, and then grunted.
"Then let them arrest me," he growled back, his voice as raspy and gruff as ever.
"Yeah, real great. Toughest guy on the squad gets jailed for war crimes, and where does that leave us? Shit creek that's where!" his friend remarked sarcastically, his eyes narrowing.
"War crimes," Maine chuckled grimly. "Bullshit."
"It ain't bullshit! We don't kill prisoners, man. We don't torture 'em either! You're gunna get your ass jailed for life if you keep this shit up!"
"They're our enemies!" Maine yelled back. "Murderers! Traitors! They had information that we needed. Only one way I know to make people talk."
"You can't look at it in black and white like that! They're people, too! You deal with them like they're nothing!" His companion was shouting at the top of his voice now, his face flushed, determined to make his point heard.
Maine stood up straight and lowered his brow. "I followed my orders."
"Yeah, I get it." Maine fell silent. "I know what the commander was telling you to do. Torture enemies for information. But that shit isn't gunna fly with me. You hear? Put yourselves in their shoes man."
"I did what was needed to be done!" Maine yelled. "What an enemy has to go through to make sure we save lives is not my problem!" Maine pushed his way past his squad-mate, preparing to leave the room.
"If you could feel anything… I bet you'd care more." Maine stopped in his tracks. He was still facing away from Eli, hands balled into fists. "You've never had to feel pain in your whole life."
Maine suddenly snapped around and grabbed the soldier's lapel. He pulled him in, putting their faces only inches from each other. Eli reached for anything he could, trying to keep Maine from tearing him off the ground. He tore his poster off the wall in the process, but eventually found himself suspended off the ground in Maine's clutches.
"I've cut off fingers! Pulled out teeth! Broken bones! Drilled through arms!" Maine's hands were shaking as he slowly released his grip. He dropped his squad-mate back to the ground and took some deep breaths. "But the pain I've endured…" Maine threw Eli back to the floor, grunting while he did. "…I wouldn't wish on anyone. At least the tortured's injuries will heal."
Eli pushed himself to his feet and stared into Maine's eyes. He rubbed the back of his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe I don't quite get you yet, man."
Maine sighed and nodded. "Let's keep it that way."
Eli turned around and looked at his cot. His Metallica poster was shredded, with only the LLICA remaining on the wall.
"Hmph… probably wouldn't work as a band name anymore, huh?" he chuckled. Maine smirked as well, and then looked at the floor where Eli had landed. A scrap of the torn poster was lying there, face-down. Maine leaned down and picked it up, reading it and smiling. He chuckled as he handed it to Eli.
"This might."
Maine stepped into line with the other Freelancers, who were all staring out the massive windows before them. The blackness of space was littered with explosions, radiating like fireworks between the countless stars. In the centre of their view was the planet of Byzantium. It was a dry rock, with its soil shining a deep red, and dotted with very small pockets of water, while swampland covered the very edge of these pockets. The doors immediately to the left of the group slid upwards and the Director calmly stepped out onto the bridge.
"Listen up, agents," he spoke as he motioned his hand towards the windows, "this is Byzantium. On this planet is a city, known as Triestina." He lowered his hand and folded it behind his back with the other. "This city has indeed captured my attention."
"It's captured a lot of attention," Cal stated. "They're a major export city when it comes to iron. The planet is basically made of it. Triestina is surrounded by mills that can purify, process, and prepare the iron for export."
"So what is this?" York asked him. "Some kind of heist? We're going after metal now?"
"We have all the resources we need, Agent New York," the Director stated. "The issue is, so do our enemies. We now have confirmation that the city of Triestina is in full support of the Insurrection. We believe they even may hold a few key officers within their walls."
"Ah," South started, "extraction. Always a fun one. Get the intel, get the guys, and get the hell out. So… who's going in?"
"I am," Penn called out. "I don't like how much the Insurrection seems to know about me. It's not a war anymore… it's personal."
"It's also not meant to be a bloodbath," Massa replied. "This mission would take finesse."
"And excellent sniper support along with it," Wyoming agreed.
"So c'mon, Director," Flordia butted in, "who are we sending in."
The Director turned to face his troops. He slowly reached up and fixed his glasses, while closing his eyes. "None of you."
The Freelancers fell silent, staring at the head of their team.
"But… but Director," Mich began, "you're not seriously suggesting we do nothing."
The Director smirked and turned away. "Of course not, Agent Michigan," he replied. "I don't want Triestina to be another mission. Another attempt to step on the Insurrection's toes. Another chance at failure." He began walking away and took his place in front of a massive control panel, right in front of the windows. "I want it to be an example. Visual proof that Project Freelancer is not interested in letting the Insurrection get any sort of foothold in our universe."
"So what are you suggesting?" Virginia asked, wondrously. "We shut down the city? Destroy the mills?"
"Ridiculous," Arkansas began, "too many people rely on that machinery to survive. Shutting it down would cripple thousands."
"We're not crippling Triestina," the Director stated. The Freelancers seemed to let out a collective sigh. The Director turned his head, so only one eye met his team. "We're destroying it."
"WHAT?!" Ark yelled, summing up the reactions of the majority of his teammates.
"The Mother of Invention is equipped with an Magnetic Accelerator Cannon, which when overcharged to its limits has the capability of destroying Triestina. Roughly the impact and radius of ten atomic explosions."
"You're insane!" Carolina screamed. "The city may be under Insurrection control, but there are innocent civilians in there! You're willing to be guilty of mass murder just to make a point!?"
"We can take control of their exports!" Ark shouted. "Cut off their supply! We can't do this! It's completely immoral!"
"Morals are not what win wars, Agent Arkansas," the Director replied. "Only results."
"You can't do this!" Carolina cried.
"The MAC has already been prepared to fire. Backing out now would damage the Mother of Invention in the process. This decision has been made, and is completely final."
"Turn the ship!" York demanded. "Fire it into space!"
"This is insane," Florida muttered to Maine. Maine turned to look at him. It was obvious Florida wanted to jump out and stop this. Save all of those people. But his rank… it's what mattered. It's what mattered to everyone in there.
"It's our orders," Maine replied. Florida turned to him and hit him in the shoulder.
"You can't be serious…" he spoke. "Think of all the people down there. Not just the ones that die, but the ones that don't. The horribly scarred, their families torn from them. Children without their parents. Don't you feel anything for them at all?"
"I…" Maine started. He looked out the window at the planet, picturing all the people on the ground. "I…" Women, children, workers, all helpless and crying out for someone… with no one to help them. Maine stepped forward and pointed at the Director. The Director turned to look at him, his eyebrows in the air in wonder. "You can't do this," Maine growled.
"We are eliminating the enemy, Agent Maine," he replied. "It's what Project Freelancer is tasked to do. Eliminate the enemy."
"You can't look at it in black and white like that!" Maine roared.
"Are you questioning the motives of Project Freelancer, Agent Maine?"
"This isn't our mission."
The Director nodded and then turned to look back at the window. He spoke quietly, in almost a whisper. "It is now."
Suddenly the entire ship began to shake, making all of the Freelancers stumble to keep their balance. Massive rings of green lightning began to run across the surface of the ship, diving into the metal before erupting outwards again. The individual bolts met at the end of the MoI, pointed directly at Byzantium.
"NO!" Arkansas screamed. The MAC fired, sending a massive column of green light towards the planet. The flash was completely blinding to anyone who didn't have their visors on, making most of the soldiers shield themselves from the beam. Maine could have sworn he saw the planet shake from the impact. Within seconds, a massive cloud of dust and ash was erupting from the blast site and slowly crawling its way over the planet. The attack only lasted a few seconds, but seemed like hours, with the blast of the gun overwhelmed by the screams of thousands. Some of the Freelancers had fallen to their knees, unable to compose themselves anymore.
"YOU MONSTER!" Carolina shouted. She ripped the helmet off of her head and slammed it into the floor, denting it. "HOW COULD YOU?!"
"THOUSANDS!" Ark joined in. "THOUSANDS DEAD! AT YOUR HANDS!" The two immediately turned and left the room. The Director remained silent, staring at his remaining soldiers. One-by-one, they started leaving the room as well. Florida, North, York. They all began walking away. The Director turned away as well, and quietly left the room. Maine looked next to him, to see Penn, still standing with his arms folded, looking down at the massive crater where Triestina used to be.
"Why?" Maine asked. Penn turned and looked at him. "Why didn't you try and stop him? You're second in the rankings! You could have had a say!"
"It's not my place," Penn replied. "Besides, good riddance I say. They were with the enemy, and the enemy needs to be destroyed."
"But… but this isn't…" Maine fumbled, trying to pick his words, "this shouldn't happen to people. And I thought you didn't like the Director."
Penn unfolded his arms and turned to Maine. He put his finger on Maine's chest and stared into his eyes. "We are at war, Maine," he grunted. "We can't waste our time feeling sorry for the enemy. I don't give a shit who's running this program, but as long as I'm a part of it… I'm making sure the side I'm fighting for wins."
"It isn't right!" Maine yelled back.
"In war, it doesn't matter who's right!" Penn shouted. Several of the other Freelancers turned to look at him. He was breathing heavier, his rage building at Maine's disobedience. Penn took his finger away and shook his head. "It only matters who's left." He turned and walked away, leaving the bridge behind.
"Heartless," Massa muttered as she stepped next to Maine. "You know… I don't think you're the one who can't feel anything anymore." Maine snapped his head towards her, taking in her words. "At least you seem to have a heart."
"I honestly didn't expect you to say a thing," Georgia added. "Kind of glad you did. It's weird how different people like you and Penn can turn out." Maine looked back to where Penn had exited and sighed.
"Penn doesn't have scars," Maine said quietly. The others looked at him, listening closely to what he was saying. "He never had a family. Only the UNSC. He's never had anything to love." Maine started to walk away as well, shutting his eyes and letting his mind fill to the brim. "Anything to lose." Maine's armour started to feel lighter as he walked away. Suddenly, Maine wasn't in his armour anymore. He wasn't on the Mother of Invention. He wasn't even 26 anymore. He was 8. Just 8.
He was sitting alone, in a cold metal chair. Police officers moved back and forth around the office, whispering quietly to each other to keep Maine from overhearing. Maine was scared. His hair was a mess. His school clothes were stained with red. He looked upwards as an officer slowly approached him. The officer knelt down so they were face to face, and put a hand on Maine's shoulder.
"Listen," he started, very quietly, "we're going to take you somewhere, right now." The officer turned his head and nodded to another man, who returned the gesture and left the room. "You're going to be staying there for a while, okay?"
Maine didn't know what to think. He just nodded. Not blinking, not speaking, and barely breathing. "The people there are going to take care of you. They want you to know that you will fit right in, and everything is going to be okay."
Maine nodded again, and slowly got out of his chair. The officer took his hand and led him towards the doorway. Everyone was staring at him as he went by. Giving a small salute, patting him on the shoulder, and sometimes just looking away… like they couldn't bear to see him.
They got outside where a white car was waiting for them, the engine already running. It was dark out. The last time Maine could remember being outside it was sunny. He could remember because the light was shining through the windows of the bank he was in. His mother was holding his hand. His father was reminiscing with an old friend they had met in the line. His older brother was desperately trying to get his hands on a second piece of candy. It was so quiet… and suddenly it was so loud.
"Alright, pal," the officer said as he opened the door. "Let's get you there." Maine looked into the dark car, and then down at the ground.
"Where's my Mom?" he asked quietly. The officer fell silent and stared at the young boy in front of him. Maine looked up into his eyes as his breathing got faster. "Where's my Dad? My brother?" The officer sighed and looked away. He put his hand on Maine's shoulder again and patted him slightly.
"They…" he tried to find the words, "they're gone."
Maine looked back into the car and closed his eyes. "They're not coming back… are they?" he asked.
The officer picked Maine up and helped him into the car. He grabbed the seatbelt and helped fasten it onto the child. "No," he said, in almost a whisper. "I'm sorry. They won't be coming back."
Maine looked down at his chest and put a hand almost in the centre, just slightly to his left. He was breathing heavier and gripping his skin. "What… what is this?" he asked the officer. The officer tilted his head and looked at Maine, inquisitively. "I… I don't know what this is. I don't… I don't know what's happening to me. I don't like it."
The officer remembered his briefing on Maine, everything he learned about the child. His condition.
"When you're older, I'll tell you," he promised. "Just give it time, okay? It will go away."
"It's pain…" Maine spoke. "Isn't it?" The officer sighed again.
"Yes."
"But pain… pain happens when people are hurt… doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does."
"And when people are hurt… they get better… don't they?"
"Yes." The officer made sure Maine was fastened, and then patted the driver on the shoulder.
"So soon… I won't have to feel this anymore?"
The officer stepped back and put his hand on the door. "People do get better. But sometimes there's always a little reminder that something happened. That reminder might not go away. But it won't hurt, I promise. It will just be there so we can remember."
Maine took his hand away from his chest, tears running down his face. "What are those called?" he asked between sobs.
The officer closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears himself. "Scars."
"We call those scars."
