(A/N) Hey guys, sorry that this is up so late, spent all morning today editing it, not quite happy with it, and determined to make it as good as it possibly could be, because, well, I really wanted to tug at some heart-strings here. This was meant to be as sad chapter, and I just hope that it turned out to be one. Hopefully we'll have an update on Monday, at the usual time, but regardless of whether we do or not, the finale will go up at midnight London time between the Wednesday and the Thursday of next week. After that I think we'll be taking a week off to get everything organised for Phase Two to begin, and then we'll kick things off there.

It's been a pleasure to write for you guys, and to share this story. You really have no idea how much pleasure I have received from organising this, from the small beginnings when I tentatively began searching for writers interested in taking part, to now, where we have dozens of followers, hundreds of reviews, and tens of thousands of views. I'd just like to thank you. Every one of you who took some time to read this fic, and help make this happen through your reading. I'm not going to ask you to enjoy this chapter. All I want to do is say thank you.

We're so close to the end.


Chapter One Hundred and One – The Truth

Agent Arkansas

Written by NicKenny


"There isn't a way things should be. There's just what happens, and what we do." ― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky


"If you think you can handle the truth, I'll tell you exactly where General Allen is, but only for one reason," Harper rasped, once he had recovered from Georgia's little electro-shock therapy, his eyes locked on Ark's. "You can't handle it."

"I think I'll be the judge of that," Ark replied slowly, his voice grim, his eyes hard beneath his helmet, staring into Harper's without the slightest hint of pity or remorse. "Where. Is. He?"

Harper just chuckled, nodding towards a corridor to their left with a sudden jerk of his head, and spat. "That's where you'll find him, kid. Just keep going straight. You can't miss 'im."

Ark remembered a story he had been told, long ago, a memory so distant that it now seemed now more substantial than a half-forgotten dream, about a murderer who had terrorised the villages that had consisted of his entire world, before it had been taken away from him. His grandmother, always delighting in telling stories that would terrify Ark (though he wasn't Ark back then, of course) and his brothers, and this one had been a particular favourite.

This man, or so the story went, wasn't plagued by a lone demon on his shoulder, but instead had two, each egging each other on, locked in a violent competition to see who could force him to cause the most chaos, commit the most heinous crimes, carry out the most monstrous atrocities.

He was eventually captured, not by the UNSC, but by a group of poachers, armed with the illegally obtained weapons that had allowed them to make their living. They came across him in the dead of night, having already butchered a family taking a short cut from one village to another, cutting through the forest rather than sticking to the main roads which looped round, despite the UNSC regulations.

They found him sitting over a pile of bones, picking a femur clean with his teeth, and his only response when he noticed their sudden appearance was his apology that he could not share his meal with them, and his reprimanding them for not coming a few days earlier, when there was plenty of "food" to eat.

Ark had never discovered what they did after that point, but his parents had known one of the poachers quite well, his father in particular, as he had gone on poaching trips with him in the dead of night, avoiding the UNSC patrols. The man had never spoke of the night to anyone, despite the prodding of his friends and family, except to impart one piece of information.

He said that they had questioned the man on his crimes, and he had confessed to every sin that they levelled against him with perfect cheerfulness, and, indeed, supplied them with information of more than they had been aware of. The man, horrified, caught the attention of the cannibal and murderer, and was transfixed by his eyes.

The man had said that if you stared into them long enough, as he had, you could see the demons staring back at you.

Ark paused for a moment, staring deep into the Insurrectionist's eyes, and saw the demons lurking within.

"Thank you, Lt Harper, for your cooperation. Consider yourself dismissed," he replied, drawing his fist back and slamming it into the side of the Insurrectionist's head, sending him sprawling to the floor, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Keep an eye on him," Ark told Georgia, and his friend nodded, rooting about his pockets for some cable to bind Harper's hands with. Turning to Massa, he silently asked whether or not York would be okay, and the grim expression on his face provided all the information that he needed.

"Try to get him up onto the surface," he ordered, glancing up at Cal and Georgia and gesturing for them to pick up Harper and to take him up to the surface too. "When you get there, try to radio for an extraction. If you can't, find Carolina, she'll know what to do. On no accounts let your guard down against Harper, I've already made that mistake for us all," he continued, with a sharp stab of guilt as he looked over at York's slumped body, Massa attempting to help him to his feet.

"What about you?" Georgia asked, clearly worried, but Ark dismissed him with a wave.

"I'll catch up. There's still work to do down here," he replied, nodding back towards the corridor that Harper had claimed led to General Allen's quarters. "Don't worry about me, I can look after myself."

Georgia still looked uncertain, but eventually he nodded, and turned back to Harper, dragging the unconscious Innie into an upright position. "Stay safe, you hear me?"

"Always," he chuckled, looking away, and turned to Cal, his features immediately souring.

"We'll talk about this later, Cal, providing we both survive long enough to," he said quietly, so only California could here. The agent only stared at him for a moment, his eyes uncertain behind his shattered nose, and nodded, moving away to pick up his helmet and then to help Georgia with Harper.

With a heavy heart Ark turned and walked away, the voices of his teammates fading behind him as he made his way through the catacombs, occasionally hearing the sounds of distant gunfire ring out far above him, or feel the earth tremor as an explosion rocked the surface. With a Magnum clasped firmly in his hands, he strode down the corridors, his body on high-alert, wary, as he delved deeper and deeper into the bunker.

The corridors remained empty of Insurrectionists, unsurprising, really, given the assault force levelled out against them. Guard duty would have taken second place to defending against the UNSC, but as Ark continued on his way through the bunker, he couldn't but feel that something was amiss. It was quiet. Too quiet.

If General Allen really had his headquarters down in this section of the base, surely there would be some soldiers left to defend him, or at least to cover his potential escape routes. It was at the very moment that Ark was tempted to turn back and report that Harper had given them false information, that he heard voices up ahead, and saw a light flickering behind a half-closed door up ahead.

Striding forward silently, he quickly checked his Magnum's ammo one final time, satisfying himself that he had enough rounds left to take out however many soldiers the General had with him. He momentarily regretted not taking one of the others with him, but quickly reminded himself that York and Cal needed medical treatment, and Massa was needed to keep York stable until they could get him to the surface. And leaving Harper with only one unoccupied agent to keep him under control would not have surely led to disaster.

If only Carolina or Penn were here, he thought, then shook his head, as fruitless wishing was a waste of his time. He was the only one here. He would have to be enough.

He crept up to the door, pausing for a moment outside the room in an attempt to make out the voices within, but they were too muffled by the doors and sounds of battle that somehow were even louder down here, in the heart of the base, than they had been much nearer to the surface.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, mentally muttered the Soldier's Prayer, and burst through the doors, his weapon in hand, then paused, stunned by what he saw before him.

The walls of the room were covered in television screens, each depicting the battle that raged on the surface above from a different angle, but regardless of the viewpoint, it was clear that the UNSC forces were winning, aided by the Freelancer personnel, and, indeed, the Freelancers themselves, each of whom had a camera trained solely on them.

Here he saw Wyoming with a group of snipers, taking down a group of Insurrectionists manning an anti-aircraft gun. On another screen Maine and Florida were fighting back to back, surrounded by Insurrectionists, until Penn suddenly appeared next to them, grabbing them and disappearing with them in tow. Yet another showed Carolina, South and North working in tandem as they took an Innie barricade, UNSC forces swarming up behind them.

His heart lurched as another showed York, Massa, Georgia and Cal burst into the daylight, the latter two carrying a still-unconscious Harper between them, and Massa's hand was swiftly raised against her helmet as she attempted to radio for support. Ark couldn't tell if she had been successful or not, but at any rate they had been spotted by the UNSC forces, with a squad of soldiers and two Warthogs making their way towards them.

"They make for quite impressive viewing…your friends," a voice rasped from across the room, where a figure lay propped up in a hospital bed, various tubes attached to his arms and hooked up to dozens of IVs, the liquids slowly trickling into his veins. The figure's features were hidden behind an oxygen mask, but Ark didn't need to be told who this man was, the voice itself had been imprinted into his memory.

Ark looked into the face of General Thaddeus Allen, and saw not an enemy, implacable, relentless and evil, but instead an old man, tired, mournful and filled with regret. The face that had appeared before the Director, and memorised by all of the Freelancers by order, had aged dramatically since his communication, his wrinkles deepened, his skin sagging, his hair lank and greasy. Allen's eyes, in particular, betrayed the seriousness of his current condition – bloodshot, mucous ridden and framed by bags that drooped down to beneath his nose.

"So…you…you are the one who has…has been sent to kill me?" he rasped, neither looking pleased or displeased by the prospect. "Funny…" he chuckled, or at least that was what Ark interpreted it as, as it immediately gave way to a fit of coughing that caused the man's entire frame to shake. "I thought it…would have been one of the others…Pennsylvania…or Carolina."

Finding his voice, Ark swallowed, and looked him in the eye. "I'm not here to kill you, I'm here to take you into UNSC custody, for your crimes against humanity."

Surprisingly, this elicited another attempt at laughter from the old general, once again resulting in a wracking coughing fit, and Ark couldn't help but notice that there were flecks of blood on the general's lips when he removed his hand from his mouth.

"For my crimes?!" the general asked, incredulous. "And who will punish them…for theirs.Quis custodiet…ipsos custodes? Who watches…the watchmen, my child? Who are they…to call me…a monster."

Ark moved closer to him, his face grave beneath his helmet. "They are the law, in this part of the universe. That is enough. Humanity is already facing an extinction-level threat in their war against the Covenant. What right do you have to stir up trouble and discontent, and fight against those who wish to protect you?"

The general only chuckled once more, this time succeeding, his lungs having momentarily been freed from the fluids that had clogged them up before. "The right of a father to protect his children. The right…of the just, to not turn a blind eye. The right of the…of the wronged to seek vengeance. The right of the…the few to seek justice for those…with no voices. Those are…my rights, my child."

Confused, Ark only shook his head, his mind filling with anger against the general, baffled by his line of argument. "I am not a child, not yours or anyone else's. Men like you took my family away from me, destroyed my village, robbed me of the life I could have had. Everything that I am today, good and bad, is because of men like you. So don't lecture me about vengeance, or justice, for I have lost all hope of finding these things."

He took a deep breath, feeling the rage burn uncontrollably inside him, fiercer than ever, and that almost terrified him, but he could no more feel fear than love or happiness in his present state, consumed by anger. All of the years that he had spent controlling his emotions, all of those years of bottling up each urge that rang through him, were undone in a single moment, and his entire life flashed before him suddenly, in vivid clarity.

The day his village had burned, he had gone out playing with his friends, hiding in one of the tall pine trees in the forest that overlooked his village, and he had remained there for hours, even then possessing the will and determination to win, no matter the cost. It was only when he smelled the acrid odor of smoke in his nostrils that he climbed down from his hiding place, his heart filling with fear as he charged back towards his village, only to see it burning in front of him, as he looked on, helpless.

Being taken in by the UNSC after they discovered that all of his living relatives had perished in the attack, being entered into a military-funded program to train orphans as soldiers, and his sharp mind and intense work ethic, inspired by his hatred of the Insurrection, had led to his superiors singling him out as possible officer material. When his final test scores came through, at the point where the majority of the orphans would then be taken away to be transferred into the Marines, or Artillery, and one or two even into the ODSTs, Ark was approached by a solemn faced colonel who presented him with his transfer papers, with CURSOR ACADEMY OF MILTARY SCIENCE proudly stamped across the cover.

He remembered seeing Carolina for the first time, although he would know her by a different name prior to his induction into Project Freelancer, when she had single-handedly taken down a squad of cadets, much to the amazement of those watching, and the pleasure of a spectacled man with a sharp goatee and the same neon-green eyes. He remembered picking the man out in the crowd, as he stuck out like a sore thumb in an academy filled with soldiers and cadets, but thought little of it until the same man greeted him over a transmission years later, inviting him to take part in a special-ops program the UNSC had labeled Project Freelancer.

And Ark, as always led by his curiosity and intrigued by the Director's promises of making him a better soldier, had agreed without hesitation, eager to undergo whatever was necessary in order to better combat the Insurrection.

And here he stood, his Magnum still aimed at the man who had caused untold destruction, and while not being responsible for the deaths of Ark's family, as his faction of Insurrectionists were not even remotely associated with the sect who had been, he was no doubt responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of similar situations, leaving children, like Ark had once been, alone in the world.

His finger tightened on the trigger, just as the general sat up with a grimace, and took a closer look at Ark, his brow furrowing.

"Ah, so you are Agent Arkansas," he replied, and Ark grunted an affirmative, slightly surprised at the general's knowledge. "I have heard…about you. Not as much…as about some of the others…but enough."

"So you know," Ark murmured, moving closer, his Magnum raised, determined to look into the man's eyes when he pulled the trigger, taking on the role of judge, jury and executioner at once. "You know exactly what your kind did to me, what they took from me."

"I know that you're barking…up the wrong tree, child. I know that you're looking…for your revenge in all the…wrong places," the general wheezed, his eyes locked on Ark's, and something in his look caused Ark to hesitate, to hold back for just a moment more.

"It wasn't an Insurrection…that killed your family, child. Not the Galactic Liberation Army…not the Unified Revolutionary Front…but the UNSC."

Ark froze, his eyes widening at this revelation, then narrowing as he brain rejected the general's words. "That's a lie," he murmured, the gun wavering in front of him. "The GLA destroyed my home as a reprisal for my people supporting the UNSC. I've looked through the files!"

The general only gave a light chuckle, before looking away, over to one of the monitors next to him, where Carolina and Virginia were taking down a Scorpion together. "Evidence…is so easy to fake…particularly when no one ever doubts…what you say," the general replied, before descending into yet another fit of coughing.

"Do you really…have so much trouble believing that the…UNSC…would destroy…a village? All you have to do…is look towards your own project…for evidence of that. The people…of Triestina met the same fate…as your family."

Ark bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to allow the general's words to get to him, but he could feel the truth behind what the general was saying, the fervent belief behind his words. "Why would the UNSC destroy my village?" he asked hoarsely. "What did they ever do to deserve it?"

"What did…the people of Triestina do?" Allen asked. "They dared to stand up for their…rights…They fought for a cause they believed in."

Ark paused, lowering his gun slightly, disbelief written over his helmet obscured features. "Are you saying they were Insurrectionists?"

"Yes," the old man replied, looking back at Ark. "They were. Did you really think…that the Unified Revolutionary Front were simply an…army, trying to defeat the UNSC? We were outnumbered…one hundred to one…No…instead we sought to turn…the public against them…gain sympathy for our cause. We tried…to uncover all of the UNSC's crimes…Your story is just one among millions."

Ark stared at the general, utterly refusing to believe the words coming from his lips, and yet, on some level, he began to doubt everything that he had been told by the UNSC, and by his family. He remembered thinking, all those years ago, that it was odd that his father so rarely came home with food when he went out poaching. Once in every dozen trips he might return with a rabbit, or a pheasant, but never anything bigger. He remembered watching his father practice with his stolen UNSC-issue battle rifle, and how accurate his father's shot had been.

No. It couldn't be…

"It can't be true," Ark murmured, his gun dropping to his side, pulling his helmet from his head in order to take in fresh air, not the kind that's passed through all of the filters of his helmet. His world was starting to crash around him, everything that he had ever believed in suddenly seeming so shallow and insubstantial. After all this time, and everything that he had done...could he have been on the wrong side? "'You're trying to turn me against them. It won't work!"

The general just sighed, and a feeble hand reached out and clasped Ark's own. "You don't need…to take my word for it," he replied gently, smiling. "The proof will reveal itself…soon enough."

With that he drew his hand away, and Ark felt something that had been left behind, a small oblong metallic shape. He looked down at the palm of his right hand, his face filling with confusion and befuddlement, stunned and yet wary, not able, never able, to fully trust anything that was reported to him, not even by his own senses.

"I'm sorry…I could not persuade you," the general replied, ignoring the look of confusion on Ark's face. "I fear…that I will not get another chance…to do so."

Ark continued staring at him, wordless, and the general arched an eyebrow and nodded towards Ark's discarded helmet, and Ark suddenly understood the meaning behind his words, remembering that his helmet's camera and microphone were still active and recording.

The features must have given away more than he had meant them to, for the general gave a brief laugh, then sighed deeply to himself. "Goodbye…Agent Arkansas…I fear you may have just won this war."

Behind him, the monitors all displayed the base beginning to become overrun by UNSC forces, the Insurrectionists either turning tail and fleeing, or simply throwing their weapons down and surrendering, asking for mercy. Ark suddenly was struck by the fleeting realization that they were unlikely to receive this, and he frowned, troubled.

He turned back to the general, but the old man's eyes were closed, and his breathing had slowed down drastically. A moment later, a sharp peal rang out through the room from one of the machines that the general was hooked up too, and Ark walked leant over him, placing his palm on the man's forehead.

May you find the peace in death that evaded you in live, he thought solemnly, before turning his back on the dead man and retrieving his helmet, placing it firmly over his head. He made his way towards the exit, but took a quick glance back at the old man, his helmet recording the image, sighed, and made his way towards the surface, soon encountering the leading UNSC forces, led by Carolina.

"Ark!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Massa reported that you went in to search for General Allen. Did you find him?"

Ark stared at her for a moment, silent, unmoving, before slowly nodding. "I found him all right. He's down behind me, no more than two hundred meters that way," he replied, grimly, with a slight shrug in the direction he had come from.

Reading something in his posture, Carolina's voice became quiet, also reproachful. "Did you kill him?" she asked simply, never one to waste time on unnecessary dialogue.

Ark shook his head slowly, and pushed past her, continuing on his way to the surface. "He's dead," he muttered as he passed her. "But at a greater hand than mine."

He didn't see the nonplussed shrug she gave at his words, and barely noticed the soldiers pouring past him as he continued on his way, all of them determined to flush the remaining Innies out of this rat's nest once and for all. He didn't notice anything, not even the setting sun as he reached the surface, not the shouts of joy when Florida, Georgia and North noticed him walking towards them, not even the appraising looks Penn, Alaska and Wyoming gave him on the Pelican trip back to the MoI, as he stared ahead, unseeing, his fists clenched by his side.

All that he was conscious off was the small metallic flash drive in his left hand, burning its way into his soul, that would change is life forever, reshaping his future as each second passed.