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Fan Fiction

Posted By: Dispraiser<dispraiser@netzero.com>
Date: 12 October 2003, 11:56 PM

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       A spent cartridge spun eternally in the air, while its strain sat, helpless, desperately struggling against the laws of our universe. The tiny brass casing fell to the ground, bouncing to a symbolic halt as our planet would soon fall, despite pushing against the laws of war. I paid no attention to this tiny gesture of fallen hope, and pulled the bolt of the rifle back again. The scopes crosshairs centered themselves on the head, and fate, of a nearby Covenant soldier. I drew the trigger towards my hand in a gesture of death. There was a brief moment of silence, followed by the click of the hammer striking the bullet. Instantly the rifle pushed against my grip, doing naught but pose a futile threat to a superior strength. The bullet spun forward shattering an unfortunate Jackal's skull, lifeblood and gore drifting lazily to the ground as yet another piece of spent brass flaked from my rifle. It tumbled to the ground against its will and bounced to a violent stop. Again, the bolt slid backwards, and another death was determined. As I pulled the trigger again I felt little in regards to mercy, or sympathy for the enemy target. The bullet struck a Grunt in the chest, killing him almost instantly. The limp body fell to the ground and rolled to a stop. One of the enemy sentries who had spotted me was soon felled, and I continued, counting to three under my breath. As I centered the scope's hand of fate upon another of the monster's heads I continued to say "Four," under my breath. Suddenly a chain of plasma gunfire descended upon my position from the unwitting hands of a Covenant conscript a few yards to my left. He probably felt clever, shortly before his body dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap, the beast's tiny skull. I watched the metamorphosis from living to dead again. Again, I slid the bolt back in my rifle again, and readied the rifle. Suddenly, a Grunt leapt from behind a boulder bearing a plasma pistol. I was faster to aim, and pivoted on my knees to level the rifle's aim on his chest. The Grunt realized this and panicked. I pulled the trigger and waited to see death's slender figure pluck another life from this universe. To my surprise, the rifle reacted only with a dull click, it had jammed. The Grunt looked up, saved by a grace of god. He raised his plasma pistol and fired. The lone green orb danced in the air, portentous of the games it would play with my life. It struck my chestplate, and threw me from my knees. Crimson blood splattered across my eyes and face. I heard his cheer of excitement as the happy Grunt ran to his friends, gloating over my defeat.

       I lie on the ground, the cold snow preceding the cold of death. I wondered to myself about my enemies for the first time. Did they feel this pain and struggle before death? I struggled to swallow another breath of air. The bullet had struck my chest above my heart. I wouldn't live.

       My blood ran slowly along the side of my chest. I could feel it but couldn't muster the strength to move an arm to place over the wound. The warmth was some solace, but any relief from the suffering was nothing compared to the pain in my chest. Suddenly, in the midst of this pain a thought crossed my mind again. Did my enemies suffer like this? Did they feel their lifeblood slowly drain from them as they lie helpless on the ground? Was I the bringer of this pain, to any creature? I could remember counting my kills. I was the monster. I struggled to swallow another breath of the cold air, and coughed up some blood. My legs began to feel numb, but whether it was from the snow or the fatal wound I couldn't determine. Slowly, I felt the pain drain from my legs as the environment around me became much darker. I could feel my heart struggling to beat despite my injuries. The pain from the wound continued to radiate around my body, as I pleaded for god to strike me down and finish what the demon had already started. There was no remorse though, no alleviation of the pain and suffering, just hurt. I thought to myself about what it must feel like to be shot in the head from an unknown assailant. Most of the Covenant I had shot were well out of visual range. They must have been so scared and afraid when one of their friends drops to the ground, dead, and they don't know who shot him. As they ran in terror and pain I would merely reload and pick another who would die a mysterious death at the hands of a long range rifle. I couldn't help but feel guilty for killing my enemies at such long range. It was hardly a fight as much as it was an execution from such long range. I died a fair death, at least. I coughed another small puddle of blood from my throat, and tried to calm myself. My actions were just in that I was waging a war for survival. I thought of why I fought as I drew another breath into my ruined body. I fought for liberty, honor, freedom and life for me and those I loved. More of my lifeblood seeped to the ground as I considered why they fought. Liberty, honor, freedom and life for themselves and those who they loved.

      I was a soldier, and I fought a just war for survival.

      So were they. The delicate word sorry escaped my lips, before I felt a dull beat within my chest, the last I would ever experience.