Planet Reach, Year 2550.
Pálháza Outskirts, Headhunter Rear Operating Base.
Pálháza Outskirts, Headhunter Rear Operating Base.
John-B069, in one of his few months of genuine downtime, entertained himself by sitting on the roof of the facility. A trusted "employee," he was given a bit of leeway during his off hours. He'd never attempted to go AWOL, and his morale and mental state were fairly stable (for a Spartan, anyway). Wearing a simple cotton shirt and slacks, he plugged away at a handheld entertainment system. A relic gleaned by Dr. Bailey, it killed hours of the Spartan's free time as he vied to beat his previous score in an archaic "shoot 'em up" style videogame.
Even in his vicious, fugue state, Terry-238 could tell that this was his best chance.
Skulking by the stairway, the mal-intended Spartan stepped into the light, walking towards John slowly. Terry hesitated when John turned, looking at him.
"Hey, Terry." John turned towards him. "What's the good word, brother?" The dark skinned, oblivious Spartan stood up, stretching his legs. Terry simply leered at him, his dark eyes fixed on John's face.
The next few moments of hesitation saved John's life. The Spartan's eyes flicked towards the object in Terry's hand; a simple, straight combat knife. "You shouldn't have that, you know. Rule 4; turn in all weapons upon return to..." John's voice slowly tapered off when he noticed the blood. Splatters of it were all over Terry's hands, but none on his shirt; like a master chef's dirty toque and clean sleeves. He wanted to believe that this was some sort of strange prank, but Terry wasn't known for his sense of humor.
To be honest, he was hardly known for anything. Unremarkable. Quiet. Unassuming. Powerless. At times, John had felt sorry for Terry, and wondered if he should reach out, and find out what was going on in the boy's head.
The time was long past now.
"Are you alri-" John's attempt at speach was cut off as Terry charged, knife swinging. John roused a hasty defense, and the knife bounced off of his game-boy, sending sparks, tempered glass, and plastic flying across the roof. Feeling the edge of the roof at his heel, John turned his body in time to avoid falling, along with a lethal stab. However, Terry, despite being thinner and slower, had pure mania at his side, swiping at his former ally again.
Blood was drawn, and John barked with sudden pain as the knife slid through the fabric of his sleeve, pairing his skin. Not a particularly caustic wound, but a painful one. The knife danced from hand to hand, and the dark skinned, now gravely frightend Spartan stepped back, avoiding swipe after swipe. His fight of flight instinct kicked in, and his years of training told him to defend himself.
As Terry swung, John stepped in and blocked, hammering Terry's bicep with his fist. Sen no sen, an ancient technique entailing attacking and blocking at the same time. It worked on elites with energy swords, but not on Terry. The maniacal Spartan ignored the pain, stepping in and stabbing, John caught his wrist and struck Terry in the chest with his fist. Terry swapped hands, trading the knife to this free limb. "DON'T-" the defender gasped the word, but Terry didn't listen. John managed to jerk his head to the side to avoid a slash to the neck.
Losing his patience, John grasped Terry's arm firmly. He'd sparred with this wirey young man before, and won. Summoning his strength, the defending Spartan thrust his knee into Terry's ribcage. The blow knocked air out of the maniac's lungs, allowing John time for another strike. He swung his foot, catching Terry in the jaw. The sound was deafening, as Terry reeled backwards, clutching his mouth.
Both young men panted for a moment, seperated by only a few meters of space. "...Terry," John said, holding his hands up. "It's me. I don't know what's wrong with you, but let's talk."
Terry turned, looking at John with a genuine, but unhinged smile. "I know, man. I know. But...we can't win, and we can't escape. Just...stay still, alright? I'll make it quick."
"What?!" John managed.
"This...this is the only way to be free." Terry's voice wavered as he stepped towards John, knife clenched. "We're friends, right? You understand. We can just...start over. Go to the next place. You, and me, and Maura, and Lucy, and Xifax...everyone." Terry's lips wavered, tears in his eyes. His face was ghostly pale, his mind broken.
"That's the Great Journey, right? Our parents will be there, right?"
Before John could respond, Terry tore towards him. His weapon hand was low, constantly shifting, before it snapped at John like a snake. John stepped in, managing to block the knife with his forearm. The blade slid back, swiping across his arm and cutting him again. The knife swiped, and before John could move, it put a deep, painful slice in his cheek.
With the sting of the knife swiping him again, John's temper flared. He turned and threw a punch that could kill a normal man. The blow connected with Terry's cheekbone, knocking him backwards. John stumbled, bleeding, as Terry floundered backwards, landing on his butt. As John scrambled to his feet, Terry did the same, moving in. John caught Terry's hands, the two locked in a power struggle. Even so weakened, John proved physically stronger, bulling Terry backwards and towards the ledge. "Who's blood is that? Did you get to someone else first?! WHO?!" John growled.
Terry redirected the two, and the duo stepped dangerously close to the ledge, which overlooked a cliff that not even a SPI armored Spartan could survive. Jagged rocks and dust awaited any who took that plunge. As John hesitantly attempted to step away, Terry took advantage of his loosening grip, moving the blade between them, facing John's chest, diagonal over his heart. The knife trembled as the two Spartans fought, hands locked. "No, man, no. You're the first. Just guards, they were just guards." Even with the exertion, Terry's voice remained even and calm, as if nothing was wrong. The two struggled there, fear of falling, fear of killing his teammate, and fear of being stabbed drastically reduced John's will to fight, as the knife drew closer and closer.
"Don't..." John murmured. "Just...fucking...let go of it..." John gripped the blade, blood dripping from his hand as he grasped the metal edge of the combat knife.
"TERRY! STAND DOWN!" The voice of Doctor Bailey came from the stairwell. Terry's face grew weary and frustrated at the sound. For a moment, his hand loosened on the handle.
John took his chance. He flung his own blood up and into Terry's eyes. As Terry winced, blinded, John snatched the knife. Terry lurched forward, blindly grasping at the Spartan's throat.
John's first thought was to punch Terry in the chest. However, by mistake, he plunged the knife into the young man's chest, metal sliding between reinforced ribs with a sickening thud. John released the handle, startled, as Terry stepped back, mortally wounded.
"...I...didn't want to go alone." Terry murmured. "I just...wanted you guys to go with me."
Wordlessly, John watched as Terry stumbled backwards.
"Bye, John." Terry willfully tilted, falling off the roof before his former teammate could gather what he had done.
John had never killed another human being before. The clumsy, painful confrontation was over, as he walked to the edge of the roof. He hoped that Terry would be gone from sight. No such luck. His body, torn and battered, laid on the rocks. A monument to his survival.
For the first time in his life, John felt his sins crawling on his back.
