29. never thought it was you I'd be coming home to feat. eli
redemption (noun) 1. the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil. 2. the action of regaining something or gaining possession of something in exchange for payment, or clearing a debt.
--Eli, it's Audie. We need to talk. --I know you have a lot of questions. I can't say much over this channel. But you might be in danger. --I'm sending you the coordinates. --Please, Eli. I need your help. --You know I wouldn't do this if I had any other choice.
"What was that distress call?"
"Ignore it."
"Eli, you know I can't do that."
"Cap, I believe I told you when I signed on that I am never setting foot on that planet again."
"Listen, I don't know what happened between you and your friend, but he's asking for your help. I know you've probably got a reason but... unless you can explain to us why--"
you weigh the calculations, and let out a sigh. you can't get them involved. nothing good will come of it.
"Captain... may I request two weeks worth of personal leave all at once?"
it's dark in the abandoned parking structure. you hop over a cracked ridge and head upward.
"Audie?"
lights, movement, and you're whipping out your revolver in one hand, shotgun in the other.
figures in helmets and body armor are surrounding you, and you recognize the slight nuances in their uniforms - Command's own secret police. they carry riot shields and high-powered rifles. you count ten, twenty on either side of you, and as you glance up, you see a team of snipers moving into position. which means there's probably another team you don't see.
"Drop your weapons! Hands behind your head!"
you have to admit, they came prepared.
(honestly, if they hadn't, you might have even been insulted.)
your guns clatter to the floor as you interlace your fingers behind you, flatten your wings as a show of goodwill. they force you face down onto the concrete, slap cuffs around your wrists, shackle your ankles, and lock a collar around your neck.
then they pull off you as an electrical current lances through your body, again and again, until the world goes dark.
you awaken sitting before a table in a dimly lit room.
three dead people are standing in front of you.
they've all visibly aged, but you can still tell them by their wings. Hermes, black and bronze, like if a raven was majestic as an eagle; Chronos, thin and tapered, a riotous contrast of red and green; and the tallest of them, an infuriating pure-white--
he's speaking. "I'm sorry. Believe me, Eli, it was the only--"
"Save it, Odysseus," you snap, the chains rattling as you strain against them. "And don't you even think to call me by that name."
he's visibly discomfited. "Nyx, I never wanted--"
"To have me kidnapped to a black site? Well, I guess we can't always get what we want."
Odysseus turns to someone behind him. "God damnit, will someone get him out of those things?"
a few moments later, you're rubbing out the soreness in your wrists and ankles.
the collar stays on, however.
"Nyx, we've got a situation. It's Unit 88."
your face betrays no reaction.
"They were assigned to a colony world. There's been... unrest... with the locals. Apparently they went rogue, hooked up with some tribal warlords, there's an insurgency brewing. Now, you're gonna ask why the military isn't taking care of it -- I did also. The reason is they already tried, and they failed. I know how much you hate these guys, I really do. But they need us. We had the same training, the same augments - we're the last, best option nobody wanted to use.
"We've been asked to pretend to support their cause, infiltrate the organization, take 'em all out."
throughout this impromptu mission briefing, you've been regarding him with an expression of intermingled spite and boredom, but then it dawns on you what the price of your freedom is intended to be. you shake your head as vigorously as you can, despite the metal restraint chafing your neck. "No. Screw that noise. I'm not doing their dirty work ever again."
"Nyx, if we don't do this, a whole lot of innocent people are going to die."
"I'm still waiting for the part where I give a shit."
Odysseus sighs. Hermes gives him that look of 'I told you so.'
"They're offering us all full pardons. Treason, desertion - you'll get them all reversed, your name taken off the no-fly list. You'll be able to walk the streets freely again, without having to lie about who you are."
"Not good enough."
"What do you want? Money? Status?"
you close your eyes, and prepare yourself to be wholly unreasonable. "I want what was promised us to begin with."
he's unsure how to respond, waits for you to explain. you stretch out, kick your feet up onto the table. he's hooked. the leverage is with you now.
"Clear our names. Not just us -- all of 86. I want ranks reinstated, survivors' benefits paid out, I want a goddamn memorial at the top of Legacy Spire, you hear me? You give me that, in writing, in triplicate even -- fine. They'll get their lapdog. I'll do what they want."
"Nyx, you know as well as I do that we did a lot of very bad things."
"We followed orders."
"What if High Command doesn't go for it?"
"Then you might as well put a bullet in the back of my head like you should have done 300 years ago."
the officer behind Odysseus whispers something. one by one, they file out, and leave you in the dark. through the thick door, you can hear the faint sounds of arguing.
a few hours and a few bag-on-head hallways later, you're presented with a stack of documents to sign.
Two weeks later
there are fancy words carved into the stone, but you ignore them. you're more focused on the list, ten names flanked by ten marble wings.
"Hard to believe it, huh?"
"The machine of empire works fast."
Chronos giggles. "When you talk like that, you sound just like Her...mes."
she directs your attention downward, away from the name at the bottom. "Look. They even brought flowers." Two rows of five bouquets, petals rustling in the light breeze.
you scoff. "Artemis always hated flowers."
"Good thing they aren't here, then? Be rolling in their grave if they knew."
something compels you to lean down and pick up a bouquet.
"Where you going, Nyx? Oh, that's right-- your leave is almost over, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Just gotta make one last stop."
you spread your wings and dive off the top of the tower, and soar over the fields beyond.
because she didn't fall in honorable combat, she doesn't have a place of pride in the tower. but she's here, nonetheless, right where you remember her being.
"It's been a long time, Mom."
your dad is probably here, too, done in by the passage of time if nothing else. but you don't seek him out. you've got nothing to say to him.
the machine of empire does work fast. it's hard to find any mention of you at all on the newsnets. but at long last, you come across a passage.
[...] responsibility for this heinous massacre was attributed to Staff Sgt. Audie "Odysseus" MacIntosh [...] his men feared for their lives, believing they would be executed if they did not comply [...]
you scramble for the contract.
behind the page with four signatures on it, you find a wall of fine print. it hurts your eyes and your head to read.
was it there before? was it there when you signed? why can't you remember?
before you realize it, you're already screaming into the comms.
"Audie! Pick up, you rat bastard, this isn't what I was promised!"
you've messed up. the crew is surrounding you, expressing concern about the anguish evident in your voice.
"I'm fine," you say. after all, your leave is over. you are a professional, and you will do your job.
still, you find every opportunity you can to mind the comms. you check them constantly, until the weight of anticipation fades.
the line that sent the distress signal never opens up again.
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