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Dark Times by VoodooMarius
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Dark Times
Date: 8 February 2006, 1:34 am
A dark cloaked figure moved through the rain down a deserted street. The figure looked like any other person from afar, a dark cloak obscuring who they really were. But if you got close to this figure you would notice the straight back, military style boots scuffed as they were and scarred face of a veteran marine. Simply known as Benton, the man had been an orphan, taken in by the military on his homeworld, an inner colony, now nothing more than a slagged piece of rock. After serving for twenty years against the Covenant, earning himself a name for his deeds and the scars to prove it, Benton had finally ended his career after the final victory over the aliens. The UNSC quickly changed, democracy out of the window as the economy had been strained and new allies were proving hard to accept as equals, rebellions had begun as humanity had lost its common enemy- the USNC couldn't handle it. The powerful figures always waiting for their chance had quickly seized it, making the democracy into something else, some would call it a state of no freedom- others would call it a state of victory. Whatever they thought, the UNSC changed becoming what democracy opposed. Harsh measures were deployed quelling uprisings, even peaceful ones, whole worlds were burned and after killing innocent civilians Benton had left out of disgust.
Now he was an outcast clinging to memories of an old age, military beliefs his faith, the faith that had kept him alive for those twenty years. Courage and honour, we fight for democracy and freedom, we fight for the UNSC, were the words that his adoptive regiment and many others believed in. The regiment had been destroyed after it had participated in a rebellion, when the planet was destroyed via orbital bombardment akin to how the Covenant had done it. With plasma weapons, the shiny brand new technology of the UNSC, Benton laughed at such babyish thoughts. The same weapons had burned the regiment, his only family to cinders for doing the right thing. Now Benton ran, hoping they wouldn't catch him as he ran for no other reason than what his self preservative instincts told him to. His old cracked worn armour was underneath the cloak he was wearing, his old service BR55 with him, five clips of bullets waiting for that fight. Benton didn't know how close that fight was.
"We've found the target, shall we commence with elimination", said a grey armoured figure, face obscured behind a face plate.
"Yes, this one has taken time, be aware he is very dangerous so take all precautions", replied a voice, slightly obscured via static.
"Yes sir, commencing now", the grey figure gestured to a two four man teams of similarly clad figures. The two squads filed away into the darkness.
Benton felt his gut telling it him, it was time for that fight he had been waiting for all these years. Two squads of Police, really special forces operatives known for their fanatical loyalty to the corrupt leaders. He set his old rifle to auto, readying himself as he drew up his old worn helmet onto his scarred head. He removed the cloak, letting it fall away, the rain crashing against his armour. Benton ran forward for cover, instincts driving him, adrenaline flowing. He could see two figures, the outlines of their armour very distinct as well as the small light assault weapons they carried. Bringing up the BR55, Benton fired a short burst at the two soldiers. One of the two troopers was immediately felled, the high calibre rounds shredding his armour with ease. The other was less lucky, the rounds that hit him tore into his lower abdomen, causing him to fall to the ground screaming as he did so. Benson had no pity, he was dealing with fanatics, he would die surrounded by them. Another figure appeared, weapon up and tracking- then aimed at Benson. A burst of gunfire followed, rounds hitting the ground and two clanging off Bensons armour.
The figure moved to the screaming man, shot him in the head and carried on firing from behind cover. Benson knew the trooper was calling whatever other troopers were nearby, he knew they would be more cautious. The other squad was, they moved silently, flanking Benson from behind. Their lead then signalled to the lone trooper in cover, that sealed his fate. Benson noticed the movement and fired, spraying the remainder of his current clip in that direction. The lead crumpled to the ground, head ripped off and his chest perforated with holes. The trooper in cover fired as Benson took his chance to run, charging for the trooper. Benson felt pain as rounds entered his flesh, destroying old wounds, it was almost sentimental in some warped sense of humour. The two figures struggled, trying to use their weapons as cudgels, the trooper dropped his and moved for his knife. He succeeded in cutting Bensons weapon hand, causing the marine to drop his rifle and be momentarily stunned. Benson then reacted as he had thousands of times before, he used his body as a weapon. Lashing out with his left hand, he grabbed the trooper, attempting to strangle the man to death. The trooper countered with some fancy move, resulting in Benson near the troopers dropped gun. Benson swung it up with his left hand and fired, cartridge casings fell to the floor panging off of Bensons armour. The trooper looked like swiss cheese, there were that many holes. Benson dropped the weapon and grasped his battle rifle, loading another clip home. The other surviving troopers were close now, firing constantly as they moved up. Benson replied with short wild bursts of fire, none hitting and not making the enemy flinch. They were getting closer and closer, Benson felt it was his time, there was one more teaching he remembered, if you're going to die take as many of the bastards as you can with you. The man leaped up, a worn armoured figure, making one desperate last stand. Firing from the hip, he emptied another clip, killing one of the advancing troopers- who were literally on top of him now. There was another figure, more than likely their commander, the cocky manner in which the man approached confirmed. As his rifle clicked empty, one of the advancing troopers fired a short burst shredding Bensons chest. He knew it was time, he fell to the ground, grabbing for one of the dead troopers grenades. He grasped one and hid in his hand.
"Sir, target is down", one of the troopers shouted.
"Good work, I'll check him myself, see if he has anything useful", said the commander in reply while walking over.
The two troopers and their commander advanced to the dying figure of Benson, the commander unholstered his pistol while they walked towards Benson.
"Gave us a good run rebel, but none of you last forever, specially one that's former military", said the commander, "well its time for you to die."
"That is where you're right, said Benson with a cough of blood, one slight difference".
Benson pulled the pin on the grenade, before the commander shot him in the head, unaware of the grenade, the commander began ruffling through the dead mans pockets then finally noticing the grenade. There were no last words, except a blast of shrapnel and the wet slap of flesh striking the wet ground. Benson died and whether he was aware of it, died how many others hunted down had, in a last heroic gesture which was more of desperation than suicidal devotion. It was a curious point that all these Marines stemmed from the same planet, Aranius.
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