"What in gods' name...?" Zharn wondered at the sight before him, not one hundred metres away. He heard a similarly confused growl echo behind him from Orpheus. The two were crouched behind a building, staring with wide eyes at the scene taking place in the distance. What had to be a dozen or so Sangheili, stood over the bodies of lifeless Covenant civilians. All of them were dressed in dark armour, not an insignia or emblem in sight. Even from this distance Zharn could see the cold stones they wore instead of eyes, and through their chests a heart of ice pounded rhythmically. He knew the look of a killer well his closest brother was one, after all and these most certainly fit the bill. Yet that was not what struck him about the group, not by half. Instead he could not help but stare in slack-jawed astonishment at the weapons they held in their hands. Rifles. MA2Bs. [i]Human[/i] weapons. Not spoils of war taken from human bodies, but loaded and primed weapons with the safety off. Zharn could not see a human in sight nor smell a single trace of their stench. But still the dead bodies were there. "What do you think they are--" Orpheus began to ask, and then before he could finish his question the answer was given to him in a most horrific manner. "This one's still alive," one of the Sangheili in the distance spoke clinically, his voice grabbed by the software in Zharn's armour and enhanced, to make it as if he were standing right before him. The cold in his eyes spread down to his tongue. The Sangheili was motioning at a Jiralhanae, bleeding in several places crawling slowly away from the mass of dead bodies more Jiralhanae, Unggoy, Kig-Yar, Sangheili as if he were trying to escape something. In response to the Sangheili's observation, another walked towards the Yan'me with an M6D a human pistol drawn out, and with all the nonchalance of one stamping out a grub put a round in the Jiralhanae's head. [i]Forerunners be damned![/i] Zharn heard Orpheus tense behind him, heard hands wrap tighter around the hammer in his friend's hands; now unsheathed. "Another life on the humans' hands," the executioner laughed, but it was not a laugh of joy; rather, a sadistic bark of satisfaction. "We're done here. Throw down one of their bodies near the carnage and we'll move on." As if the odd play being acted out before them couldn't get any stranger, one of the Sangheili reached into a vehicle behind them and drew out a hulking mass in matte black. An ODST. Dead, with what seemed to be plasma burns punched through its gut. Casually the Sangheili propped the corpse against the building so that it slumped, head tilted downwards. Then one of the rifles was placed in its hand, a few empty shells ejected near it. By the time they were done, it looked like the ODST had killed all the civilians without mercy and had finally taken a burst of plasma for its trouble, dying too. Any who came across this scene afterwards would think so. "Zharn," Orpheus whispered urgently. "I don't think there are any live humans on this station." "I think you might be right there," Zharn agreed, his eyes still a little glazed over from shock at what he'd just seen. "But the hierarchs told us otherwise. They must be behind... [i]this,[/i] but why--" He was cut off as the audio-receptor in his armour picked up another command from the group of Sangheili in the distance. "... we're leaving," he heard, and then saw the speaker point at another one. "You, go to the entrance of the district and kill that Light of Helios; dispose of the body afterwards and meet up with us in the next district." [i]Uh-oh,[/i] Zharn thought, and shared a worried look with Orpheus. Suddenly, inspiration struck him. He pulled the Jiralhanae fully out of sight into the shadow of the building, even as he heard the thrusters of the vehicle start up and carry the team of pretend-humans away. "Their commander called him 'you,'" Zharn hurriedly told his friend with short, bated breath. "That implies he doesn't know him well, or surely he'd have used his name." "We don't know that for sure," Orpheus replied doubtfully, perhaps sensing where Zharn was going to take the matter. "I'm willing to take that risk. When that... executioner comes by, we'll grab him. I'll strip him of his armour and assume his place, join up with those others and find out what's going on here." "It's too dangerous," Orpheus protested, shaking that head of his. They could both hear the footsteps of the Sangheili come closer as headed towards the district entrance to snuff out a Light. "We need to inform the constabulary--" "The constabulary are just pawn of the hierarchs, Orpheus. Like everything in this city. If we go to them they may well turn around and fill us with plasma. No, this is the only way. You'll shadow us at a distance." "I don't like this" "Too late, he's almost here," Zharn urged, pressuring the Jiralhanae. He could hear the executioner muttering under his breath; he sounded resentful at being left behind to clean up the mess. Suddenly, he came out of the light and into reach of the building's shadow. He barely had time to utter a cry before Orpheus grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him into the dark. The executioner's eyes widened when he saw Zharn bear down upon him, whose hands deftly grabbed his head and twisted, once. [i]Crack![/i] The executioner slumped to the ground, body facing the sky and his head buried into the earth. Zharn stood over his kill with an expression of distaste on his face. "I dislike snapping necks," he explained to Orpheus, a little shudder going through him. "But it would not have done to use a blade; this armour cannot have any Sangheili blood on it." "It's painted with the red of humans," Orpheus noted, pointing at the speckled pattern of scarlet covering parts of the chest-plate and braces. "Must have happened when he moved the ODST's body," Zharn replied. "Come, help me strip the armour." [i]Whatever the source of this madness is, I will find it... and gladly rip its throat out.[/i] * His blade shuddered in its scabbard, the anger reflected in its hilt seeping up to his eyes. Sorran felt his whole body tense, his breath become short. "You weren't lying about the children," he gritted out to Ahkrin as they passed through a corridor where several cells were scattered; there was no logical positioning to them, it was as if they'd just been hastily carved out of High Charity's rock foundations wherever the stone was softest; grafted onto the rest of the corridor was seamless metal, making the crude cells seem like a gun placed next to a club. Within the cells was a horror he could barely quantify, one that almost sent him into a frenzy. Children; mostly Sangheili, clustered together in tight groups behind the cells, wearing tattered clothes, dirt and dust clinging to their faces. One could not have been much younger than Hem's grandchildren. "Sorran," Ahkrin warned him, all the words he wanted to say but couldn't carried along by his stern tone. He pointed with sickened eyes at the guards flanking them on either side, and the Mglekgolo who'd greeted them at the entry taking up the rear. [i]Don't be a hero,[/i] Ahkrin had told him one final time before they'd left the room to go to dinner. Sorran had assured his brother that he would not, but staring at the pale, sickly and hopeless faces of the young now made him seriously consider drawing out his sword and doing his damned best to get the children out. [i]This is a consequence of the Covenant,[/i] he reminded himself. [i]The hierarchs turn a blind eye to the darker corners of their empire because they keep the people afraid, and fear is a tool through which they can rule.[/i] Knowing this steeled him against the horror; when he finally showed the people of the Covenant the truth they would rise up against the totalitarianism, and acts of barbarism like this would be cast down with the prophets who tolerated them. To reach that goal one day, this day he would have to play the pragmatist and keep his blade in check, or they would not find a way to smuggle the truth from the iron confines of High Charity. That knowledge didn't make it any easier now, though. He shielded his eyes, locking his jaw and trying to block out the pitiful moans and sobs of the children. He knew the depraved future that awaited these young and it made him sick to the stomach.