Here's a new chapter, I'm sorry if it's not incredibly long, but like I said, I'm very busy with life right now. Enjoy! [b]Part 19 - Old habits die hard[/b] Sorran walked down the sterile avenue of the religious district of High Charity. Whilst it was true that the entirety of the station was holy and pure, this district in particular was the closest to the divine Dreadnought where the Oracle was said to be housed, and as such most religious figures set up shop here. [i]Why have I come here,[/i] Sorran wondered, looking around at the tall chapels and monasteries. He'd woken up, and Restraint had told him that he should go out and get some fresh air. It was hardly fresh, just recycled. Still, Sorran had taken the Minister's recommendation, and had set out from the estate with no real destination in mind. Somehow, he'd wound up here. He hadn't bothered with his Honour Guard armour. It would have just attracted unwanted attention. Instead, he'd chosen a loose fitting robe, tied at the waist, which was a soft purple ordained with faint silver lining. Hidden beneath the robe where it covered his left shoulder was a small personal shield generator which would offer him some small protection. Attached to his pitch black leather belt was a small civilian class plasma pistol, and his energy sword. The same things he had worn as a scholar, minus the energy sword, of course. His visit to the Grand Library yesterday had pained him. He hadn't had many friends there, seeing as how most of the scholars were aloof Prophets who refused to fraternise with Sangheili, but seeing his old work place had invoked painful emotions in him. High Charity was currently in orbit above an uninhabited planet. The station's resource gatherers were extracting precious materials from the planet's crust, most of which would be used to supply the war effort against the humans. Atop a dais was a Sangheili, preaching. A crowd had gathered around him, and they looked angry. "Our gods do not want war, my brothers! Do not believe the falsehoods the Prophets feed you for a second, the Forerunners did not command us to fight the humans. They are as noble and worthy as any of us, and should be welcomed into the Covenant with open arms! The Prophets are merely intimidated by their ingenuity and courage. Oppose the war, brothers. Campaign for the humans to be allowed to join us in our search for the Journey!" the zealotry Sangheili cried, a wild look in his eyes. "Blasphemy!" a Jiralhanae watching shouted, fists balled. "The humans insult our Lords by defiling the holy relics they left behind for we to reclaim. We must wipe every single one of the heretical swine out!" The crowd seemed to agree with the Jiralhanae's words, shouting insults at the Sangheili on the dais. "No! That is a lie, Brute. I myself have fought against these humans, and have found them to be compassionate and caring. They do not defile Forerunner relics! They do not even know of the Journey or our Lords. We must enlighten them, and end this needless conflict." Sorran watched the scene with a clinical dispassion. He hadn't really given much thought to the humans over the past few weeks. But now that he thought about it, he realised that the whole war was a sham. Sorran did not know exactly why the three Hierarchs had decided to war with the humans, but he knew that the reasons had to be faked. A heated debate had risen between the preaching Sangheili and the Jiralhanae, and their raised voices had caught the attention of a passing Prophet. The wizened figure leaned forward in his chair for a few moments, assessing the situation, before turning to his Honour Guard. "Seize that heretic. Bring him to me," the Prophet ordered. Sorran grimaced, and knew what was about to come. He knew he should leave, but felt compelled to remain by a morbid curiosity. The burly and utterly indoctrinated Sangheili pushed past the rowdy crowd aggressively, eventually reaching the 'heretical' preacher who opposed the Covenant war with the humans. The Sangheili bravely attempted to struggle with the trained Honour Guard for a few moments, dealing a few heavy blows, but was eventually subdued and manacled, before being aggressively dragged off the dais and led towards the Prophet, who had a murderous gleam in his eyes. "You, Sangheili. Why do you spread these falsehoods and slander with your unworthy tongue?" the Prophet demanded, sneering and aloof. "I speak only the truth, as our Lord do decree it," the heretic replied courageously, staring the livid Prophet straight in the eyes. "No! You are a heretic, worthy of neither pity nor mercy. I will end your blasphemy and grant your troubled soul peace. Drown this dissenter Daran'ee," the Prophet ordered his Honour Guard. Sorran's eyes grew wide at the Prophet's verdict. Daran'ee grabbed the shocked heretic with a disgusting eagerness, manipulating him towards the artificial lake some metres away. The heretical Sangheili attempted to resist, but the Honour Guard was over a foot taller than him, and knew what he was doing. With a sickening splash, the Sangheili's head was forced underwater by Daran'ee's strong hand. The crowd was jeering now at the drowning Sangheili, laughing and pointing. The Prophet who had ordered the death was watching the flailing of his victim with a smug satisfaction. Sorran watched on with horror, and found his fists had automatically balled. He turned away from the scene, fully intending to walk off and leave the foolish Sangheili to his fate. [i]Am I really that cold?[/i] Sorran posed the question to himself, conflicted. He turned back around, ignoring his common sense. The drowning heretic was still struggling, but his movements were slowing, and Sorran knew that he would die in the next thirty seconds. To hell with it all!