* "Hem..." Sorran whispered, finally snapped out of his stupor. He swept down to cradle his dead mentor in his arms, staring through tears at those lifeless eyes. For what seemed like the seventh time in just as many days, his armour was stained with blood. "He's dead, Sorran," Ahkrin's voice droned clinically, the only word holding emotion his name. Sorran looked up at the stealth Sangheili, standing in the doorway with his arms folded, framed by the lightning of outside's storm. "We should go." Perhaps it was Hem's death, perhaps it was his anger at Ahkrin for galvanising all this tragedy, even if unwittingly. Perhaps it was simply raw emotion. Whatever the cause, Sorran snapped. Ahkrin was caught completely by surprise as his friend stood up and in one deft motion smashed a fist into his face, catching his arm as he fell back and using it to levy him into the wall. This wasn't the bumbling Sorran he knew. Ahkrin tried to bring an arm around to push Sorran back, but found it in a lock. "[i]Why?[/i]" Sorran bellowed in his ear, and Ahkrin could almost feel the rage in his voice. "What possessed you to do this, Ahkrin!" "I don't understand what has happened here," was all Ahkrin answered with. "How can you be alive?" Their dance started once more as Sorran dragged Ahkrin from the wall and threw him to the floor, hesitating for a moment before kicking him in the ribs. Ahkrin rolled near Hem, whose lifeless gaze accused. "[i]I'm[/i] asking the questions!" Sorran roared, standing over Ahkrin with a knife, who worried for a second that his friend might succumb to his rage and bring it down. "Are you a tool of the Prophets now, who killed your family, Zharn's father and--" He'd been about to say 'me,' Ahkrin knew. Sorran for the first time looked at Ahkrin and saw not the man who had ruined the Covenant's best chance at freedom and peace, but his friend. The knife clattered to the ground, hilt facing the heavens. "You know none of what is happening, do you?" Sorran asked as he stepped back and allowed Ahkrin space to stand up. His knuckles were torn where his skin had met bone. "I was told Restraint was a heretic," Ahkrin spoke lamely, like a child who has acted without knowing all the facts. "Everything I saw supported that claim." "We are heretics," Sorran laughed bitingly, kicking the ground. "The great journey is a lie. I am trying to bring down the Covenant." Even now, Sorran saw Ahkrin's pupils dilate at that and his fists unconsciously clench. The indoctrination of a life-time was hard to resist; all Sangheili children were taught that to blaspheme was to deal all of one's kind a blow of shame. "You can't be serious," Ahkrin croaked out. "Then... Truth was right about you. By all rights I should kill you too." "But you won't." Sorran knew. "Not just because I'm your friend, but because you are who you are. Ahkrin, the curious bastard who can't leave well enough alone." "Whatever questions you and I have, they can wait. Pel knows we're here, knows who we are to each other, and he'll be reporting to the hierarchs any moment now. We must leave." "... true. But where can we go? High Charity is in lock-down." Ahkrin looked sideways, and then at the curious brand he had inscribed on his wrist. Sorran had never gotten around to asking what it meant. "I know some people in the underground who owe me favours, from a past life. It won't be a permanent haven, but will give us a sanctuary from where we can plan our next move." "What about Hem?" "We burn this place to the ground," Ahkrin continued, in his element now. "Fire always leaves some confusion, and we need all the confusion we can get. I know this isn't what you want to hear--" "He has family on Sanghelios, Ahkrin. A daughter and grandchild. He'd have wanted me to look after them." "We'll deal with all that later... for now, put aside any grief and misgivings and focus on our survival." "Fine. But the Huragok comes with us," Sorran spoke forcibly, looking down at the crystal in his left hand that was Restraint's final legacy. "We'll need him." * The interrogator asked his question for what seemed like the millionth time. Through the blinding pain his words seemed distant, like he was shouting at her against wind and rain. But she knew what he was asking, what he'd been asking for hours or days or weeks now. Time didn't hold any meaning in the dark cell they were in; time was based around sunlight. There was no sun here. "I don't-- I don't know why Restraint--" she repeated that same response, slurring through a bloodied and swollen jaw. Being struck the first few times had terrified her, but now it seemed almost as normal as breathing. More blood flew; it didn't matter at this point. Dimly she felt her jaw seized by a powerful grip, claws digging into her battered skin. Eyes rolled back in the head; more pain, screaming. Forcing her to snap back into this terrible reality. "High Councillor Restraint is a heretic who conspires to bring down the entire Covenant!" her interrogator roared. "Whatever lies he has fed you, whatever promises they're all the words of a heretic. Tell me who else knows and this will all be over." "[i]Know what![/i]" she screeched back, struggling against the binds. Wrists seared as they met plasma, ankles burnt. The smell of burning flesh was in the air. Gods, she was so hungry. Knife appeared now, a familiar sight. Not a magnetic coil in sight; just metal stained violet. "If you don't tell me--" [i]Bam![/i] the door sounded. It was hidden behind a stone wall, but she knew it was ancient simply because Covenant doors didn't slam; they had to be in the ruins of the Prophets' old world grated to the station for such archaic technology to be present on High Charity. Ruins that were off limit to all but the hierarchs and their most trusted. Who were these people? Another man strode in. She recognised this one, a chill freezing her spine and snapping her out of the pain-drunken haze. Despite all that had already been done, fear coiled around her. Pel looked down at her, eyes widening a little. Then he looked up at the interrogator, who for the first time in aeons had gone silent. "What in the Prophets' name are you doing?" Pel demanded, his voice colder than the room they were in. Her interrogator shook, and looked down at the knife in his hand as if worried it might soon find its way in his chest. "I thought-- I've been interrogating her for information on Restraint, Osoona. Isn't that what we took her for?" "She knows nothing, you idiot!" Pel bellowed, and the knife clattered to the ground. "We'll put an end to this now. Give me your gun." For a moment her interrogator hesitated, perhaps sensing another meaning behind his words. He stepped back. "Sir" he stuttered, nearly hyperventilating. Pel's face stormed over even more. "Your gun, now!" he demanded once more, hand outstretched. After a few seconds the plasma rifle changed hands, and Pel's hand seemed to sink into it as if his arm weren't complete without a way to kill someone. He looked over at her, brought up the weapon. A volley emptied into the interrogator, painting the wall. Pel didn't even spare a second glance, throwing the rifle to the ground with disgust. A small group of kig-yar scuttled in, removing the body between them. One's tongue hung ravenously from its mouth as it moved out, canines showing pieces of rotten flesh between them. Despite herself, she shuddered. Pel waited until they'd left before pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to her, a smile on his face. For all she knew that could be the smile he greeted a wife and clan-children with back home. For all she knew it could be the smile he wore when throwing hundreds out of an airlock. "I am so terribly sorry for what has been done to you, Lady Grymar'ee," the Ossoona began in a honeyed voice, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and making a wincing sound as he pulled back the rag covering it, seeing the burn marks underneath. "Had I been here, you would have been treated with more respect." Reaching over to the small terminal embedded in the wall, he touched a few runes. With a emancipating hiss the restraints binding her slid away. Savara immediately threw herself off the table she'd been bound to and made a run for the door, panting as she limped and then crawled her way to freedom. "It's quite locked," Pel informed her in the same way an adult might tell a child a radiator is hot. Savara looked back hatefully, noticing the rifle still on the floor but a few metres away. She quickly clawed her way towards it, wrapping her hands around and and shakily rising to her feet. Pel made no attempt to move. "Heavy, isn't it?" he observed slyly as she struggled to bring the weapon up. It was. "I don't think you'll do it. You're a healer, not a killer. If you pull that trigger, there's no going--" Savara screamed as her finger pulled back on the rifle's release, letting loose a round of plasma... or so she expected. Pel visibly flinched, but nothing happened. After a moment he was himself again, wearing a lazy smile but shock still playing about his eyes.