He's back !?!? (That's what you are thinking right now)
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(3rd Pov)
"Hey, Sierra Echo 19, what's the status on quadrant 9? Over,"
"What do you mean Bulwark 3? Over,"
"Long-range scanners are picking up 8 signatures fresh out of slip space. What do you see from your observation deck? Over,"
"I dunno what you're talking about, station. Must be an anomaly because all we see are stars. Over,"
"Maybe we are having a minor OCS fault-wait, those signatures are gone,"
"Probably a glitch then station. Over,"
"Yeah, prob-hold on! I am getting multiple pings right on top of Bulwark 1. Bulwark ACTUAL What is your status!"
"THEY'RE EVERYWHERE"
"Bulwark Actual, do you copy!"
"I GOT 8 SHIPS OF UNKNOWN CLASS-GOD THEY ALREADY TOOK OUT BULWARK 2 AND THE HUNTSMAN-WE NEED HE-AUGHH"
"Bulwark Actual REPEAT! Bulwark Actual, do you still copy?! Damn it, we lost them. Jefferson gets the long-range coms to send an emergency SOS to any nearby UNSC forces. We need-they're heading for who?"
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"... God help us all,"
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-HOURS EARLIER-
"I'm still breathing," Lasky said, opening his eyes at the crack of dawn, staring at the concrete ceiling of his room. His tone a mixture of slight disappointment and indifference.
He got up quickly before turning to make his bed. The instructors at the beginning of the year said that the simple task of making a bed was more than just for appearances. It was supposed to be considered as a "win" to start the day, that no matter what happened later in the day, you at least made your bed, and no matter how long or bad it got, you would still find a neatly made bed when you were ready to sleep.
And though Thomas didn't exactly believe it, a small part of him continued to do the task in case there was some truth to the instructor's words.
He threw on his pants and boots, but held off on putting a shirt on. He always woke up early enough to have a coffee, a luxury of being an officer cadet, and do a few small tasks. For now, he just wore the thin green tank top that had slowly gotten increasingly tighter over the year.
He made a quick stop in the communal bathroom and began to brush his teeth, and paused, taking a look at himself in the mirror.
There was a distinct difference in his appearance from the beginning of the year to now. At the start, he was a "string bean" in his brother's words; he went so far as to worry about him being "blown down," and when asked why, he would respond with "Corn stalks fall over easy,".
For the first time in recent memory, Lasky cracked a smirk at the memory before it slowly turned to a bitter expression. Giving himself another look he had obviously gotten much stronger, but still was not anything like his brother, at least not yet. Cadmon had been a sports freak ever since he could remember, and while his grades didn't slack, he was always much more fond of running than studying.
*Ptou*
Spitting into the sink, Lasky rinsed out his mouth of foamed paste and splashed his face to wake himself up. The dark spots under his eyes that he saw reminded him of his poor decision to stay up late.
Walking out of the bathroom, he grabbed the coffee pot he started and poured himself a cup, taking a sip of the black coffee.
"Morning," he turned to say as if he'd seen the future right as Silva's door opened from behind him.
Chyler was rubbing her eyes and yawned before similarly responding, "Good morning," she said with familiarity.
"Coffee?" Lasky offered
"Please," she said as she walked past, not bothering to stop, "You know the way I like it."
"Extra creamer with 4 sugar cubes," Lasky recited the list as if he'd memorized it by heart.
"You know it," Chyler nodded as she entered the bathroom.
Little by little, the rest of the team woke up as the time to start the day inched forward. All but Sully were in the common area, something Lasky noted. He waited but when Michael was still a no-show, he stood up from his spot and went over before opening the door to his dorm.
The rooms each had key-card electronic locks. It was something that every cadet and even faculty member of the academy liked. Unfortunately, Michael Sullivan was part of the few who lost their key cards, and so instead of informing staff of his lost item, for which a beat down as well as a new one issued. He took to rewiring and settling with a door that had no lock rather than a certain awful punishment.
"Sully, what are you-?" Thomas stopped as he entered the dark room, as his eyes adjusted. Squinting, he could see a figure slumped over in front of the terminal. Finding it strange, he slowly approached, moving toward one side of what he assumed to be a sleeping Michael.
"Sully? Wake up, day's about to start," Lasky said, trying to get some form of response.
"Wha!?" The half-asleep teammate almost shouted in his stupor as he snapped up and grabbed Lasky. As he did so, he brushed the keyboard with his elbow, waking the computer from its sleep.
"Rise and shine, you got ten before we have to leave for morning formation," Lasky said unemotionally as he caught the smaller officer's arm. But paused as his eye caught the terminal's screen as it lit up from Sullivan's movement.
On the screen was what seemed to be combat footage, the recording through the lens of a green night vision filter. The screen was stuck on a single still image. In it was what seemed to be a marine missing his helmet with a small stream of blood running from the top of his head down the side of his face. His eyes were filled with fear as his mouth was open, seemingly screaming at the camera as he held his MA5 ahead of him.
But the scene was uncanny, as what caught Lasky's attention the most was what actually took the video. The camera seemed to be a good few heads higher than the marine, but was angled down as if it was attached to something moving. And something more concerning was the massive hand that came from the shot as well. It was easily larger than the man's face, and it was grabbing him by the torso armor wrapped in a gauntlet similar to an ODST's but different, larger, and seemingly stronger.
Before Lasky could comment on it, however, Michael noticed what he was looking at and all but dove onto the terminal, quickly shutting it down.
"Sully, what was that?"
"What was what?" Sullivan acted oblivious
"Don't play games. Tell me," Lasky's tone shifted to dead seriousness
Michael glanced behind him, Lasky noting that the dark spots under his eyes had grown. After seeing the coast was clear, he looked back at Thomas and sighed, "Later," he said, and after a silent look, Lasky gave a nod, and Michael walked out quickly to get ready.
A moment after Lasky walked out, as well before being approached by Chyler.
"Let me guess, Sully was up late again. What was he looking at this time?" she asked
"Don't know," Lasky quickly replied
Silva's expression changed. "Nothing is wrong, right? You can tell me if anything is," she said, giving him a meaningful look.
Thomas gave her a strange look before sighing, "No, nothing's wrong. Today will be fine,"
Little did he know that he would soon learn how wrong those words could be.
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Morning passed quickly, and soon it was time for Hastati's lunch period.
Lasky moved around the cafeteria listlessly with his tray of food. The smell of it was in between appealing and unappealing, by Lasky couldn't care less. He took his seat at the team's table across from Vickers who simply glared at him but said nothing.
"Vickers, Lasky, front and center. Bring your trays," their Upperclassman, April Orenski, called out to them from across the room.
Both of them reluctantly got up, doing what they were told, and slogged over to the table where the young woman sat.
"Ma'am," Vickers said, setting his tray on the edge of the table and standing at attention. Thomas did the same, but didn't bother to say anything.
"You know, I had extra duties yesterday from General Black. Courtesy of you two idiots, and so I am feeling a bit hungrier today. So I think I want both of your muffins today, I heard they are one of the few desserts that actually taste decent," Orenski indirectly ordered with barely veiled contempt in her voice.
From Vickers' face, it was clear he didn't want to part with it, but he knew the rules around here, "Right awa,y ma'am," he said a pained look as he set the small plate that had the muffin in front of his upperclassman.
Lasky silently did the same. A part of him wanted to eat it as well, but another, more spiteful part decided to hand it over without any sign of discontent. And the larger part didn't care, nothing gained, nothing lost. No event was good or bad, just a simple occurrence, eternally so-so in his glass-half-empty view.
"Now go. Get out of my sight," April added with a particular bite to her words. The two did as she asked, grabbing their trays and beginning to return to their seats.
But Vickers was pissed; he'd been beaten down with extra punishments yesterday because of Lasky's act. Today, he'd just had part of his lunch stolen for something that wasn't even his fault. And to make matters worse, he was bordering on flunking out of the academy.
He was going to let Lasky know how he felt.
"This is bull shit. If you weren't such a bitch this wouldn't have happened," he whispered just loud enough for Lasky to hear. Unfortunately, Lasky didn't fall for the bait and kept walking, not bothering to send a glance.
This only served to further anger the redheaded teammate. So for a moment he paused, thinking of something he could say that would get a reaction. Some statement or insult that would finally force the prick in front of him to finally wipe that blank expression from his face. And it came, the memory of a rumor he'd heard through the grapevine, and something that he was certain would work.
"I bet you learned that from your brother, didn't you?" Lasky stopped, "Yeah, I bet he was so much of a pussy-" he didn't get to finish.
Lasky turned quickly, throwing his tray in Vicker's face, food flying. The sound was loud as Vickers brought his tray up to block before being hit by a right hook. Now everyone was watching the fight, especially as Lasky got doubled to his back.
The entire cafeteria got up and rushed over as they excitedly watched. Some upperclassmen started taking bets while cheering when their pick was winning booing when they were losing.
It all came to a head when finally an instructor came over to break it u,p coming at the exact right time to stop Lasky as he put Vickers into an arm bar. By the look on his face, he intended to snap his arm like it was a glow stick.
"HEY, BREAK IT UP," the instructor yelled, pushing and shoving everyone out of his way. Uncaring whether they got hurt or not
They both broke away, standing back u,p glaring at each other. Lasky wiped blood away with the side of his hand from the edge of his mouth. He'd busted his lip during the brawl. All the while, Vickers held his arm delicately, having it wrenched as it had been was bound to cause pain and aches.
Suddenly two military police officers carrying matching MA5Cs appeared from behind the instructor, "I don't know what problem the two of you have with each other and I don't care. But I know how to solve it," he turned to the Mps, "Take them both to the brig. General Black will decide what to do with them later," he said and the soldiers nodded.
They began detaining them, putting them in tight handcuffs behind their backs, before escorting them to jail. Neither of them resisted knowing that doing so would lead to more charges or getting shot. No one else was in the jail, so they both got separate cells across from one another in the back of the jail. Once secured in their rooms, the guards left, leaving the pair to their devices.
In the prison with minutes that seemingly stretched into hours, the rage that fueled the previous confrontation faded. Lasky sat with his back against the wall in his cell, his eyes giving the wall in front of him a stare as though he could see through it. His lip had swollen as it began to heal.
Vickers, across from him, leaned against his door boredly his arm still giving a dull thrumming soreness. He glanced through a slat in the door typically used to give prisoners their food. He looked through the hallway and noticed that the slat to Lasky's cell was also open.
A thought popped into his head as he saw it. He tried to brush it off, 'He got what he deserved, someone needed to knock some sense into his head,' he told himself. Nevertheless, he thought back to himself and his actions, and most importantly, he asked himself, 'Do I want to see him kicked out of the team and the academy?'
Knowing the answer, he sighed and decided to be the bigger man, 'Time to do some real leader shit,' he hyped himself up.
"Hey, Lasky," he called out nonchalantly from his cell.
Lasky looked up, "Yeah?" he responded.
"I am sorry about what I said about your brother. He's not a bitch, I heard that he was one of the academy's finest. I am sorry to hear that he died," Vicker's rubbed his mostly shaven head with his hand as he dug deep to pull the words out.
"Is that all?" Lasky asked with an almost bored tone.
Vickers gritted his teeth, "God-motherfucker, this is why I called you a bitch," he said behind his thinly veiled anger, "What's your problem?"
"My problem?" Lasky repeated
"Yeah, this whole 'poor pitiful me' schtick you've been on for the past two months. News flash, Mr. Genius' people die, and that includes your brother," Vickers kept himself from shouting, "If he was half the man I've been told he was, he'd kick your ass for what you've been doing lately,"
"He would," Lasky agreed in an even tone as his eyes became unfocused, "But as you said, he's dead, so none of it matters."
Vickers clenched his fists, 'This guy's as stubborn as a damn brick,' he cursed inwardly, "And what about the team? I am practically begging you to take back the leader position, because half the time you won't listen to my orders. They may be shitty compared to yours, but you could at least be part of the solution and not the problem."
Lasky metaphorically rolled over and surrendered, "I'll follow your orders next time."
Walter Vickers clicked his tongue as he felt the urge to bang his head into the wall, 'That's not the answer I wanted,' he paused.
"And what about Silva? You think she wants to see you have the same amount of spine as a jellyfish and the endurance of a piece of gum?"
This time it was Lasky's turn to pause. All of a sudden, he didn't feel like arguing anymore, 'They wouldn't understand,' he told himself. He believed that by keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself, he could spare his team from the same spiral he currently found himself in. He knew they'd want to help, but to be honest, he didn't want help, or at least that's what he said to himself. He wanted to be left to his own devices and die on his own terms.
He wanted solitude, and instead of going out in a blaze of glory as so many would desire, he wanted a silent whimper with no noticeable change before and after.
A door at the end of the hall opened, breaking the short silence. "Looks like it's your lucky day. General Black is releasing both of you on a warning." An instructor appeared, swiping a key card on each door. The pair walking into the hall, "Don't go starting public fights or next time it's court martials and DDs for everyone involved, Capiche?" he asked in a half-serious half-bored tone.
"Yes, sir," Vickers said, standing straight as if he was at attention.
"Yes, sir," Lasky said more meekly and quieter.
The two began to exit, but Lasky found himself grabbed by the shoulder by the instructor, "Not so fast, Lasky, the general wants to see you in person in his office."
Thomas nodded, and the instructor let go. Lasky began heading to the center-most building closest to the welcome center at the front of the academy. It was a simple two-story building, white and mostly made of stone. After walking up the stairs, he spoke to the secretary at the door who let him in, "The general is waiting," she said, opening an old-fashioned wooden door.
General Black was standing in the back of the room, peering down at a training field from his window. "Sit," his voice reached Lasky before he could stand at attention. Thomas quickly did so, finding the chair in front of his desk. Daniel Black watched for a moment longer before turning around and sitting in his own chair.
"You got in a fight," he said matter-of-factly, "Why?"
"Sir?" Lasky asked, unsure of what exactly he meant.
"I've been getting mixed answers as to the reason for your little scuffle, and none of which made much sense," he said, staring bullets through Lasky, "You are many things, cadet Lasky, but I've never had you pegged as a troublemaker. So I want to know what happened that caused you to throw a plate of food at your teammate's face and proceed to put him in an arm bar."
Thomas' mouth tasted sour as the memory surged, but he had no choice but to tell the truth, "He insulted Cadmon, sir." The words sounded childish as he spoke them. It was a reason you'd hear from a kid about how another one made fun of his mom.
"He insulted your brother," Daniel's arms crossed over his chest as his head bobbed rhythmically as he thought to himself. Lasky didn't have a clue what he was thinking. The general always seemed like a bit of an enigma to him, with the way he seemed to see through people.
Before long, the general smirked, catching Thom off guard, "So you've still got some fight in you? Good. Means' you're not too far gone yet,"
Lasky's eyes narrowed slightly as he felt as though he had lost the plot, but the general didn't give him any time to think.
"You have an hour, and then Hastati will be redoing the exercise they failed the other day. If your team fails again, then there is a high probability that cadets Sullivan and Vickers will be recycled and have to redo the year. Tchakova has her mother, so no matter what grades she makes, she will get the bump to the next year. You and cadet Silva have high enough grades that you get to escape that fate, but I'd probably also have to look into cadet Orenski's academics for the failure of the squad she is supposed to be mentoring," he said with what appeared to be no particular point.
"What are you trying to say, sir?"
"I am simply stating the consequences of failing the test today. Of course, the inverse is also true; if they were to pass, they would safely be able to avoid all of these things," Daniel black leaned in across his desk, "Because of that, I've got a question for you. One that I don't want you to answer yet, but one for you to sit on and think about,"
"My question is: Are you going to let their hard work be thrown away?" he asked and if already forseeing Lasky's objection continued, "Now you could say it's there fault for not getting high enough grades. They're just…not worthy…right?" he looked pointedly at Lasky he shifted uncomfortably as his thoughts had been seen through.
Black leaned back into his seat, "But not everyone has the talents you have. They struggle and make do with what they have and need others to help them from time to time. He paused, "Then again, they are yours to do what you want with them," he said calmly, "Think about it, dismissed," he said, turning around in his seat to look at the wall behind him.
Lasky stood up and glanced at the wall. On it were dozens of awards and medals mixed with more than a few picture frames. Some were from squad and individual competitions for things like shooting and fitness. Others for in the field actions, including an ultra-rare Colonial Cross, a medal given to those who show the utmost valor during wartime operations.
Lasky turned and headed out of the door, and by the conflicted look in his eyes, he had much to think about.
As Lasky stepped out of the building, a low rumble rolled across the horizon. At first, he thought it was thunder.
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Finals are done :)