The Mark Has Been Made

[Berlioz Lamond]

Rahdron, Merriwater - 3354

Pt.1

The following takes place during Berlioz's third deployment. Operations to deal with outbreaks of ARM activity on Rahdron.


The light over Berlioz's head slowly came into focus. Although it was taking some time for his hearing to come back, the throbbing in his head wasn't making it easier. As he slowly turned his head around the poorly lit room, several fuzzy figures began to take shape, one of them roughly grabbing his head, yelling something at him that he wasn't quite able to make out. Where... am I? The vague question really all he could mentally muster at the present time, his thoughts jumbled up and hard to keep in line long enough for him to think straight. His head was suddenly let go and the loss of support meant his head fell to his chest.

---

Berlioz, jolted slightly as he woke back up, but noticed that his vision was somewhat stronger, the ground no longer looking like a brown haze, but something clearly made of rough wood panels. His hearing was coming back as well as he was able to make out different voices speaking, even if what they were saying was beyond him right now. As he turned his head around, this time actually being able to recognise things, he noticed that his gear was tossed aside in one corner. The men who were still talking by the doorway in front of him had clearly stripped him of his weapons and most of the body armour on his upper half.

Shaking his head he could felt actual understanding of the situation he was in hit him, as he tried to move his arms and legs but found that they had been bound to the chair he was sat in, not even able to get his finger tips past the end of the arm rest, or rock the chair as it had apparently been bolted to the floor. The two men who had still yet to realise that he was now coherent and moving carried on their conversation, which Berlioz listened in on, hanging his head like he was still out.

"No you don't understand you asshole, they are literally less than a klick down the road from us! They know we took live soldiers from that convoy we hit and they will tear this city apart to get them!" The first man said in a hushed tone that was clearly strained, wanting to be louder, the sound replied in a much calmer, less concerned fashion. "Hey, Charlie, shut up. I'm tired of hearing your bullshit, they can throw whatever the fuck they want at us and we'll hold them at every street corner. We can beat this loser and his friend all day and when they crack, we'll get the next convoy's time and route. Then we'll hit them again, and again and keep it up till they get the message. Simple!"

A knock on the door cut their conversation short. A man dressed in what looked like ill fitting Republican army gear walked in, dragging a body behind him. However as Berlioz got a better look, the body was actually still alive, it was Pvt Horfield, one of the machine gunners from his platoon. The man in armour propped Horfield up in a chair similar to his, but without binding him to it. Horfield honestly looked dead, his face was covered in dirt, blood and what looked like several burn marks. One of his eyes was so swollen that it probably wouldn't have opened even if he was conscious.

The armoured man put his hand under Berlioz's chin, lifting his eyes to meet his as he crouched in front of him, having noticed Berlioz moving his head to look at Horfield. "So you're awake now? That's good". He let go of his head and stood up, taking a short step back from the both of them. "I want to send a message to you, one that you'll understand and hopefully come to terms with." He drew a very old looking semi-automatic from a holster under his coat, "I'm not very good with words, I hope this does the trick better. This man did not tell me what I wanted to know".

He raised the gun and fired in one smooth motion. The round sailing straight through Horfield's head, blowing red across Berlioz's face.

[Berlioz Lamond]

Pt.2

Shock held Berlioz in place, blood dripping from his chin, ear and hair. He couldn't turn his head to even look at the body, his eyes were rooted to the slight wisp coming from the end of the barrel. The armoured man didn't smile, showed no emotion, but lowered the gun and began very slowly pacing in front of him. "I'm sure that you also, don't have what I want. This is regrettable as it was difficult to bring you both in alive". Berlioz raised his eyes to meet the man, a silent, loaded glare.

"I want you, to understand something". He stopped pacing, and crouched directly in front of Berlioz, the man's dull eyes boring into his, "Something that I learned a long, long time ago. That people, are not born to be soldiers. Killing is not in our nature, not really, not deep down." He continued staring back at the soldier, not willing to look away, unable to stop listening. "But you can always tell a man, who has killed, they lose that... shine from their eyes. There is no brightness in the eyes of a murderer. And that's what you are, that's what we all are. Once the mark has been made, you can never be rid of it. That red stain on your hands, the stain of another man's life on your hands. We here can all see it".

He looked over his shoulder at the two soldiers by the door, their blank expressions as they looked at both their leader and Berlioz. He turned back to him, kneeling now, bringing Berlioz's face inches from his, holding each side of his head, pulling him as close as the bindings would allow. "And when I look at you..." He paused, taking a moment to look at every corner of his face, "I see dead eyes, and a man standing waist deep in blood".

The man let go of Berlioz's head, letting him fall back into the chair. Turning his back to him, he looked to one of the men by the door, "Get him to tell us anything he knows, troop movements for the next week, forward base coordinates, anything that can help us. If he doesn't talk..." Another pause, "Break him". The man left without facing Berlioz again.

The two soldiers looked at each other like they would rather just leave than have to do this, but it looked like the man in charge wasn't one to screw around with. Even when they were both standing on each side of him, neither of them said a word until the one on his right let out a long sigh, crouched down and said, "Ok, here's how things are gonna go because I reaaaallly don't wanna be doing shit like this for the next 4 hours. Seriously it gets boring and I just can't be assed with it anymore." He looked at his friend and back before continuing, "So, just tell us what the big man wants to know and we'll kick you out the door and send you back to wherever the fuck you came from, got that?"

Berlioz raised his head as best he could and croaked, "Go... fuck yourself". The soldier didn't even react, he just kept staring at Berlioz as if waiting for anymore. But there was no more to come, he didn't have it in him at this point. A long sigh escaped the soldier's mouth as he stood up from the crouch he'd been in. "Alright then..." Walking over to the door where he'd left his rifle, he picked it up and strode back to Berlioz's side, staring intently at him as he was struggling to raise his head to make eye contact. "You sure you wanna go down this road?" The words delivered without any hint of care. Berlioz held his gaze silently.

The silence was broken as the soldier's rifle stock smashed into Berlioz's hand, tearing a scream from his lips.