Renegade's Conviction

Dyne blocked the oncoming blow, lashing out with a desperate kick as he tried to clear space for more attacks. But Venter’s armor shrugged off the impact, its owner letting out only the faintest of grunts before slamming his fist square into Dyne’s helmet. The Renegade staggered, head ringing, as Venter pressed on with one hammering blow after another. Dyne felt armored fingers close in under his chin and struggled in vain to get away. Another punch smashed through the already cracked visor. In the next instant Venter ripped the helmet from Dyne’s head and sent him sprawling to the floor several feet away.
 
So this was what it was like to fight someone in power armor. Dyne rubbed his aching head with exasperation. “Guess the boot’s really on the other foot now,” he said to no one in particular.
 
Above him, Venter examined the broken helmet. His solitary eye narrowed as he looked from it to Dyne and then back again. Dyne couldn’t help but wonder why he kept it exposed. “Hey, did you get that suit the way it was, or did you custom paint it?” he wheezed, pushing himself up onto his knees. “Because I don’t think the whole orange-black getup really suits that stoic military thing you’ve got going on here.”
 
Venter regarded him coldly. “Do you ever shut up?”
 
“Oh, come on. Do you really think you’re the first person to ask me that, tough guy?”
 
“I’m going to be the last.” Venter tossed the helmet aside. “Hm. So my intel wasn’t wrong after all. Dyne-G217. Another ONI embarrassment. Are all you Gammas defective?”
 
That one caught Dyne off guard. A rebel—even one like Venter—shouldn’t be that well informed. Should he? “Wow. And here I thought you and ONI weren’t on speaking terms. What would all your followers say if they knew you were off seeing other people?”
 
“You’ve stuck your neck into something bigger than just stopping a few drug deals. I’d have thought a Spartan would know to be more careful about sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
 
“Yeah, well, I’ve always been a bit more of the curious type. You know, Chief Mendez always said—“
 
“Enough.” Venter unstrapped the machete from his back. “I don’t have time for children’s games. Bad enough they dragged me all the way out here to settle this problem without me having to listen to your drivel.”
 
Dyne rose, fists up. He kept up his bravado, but inside his heart pounded furiously. Cassandra was still out there fighting. No way would she reach him in time. Venter loomed in front of him, as cold and imposing as ever. He was out of tricks, out of plans, out of time…
 
Outside the shattered window behind Venter, two Falcons hovered into view. Their door gunners angled heavy machine guns in Dyne’s direction. His heart sank. Venter’s reinforcements had arrived.
 
Perhaps his dismay showed on his face after all. Venter tilted his helmet, eye narrowing. “Finally getting the reality of your situation? You’ve wasted your life, and on what? A child’s fantasy.”
 
“Wasted?” Dyne blinked. “This coming from some Insurrectionist lackey? You do realize the Syndicate’s just pulling all the strings right? You’re just another hired gun for the criminals now, ‘freedom fighter.’”
 
“I am what I’ve always been,” Venter said simply. He passed the machete from one hand to the other, then lunged forward with a cut at Dyne’s neck. “A soldier. You’re just a child who thinks he’s a hero.”
 
Dyne ducked under the machete. He braced himself against a nearby desk, pounding away at Venter’s armored midsection. The Insurrectionist backed off, sidestepping to place the desk between himself and Dyne. The Renegade realized what he was doing too late; he threw himself down as machine gun fire from the Falcons raked the office. Desks and chairs went flying as the bullets shredded the cubicles around him. Dyne kept moving, scrabbling to get clear and place Venter between himself and the Falcons. The gunfire died out as soon as Venter was in the way.
 
“That’s all you can do.” Venter came forward again. “Dodge and run. You’re not even trying to take out the gunships. Just like your friend hasn’t killed a single one of my soldiers out there. People like you make a mockery out of everything we fight for. Hamstringing yourself with some self-righteous drivel and pretending it’s virtue.”
 
“Now who won’t shut up?” Dyne snapped. “I don’t need a lecture from a psycho like you, thanks. Soldier, my ass. I know what you are. What you do. You’re just another terrorist.”
 
“Hm. And here I thought you could at least do better than parroting UEG talking points.” Venter’s machete came up. “I make the sacrifices asked of me. To give up everything for the mission, that’s what it means to be a soldier. But you, hero, you can’t even give up one rule. Even if it means I kill you here, even if it gets all of your allies killed, you’d rather die than face having to sacrifice a flawed principle.”
 
He stepped forward, dropping into an attack posture. “Maybe you could have done some good if you’d stayed with the UNSC. Now you’re just going to die here, without accomplishing anything.”
 
Without accomplishing anything. Strangely, the words didn’t cut Dyne the way they were intended. Instead, they seemed to brighten the ruined office. With a sudden clarity, Dyne saw Venter coming at him, the broken window behind him, and the Falcons beyond that. The Falcons hovering outside, unwilling to shoot because their beloved leader was in the way.
 
In that instant, it was all so beautifully simple. A relieved smile spread across Dyne’s face as the path opened up before him. Venter growled angrily and came in for the attack, but Dyne was already in motion. He slammed into the armored rebel, wrapping his arms around Venter’s torso and pushing forward, driving them both back towards the window.
 
Maybe it really was all meaningless. Maybe he really had wasted his life. But right now, all that mattered was the window before him—and the empty space beyond.
 
He pushed Venter through the window, clutching his opponent in a furious death-grip.
 
They fell together.