This has no title as of yet.

[D-38 Boss]

So, yeah. As per usual, I've started another project. I have no title for it right now, but here's the Prologue:

 

 

 

  I can't tell if I've been here six months, or six years. They say prison time goes slower if you count the days, so I guess that can account for it. Hell, I don't even know what time it is. My cell is in the solitary wing. No windows, no contact with anyone other than the guards, and hardly any light. I spend most of my time trying to keep sharp. Jumping jacks, squats, whatever. Anything that can get my heart rate up since I don't get any yard time. From what little the guards will say to me, I know I'm locked up on Rikers Island, in New York on Earth. I never had a trial. As far as I know, they wanted me locked away before I had time to organize my OWN breakout.

 

They'd been after me for years though. I'd spent years, blindly following the Insurrectionist doctrine, Planning breakouts of political prisoners, PoW's, anybody the Insurrectionists decided they needed freed. I got damn good at it too. From local precinct lock-ups to entire prison camps, I could organize a near fool-proof plan to get anyone inside out. Doesn't really work as well on the inside, though. And seeing as the Innie's left me here to rot, I guess I won't be getting out at all.

 

I never really did see eye to eye with their xenophobic view of things. I never held any contempt for the UNSC. Far as I saw, they did good things for Mankind. Only the Innies held to their old, rather racist ways. I guess I just got used to it. Not like I had a choice. I was born into an Insurrectionist farming commune. From day one, they pounded their ideals into our heads; taught us to fight, trained our minds and bodies. I never really had time, nor the inclination to think of what else was out there.

 

They also say prison gives a man too much time to think. I think it gave me just enough time. Who knows the damage I caused over the course of my little career of terrorism? In the name of what? Racist separation? Keeping cultures separate? Doesn't seem worth a damn now that I look at it in hindsight.

 

It was pretty big news the day the UNSC finally caught me. Seems every Holo-site was blaring with cheers of “MENACE CAUGHT: Gregory Doyle; Insurrectionist Mastermind: Behind Bars.”

 

I guess the UNSC has some pretty good PR teams. Since then, I've been disconnected from the events of the universe. According to one of the few guards who will actually speak to me, It's so I can't utilize anything I might see on the news or the like to organize a breakout. Other than that, I get simple food, no utensils, nothing.

 

So, when I heard boots marching toward my isolation cell, I figured it was lunchtime. Or dinner. Or breakfast. Whatever.

 

“On your feet, Doyle.” I heard through the slot on the door. “It's your lucky day.”

 

“Double rations?” I said with a smirk as I walked toward the door; intent on retrieving whatever tasteless paste they decided to give me today. I had to admit, I was stunned to hear the locks on the door clicking open.

 

The heavy metal door slowly slid open, and a UNSC Marine waved to me.

 

“Let's go, Doyle. Your number's come up.”

 

“My number?” I said, stepping forward cautiously, sticking out my hands to be cuffed.

 

“Don't ask too many questions.” The marine said, waving me in front of him. “You'll find out what this is all about in a bit.”

[BATMAN]

Oooh, suspense. Now all we need is fire...

 

Great read. Wouldn't mind seeing more.

[Unease Peanut]

Oooh, suspense. Now all we need is fire...

 

Great read. Wouldn't mind seeing more.

 

"I didn't mean to set the world on fire"

 

Good read though, interested to know what happens next.

[Gemini Dragons]

Hmm, ok, next chapter?

[D-38 Boss]

Stepping into the tiny, cliché interrogation room, I was sat in a steel chair, before being left alone. I turned to look out of the frosted glass window in the room. I couldn't see outside, but the lack of light let me know it was late.

 

The door opened.

 

“Mr. Doyle.” I heard a gruff voice say. “Please, sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

 

I turned to see a large, dark-skinned, middle aged man; wearing a simple uniform. I couldn't place the insignia. It wasn't UNSC. I sat across from him as he unpacked his suitcase.

 

“So...” He said. “You been here for a long time.”

 

“Have I?” I asked. “I've lost track...”

 

“From 2549, to 2559.” The man said with a nod. “You've missed a lot.”

 

“It's been ten years?” I asked, suddenly feeling the impact of my years in captivity.

 

“It has.”

 

“What did I miss? Besides a whole mess of Christmases.”

 

“The glassing of Reach. For starters.”

 

“Reach... was glassed?”

 

“I'm sorry. I know it was your home.”

 

I shook my head.

 

“Eh... It hadn't felt like home for a long time before I was arrested.”

 

“What's more, the covenant attacked Earth.”

 

“What!?” I said, nearly leaping out of my chair. “When? Where?”

 

“A couple of years ago.” He said calmly, apparently expecting that reaction. “They hit pretty much everywhere.”

 

“Wait... then, why didn't-”

 

“You wouldn't have known, because you were lied to, Mr. Doyle. You're not in Rikers, you're not on Earth.”

 

“Then where the hell are we?” I said, looking at the frosted glass window once again.

 

“On Horowitz Prison Station; orbiting New Carthage. You were misinformed, in case you had figured out a way to communicate with your former associates.”

 

“Well, rest assured, that never happened.” I sighed. “Probably better that it didn't.”

 

“Why's that?” The man said, a hopeful look on his face.

 

“The more I think about the **** I did, the more I realized what it was all in service of. I was helping people, whose only goal was to preserve the old Earth; segregated nations, constant tension and war. What's the good of that?”

 

He smiled at me, apparently very pleased to hear it.

 

“So, you're saying-”

 

“I'm saying, for what it's worth, I deserve to be in here. Who knows what the people I busted out of prison went on to do?”

 

“Well, suffice to say, I know quite well.”

 

“Oh? And just who are you to be privy to such knowledge?” I mused.

 

“Agent Jones.” He said. “Office of Naval Intelligence.”

 

“O.N.I.?”

 

“That's correct Mr. Doyle.”

 

“Okay... so what're you doing here? What's all this have to do with me?”

 

“I find myself in need of a man who can organize a prison break. Specifically, we need you assistance in breaching a Covenant Remnant's prison, to rescue one of our own.”

 

“Wait... Remnant? Does that mean-”

 

“Yes, Mr. Doyle.” Agent Jones said with a smile. “The War with the Covenant has ended.”

 

“Jesus... Never thought I'd see the day...”

 

“Not many of us did.” He nodded, momentarily losing his “mysterious G-man” air. He composed himself again, and narrowed his eyes at me. “However, those the remain are still dangerous.”

 

“Well... You've told me what you want, now tell me why I want to help you.” I said, kicking my feet up on the table.

 

“Of course, you'd be given a full pardon.”

 

“That's all?” I said, casually glancing out of the window. “Be mighty hard to get back into normal life. All things considered.”

 

“Don't play coy with me, Doyle. Tell me what you want.”

 

“I'm not looking for a lump sum or anything. Money runs out, and I guarantee people still remember me. I ain't gonna find a job anytime soon. So here's what I propose. I do this job for you, I get whoever you need out of wherever they are. You hire me.”

 

“And why would I want to do that?”

 

“You want your boy outta prison, don't ya?”

 

“I'm talking about afterward.”

 

“Well, You ONI folks got prisons, don't ya? Now... who would be a better suited candidate to critique a prison's security set up, than a man who made his bones breaking them?”

 

“I... see.”

“Not to mention, you'll always have a reliable escape artist on your payroll. And one who can help root out a few VERY choice Insurrectionist locations you boys wouldn't find on your own in a million years.”

 

Jones tapped his fingers on the table, seemingly mulling over what I had said. Finally he looked at me.

 

“On one condition.”

 

“Name it.”

 

“You're on probation. You do ONE thing that I don't like, and it's back to your cell.”

 

I shrugged.

 

“I'll take what I can get. It's a deal.”