//------------------------------//
// Sins of the Future 
// Story: Legion 
// by Thule117 
//------------------------------//


"A whispered lie, drowns out a screamed truth."


-D'nurian proverb





    Doctor Samual Hayden walked down the long red carpeted hallway with a faint twinge of annoyance. Not that you would ever know it from the confidant stride of the over seven foot tall heavily armored robotic chassis that was now his body. Having long ago given up what more ignorant men would describe as his 'humanity', Hayden possessed none of the biological tells that would normally indicate how little he enjoyed being here. Without a face, he had no expression to read. Lack of a nervous system meant no ticks or unconscious body language for an observer to gauge unless he wished it. And with an entirely synthetic voice, Hayden would always be able to modulate his tone to maximum benefit in any situation. Regardless of how he actually felt.

    Heading through a pair of heavy stained mahogany doors. Hayden barely spared a glance at the pair of armed guards on either side of it. Each wearing suits, sunglasses, and a pair of unobtrusive communications devices, while they blatantly showed off a pair of compact automatic weapons. Had Hayden still been biological, he might have involuntarily smiled. The so called 'security forces' protecting the council of the Armored Response Coalition, or 'ARC' if you preferred an acronym, were honestly a joke. 

    For all the the shades and suit wearing ex-military security looked impressive, they were hardly a threat to anyone equipped with modern UAC weaponry. Under their suits the security teams wore merely a simple Kevlar vest, and they wielded absolutely archaic nine millimeter sub machine guns, using easily defeatable hollow-point rounds. Against a prepared enemy they were a speed bump. Against Hayden, they were worse than useless.

    Even armor piercing rounds were little more than an irritant to the polynium plate carbon nanofiber weave layered composite, that made up most of Hayden's outer body. A section of it less than a millimeter thick was ten times the protection of titanium-steel alloy, at less than a tenth the weight. Even the latest high capacity fifty caliber UAC 'Heavy Cannon' assault rifle, would have a tough time hurting Hayden. Whereas it would rip through a Kevlar vest like soggy cardboard. And that was before he activated the micro-shield generators embedded in his arms, legs, and chest, that effectively turned him into a walking tank.  

    The shield generators and extra armor, were a relatively new addition to Hayden's artificial physiology. Something that he had concluded, he should have done long ago. Even over a year after it happened, Hayden still vividly remembered how utterly helpless his mechanical body had been, in the face of the wrath of the being who had torn him apart, and left him for dead on Mars. He supposed that was the price of his version of immortality. Machines didn't forget, and every event, no matter how far in the past, was recalled as if it was no more than an hour ago. Even so, Hayden didn't regret his choice to become what he was. It was but one sacrifice of many, needed to insure humanity's salvation. These constant meetings, irritating as they were, were another.

    The council chamber was a far larger room than was necessary for its function. At nearly fifty feet across and wide, it was designed to make those entering feel small. The red carpet of the hallway abruptly ceased, to be replaced by a long red runner rug, over a floor of black granite tiles polished to a mirror finish. Idly, Hayden allowed his brain to calculate how much polish was required on a weekly bases to keep it looking like that. The rug terminated at a small dais, on which a lectern, equipped with a microphone, sat. While twenty feet in front of that, was a large stage on which was positioned a massive desk, over fifteen feet long. And seated behind the desk, occupying twelve chairs, and looking down at Hayden as if he was Oliver Twist asking for another helping of gruel, was the ARC council. In theory, the penultimate military and government authority on planet earth, and Hayden's, again theoretically, bosses.

    "You're late Hayden. . ." Stated the president of the American Union. The ruling body in charge of both North and South America, since their unification nearly seventy years ago, following World War III. The man, who's name Hayden barely cared to recall, no doubt intended the statement to sound aloof and detached, but in reality sounded more on the petulant side.

    "Apologies council members. As you can imagine, there is quite a bit to prepare for before I depart tomorrow." Hayden replied, artificially altering his tone to sound conciliatory and good natured.

    "Be that as it may, the council also requires your attention. We need updates on your status, and a rundown of the plan." This was the prime minister of the Asiatic Republic. Like the American Union, and most of the other countries making up the council, they had been formed after World War III, following the collapse of The People's Republic of China. And included everything from what used to be Kazakhstan and Mongolia, down to former chunks of Russia and sections of Indonesia. Granted, much of that area was effectively empty wasteland, thanks to a combination of climate change and nuclear bombardment during the war. Hayden activated a protocol designed to simulate unconscious body language, so as to express polite surprise, despite feeling nothing but annoyance.

    "Really? I could of sworn I sent you all a full report?" The prime minister simply glared at Hayden.

    "Your, 'report' was rather light on specifics. So we brought you here to give us a verbal account." Had Hayden still been mortal, he likely would have sighed. Having grown more than a little weary of trying to be polite in the face of the council members posturing.

    "I take it you want a detailed explanation of the situation then?" The president of the American Union nodded.

    "I think my colleagues and I all would. We dislike being kept in the dark." Hayden acknowledged the statement with a nod of his own, despite feeling a distinct pulse of contempt.

    "Very well." He stated, as he activated a set of holographic projectors built into his head. Instantly, they rendered a life sized three dimensional image of a tall man, covered head to toe in a suit of high tech armor, that looked like something out of a science fiction novel.
    "As you all know, this is the being known as the 'Doom Slayer'. An ancient warrior from a world we know only as 'D'nur'. Which my researches of the Corax Tablets led me to believe was a kind of 'alternate earth'. At some point in the past, how long ago is impossible to determine given our limited data, he waged a one man war against the denizens of the dimension from which raw Argent Energy is harvested." At this point the president of the Commonwealth of Africa scoffed.

    "We are not children here Hayden, and we all have the necessary security clearance. Call them what they are. . . the Demons of Hell." Hayden privately felt the African president's opinion regarding the council's maturity level was lacking in self awareness, but equally felt it impolitic to say as much. So he simply gave a shallow nod, the hologram flickering slightly as he did so.

    "Yes, he entered the dimension we refer to as 'Hell', and fought the creatures our ancient religions considered 'Demons'." Hayden affirmed, ignoring the sound of twelve people uncomfortably shifting. Which did nothing to erode his feeling's on the council's emotional maturity. "We have no idea how long that crusade lasted. However, we do know that it ended with his imprisonment by the demons. We hypothesize that they elected to do this, because they were too afraid to attempt to kill him." Yet again Hayden found himself interrupted by the African president.

    "We all know this story already Hayden. We know you discovered him and kept him under lock and key as a fail-safe. We know once you activated him he proved utterly beyond control. And we know he destroyed all possibility of Argent Energy production without the object you call the Crucible. What we don't understand, is how you plan to get it back, and why exactly you demanded cart blanche over every military in the world to do it?!" Yet again, Hayden felt he would have sighed, had he still possessed the proper biological components.

    "First, I should explain that the disappearance of the Doom Slayer was no accident. When the cross-dimensional teleportation prototype blew, it only had two coordinates programed into it: Hell and Mars. Even a random teleportation event should only have allowed him to arrive at one of those two destinations, yet, somehow, he arrived at a third." Now the Asiatic's prime minister spoke up again.

    "And how do you even know this? How can you be sure he isn't wandering somewhere in Hell right now?" Hayden temporarily deactivated the holo-projector to shake his head. A gesture made purely to make him seem more human.

    "When I installed the dimensional tether into his armor so I could bring him back from Hell, I also installed a sort of. . . locator beacon. It keeps track of his extradimensional coordinates, and lets me know roughly where he is, using a complex quantum mathematical aether algorithm. To put it another way: every dimension has an. . . 'address', for lack of a better term. You need that address programed into the teleporter in order to open a portal to or from the dimension in question. The beacon, among other things, constantly displays the address of the dimension the Doom Slayer is in. If, for the sake of simplicity, our address is 001 and Hell's is 002, then the Doom Slayer is in 003. A completely unknown dimension." The prime minister raised an eyebrow.

    "You know it just occurred to me. Why can't you just bring this. . . Doom Slayer, back using that tether you mentioned?" Hayden at that point wondered if he could program himself not to feel exasperation, as he responded.

    "I tried that, multiple times on the new portal generator we built at Fort Kincaid. Unfortunately, the tether was either damaged or disabled, or perhaps simply doesn't function in the dimension the Slayer is in. However I believe we are straying from the point. What I was attempting to convey, is that the Slayer is in a place the teleporter should have been incapable of sending him. As such, the only logical conclusion is that someone, or something, interfered with the machine. Moreover, they did it in such a way that I can find no conventional trace of it in the data I recorded of the event." The American President's voice sounded slightly uncomfortable as he asked his latest question.

    "So. . . what does that mean exactly?" Hayden once more activated his holo-projectors to display an image of a stone tablet covered in strange glyphs, and an engraving of a figure swathed in robes that obscured its face and body.

    "The Corax Tablets, describe a race of creatures called 'Seraphim'. Whom the demons believe the Doom Slayer must have encountered during his time as a mortal man. Supposedly, it was they who gave him the superhuman abilities he now possesses. The tablets offered no description of the Seraphim's form or origin, but they seem to be considered something akin to gods. Moreover, gods that have opposed Hell since the dawn of time. If what little the Corax Tablets say about these creatures is true, then they could have brought the Doom Slayer to them once his mission was complete. Granted that is mostly speculation, but based on the evidence available, it is the most likely scenario." The Asiatic Prime Minister made a face like she'd swallowed a lemon.

    "I take it these 'Seraphim' wouldn't be interested in handing over the Crucible then?" Hayden, again, deactivated his hologram and shook his head.

    "No, however they are described loosely as being 'protectors of all mortal life'. So they may not exactly be openly hostile. There is however, something else. . ." The Prime Minister gave Hayden a suspicious look.

    "And that would be? . . ." Hayden vocalized clearing his throat. A purely theatrical gesture, but one that had the desired effect of adding a bit more gravitas to his words. 

    "When I explored Hell, I found that some of the Corax Tablets had been deliberately destroyed. However, I was able to piece together enough to uncover references to a 'Legion'. I never found out what this 'Legion' was, but it seemed to be a weapon, one supposedly wielded by the Seraphim, as in the Corax Tablets it is referred to as the: 'sword of the great enemy'. Allow me to read to you the translation of one of the few passages I uncovered regarding it." Here Hayden once more turned on his holoprojector. Allowing several lines of hellish runes to be displayed, as he narrated what they said. Deepening his artificial voice almost imperceptibly, in order to increase the psychological impact of the words.


And so did the sword of the great enemy cut free the seventh head of the beast.
And though three of the nine heads yet remained, even the mighty among the doomed, wailed in terror.
For the Legion, such as the weapon proclaimed itself, could not be stopped.
It was the great hypocrisy of the enemy, a shield to end all worlds.
Yet the ravages of time did weaken it, and so it was taken back by those whom cursed the Hells with it.
And so shall the doomed speak of it not, for fear of its return. 
Yet even so, it is prophesied the great enemy's sword shall be drawn again, at the end of all things. . .
 

    "The rest is just fragments." Hayden concluded. "However, if my guess is right about what happened, then there is an excellent chance the Doom Slayer may indeed have access to this weapon. And even if the Seraphim are willing to negotiate, I can assure you, he, will not." Stony silence greeted this pronouncement. Finally, a new voice spoke up.

    "If I may ask Doctor Hayden. . . if your hunch is correct, what makes you think we can force the Slayer to give up the Crucible at all?" This question came from the Prime Minister of the European Union, one of the few reformatted governments to keep its old name, if not its shape and method of function. Here Hayden abruptly deactivated the hologram.

    "Because councilor, I have met the Doom Slayer. More than that, I understand him. And that understanding has led me to a very important realization." He stated, an odd calm to his words. 

    "And that is?" The European Prime Minister asked.

    "That beneath all the myths, legends, armor, weapons, and physical power, the Doom Slayer is a man." If Hayden could have, he would have smiled triumphantly as he finished. "And men. . . have weaknesses."





    Colonel Alex Kline, stared at himself in the mirror with the stern expression most people expected of his rank. His short brown hair and strong features, framing a pair of dark brown eyes with golden flecks. Turning his head, he examined his face, making sure he hadn't missed a single errant hair during his earlier shave. Currently wearing his military dress uniform, he double checked the outfit was cleaned and properly pressed. Smoothing some imaginary creases over with his hands, he did his best to make the new braids and brass from his recent promotion feel normal. Suddenly, as Alex examined himself, he felt a pair of arms gently wrap around his neck. A smiling face coming into view in the mirror over his shoulder.

    "I do love a man in uniform, but that face makes you look constipated." Declared Sam Kline, Alex's husband of nearly twelve years. Red haired and with delicate features, green eyes, and freckles that he always complained made him look like a kid, Sam wore a mischievous grin. Alex struggled to hold his officer's expression briefly, before bursting out laughing. "There, that's better." Sam declared with a chuckle. Alex just rolled his eyes as he got his laughter under control.

    "Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that you aren't allowed on the parade ground?" He inquired with a chuckle of his own. Sam just let out a laugh.

    "Afraid you'd lose me to some other strappingly handsome soldier?" He asked flippantly. Alex just let out a light laugh.

    "Afraid the men would never respect me again is more like. An officer is supposed to take his job seriously at all times." Sam just frowned.

    "Well that's a stupid rule." He deadpanned, before instantly brightening up again, as he placed a quick kiss on Alex's cheek. "Now hurry up and finish packing Colonel, the kids are waiting to say goodbye to you downstairs." Sam declared happily, as he headed out the door through their bedroom and into the hall. Alex just grinned as he shook his head and, with a final check in the mirror, moved into the bedroom. 

    Strewn across the king sized bed were Alex's two massive duffels, containing everything he would need for a six month deployment. Granted he and his men would just be on standby alert until further notice, but it paid to over-prepare. They might not be at war right now, and Alex frankly hoped it stayed that way, but the buildup of men and materiel, not just at base, but across the world, did little to reassure. Especially, Alex thought as he placed the last few odds and ends into his bags, considering what had happened.   

    It still all seemed so surreal, despite nearly a year since the story first came out, with the return of Samuel Hayden from the destroyed UAC facility on Mars. Experiments in travel to other dimensions? Meeting a civilization from not just another planet, but another universe entirely? And. . . the betrayal of the UAC and all of mankind, by the representative of that universe. Alex would never have believed it if he hadn't seen the security footage himself.

    He still remembered seeing bits of it for the first time on the nightly news. That terrible armored figure, walking calmly down the corridors of the Mars facility, as he butchered UAC security forces the way Alex himself might swat a fly. It was almost impossible to imagine this was how first contact with an actual form of alien life would go. Alex had always thought it would be like Star Trek. Maybe a few cultural differences, but ultimately accepting those differences and working together. It could not have gone farther in the other direction.   

    Hayden offered them mankind's hand in friendship, and they responded by destroying the energy lifeline of the whole of Earth? Even Hayden himself had no idea why this visitor from the other side had done it. Supposedly negotiations had been going well, the other-world representative was cordial, and his people seemed eager for peaceful relations with humanity. Then, without warning, he had attacked. The UAC's defenses had been overwhelmed, as it was revealed that over a period of months, the other-world representative had subverted VEGA, the AI running the Mars facility. 

    VEGA had helped the bastard by opening the entire Mars facility to the outside just before he attacked. Venting the internal atmosphere to most of the base almost instantly. Thousands died in agony, choking to death on the martian air. Then VEGA had turned the base's automated defenses on those that remained. As the representative butchered his way through the facility using captured UAC weapons, and a suit of alien powered armor. He had spared no one in his path. In the security footage, Alex thought he had looked like something out of one of the old Terminator films he used to watch with his dad and brother as a kid. Only this. . . had been all too real.

    Olivia Pierce, Hayden's second in command, had heroically died trying to keep the monstrous extradimensional terrorist from destroying the argent energy production facility. She had failed, and the alien man had destroyed the argent tower, and all its associated systems utterly. VEGA assisted him by wiping and corrupting all data linked to argent energy production, and helping him locate the core of the entire system, an alien artifact called the Crucible. Hayden had explained it was a piece of unique alien technology found on Mars by the UAC, and that it was the keystone of the argent energy generator. Despite years of studying the artifact, Hayden and the UAC had no means of manufacturing another, and the former alien ambassador had stolen it. Before fleeing, back to the world he had come from.

    Hayden himself had even, in a desperate hail Mary, personally tried to stop the being from leaving, and nearly been killed for his trouble. It was then the entity explained that he was no ambassador, he was a soldier. His last words before leaving were to tell Hayden the chilling title his people had for him. They called him. . . The Doom Slayer. He gave no reason for initiating this clear act of war, not even saying if it had been an order, or his own decision.  

    Hayden had survived, barely, thanks mostly to his robotic nature. And for over three months, had hidden in a facility now controlled by the homicidal AI he had created. He might have perished there, if not for. . . Alex struggled to hold back tears as he zipped up the bag he just finished packing. His gaze falling on an old framed photo from his and Sam's wedding, perched on a nearby dresser. Walking over, he hesitated for a moment, his hand hanging in the air indecisively before, with a lump in his throat, he picked up the photo. There the three of them were. . . smiling like lunatics. Him, Sam, and . . . John. Picking up the photo, Alex stared at the face of his brother. Tall, good looking, with their father's dark hair and strong jawline. Alex remembered John's wife, Marie, had taken this photo.

    Alex felt the tears trickling down his face, despite his best efforts. They told him John and his team had been taken by surprise by VEGA. That they had battled through near impossible odds to reach Hayden, and, not only extract him, but retrieve vital data on the location of the Doom Slayer, and the prototype portal designs needed to reach him. Only John had made it back to earth, or rather. . . his body had. He had died from his injuries on the return trip. 

    Samuel Hayden, and the President of the American Union, had both come personally to Alex's house to express their condolences. Assuring him, Sam and their children, and the grief stricken Marie and her children, that John and his team had died giving mankind a fighting chance. Hayden telling them how John had pulled him to safety, despite being grievously wounded. Stubbornly insisting that the mission be completed. Hayden had then told them that his last words, had been to ask him to tell his family how much he loved them, and to tell the families of his team how sorry he was that he couldn't bring them home. Alex shook his head, as another wave of tears rolled down his cheeks. . . that sounded just like John. 

    After that had come the reporters, wanting to interview them about John and his team. The media had lauded them as the heroes of all mankind. With one reporter even comparing his brother to Atlas, as, for a moment, the fate of all the world had been held on his shoulders. The funeral had been a grand affair, with dozens of world leaders, and tens of thousands of ordinary people, coming forward to offer flowers and kind words to the man, and the team, who's actions had likely saved them all. Still, all the flowers and kind words in the world weren't going to bring Alex's big brother back.

    Placing the photo back on the dresser, Alex wiped his face free of tears as he hefted his two duffels. No one could bring John back. And while Alex would never wish for war. A small, dark part of him, desperately hoped that he'd get a shot at the man, or rather, the monster, that was his brother's ultimate killer. The one they called, the Doom Slayer. . .





    "What do you think York? You think this is really gonna turn into a war?" 

    Private First Class York Maltis was snapped out of his daydreaming about his fiance, by the sound of his friend and squad mate, Private Alvin Ambrose's, voice. York was, much like his two friends, in his mid twenties. He had wavy, sandy hair, and was decently well built, though a bit on the lanky side. With eyes that were a unique amber color, and ears that looked normal, but he swore were too large. Turning to look with a faintly bewildered expression at his expectantly staring friend, York momentarily struggled to recall what Alvin, and PFC Martin Wayne, had been discussing.

    "I uh. . . well it's hard to say." He stated noncommittally, hoping to buy himself time to think of a better answer. Alvin however, wasn't fooled for a minute, an eyebrow cocking above one of his dark brown eyes.

    "Were you even listening? Typical white boy, never listening when the black man has somethin' to say." Alvin declared, his joking tone and easy smirk telling of a rapport between them built of long familiarity. York shook his head with a chuckle. 

    "Ok ok! I apologize! No need to go all soapbox on me!" He declared, holding up his hands defensively in mock surrender. Alvin smiled as he shifted position on the pallet of supplies they had staked out as they took a break. Around them, Fort KIncaid was in a state of organized chaos. Supplies and equipment of all descriptions were being shifted hither and yon by teams of engineers. Sargents barked orders at privates in the midst of daily drills, or helping to move equipment. Front loaders and cranes growled and beeped as they transferred pallets of food, medicine, ammunition, and vehicles from one end of the base to the other. Across the field near one of the munitions storage bunkers, a pair of NCO's shouted at each other over something. One waving a clipboard at the other in a fit of annoyance, while the other gestured wildly with his arms. From inside a vehicle housing bay, a new top of the line UAC manufactured APC, roared smartly out onto the road. 

    "Ain't no way there won't be a war." Opined Martin. "That bastard Doom Slayer is gonna get his, mark my words." Martin spat as he finished. That was just like Martin, York thought, struggling not to roll his eyes. Always hot under the collar and spoiling for a fight. Martin was a big man, tall and square jawed, and well muscled under his fatigues. With close cropped, wavy dark brown hair, tanned skin, and baby blue eyes over a crooked nose. 

    "Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure? Seems to me that Hayden's only real interest is the Crucible, and restarting Argent energy generation ASAP. Hell, the man said it himself: get the Crucible back, and there ain't no need for no war." Alvin declared evenly. Alvin was slighter than Martin, but highly athletic, the olympic sprinter to Martin's linebacker. He had dark ebon skin, brown eyes, and his black hair in tight cornrows. Alvin had a laid back manner, and smiling came naturally to him. He and York had become best friends in boot camp. Both had come from a military family, and both had trained for the marine corps together. That was where they had met Martin. 

    Martin was from the southwest of the Upper Union, as North America was now called. It was a hard place, climate change having made it virtually unlivable. Neither York or Alvin had ever asked, but they got the sense Martin used to run with a rough crowd. And that his military service had likely been the only alternative he had to incarceration. Martin just gave a laugh in response to Alvin's question. As he threw his arms out to gesture to the organized bedlam surrounding them.

    "Look around you man." He declared, as though explaining an obvious point. "Look at all this shit!" He stated, his voice holding a tone that was almost reverent. "Countries all across the world are sending their soldiers to join up with ARC. Donating millions, maybe billions of tons of equipment, weapons and tech to the cause here in the Union. Even guys we used to be enemies with! I mean fuck man! Just the other day I saw a bunch of turbaned boys from the United Arab Caliphate march in here and salute one of our generals! Two years ago we were blowing those guys up by the truckload man!" Alvin just looked at Martin patiently, waiting for him to reach his point. "All of that shit, put together by one man. And I mean all of it. The UN being scrapped and turned into the Armored Response Coalition. The unification of humanity like we've never been united before, and making all the military's on the planet into a single force. The creation of the Zeus war mechs! For Christ sake, the creation of machines capable of literally ripping open the ass of space and sending us to another world! All of that. . . was done by one man!" Alvin just shrugged.

    "Yeah, Samuel Hayden. So what?" Martin just gave a dark chuckle.

    "Well come on? You really think the literal savior of humanity is gonna just let this Doom Slayer asshole off the hook?" Here Martin tapped the side of his head with his index finger as he leaned in toward York and Alvin conspiratorially. "You just trust in ol' Martin. Hayden? He's got a plan. A big plan. He's gonna get us our power back, and fix the Dick Slayer but good!" Alvin arched an eyebrow.

    "The 'Dick Slayer'? Seriously man? That the best chu' got?" Martin just shrugged, as York finally spoke up.

    "Isn't all this kind of a risk? I know nobody wants to say it but. . . Hayden basically controls the world right now. Think about it. The UAC is currently the single source producer of military and civilian tech on the entire planet. All our weapons and supplies are UAC. Not to mention Hayden is the only man on earth who knows how to make the Crucible work to produce Argent energy. Plus, he's the one who set up the ARC council to begin with. You know? The guys who are supposed to be in charge of making sure he stays honest? Hell, he picked over half the members himself." Alvin nodded sagely.

    "Man makes a solid point. What's to stop Hayden from declaring himself King of earth after all this?" Martin just let out a laugh.

    "What are you guys complaining about?!" He asked jovially. "Before Hayden created the ARC, all those government bureaucrats ever did was argue and lie to get votes. If they were in charge they'd just sit around with their thumbs up their asses while we all starved in the streets! Hayden is the one who organized everything to work right. Hell, he even made sure he had surplus Argent stored away in case of an emergency, enough to last the entire world at least two years! He's the reason none of our families are starving or dead right now. Why we still even have a society at all! You think some pencil necked fat ass in a suit could do that? If Hayden wants to be King, he's got my vote." Alvin just chuckled.

    "Ain't how kings work man. But you got a point, Hayden does make the trains run on time. And even my boy over here, gotta admit that UAC prices are as cheap as they come." Alvin declared, gesturing toward York. "Hell, my family can buy a whole weeks worth a' groceries for just fifty bucks thanks to Hayden's hydroponics labs. An' he's seen what my family dinners are like, with all the siblings I got." York nodded slowly.

    "I suppose that's true, but who's to say it will stay that way? Don't get me wrong, I trust Hayden, I just don't think any one man should have that kind of power, regardless of how good they may be. Though I suppose if that's what needs to happen to save mankind, you'd be hard pressed to find a better choice." Martin let out a laugh as he slapped his knee.

    "Exactly! No need to worry boys! With Hayden at the helm, we'll be home by Christmas, war or not! We'll get back the Crucible, save the world, and make that bastard Doom Slayer wish he'd never so much as heard of earth!" York couldn't help but smile at that, as Alvin and Martin shared a fist bump. 

    "Sounds good to me." He declared, extending his arm forward. "For humanity." He declared, as his friends smiled, and placed their hands over his. Pausing for a brief shared smile, before raising their hands to the sky with a mighty roar.

    "FOR HUMANITY!!"

    Yet, even as the three finished their cheer, and headed back to there assigned stations. York, despite his earlier words, couldn't help but feel an echo of doubt. However he swiftly brushed it off. Martin was right. Hayden had a plan. More to the point, he was the only one who did. And if a war was what it took to pull it off. . . well, it was nothing less than the Doom Slayer asked for. . .