ARC #1 - Flames of the Rubicon, Addendum
In the dimly lit confines of the command center, the air was thick with the electric hum of operational machinery and the low murmur of tactical discussions. Lieutenant Marcus Daelan, Kyra Nex's commanding officer, sat before a series of screens, his features set in a grim mask as he reviewed helmet cam footage from the recent operations in Harnaidan.
The footage was a visceral diary of war, captured through the visor of Pvt. Kyra Nex, known amongst her squad as "Tyrant" for her ruthless efficiency and cold ferocity on the battlefield. As the lieutenant scrubbed through the video, the scenes of destruction and chaos unfolded with clinical precision, each frame a testament to the disciplined brutality of the 4th Squad "Charred Dominion."
However, the routine review took a dark turn when the footage showed an incident that had not been reported in the official debriefs. The screen displayed a narrow, smoke-filled alley where Kyra encountered a local child, no older than ten, who had evidently been hiding from the ongoing street battles. The child, clutching a ragged doll, stumbled into view, clearly unarmed and terrified.
The footage captured Kyra's brief hesitation, her weapon lowering slightly as she looked down at the child. But what followed was not the protocol for non-combatant civilians. The camera jerked as Kyra raised her flamethrower, and the child's terrified screams were drowned out by the roar of the flames. It was an act of deliberate cruelty, unnecessary and unprovoked.
Lieutenant Daelan paused the footage, his jaw clenched in anger and disbelief. He called Kyra into the command center, the footage ready to be replayed as part of her disciplinary hearing.
When Kyra entered, her posture was rigid, her face an impassive mask that gave nothing away. She stood at attention before the lieutenant's desk, her armor still bearing the scorch marks of recent combat.
"Private Nex," Daelan began, his voice controlled but icy, "I've reviewed your helmet cam footage. Explain your actions in this instance, and every other instance you defied your ROA." He replayed the clip of the child, the images casting flickering shadows across their faces.
Kyra watched impassively, her expression unreadable. When the clip ended, she spoke, her voice devoid of remorse. "The child could have been a threat, sir. Carrying explosives, or recon for enemy forces."
Daelan slammed his hand down on the desk, cutting her off. "That child posed no immediate threat. This," he pointed at the screen, "this was murder, Nex. Your actions were not only reprehensible, they were against every code of conduct we uphold."
Kyra's eyes flickered with a defiant fire, her disdain for the reprimand clear. "Sir, with all due respect, the battlefield is not a place for mercy. My actions ensured no potential threats remained."
"Enough!" Daelan snapped. "You're a soldier of the Diarchy, not a butcher. What you did was not warfare—it was sadism. I will not tolerate this behavior under my command."
He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "This is your first and final warning, Private Nex. Another incident like this, and I will see you court-martialed and stripped of your rank, you will face the Diarchs themselves. Am I clear?"
Kyra's jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. The rebuke stung, clashing with her own view of her actions as necessary and justified. Yet, she recognized the precariousness of her position under the watchful eyes of her superiors.
"Crystal, sir." she responded, her voice a low growl of contained anger.
"Dismissed," Daelan concluded, his expression unyielding.
As Kyra turned and exited the command center, the weight of the warning hung heavy on her shoulders. Her mind raced with a turbulent mix of anger and calculation. The reprimand had not changed her fundamental nature, nor her belief in the necessity of her actions. However, it had introduced a dangerous element to her calculations—oversight. Kyra understood that if she were to continue serving in her capacity and pursuing her ambitions within the Diarchy, she would need to be more discreet, more calculating in her displays of cruelty.
The incident had drawn a clear line in the sand, a boundary that her sadistic impulses chafed against. Yet, as she stepped back into the shadows of the barracks, her resolve hardened. Kyra Nex would adapt, would mask her true nature behind a veil of cold, calculated efficiency. But the fire of her ruthlessness remained undimmed, smoldering in the dark recesses of her mind, waiting for the moment when she could once again unleash it, away from prying eyes.
