Sable's Experiences

[Toaster]

//No longer canon.

June 13, 828 A.S.

Olivia slumped back into the pilot's seat and listened as the ship's engines spun down with a lowly whine. She glanced at the comms panel, eyeing it suspiciously, as though expecting it to light up with yet another unwanted message. The screen, however, remained dark. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Pittsburgh.

Had things really come to this? Had her loathing for the man really driven her to say that she would like to kill him? And had he really invited her to that god forsaken wasteland to do so? Of course, it had. The ship's logs had stored the conversation for posterity, for better or for worse.

Why did she hate him so much? She wondered.

He was a Xeno. The Xeno. A terrorist. God knew how many innocent lives he had taken, either through his words or his own actions. Hundreds. Thousands, perhaps. Irredeemable crimes that deserved every ounce of judgment she laid on them. And yet, when it had been her less-than-innocent life on the line, he had stepped in, intervened, saved her. Why?

Does it matter? A voice in the back of the mercenary's mind whispered. Olivia supposed it didn't. The debt she had incurred that day had been paid back as far as she was concerned. But the question remained. He was horrible, a murderer, and yet he had saved her out of what could only be called the goodness of his heart. So why did she hate him? He had never harmed her, never tormented her, never asked anything of her at all.

Olivia furrowed her brows as her uncertainty only grew.

Do it, the voice whispered. Kill him.

Should she? She would be doing Liberty a great service, ridding it of the most dangerous terrorist alive. With its head cut off, the Xeno Alliance would collapse in short order, and - with any luck - the rest of the movement would follow suit. Innocent lives numbering in the thousands, otherwise lost to acts of terror, would be spared. And yet...

We would be heroes.

Hero. The word had little meaning to Olivia. She was no hero. She wasn't made of the stuff that heroes were made of. No, she was the opposite. A monster. How many lives had she taken? How many widows and orphans had she created? How many families torn apart like her own? How much longer could she hide behind the excuse that it was her job, that she had been hired to kill? Was it even an excuse? And what of the people of the village? What excuse did she have for her part in their deaths?

Olivia reached up and rubbed her tired eyes. They were beginning to hurt, a dull ache spreading into her brow and temples. The presage of another migraine.

We would be heroes.

Olivia frowned.

We?

---

Olivia Sable