- A rifle is delivered, a compact, slender fasces of plasma and microwave guides—extremely powerful. A control panel fits to my armor’s glove, adjusting quickly to my smaller finger-span. I examine its workings, request guidance; the monitor instructs my ancilla. My armor learns quickly. I barely pay attention.
- The Didact stands alone before a partial readout of Requiem’s security. His armor lies folded in a repository, awaiting his attention.
- I lift the weapon. My glove merges with the panel. We are one, armor, me, weapon. I can conceive of no better fate for him than long sojourn in the Domain, reacquaintance with ancestors, with our honor, our history.
- Such as it may be. Away from this universe. Now he looks my way. Now he realizes.
- I fire. The bolts wrap him in curls of positronic lightning. Wherever they touch, they paralyze, numb; they encircle his head last, and his eyes are fixed on me, expressing no surprise—expressing nothing.
- After a moment of silent protest, he collapses to the floor. Even now, I wonder if he expected this, planned for it; ever the master at strategy, ever the genius at the finest of tactics.
- Halo: Silentium Ch 34
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