| abstract | - Daniel Mathis, a former ODST now employed as a mercenary after the great war finds himself on a job that puts him at odds with UNSC personnel for the first time, and forces him to kill those he'd once fought alongside. It was just a job. It felt like an eternity, the milliseconds it took to fire. Over and over he told himself it wasn’t personal, that it was just a job, that he needed the money for his father. It wasn’t his fault he was in this situation, they’d withdrawn his benefits, his pension, everything, even if he had gone SPARTAN it wouldn’t have been enough. Hell they’d taken it from him and billions of other veterans due to the economic state of the UEG. Those who’d fought tooth and nail to save humanity were being left to rot. It wasn’t fair, they’d forced his hand. It was just a job. He squeezed the trigger, the slide kicking back, the casing ejecting, the look on the man’s face, he saw all of it, and watched as he took a man’s life in a flash. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t his fault. The man’s body armor identified him as Atkins, his face was young, and from behind the visor he couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but he see the fear. He wanted to apologize, explain it wasn’t his fault, beg and plead for Atkins to forgive him. It wouldn’t matter, he wouldn’t have forgiven him either. It was just a job. The bullet impacted, a neat hole forming between the man’s eyes, snapping the man’s head back and what had felt like an eternity, suddenly sped back up to real time as the body collapsed and Daniel Mathis was left holding the gun. It was the first life of a UNSC service member he’d ever taken. Insurrectionists, mercenaries? No problem, but this was a man who’d fought and now died in the same uniform he once had. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t personal. It was just a job.
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