Fireworks Display (Origin Story)

Recap: In the last installment, Triple headed to the Trisken flagship, in a transporter loaded to the brim with explosives. His dying wish was to take out the biggest ship in the enemy fleet. When he got close to the enemy fleet he made contact with Ohearah, to tell him about the state of most of the ships in the Trisken fleet. Most were unfit for a fight and they knew it, that's why they never made a move to attack The Confederation ships. Triple made it inside the hanger and detonated his parting gift, but, not before telling Ohearah to spread the word and let everyone look out the windows of their ships.


Ohearah looked out the window at a massive explosion in the distance. It engulfed the ships in its vicinity; Flames stretched out like unwanted and unwashed hands groping at every enemy vessel, repulsed by the site of them some of the ships seemed to flee, but most couldn't move fast enough to escape. Debris rained in all directions. Small explosions took place, like some fiery chain reaction. The monitors surrounding the bridge showed all of this zoomed-in detail, Ohearah's eyes darted from the monitors to the window as quickly as the event took place. The flames soon dissipated, however, swallowed by its own unquenchable thirst. Leaving a still and star-filled sky in its wake.

People gathered around the windows of the ship, praising the explosions as if it was some miracle graced upon them by some omnipotent being; Someone who felt that The Confederation was right and the Triskens were wrong. They were wrong. All of them. It wasn't a miracle, no, it was just the actions of a man named Triple; A man who decided to give his last breath to destroy as much as he could, of the enemy fleet. Exacting vengeance on the ones who took so much from him. A team of "Lifers." Who had nothing but each other, how they soon realised that they in fact did have something to lose. They cared more about each other than they let anyone know and they cared more about each other than they cared about their own lives. Ohearah turned to look at the fresh faces of the men and woman he was serving with, all teeth and jokes. Not fully understanding what led to the outcome, as he didn't: He had no idea what they went through to get this far, but, he could warrant a guess. They weren't the kind of squad who would lose their heads over slight changes to a plan. Quim and the others were always good at thinking on their feet. Why did I opt to send them down to that marshy hell? He wondered to himself, his thoughts wrapped in a thick layer of guilt. For all of the fun, Ohearah made at their expense over the years, he wished he could see each of them return. Unharmed. "Here's to Triple!" Ohearah shouted, hoping to give at least one good cheer to the man. One that just might help him complete the first leg of his journey; One cheer, to help him get to wherever the hell we're all going to end up.

Some people lazily raised a fist to the air, and half-heartedly they shouted. "To Triple." No one knew what the hell they were chanting for. Sheep. Most of the people he was surrounded by wouldn't have the slightest idea how to lead themselves. Most people now just want to watch for someone to make the first move, hoping that they might fall in behind, at the right time. Just to be able to say. "I was there. I did this. Remember that hero we all cheered for, I was one of the first to respond." How they could make their excuses and in years they would be able to remember fondly the time they were somewhere, at the right place; How they would be able to tell a story worth telling. Don't we all wish for that? They're all liars. They're not here and they don't know. They'll all big it up in years to come, making their existence a little more exciting. No, they won't tell of how they cheered. The limp wrist holding a fist in the sky, that half-assed attempt at a cheer. Time has a way of making everything seem epic. It's not though. It's boring, weak, unworthy of a fond memory even. That excitement you speak of vividly is missing one fine detail. The shreds of doubt, that sick uncertainty that we all carry with us, whether we believe it or not. Nothing is epic or grand in scale. It's all bullshit, lies, and misremembered fantasies that make the individual seem special. Triple is special though. But, his end was most likely lacking. Because this isn't a holo-vid and it's not a dream. Life rarely plays out like it we wish it did.

Ohearah turned away from it all. Let them rejoice. He thought to himself. Most of them won't see the end of this war and we'll all smile and tell lies about them. That's all humanity is good for after all. Bitterness filled each imagined thought of his person. He gritted his teeth at the frustration he felt. Curling his fingers to make a fist, all he could do to cool his nerves. But, a fist is nothing without something to strike; Anger means nothing if it is left to bubble up inside, like a pot of water overflowing on a stove, the flames hissing at the introduction of a foreign element.

He walked, but, felt like he was stomping hard enough to knock the floor out from beneath him. The sight of a deranged old nutcase would make for a fond memory for some office worker taking note of spent requisitions. The crowd still cheered and Triple seemed to be on everyone's tongue. A few men passed by, and sharing a smile they joked with each other. Ohearah was too angry to listen to their nonsense. "Triple! Triple what? Triple wages? I'll take that." One of them laughed and joked, and the other enjoyed it so much that Ohearah thought his eyelids would seal shut forever. Disrespectful Pups! Walking closer to the man, the one who spoke of wages stopped and saluted Ohearah. But, it was too late. His fist was on its way and there was nothing stopping his shoulder now as it already began turning into the strike. One clean punch right across the side of the man's face: It knocked the wind right out of his chops and left him limp and falling to the ground. The other man could only stare at Ohearah. No doubt expecting the same gift. One was enough though. He turned from the unconscious man on the ground. Uncurling his fingers and letting some blood flow back into them.

Brigadier Runish awaited him and Ohearah knew it. He left before the man he hit awoke. No doubt in Ohearah's mind, this was going to lead to another of those pesky trials. Not that it bothered him, he cared not for standing by his right to hit those that needed a hit. The paperwork was the thing that really annoyed him about those situations. Maybe I could threaten him. Ohearah pondered. But, he didn't even care enough to go through with that. He was too busy at the moment.

Runish had some big plan he was waiting to reveal. The man was a solid leader, he didn't demand respect, he commanded it. Reveling in the bows of obedience he received; Ohearah would be annoyed if it wasn't deserved. It was though. As much as he didn't like him, he felt happy to serve under him. The main thing he didn't like was how he gloated, truly loving his own ideas or that of his Rotchi allies. "Our Rotchi allies." He would always say in a condescending voice. Not my Rotchi Allies. Ohearah thought. The bugs weren't the kind of people he would want to be around for too long. Quiet plotters, all of them. They were good at creating ways to kill on an unmeasurable scale and a lot of the ways were inhumane. The Rotchi were exacting their own vengeance on Free Space. Ohearah was sure of that, not that he knew why. The Free Spacers did something to the insectoids and this was the chance they had taken to get their own back on them. Politics rule every action and The Confederation getting involved was a bad idea, but, that was a thought that Ohearah would take to his grave; He would make sure no one ever found out how he truly felt about this "Occupation."