This Is What We Do To Traitors

The room was dark, but the smell of death lingered from the bloodstained floor.  Shackles hung by the ceiling in the room, holding three Formics standing with what little energy remained.  The rancid smell, blood stained steel walls, and filth covered floors.   Between two drones a Monarch stands with his wrists in the shackles.  His eyes sag from fatigue, and his legs shake as they become weaker and weaker as the hours pass.  Probably passing twenty-four hours, his body wishes to give in, but he knows what happens the minute he does.

His train of thought is broken as the door opens and the head of the Law and Order wing enters.  The Heirarch walks with confidence, chest out, and robs fluttering in the draft he creates as he walks.  He stops in front of the Monarch and leans in to examine the prisoner's condition.  As if amused by the state he is in, "Do you know where you are?"

The Monarch answers without making eye contact, "Interrogation."  The Heirarch steps back and continues to lecture the Monarch, "And do you know why you are here?"

The Monarch breathes heavily, but answers, "We did not mean war."  The Heirarch immediately interupts, "Yes you did!  Your men spoke of it clearly!"  The Monarch returns the favor by interupting as well, "They were not one of us!"

Obviously angered by the backlash, the Heirarch begins to circle the Monarch, "Nonetheless, they helped you, and you helped them.  That is conspiracy.  Then you interfere with our eviction, and kill one of my men.  That is treason and murder.  What are the punishments?"

Refusing to make eye contact, "Death... but not this way."

Leaning into the Monarchs face again, "It never specifies how.  Now, it can be quick if you give the information I need, or you can suffer until you do."  The Monarch answers with silence as he remains standing firm in his position.  In response, the Heirarch nods his head to the guard waiting in the doorway, who enters and stands on the opposite side of the Monarch.  The Heirarch leans again, "Are you sure of your choice?"  With another silent reply, the guard kicks the feet out from under the Monarch and he falls momentarily before his arms are able to catch himself.  The Heirarch and guard step on his feet so he cannot move them, and the Heirarch presses his hand on his back, slowly adding pressure.  The Monarch's shoulders crack as his arms are slowly being tugged away from the socket.  Finally, with a loud crack the ligaments give and his shoulders dislocate from their sockets.  The crack is followed by a scream the Monarch who now hangs from his dislocated arms.  His screams dull down after what seems to be minutes, and the guard takes out a dagger from his chest plate.

Before the guard moves, the Heirarch we know as Martin storms in, and orders the guard to stop.  The other Heirarch glares at Martin's interuption, "What are you doing?"  Martin lashes at the Heirarch, "This is illegal and wrong!"

Annoyed, the Heirarch retaliates to the younger's effort to stop him, "You have no place in this!"  The Heirarch exposes his knife and approaches the Monarch, but Martin thrusts him against the wall pinning him with his own knife, "The Council banned this method, and you know that."  The guard stares helplessly at the two fighting, not knowing which Heirarch to side with.

The Heirarch chokes as he speaks, "They... do not... care... how!"  Martin backs off as the other Heirarch falls to his knees trying to regain his breath.  Martin answers, "No more, until you ask the Council."

The Heirarch pulls himself to his feet, and glares at Martin as he walks out the door.  Martin stops him, "Will you not let them free?"  The Heirarch ignores his statement and leaves while Martin looks back at the suffering prisoners.  One of the Drones has fallen unconcious from exhaustion, and the other pants from dehydration.  The Monarch hangs, moaning to every slight movement.  Martin turns to the guard, "Shoot them."

The guard is puzzled, "What?"

Martin explains, "It is the best fate I can give them."

Knowing better than to disobey an order from a Heirarch, the soldier removes his sidearm from his holster as Martin leaves the room.  As he walks down the hall, the first shot echoes through the corridor and he winces in response.  The second follows a few seconds later and so does the third as a suspended silence falls on the corridor.  Martin stops and looks back at the doorway he left to see the guard walking out of the room unaffected by the event.  It was as if Martin was the only one who knew they had died.

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Epilogue

A fly buzzes in the cool Spring breeze.  Moisture from a recent storm filled the air, but its usual cleaning odor was absent, replaced by a fowl and sour scent.  The outskirts of the city consisted of a forest and a flat plain that divided the forest and the city.  Erosion, activity, and vehicles have worn the greenery to a thick, brown mud with puddles spotting the area every few feet.

In the distance, a ship sits as the remaining soldiers board while tracking mud onto the drop door.  The engines howl as blue flames shoot out of the engines of the Osprey-like ship.  The hatch closes as the vehicle accelerates forward and fades into the distance toward the city.  The ship had left from a spot slightly elevated, and below this elevation the plain continued, but with a shocking sight.

The brown mud stretched for yards, for what seemed to be an entire football field.  Puddles spotted the area like spots on a Dalmation, but something else has stood out.  Upon closer inspection, a Formic hand sits partially exposed from the moist dirt, slowly decomposing as flies swarm around it.  As you look further, more and more shapes and colors peek out of the ground throughout the mud plain, and soon you realize what you are standing in.  You realize what the fowl and sour odor was.  You realize why the plain was elevated.  The plain was not elevated, but a ditch was dug.