Systems engaged....Cabin: Pressurized....Orbital Drop Vector: Calculated...Initialization: Complete...GLORY TO NEIDAN.
There was a metallic hiss as the oridium-cased pod was released from the combination of pneumatic and magnetic seals that locked it in place; nearly a thousand of them had detached from the Z-6 transport, "The Valiant Fist".
Calculated, efficient and engineered to serve the Glorious Confederation of the Neidan Colonies, Sephiri were bio-engineered killers. You, were one of them. Their origin was cryptic at best, touted as the Ministration of Piety's noble crusaders. When Neidan needed to quell a rebellion or expunge heretical colonists from the sanctified soil of one of the Confederation's numerous colonies, the Sephiri were both scalpel and buzz saw.
Turbulence was to expected as the individualized drop pod shredded the atmosphere at breakneck speed. The pod's pressurized cabin, akin to a tightly sealed coffin, hummed with a droning buzz and was otherwise silent. No orders, no communication; the mission was clear and unwavering, There was only metallic humming and the occasional thump or tremor; soon there would be screams.
*KRASHOOM*
The pod's hatch blasted from its hinges with enough force to knock down a plasteel wall. Luckily there was an insurrectionist mongrel on the other side to soften the wall's blow; they decorated the ruined structure like a Jackson Pollock painting. It must've been a horror movie for the unprepared rebels as you emerged. You, this armored reaper, twitching muscles laced with synthetic nerv-fibers and an SR-77 auto-rifle spitting superheated death. Four of the ill-equipped rebels were neutralized before they could even stand, knocked down from the concussive blast of your breach. The SR-77 operated like a miniature railgun set to 'rock-n-roll'; heads exploded like water balloons filled with Kool-Aid as you swept the insurgent complex. 'Insurgent', 'infidel', 'heretic'. It wasn't just disgruntled men with rifles but everyone on this rock that was considered unclean under the proclamation of The Ministry; glory to Neidan.
Everything and anything with a pulse was to be expunged under the orders of Divine Chancellor Sigmus Rev, blessings upon him. You were a scythe to wheat, a phantom of death clad in a nano-weave wetsuit; the orange glare of your goggles like a mindless insect's.
In no time the screams were subsiding; too many dead by your hand to count. The corridors were painted crimson and soon this entire colony would be purged, just one last room. You swept inside rifle first and locked between potential hiding spots quite easily barrel first. Whimpering. A child.
Easy enough. Your moved in to its source, some ragged closet made of whatever wood grew on 062-L. Perhaps spraying a few rounds in would have been best, but you were a professional for the glory of Neidan. It opened and--
It was indeed an infidel child, but--your logical thinking ceased as if caught in some rudimentary programming loop. She was nothing special: scruffy, short blond hair. Dull viridian eyes. She was nothing. A pest. Vermin. But--every fiber of you screamed 'DESIST'. These images, alien yet oh so familiar flooded your mind like a bursting reservoir. A life before. Before. Before Sephiri? This trembling child, so innocent. She could not possibly deserve death. The mission was righteous but...This child was so afraid, disheveled; her world was burning under the might of the Neidan Confederation and you were at the helm of the genocide. She would find no safety here or anywhere else in this system. Neidan did not favor anyone with a biotracing that originated from a condemned world. Hers would be a life of struggle and pain against an unstoppable force that owned the stars. Her eyes didn't once blink as she stared up from her exposed hiding place, these great green pools of sadness.
"Your n-name?" It had been so long since you'd actually spoken.