Redemptions Revolution

(Inside a dimly lit tent he sits on the ground, hands secured behind his back, bare feet bound to a metal shipping container. Sitting up he can barely see a person sitting cross legged on the shipping container. As the form dismounts it is noticeable that the dreaded purple and gray uniform fit nicely on a tough yet feminine female soldier.)

“So I see you have quite a few confirmed here. And your methods have been less than legal as set by the accords last year. Are you aware of the penalty you face for such indiscretions private? Private? Seems your record indicates at least three battlefield commissions. Why do you not wear the rank assigned to you?” she asks in a very clinical fashion. Removing her felt beret the noticeable blonde hair beneath seems clean and out of character for a grunt.

Looking up his slightly dark skin shines with small beads of sweat. Hair loose and missing in places it hangs low below his shoulders.

“Allen, Private, 934712.” he growls in her direction. Staring beyond the person that sits in front of him she retreats slightly back toward the container.

Reaching for the top of the shipping container she retrieves a handgun.

“Funny. This archaic design and the purpose for it haven’t changed in what, six hundred years. You choose to live as a primitive instead of embracing what is the greatest society known to man.” She shakes it in her hand as if the weight is much more than it actually is. “What burden have you placed on this object that you could have carried yourself? It seems your record indicated physical brutalities no man should be capable of. Unless of course you aren’t a man at all. What kind of primitive mysticism have you placed on your service to this less than pitiful rebellion?”

“Allen, Private, 934712.” The tone of his voice has not changed but the intensity of his stare has.

“They call you Ghostrider. Seems they put some special stock in your abilities yet here you sit bound and completely surrounded by your enemy. Since we