He had nearly killed himself.

Upon learning about the truth, about the wickedness of the government he had previously given his existence for, he had almost fallen upon his sword like every other well trained operative before him. It had been expected, the parliament had surmised his betrayal, though they weren't a group of men that would outright accuse such a soldier. They had reviewed his report, then announced that they found him through a series of evaluations no longer adequate as an active operative and were putting him on retirement. He was to be debriefed, and flown to a property that was his till the end of his days. It was there he would unpack to 'retire' and like so many other operative before him, would kill himself nobly within the span of several weeks.

He had been ready to take his retirement. They had flown him to a posh lake view on Osiris, a secluded house with all of the amenities. It was there he had unpacked, cooked himself a superb meal, soaked in a massive tub, then donned on his ceremonial attire (the uniform of the 147th Imperial Force, the special forces he had been with before becoming an operative), put on some classical music, stood in front of the window with a gilded katana poised to go through him, and shut his eyes.

He had slumped to the floor.

Weeping, the sword had clattered on the wood as he covered his face with shame. In his mind, he didn't deserve an honorable death. There was too much blood on his hands with nothing to justify it. Everything he had had faith in was gone, he had been stripped of everything to be left with the hollowness of guilt. He couldn't kill end his life, for he needed peace before leaving.

So he lived.

He had cleaned himself up, redressed, his mind whirling with plans. There were things he knew that could help him seek repentance, information he had been trusted with. What he needed to do didn't need to be epic,like taking down the Alliance, it just needed to be something that righted some wrong.

And he knew what it was.

He