A white armour-clad Elite staggered down the wrecked alleyway with a depleted carbine grasped in both hands, a Brute's ammunition belt was slung over his right shoulder and around his left hip, some depleted Carbine ammo clips resided in a few of the ammo-containers. Two Red plasma rifles hung from his waist, one each side from a spare strap on the ammo belt slung over him. Two small black handles attached to the outer armour plates of his thighs, his energy swords.

Some of the small residential hubs of Covenant design lay in ruin due to recent skirmishes here. He watched for any signs of the Brute traitors and their allies, behind him trotted a smaller Grunt, he wore black armour, signifying a spec. ops rank, he nervously looked around, a fuel-rod cannon hefted on his shoulder as he quietly trotted after the larger Elite, occasionally muttering things that the Elite himself found amusing, something to think about in this hell-hole. He trotted beside the Elite as the odd pair hid around a corner in the alleyway.

"Where we going Zunik?" His high-pitched voice quietly rung out and was distorted by his respirator.
The larger Elite stood with his back to the wall, peered around the corner, then replied with a gruff and vaguely annoyed tone. "You asked that many times before." A nervous giggle came from the Grunt, his taller accomplice merely shook his head and sighed. His voice softened "I am sorry Nehal, I hope to see if Rumar bothered to wait for us...at the space port...a distance from here...-are you listening Nehal?"

The Grunt was fiddling with the fuel-rod cannon; a few charges left, his head swivelled around and looked up with wider eyes. "Um-yeah, Zunik be heard, you said 'we go...to space port...yes.' Then you sigh...aaannnd-"
Zunik interrupted calmly. "Yes, that is what I said, now come on Nehal, we have no time for banter." The Grunt nodded to him, then fiddled some more with the fuel-rod cannon.

He peered around the corner and into the partially destroyed alleyway. He remembered with some anger when High Charity was attacked from inside and outside by separate forces, most of the Elites had either died from un-provoked attacks by the vile scheming Brutes and their lackeys, or killed in action against the heretical Flood monsters, he still bore the small flesh wound on his left arm that had made it's presence much-aware when his shield failed in the worst possible place, right in combat. He had fought down a pack of Flood with his Energy sword, his own Sword given to him when he had reluctantly attained a position in the council. Due to his father's influence, and apparent manipulation of the system.

Not that anybody listened to him then. He knew very well that his father before him was one of the least fanatic of their great kind, he felt more stupid than a Unggoy at the sheer irony. More so than a Grunt, to be precise, (Or Nehal, if you want to be picky). He remembered that it was another 'fellow' councillor's decision to up-seat him, and have him demoted to lead the lowliest of the cannon fodder, 'for the Great Journey's protection!' He eventually rose back to Spec. Ops status due to, not the amount of kills, but strategic brilliance and application. Also including his heavy use of getting the best out of what units were under his command...that was some time ago. He remembered only just months or a year ago when he recruited his first honour guard...

His revere was abruptly interrupted of when Nahal squeaked something out, Zunik sharply turned around and automatically crouched, the pair saw from the corner behind them a few dozen Drones fly nearly overhead, they circled the sky above them, Zunik reasoned that these fast foes may have found them, or were simply acting as a forward squad of scouts. He resisted the temptation to simply snipe them from the air, but that would be a waste of ammo, ammunition that was direly required.

How the foes never saw him and Nahal was a small mystery, they flew away towards where he and Nahal were previously. He nodded to the black ops Grunt, then at the corner, both the pair advanced with almost total silence, they darted around the corner and hugged the walls as best as one could, keeping low. Nahal had no problems with keeping low, he just ran as usually, or trotted, or stumbled with a Fuel-rod cannon hunkered on his shoulder. Take your pick; he still kept a watchful eye out on the far side of the battered and crater-filled street.

Some broken transport vehicles shielded their moving presence; this made the active camouflage non-required for now. The pair made their methodical advance quickly and quietly, aided furthermore by the roaring plasma fire of a destroyed Wraith nearby, on the street's next t-junction. They scooted into an alleyway around the Wraith's burning body.

iSafe for now, Zunik thought, but he knew very well that the holy city and its surrounding hives of artificial dwellings was fast becoming a war zone for the Separatist and Loyalist forces.

And horrific scenes of slaughter, by the Flood. The very thought of those monsters gave him strength from anger, only rivalled by his hatred for the Brute scum and their pathetic thralls, Jackals, the annoying cocky creatures, and those even-more-annoying Drones, he had personally wasted several rounds just to score a head-shot with his now-mostly-depleted Carbine, he would avoid those foes in the future, better anti-aircraft weapons were needed, especially for those small squads of Banshees flying around the districts to the north, just where he had planned to go. He watched their directions, and reasoned that they were not actively hunting him or his accomplice.

The pair advanced through the alleyways, taking irregular turns in this veritable maze to avoid any following men or beasts, each alleyway was a dull similarity to the last, dark, dank, sometimes a corpse was present. More often than not it was a mangled heap of flesh, mostly seared by over-charged bolts. He knew. He stopped Nahal just as they were about to scamper into another alleyway, The Grunt was silent, understanding this immediately. As if on cue, some in-human grumbling occurred, to mark the bestial presence of Brute warriors, a pair of them, complaining by their aggressive sounds. He would have to decide what to do with them.