Imagine you are a Forerunner commander. Under you are 11,000 ships, nearly all that remains of the mighty Forerunner navy, which once spread law and order throughout the galaxy. Though you are the highest ranking member of your race present, you are all under the command of an AI, named Offensive Bias, built to plan and organize this final battle, to defeat the parasite and its rampant brother.
You are in high orbit over an abandoned world, evacuated in the face of the parasite's attack, in a system deep behind the Maginot sphere, once thought impenetrable, now just one of many failed plans to stop the parasite.
Arrayed in front of you, on the margins of the system, is the parasite's fleet, numbering over five million, controlled by the parasite's compound mind, and being led to the Ark by the rampant AI, Mendicant Bias. You and your fleet is all that stand between the Ark and the parasite.
Like any good commander, you've planned this moment out well. Your ships are arranged staggered line, presenting the most weapons possible towards the enemy. Beyond that the plan is simple: draw the Flood and the rampant AI into combat, and hold its attention long enough for those left on the Ark to activate the arrays.
You don't fear the possibility of death, because you know death is a certainty. What you fear is failure, that you will be unable to stop the parasite from destroying the Ark and all that you hold dear. And that the parasite will take you and turn you into one of its mindless monsters, forced to kill your own, conscious of all your actions but unable to stop them.
You see that part of the parasite's fleet has started to move towards you. Your tactical officer tells you there are a million and a half vessels of various sizes moving towards the fleet, all of them former civilian craft. You can detect the cold logic of the parasite's plan. Better to sacrifice these unarmed ships now and save its warships for the assault upon the Ark. Among their number you can see the massive core ships that once formed Mendicant Bias's fleet, crewed by the same beings he had betrayed to the parasite.
You know that the rampant AI wants your kind to suffer, needs it to. Instead of bypassing your tiny group, or obliterating it with its warships, he chooses to destroy every single one of you, his cruelty fueled by his insanity.
Offensive Bias transmits one last set of orders, telling you to stand firm, and giving final reassurance that your death will not be in vain.
The first ships are approaching weapons range. You order the weapons powered up. When the enemy gets within range, your fleet fires a massive volley, each ship firing dozens of black body radiation beams, like those of the Sentinels, but a thousand times more powerful. Space is filled with lances of crimson light, destroying dozens of ships at a time, breeching cores, opening hulls.
But the Flood doesn't require an atmosphere, and destroyed ships still carry momentum. You can see that the enemy has reached the outermost Forerunner ships. You see their shields flare and disappear as they are overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemy ships. Plumes of atmosphere and debris accompany each ship as they impact into a Forerunner vessel. The communication suites are filled with the screams of your own people, dying in horrible crashes, or being turned into an agent of the enemy. You turn them off.
Without hesitation or pause, the nearby unaffected Forerunner vessels target their corrupted brothers, detonating them in a blinding white flash. You say a silent pray for those on board, but you know that they would have rather died then become one of the parasite's thralls.
Again and again your weapons fires, as fast as they can be recharged. All safety protocols are abandoned, all fail-safes bypassed. Dozens of alarms scream and trill as your ship slowly destroys itself, like you choosing to meet its end defiant to the last. Soon most of your weapons are nothing more than half-melted hulks, resting silent in their cradles.
The Flood is winning, its superior numbers and suicidal tactics overcoming the Forerunner's technology and resolve. The outer edge of your fleet is decimated, and you can see a number of your own ships fighting against you, taken by the parasite. You activate the communications system and send destruct codes to them, detonating them in a flash and destroying any of the Flood ships nearby, knowing those on board would be glad for their one final act of defiance.
The enemy has reached you, at the center of the Forerunner fleet. The ships around move to form a perimeter, but you wave them away, knowing it will make no difference if you die now or later.
You can feel the impacts as the Flood controlled ships hit the hull, filling your ship with the monstrosities. By now there aren't enough friendly ships near by to destroy you, every Forerunner ship now is it's own battle. The doors to the bridge behind you close automatically.
The Flood now control most of your ship. Your remaining weapons have stopped working, through battle damage or over-use you don't know. They sit silent, shimmering from their intense heat. At this point they are redundant anyway. Out the windows you can only see a few of your ships still fighting, most are now drifting wrecks or tools of the enemy.
You feel a moment of euphoria. You know that even through all this death and suffering, the sacrifices of your people have not been in vain. Offensive Bias's plan is working. The enemy's rampancy-fuel hatred has left it blind to the true threat.
You can hear them. They are all around the bridge, banging on the doors, trying to get in. You can hear the jabbering laughter of The Mind's Thinking Dead echo through the empty ship. The parasite's Mind is speaking across all communications.
You know it's only a matter of time before they succeed. You step down from the command platform; most of the ship is dead. You can't feel the thrum of the engine's below you. The engineers have destroyed the engines, preventing the parasite from using your ship. You give thanks for their sacrifice and dedication. The other officers take your lead and leave their stations.
You draw your sidearm. You know you can't fight off the Flood, but you are determined that you will die on your own terms, not those of the parasite. A few of the younger officers set up barricades near the doors, determined to fight unto the end.
Suddenly, there is a trilling alarm from the sensor station. A massive energy wave is bearing down on you. This is the moment you have been waiting for. The Array has been sounded. The end is near. A flurry of emotions rush through you. Elation that the plan has worked and that after three and a half centuries the parasite is near it's end. Sadness that you will never see those left on the Ark again, anger at the parasite and rampant AI for bringing them down the long path that lead to this place. And relief that those Forerunner still alive, safe on the Ark or hidden deep within shield worlds located throughout the galaxy will have a new chance.
You can see it coming, out through one of the view ports. The Halo effect. You've never truly appreciated its beauty before now. A divine wave, a cleansing flame, sweeping through the galaxy, driving the parasite before it. The rampant has seen it too. His long, demented scream echoes through the communications board, anguishing over his defeat and lack of foresight. The creatures must also know their doom is at hand, for they have redoubled their efforts to get at you. Let them.
The effect has reached the edge of the fleet. Already the ships fighting there have fallen silent. You can see the automated fighters Offensive Bias kept separate and safe for just this moment move to engage the remaining Flood ships.
The wave has reached your ship. The pounding on the other side of the door fades. Your last thought is of those left behind on the Ark, your people and those they saved.
There is a flash of pain in your mind, and then, nothing…