He could see a faint light ahead. Somewhat dim, but he could still make out it's glow and feel it's warmth, yet he could not reach out to grab it, for he had no form, only an awareness of his surroundings, or lack thereof, and of the light ahead that broke through the seemingly endless black void. But surely, if slowly, he felt himself being drawn toward it by some unseen force until he was completely taken by it's brightness.
That was when he felt himself coming back from the brink.
At first, he gradually became aware of his own form, feeling arms and legs, as well as something pressing against him from behind, though he did not know what it was, but he soon found himself mesmerized by what appeared to be bright yellow fluff. His vision must have been going bad.
Then he noticed a sound coming from somewhere. He couldn't quite make it out, but as he listened, it sounded like muffled ticking noises.
Pititititititititit...Pitititit...Pititititititit...clip-op...clop-ip...
Upon hearing that clicking noise, everything came back to him. The light and it's warmth were from the sun up in the sky, which was the fluffy yellow expansion, and the thing pressing against his back was the ground, and the ticking noises he'd heard...was the sound of a silenced M7 submachine gun. The clip-clopping was the sound of a fresh clip being shoved in.
He raised his head up so his chin touched the armor covering his chest and saw what looked like an over turned warthog. Behind it was a man in bulky black ODST armor firing the SMG he'd heard a second ago.
Pititititititititit
He quickly shifted his gaze behind him where the Shock Trooper had been firing and watched a vulture like alien collapse as it's energy shield shorted out with a faint hiss, but it wasn't the only body on the ground, for around it were several similar looking aliens. They all seemed to be coming from the concrete building off in the distance.
The alien he'd seen die was known as a 'Kig Yar' but most Soldiers called them 'Jackals' for their gruesome appearance, but only on the field since anti-war activists back home deemed the term racist, though no one on the front lines cared what they thought since none of those activists were away from home getting slaughtered by those same aliens they defended so vehemently.
"Jason?" asked the ODST behind the warthog.
The man now known as Jason turned his gaze back to the overturned warthog from which the ODST was taking cover and recognized the man's voice as belonging to his old buddy, Cpl Greggory Fisher, but he called him Greg since they knew each other on a first name basis.
With that piece of info processed in his mind, he started to remember who he himself was. He was Private First Class (PFC) Jason Walker, light brown hair, blue eyes, 6,2 in height, and a muscular build that came with ODST training. The fact that he was an ODST like Greg was proven by the fact that he was wearing the same bulky black armor as Greg, minus the helmet which must have fallen off when...
"Where'd the Banshees go?" asked Jason, sitting up.
They'd been doing a hit and run on Covenant convoys in the nearby valley, but were discovered by air patrols and were forced to retreat. They were fleeing in their warthog from the pursuing air vehicles named after a mythological omen of death, which proved fitting when they'd entered a field full of weeds that was surrounded on all sides by a large concrete wall and were turning the corner when one of the banshees scored a hit right next to the warthog with it's fuel rod cannon, sending the warthog rolling over on it's back. Greg was driving and apparently came out unscathed while Jason had been in the passenger seat and was knocked out and lost his helmet when he was dumped from the vehicle.
Greg looked like he was about to answer his question, but then stood up and unloaded his SMG at some distant foe.
Jason didn't need a hint to know he needed to find cover and crawled rapidly behind the overturned recon vehicle while Greg emptied the last of his clip at the still unseen threat.
"The Banshees flew away after they thought we were both dead...heck, until a minute ago, I thought I was the last man standing." said Greg, slamming another clip into his SMG.
"What's the situation?" asked Jason, unholstering his silenced M6C Pistol.
"Got Jackals and Grunts comin out of that concrete slab over there. I called in a Pelican, but it'll be fifteen minutes before it arrives." said Greg, popping off more rounds at the methane monkies as they raced toward them. The last one backflipped from being hit on the head. The two Jackals that had been accompanying the Grunts stopped, raised their shields, and fired green bolts in the Warthog's direction.
"Stay down!" warned Greg, crouching next to Jason as he reloaded.
Jason would have asked what the problem was but the plasma rounds flying overhead made the question redundant.
Greg stood back up and continued firing at the approaching covenant while Jason plucked a frag from his belt and threw it over the warthog. A loud bang came almost 3 seconds later, which meant the frag had covered some distance before landing and detonating. Whether it claimed any kills was up for debate.
Greg's SMG ran dry, so he pulled out his silenced pistol and fired it with one hand as he struggled to reload his SMG with the other, not saying a word, whereas Jason would have been cursing up a storm had his ammo run out on him.
Piff...Piff...PiffPiff...
That was a great feature Greg had. He could keep his cool in almost any situation, even when everyone around him was panicking. It could be annoying at times, but it indirectly helped Jason keep his own act together more often than not.
Jason checked the clip in his own pistol to make sure it was full, shoved it back in, then looked around the opposite corner from where Greg was shooting, and noticed three more Jackals joining the fray just as the last Grunt before them twirled and fell down dead.
Jason took careful aim, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger.
The weapon's top slid back, ejecting a shell casing out the top and a bullet out the barrel, with only a near inaudible Piff to mark it's passing. The round zoomed at it's target and flew through the energy shield's opening, slicing into the Jackal's arm. The alien pulled it's arm back, out of reflex, bringing it's shield up and leaving the creature completely exposed. Jason raised his pistol up only slightly and pulled the trigger a second time, hitting the Jackal in the face and ending it's life on the spot.
"That's right! The Point Man is back!" whooped Greg.
While Greg knew how to keep morale up, Jason could take out an entire squad of Grunts and Jackals with a single pistol without having to reload. This sort of skill earned him the aforementioned nickname which he usually did a decent job of living up to...and that wasn't about to change. He repeated the process of shooting through the shield's opening and then caving in the alien's face once their shield was raised above them until the other two Jackals were down and no longer breathing.
Having counted the shots and subtracting them from the amount he knew was in the clip, he had about 5 shots left after popping off 7. He'd had to use three rounds on the last Jackal instead of two like the others.
He checked his reserves and found 4 more clips for his pistol, along with three clips for his M392 Designated Marksman Rifle...the same rifle that he'd dropped while they were fleeing the air patrol back near the beach, and it was too far to go back for it now, so he'd have to use something else for now. Presumably a plasma pistol since he'd only need one charged up shot to take down an enemy's shield, and then he'd let his M6C do the rest. All he had to do now was go grab one.
"Greg, where's my helmet?" asked Jason, not wanting to run out to no-man's-land without the most basic protection.
"It's way out there somewhere." said Greg, pointing in the direction of the Grunt and Jackal corpses.
"I was about to run out there for a plasma pistol anyway. Cover me while I do." replied Jason.
"Hold on, you can use my helmet." said Greg, taking off his visored helmet and handing it to his war buddy.
Jason slipped the helmet on and sighed in relief from the shade it gave him from the hot sun and noticed Greg's full name displayed in the helmet's HUD.
So this is what it's like, being Greg. thought Jason with a chuckle.
"Just don't forget the eggs and milk while you're out." joked Greg.
He got back up and looked at the corpse littered field one more time, took a deep breath, and charged toward the nearest Grunt, slid in the dirt, grabbed the plasma pistol it had dropped, got back up, and ran for all he was worth back to the warthog, certain that another alien was behind him, and rolled behind what was left of their getaway car and aimed both pistols over the top, ready to unload at whatever had been chasing him.
The only aliens he saw were the 25 dead ones he and Greg dropped earlier...and the only sound he heard was a slow, sarcastic clapping.
"Bravo, Master Chief." applauded Greg sarcastically.
"It might pay off one day, ya never know." shrugged Jason, still aiming both weapons in the direction of the concrete building across the weed field, which seemed to be the source of the Grunts and Jackals coming at them.
"And weren't you supposed to go get your helmet, too?" asked Greg.
"Uhhh...couldn't find it." said Jason hastily, not wanting to go back out there again.
"Guess who?" said Greg, placing his hands over the visor of Jason's helmet and lifting it off his head and placing it back on his own.
"Uhh...Queen of Amazonia?" joked Jason, referencing a science fictional female character.
"You play too many virtual games." said Greg, lining up his sights again.
"Dude, it's cool...everyone's nerdy for Queen Orithia. :)" replied Jason.
"Your eyes turn into hearts while you said that?" asked Greg jokingly.
Even when Greg made fun of someone, there was still that air of friendliness about him to let the other guy know that things were still cool between them.
Before Jason could answer, however, he saw what looked like Sonic the Hedgehog coming up over the grassy hill, except this particular hedgehog was carrying a fuel rod cannon on it's right arm, and it was by no means cute or cuddly, given it's intimidating size and unfriendly nature.
"Hunter!" hissed Jason, crouching behind the warthog. It must have seen him when he got the plasma pistol.
Greg looked where he was pointing and quickly got back down behind the warthog beside Jason. Both ODSTs plucked frags from their belts.
This was gonna be bad.