Unwanted Revelations
He awoke to smoke and fire.
A thick, black miasma of carbonized smog shrouded his vision in obscurity, the helmet sealed to his armor likely all that had prevented him from suffocating in his insentience. Indolent with excess fatigue and beset by a head splitting migraine, he fought to focus through the fugue of misperception hanging over his wakefulness. Driven by instinct where training was otherwise hindered, he tried to gather some kind of situational report, concentrating first on himself.
The interior of his helm was as dark and silent as the void, the electronics of his Heads Up Display drained of power for reasons as of yet clarified, but nevertheless alarming. His armor's systems were military-grade, and as such, supposedly impervious to most forms of electromagnetic interference. That something could have disabled or otherwise inhibited his equipment was cause for concern, but given the unrecalled context of his situation, could be deliberated at a later moment in time when he could afford to think.
After all, where there's smoke, there's fire.
The dampening capabilities of his headgear introduced an unusual surrealism as he bathed in unseen flames.
He could feel the heat of fire lick the hulking and yet elegant contours of his armor, the orange glow of the conflagration concealed within the impenetrable pollution of black smoke. And though he could feel it, he could not see it. His vision nullified by the murky haze, and yet still aware of the blaze that had consumed him, the man shifted into motion.
As he moved he gathered a sense of awareness for his environment, a twisted realm of shattered steel and boiling earth. Yet he could not move far, a great weight lay across the breadth of his torso, a burning chunk of warped steel that must have weighed well over four-hundred pounds. Grumbling in irritation, he braced his palms across the cumbersome alloy and with a quite grunt of exertion, tossed it aside.
With his movement no longer restricted, he made an attempt to stand that failed part way. He staggered forwards as the muscles in his right thigh struggled to obey commands around the metal object with which they were impaled. Though he could hardly see in this clouded soup of blackened air, he could feel the scorching shrapnel tunneled deep into the meat of his leg.
A grim rictus split across his lips as he clawed away from the fiery wreckage, his gauntlets tearing furrows into the scorched earth around him as he pulled himself forwards, the heat dissipating as he distanced himself from the epicenter of the devastation. Once clear of the smoke and fire he allowed himself the brief respite necessary to study his environment, hoping it would restore to him the pieces of his holed memory.
The lumbering forms of great trees loomed over him, a swath of shadowed vegetation that smoldered with a sickly orange glow as the light of the fire danced through the dark. And above a pale moon cast a pastel shadow across an unfamiliar night sky.
Returning his gaze earthwards, he watched flames consume the debris of some great metal contraption that had carved a deep gully into the terrain. Uprooted trees and burning vegetation littered the landscape, torn from their roots by some immense sharpened force. The somewhat symmetrical design of the object, even in its current form, kindled his memory incompletely. Though it had lost its grander, the YSS-1000 Sabre possessed a memorable fuselage that was unique from most UNSC vehicles.
He recalled in that moment, the vestige of his last waking memory, tarnished as it was by his muddled thoughts. Reach had fallen, forcing the remaining UNSC forces into full retreat all across the system. He had… remained behind to protect a halcyon cruiser as it attempted to breach atmosphere.
Everything after that was a pained blur, scattered flashes of indistinct memory that induced a migraine at every attempt to perceive them.
He scanned the sky once more, noting the absence of Covenant warships in low orbit, or indeed the second moon that had circumnavigated the planet. The disappearance of alien starships he might have believed. It was not impossible to consider their departure after the alien armada's overwhelming victory, but the absence of Reach's second satellite was far more improbable. As far as he was aware of Covenant technology, they as of yet did not possess the means or desires to destroy small planetoids, and if they had there would have been debris left in the wake of such a cataclysmic event.
With this information he could only surmise that he was no longer on Reach, a startling, but adaptable revelation. While concerning, it was as of yet not as an important admission as the discovery of his means of transportation having been destroyed, in most probability stranding him on a world that was as of yet unidentified. However he did not give in to despair.
There wasn't much he had not been trained to deal with.
The man rose to his feet, favoring his injured leg as he returned to the crash site and lingered at the edge of the impact crater in wait for at least most of the fires to recede. Once the heat was somewhat tolerable, he examined the wreckage for any weapons or supplies he could still salvage.
He found a battle rifle amidst the wreck, though it had been ruined in the flames. The barrel was shorn off and the stock had been split apart, no doubt a result of the ammunition in the magazine cooking off in the inferno. He tossed the broken weapon to the side as he continued his search. Fifteen minutes spent in futility and he had almost given up, until he noticed a supply trunk buried under a mound of upturned earth. Rationalizing that it had been tossed about in the crash, and protected from the fire after it had been buried; he exhumed the metal crate and dragged it to the tree line where he could study it away from the smoldering remains of his strike craft.
The case was locked and protected by a passcode he did not have or otherwise could not remember. Unwilling to waste time, and somewhat irritated by the obstruction, he smashed the keypad under a plated fist. Giving off a fizz and a spark, the crate unlocked with a muted tone and he hurriedly ripped the lid off the trunk to inspect its contents.
In his examination, his lips twitched with the faintest flicker of a grin as he extracted the first weapon sitting at the top. Like most UNSC armaments it was large, bulky, and extremely deadly. A quick inspection revealed that it had been undamaged by the crash, and after opening a small box and removing a handful of shells, he loaded the shotgun and secured it to the magnetic strip on his armor's spinal plating.
Returning to the crate he withdrew a sleek, matte black handgun that he quickly slotted onto his left thigh plate. Further in, he found a SOCOM variant MA37 rifle as well as a few cans of biofoam, two weeks' worth of MRE's, two cans of C-7, and half a dozen fragmentation grenades in a small protective case.
Somewhat surprised at the rather impressive arsenal, he examined the supply crate for some form of identification, finding PROPERTY OF THE OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE, scrawled across the far side in big, threatening italics.
He shrugged.
Technically, with no other UNSC presence in the vicinity, ownership of the weaponry and supplies would fall onto him.
The spartan spent several minutes unloading the magazines and other supplies from inside the trunk, securing them in the various cases spread about his armor. Near the end of his unpacking he discovered one last item at the very bottom of the case, a combat knife with a non-reflective coating and self-sharpening blade, which slid easily into the sheath on his right shoulder.
Now properly armed and equipped, the augmented soldier felt the slightest hint of reprieve in this uncertain situation.
While securing inventory, the spartan ran a reboot on his Mjolnir's electronic systems. Once his HUD was restored he hoped to be able to contact any UNSC assets in range. Hopefully from there he could either find a means off the planet, or he would accept at the bare minimum new standing orders. He hadn't received new directives since he delivered the package, and was somewhat unnerved by the lack of direction.
As he adjusted the ACOG scope on his rifle, his HUD sputtered into existence. Relief washed over him as he watched its software update and reconnect to his armor's systems. Even before it finished reinstalling, he activated his long range transceiver and attempted to attach his signal to any local UNSC broad band transmissions.
The silence he received was foreboding, lacking even the static garble of a bad receiver. It was as if there simply was no signal to piggyback on.
Troubled, he attempted to access any low band communications following UNSC codes, only to be met with a similar response.
That… was not good.
There was only one reason he could think of why he could not attain a successfully link. Wherever he was, whatever planet he was on, was not connected to a UNSC TACNET. Either that or there were no military or commercial satellites to bounce the signal off of.
That was... significantly worse.
If there was no TACNET, chances are there would be no UNSC presence planetside or otherwise. His stranding here on this world was more problematic than he had at first predicted. The probability of getting off this rock and reconnecting with allied forces was proving to be more and more unlikely.
The spartan wracked his brain, trying to recall anything that might help explain where he was or how he got here. But for all his efforts, his memories after the Autumn's departure were at that moment unrecoverable.
A soft ping interrupted his thoughts, and the human supersoldier glanced to his motion tracker, noting with some measure of alarm, the trio of large sensor returns closing in on his position from a hundred meters to his left.
Not a second later his HUD was finally restored, and with it his external audio transmitter, allowing him to hear the low rumble of approaching vehicles.
Too little too late...
The spartan glanced to his ship's crash site, the fires finally having died as a waning trail of silvery vapor trailed up into the atmosphere. The soldier realized that his crash must have been noticed by whatever locals lived on this planet, and that the smoke trail had given away his position. He debated for a moment, the logic and probability of UNSC forces coming for retrieval, and swiftly banished the notion as hopefully moronic. Yet he did not think it was the Covenant, he hadn't picked up on the presence of their military net, nor did the vehicles approaching possess the unearthly whine of their uncanny technology.
He considered the possibility of insurrectionist roots, but remained uncertain. Unless they used a different satellite network, he should have been able to at the least pick up on their transmissions.
Either way he would not dawdle out in the open while potential enemy forces moved in to secure the location, nor would he vacate the area without first learning who the investigators were. Looking back to the tree line, he noticed a particularly large oak, with thick branches.
Unsheathing his knife, he sprinted towards the tree and catapulted upwards, jamming the blade deep into the bark. Working quickly, he scaled its height and lightly balanced on the thickest branch he could find. Once secure, he faded into the trees shadow, matching the movement of his body with the sway of the leaves on the breeze.
Though his memory of Reach was questionable, he had not forgotten his training.
He watched from his concealed position as a trio of headlights pierced the gloomy shadows of the makeshift clearing, illuminating the sabre's wreckage as the vehicles pulled to a stop at the lip of the crater. The spartan studied them intently; curious to note that they neither resembled UNSC nor Covenant manufacture, though they did somewhat bear a resemblance to human engineering.
Insurrectionists?
Possibly, but unlikely. Despite their refusal to operate under UNSC authority, they still utilized UNSC assets, however outdated. Nor did they possess the means to produce their own equipment.
The spartan returned his attention to the cars, noting their appearance for later review and cross examination with known producers. Closed roof, four doors, tinted windows; their silver and blue markings gave credence to some form of local constabulary organization, further proof of the unlikelihood of insurrectionist ties. No cell he had ever broken showed a desire to maintain public order. Their faction appeared more concerned with sowing chaos.
Though unable to peer inside, he noticed movement within the lead car and silently removed the MA37 from his back to sight in on the opening door. Flicking off the safety, he connected the assault rifle's scope with his HUD, a set of crosshairs superimposing over the vision of his right eye. His finger slid off the guard and lightly set on the trigger, ready to fire at the slightest hint of provocation.
He watched carefully as the driver's door popped open and a figure stepped out, clothed in a uniform representative of the vehicle they had emerged from, grey apparel tucked underneath a dark blue plate carrier. Concerned that it might offer protection from small arms fire, he raised his scope and centered it on the forehead of the suspected local official and –
nearly pulled the trigger on reflex.
It was confusion he felt at first, followed shortly after by calm disbelief, then cold skepticism as he examined the individual in his crosshairs.
Following the lead of the first officer, and unware of how close they skittered with death, the other cars opened their doors and a small group emerged. And all of them, every single one of them, were not human.
There were only two things that had stayed his hand from dropping the entire group in a burst of precision gunfire. He needed to carefully monitor his consumption of ammunition, and they shared no resemblance to the Covenant's many unusual races. They were, in fact, remarkably humanoid in appearance, so much that he would not have been able to tell the difference from a distance. They all seemed to be members of the same species. More than that, they were, unexpectedly, somewhat familiar.
The one he tracked with his rifle had much in common with a domestic cat, and had he belonged to any other military authority; he might have chuckled at the absurdity of this apparent first contact situation. Considering however his service record and induction into the spartan initiative, he was bereft entirely of any sense of levity, and was in fact quite somber in his cursory examination. The soldier had a feeling that the unremembered events on Reach had sent him far away from UNSC, or even Covenant territory.
He studied the alien party, even as they studied his crashed ship in turn, mumbling in low tones as they sifted through the wreckage. Glancing at an icon at the bottom left of his HUD and blinking twice in quick succession, activated the audio sensors in his armor and heightened their detection range, allowing him to eavesdrop upon the conversation below.
"I don't recognize the profile of the ship, Lieutenant." One of the officers informed the one he had been watching. The spartan paused in thought, surprised to learn that he was capable of understanding their language, questioning the viability of such a development. Even with the Covenant lexicon in his suit's translation matrix, he should not have been able to comprehend their speech. They spoke English, or at least one of the many human languages that still existed unto present date. Nevertheless he stowed his surprise swiftly, and instead considered the boon of not having to attempt to translate the local language. There would be time later for doubt.
"Neither do I." Confessed the one he suspected of leading this assembly, voice recognition algorithms matching it as female with an eight percent margin for failure. "But whatever it is… its military. And far ahead of anything we've got in the air. The 911 call said it came crashing down from space, like a meteor. And nothing can fly that high."
"Think it's from the Katzikstan?" Her subordinate asked. "I heard a few rumors back in my army days that they had some serious tech research going on up there."
"No… it's something else." She muttered thoughtfully as she examined the site in further detail. "Where's the pilot? Did they eject?"
"No ma'am, seat's still in there. Or at least what's left of it." Someone called out from down in the shallow crater. "No sign of a body though."
"Maybe it's a drone?" The second policeman suggested.
"Why would it need a cockpit then? Doesn't make sense from a technical standpoint, it'd just be a waste of space. No, there was a pilot, there had to be." The Lieutenant stated, confident in her hypothesis.
"What… they just got up and walked away… from this?" The feline next to her seemed incredulous.
"Lieutenant, I've got something!" A voice called out excitedly from a few meters away, the eagerness in their voice drawing in the entire group and putting an end to the conversation.
"What is it?" The female in charge of the unit asked as she pushed her way to the front of the small crowd and addressed the officer crouching in the dirt.
"It's a set of recurring tracks, leading away from the center of the crash. Kats alive! Somebody crawled out of that mess!"
Up in the trees, the spartan shifted lightly, his trigger finger tensing fractionally as he readied himself to open fire.
"No way anybody'd walk away from a crash like that, that's impossible."
"Well that's what it looks like."
A short argument of disbelief flared up between the party. As a result, Six eased off the trigger and instead decided to make good his ex-filtration while they were otherwise occupied. An engagement with no intel was something he desired to avoid. Using the chatter of loud voices to screen his movement, he dropped from the tree, his boots hardly producing a whisper as he landed on the grass. One last glance at the broken remnant of his sabre and the unusual aliens, he disappeared into the forest without a sound.
Feline's left ear twitched.
Turning away from her arguing juniors, she focused her gaze upon the tree line. Intuition born of experience had drawn her gaze that way, and she was not one to ignore her instincts. In her examination of the swaying leaves, she noticed a slight difference in the cadence of the largest oak closest to the site of the crash. Lowering her paw to the handgun holstered at her side she walked over to investigate.
As she approached she noticed flakes of fallen bark littering the dirt around the tree. Further analysis revealed that large sections of the tree's wooded hide had been scoured away, much the way when an animal sought to climb. She followed the trail with her eyes as led up to a branch twenty feet from the ground.
A trickle of unease seeped down her spine as she studied the empty branch, gathering the sense it had not been so barren moments ago. The feline turned back to the empty pilot's seat, then to the pattern of overturned dirt leading away from the scene. Hazel eyes watched with growing disquiet as the trajectory of the prints followed a direct path under her, and ended just before the oak behind her.
In a moment she had drawn her weapon and spun on her heels to face the forest, but there was nothing to place in her sights. And that's when she noticed the silence, the distinct lack of bird calls or even shuffle of wild animals in the underbrush.
She took a step away from the edge, her fur prickling all across her body as she felt the attention of unseen eyes.
"Lieutenant Feral?" The somewhat concerned call of one of her subordinates shook her from her cautious reverie.
"Yes trooper?" She asked. A heavy, but silent sigh easing through her lips as she holstered her handgun.
"So… what do we tell the Commander?"
The feline returned her gaze to the forest uncertainly.
Something told her she was about to pull a very… very late shift.
"I'll let you know when I figure it out."
AN: Something of a short teaser for the spiritual succession of a project of mine nearly as old as my writing career, before even I had a laptop and was stuck pumping out small updates on an outdated apple phone. This story is quite close to my heart, with a history that spans quite a few years. Like requests for a DOOM story, I have received numerous pleas to revive this series and I can say, after years of deliberation, that I intend to bring it back, hopefully in a way that will outshine its predecessor. It is my sincerest aspiration that this will prove to satisfy after the wait many of you have endured.
In other news, I have worked extensively on chapters for all of my recent and recurring projects. And I hope to release something for them over the course of the coming week. However, as I have picked up a second job to pay for cost of living, I can not quite guarantee if things will pan out. Yet again I will avow my unwavering resolve to keep posting, both for myself and the humble gathering of followers I've seemed to accumulate since my initial days all those years ago.
As always,
Keep the Faith...