The Chief slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Judging by the quiet and the soft glow of the digital clock, he was aboard the UNSC Infinity. He was covered in a cold sweat, despite the blanket thrown over his legs. His brain wandered back to the dream he had been having. 'I'm not coming with you..' He shook his head to clear his mind, throwing a standard t-shirt on in the process. About 6'10 and almost 320 pounds, he was all muscle, and the olive tee fit his form rather nicely.
He shuffled for his door, which was opposite of his bed. The bed itself was fairly small, being just long enough for the Chief to lay properly. Grey, rumpled sheets were spread on the top, as well as a solitary, thin pillow. The bed was held up by steel supports which ran to the floor, where they were bolted down in case of an attack. On the wall next to his bed was a closet. A white dress shirt poked out, revealing some of the many medals adorning the chest area. Next to the shirts, on the door, was a small mirror. On the wall opposite of the closet was a small desk. Report upon report lay stacked, read and memorized. Among them was the unfinished report of the events of Requiem.
Making for the door, he walked through as it slid automatically open. The silver hallways were void of any crewman. 'Probably all in bed,' the Chief thought, letting hid feet take him. Two months ago, after the events on Requiem, he had started having trouble falling asleep. Now, he barely even slept more than a few hours a night. The few hours he did catch offered him no respite, as he had the same reoccurring dream each night. The Didact's ship, the Composer, the nuke... her. It would all come flooding back to him, like a pack of wolves closing in on their pray. Sooner or later , amidst his wandering, he found
himself in the firing range. "Nothing like some good old shooting to clear my mind," he said quietly.
The firing range was huge, extending over 500 feet in any direction. The motion activated lights hung from the ceiling, some flooding the room with a cold light as the Chief approached. About a sixth of the way into the range were the firing lanes. Each lane was wide enough to fit a Spartan, and had a small shelf inside to hold excess ammunition. Thin metal walls separated each lane. Opposite of the lanes, on the side of the door, lay many rows of lockers. They extended all the way down the room, save for a few times when they were interrupted by shelves holding ammo.
Opening one of the various weapon cabinets, he pulled out a standard 12.7 mm magnum. Admiring its shine, he slid a clip into place, flipped the safety, and set his finger next to the trigger. In a series of whooshes the targets flew up, and the Chiefs training took in. Aiming for the nearest one, he quickly aligned his sights with the target, and scored a headshot. Fifteen more targets were shoved down, each with a bullet hole in its 'head'. Walking back to the cabinet, he placed the magnum away. As he walked back in what he thought was the direction of his room. he thought about the present.
After being transported back to the Infinity, he had been awarded the usual medals and honors. Day after day had passed. spent in orbit above the Earth. The Chief had no orders, other than rest. Yet even more time had passed, and John began to think that he would never get orders. Finally, with the ship's crew and supplies restocked they had set out towards another Forerunner construct on the edge of their galaxy. Currently, they were in the silent folds of slip space, with and E.T.A of about twenty seven hours.
Eventually, after refreshing his mind from the demons of sleep, he found his way back to his room. Collapsing upon his bed, he looked up at the clock. A soft click announced the arrival of the new hour. With dawn just a few hours away, John closed his eyes. As he drifted, he hoped for a night of peace, but to no avail.
Many hours later, the Spartan awoke with wild eyes. Slipping off of his bed into a standing position, he leaned against the wall. After his mind calmed some, he changed tees before making his way out of his room. He was greeted by a loud scream emanating from the end of the hall. The Chief instinctively took cover, looking for the problem. A marine came tumbling past him, tears in her eyes.
"Is there a problem?" The Chief asked, raising an eyebrow at the marine. She jumped and turned around.
She had a rounded face, but her chin was slightly pointed. A thin, short, and small nose sat below her eyes. With deep green eyes, they were definitely the most striking aspect of her. Her long black hair hung down her back, curling at the bottom. John caught a flash of her ears as she turned, and they seemed to match the rest of her. Small and concealed. She wore standard grey sweatpants, but her shirt told a whole nother story. The letters ODST were printed across the chest.
"Wha-? Oh, no.." she said, her cheeks flushing a light red. She turned and continued on her way. The Chief berated himself. He was too paranoid. 'If the ship was under attack, surely I would've been warned by Co-.' He stopped short, and shoved the thought down, suppressing his emotions like he had been taught. No sooner had he finished thinking when the ship jolted, shoving him sideways. He lost his balance and was flung to the floor, smashing his head. Standing up, confused, the intercom suddenly cracked to life. "All hands, report to battle stations, this is not a drill!" The voice rang out clear and sharp, and suddenly the halls were alive with crewman and marines alike, rushing for their weapons and stations. The intercom came to life again, requesting the Chiefs presence on the bridge. 'Just like old times,' he thought, turning on his heels.
Heading for the elevator that would take him to the bridge, he ran through the halls. Another rumble shook through the halls, but this time he was prepared, and he braced himself against the wall. He recognized them, from long ago. 'Their boarding the ship," he thought quietly, and redoubled his efforts to reach the bridge. Turning the corner to the elevator, he nearly ran face first into an elite.
The Chief reacted quickly. Without his armor, that storm rifle would tear him to pieces. Bounding forward, the Spartan drove his fist into the aliens stomach, winding him. His shields flickered, and the Chief kicked him, breaking them. The elite doubled over, but still caught Johns arm in mid punch. Twisting, he pushed the human against the wall, reaching for his plasma pistol. Noticing this act, the Chief grabbed the hand, twisting it about 180 degrees. He heard a bone crack, and the elite roared, but held his grip. Releasing his arm, the Chief brought his hand over, slapping so hard that the Chief actually dislocated his jaw.
The elite faltered, and this allowed the Chief to grab his head and snap his head. Policing him of his weapons, John entered the elevator. A few minutes later, he was standing aboard the Infinity's bridge, next to Lasky.
The bridge reminded the Chief of the Pillar of Autumn's, only there wasn't a giant window and it was almost twice as large. Stations ran along each side, crewman huddled over all of them. Statistics ran along all of the screens. A red light constantly flashed on the ceiling, giving the room an eerie appearance. In the middle of the room was a table, projecting holograms and information of the ships supplies. And at the end stood the Chief and Lasky.
"External cameras," he called, and the view screens flickered to life. There was a brief moment of static, but the Chief wished they had stayed that way. Because what they contained drove terror into the hearts of the men.