Author's Note: This was just something I came up with on a whim. Enjoy!
Reach. 2552 AD.
The four SPARTANS made their way to the landing pad where Pelicans awaited with both Dr. Halsey and a special package critical to the war effort in tow. The SPARTAN Noble Team's commander Carter turned to one of his men; Emile, the team's assault specialist and its own personal Grim Reaper. A SPARTAN was needed to escort Dr. Halsey to CASTLE BASE, and at first, Carter had considered choosing Jun for the job, but now he was second-guessing that decision. He decided Emile would be a better choice.
"Dr. Halsey. Noble Four will escort you to CASTLE BASE."
"I require no escort commander—"
"Emile, make sure that nothing gets into enemy hands."
"Yeah, yeah, I read ya boss. Good luck."
"You too rifleman."
As Carter walked off to the other Pelican along with Jun and Noble Six, Emile felt the sudden impulse to say one last thing to his fearless leader, getting a gut feeling that he wasn't going to see him again.
"It's been in an honor sir."
Carter stopped dead in his tracks. He turned back around to face Emile.
"Likewise. Now go."
Emile nodded and walked off with Dr. Halsey onto the opposite Pelican. To Emile's mild surprise, Dr. Halsey insisted on flying the Pelican herself, forcing Emile to sit in the back. As the Pelican took off and Emile watched the Pelican containing his teammates head in the opposite direction, he realized that deep down, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for his team. Both those that had already died (Jorge and Kat) and the rest of his teammates, who he already knew were as good as dead. He'd been a cold-hearted soldier for as long as he could remember being a SPARTAN-III, (there was a reason he adorned his EVA helmet with a skull design after all) but his team…they were different. After all, he had told Noble Six back in New Alexandira that he would honor Jorge his own way, and he had just admitted that it had been an honor working with Carter. So he supposed he did care about his teammates, he just took care not to show it often.
The flight to CASTLE BASE was a surprisingly smooth one. No Phatoms, no Scarabs, not even a Banshee patrol. Maybe the doc didn't need an escort after all… Emile thought. That made him a little guilty. He could have gone with the rest of his team. Fought with them, died with them. But no. Instead, he was playing baby-sitter for one vicious old scow of a woman. Life just wasn't fair.
Finally, after about an hour or so, the Pelican arrived at Menachite Mountain. It descended below the Highland mountains. Deeper, deeper, and deeper...
Eventually, it landed, and Emile practically leapt out of the vehicle. He couldn't stand doing nothing for that long, and a small part of him was almost hoping that the Covenant would find and attack CASTLE BASE so he could see some action again.
Emile followed Dr. Halsey and was led into another area of the facility. Inside, he was greeted by five SPARTAN-IIs. One in blue CQB armor walked up to Dr. Halsey and saluted her.
"Good to see you again doc"
"Likewise Fred. At ease."
"Fred" stepped to one side and Dr. Halsey introduced Emile to the group.
"SPARTANS, this is Emile A-239, former assault specialist of Noble Team. He will be assisting us from here on out. Emile, these are Vinh, Isaac, William, Kelly, and Fred. They're some of the best, and one of mankind's best defenses left against the Covenant."
"SPARTAN-IIs huh? Jorge might have mentioned some of you once or twice…"
"Jorge? Oh, right, he was on Noble Team, I forgot." Emile could almost detect sadness in Fred's voice.
"It's…sad that he died…" Kelly added solemnly.
"Really? I always thought SPARTANS never died…"
"Smart-ass huh?"
Emile smirked underneath his helmet.
"I do my best"
Emile turned to a strange machine sitting in a corner. It was a massive circular-shaped device with a keyboard panel inserted into it. It glowed, but faintly. Emile hadn't noticed it until now.
"What the hell is that?"
"Just a failed experiment. Nothing more."
-X-
The Covenant had found CASTLE BASE, and things had devolved into absolute chaos. The fighting was intense, even by Emile's standards, and he wasn't so sure how much longer he could keep it up. As much as he hated to admit it, he just didn't have the SPARTAN-IIs stamina. They, it seemed could keep at it for an eternity and not tire.
Emile was under heavy attack along with Vinh and Isaac. The three where fending off the Covenant as best they could but the bastards wouldn't stop swarming in. The three SPARTANS had to keep falling back more and more, until finally they were stuck in the exact same room Emile had seen when he'd first arrived. The one with the "failed experiment". The Covvies had stopped coming after the last wave, but it was only a matter of time before more came swarming in. Dr. Halsey's voice came to life on the COM as the SPARTANS were licking their wounds.
"SPARTANS, do you come in? I repeat, do you come in? I am with Fred, Kelly, and William."
"We read you ma'am."
"SPARTAN, whatever you do, do not be stuck in that room with that device when it is destroyed."
"What device? I thought you said the machine was a failed experiment."
"It is. That was our attempt to see what else Slipspace technology could do besides faster-then-light travel. Our experiments were…unsuccessful, to say the very least. Whatever you do, don't be—"
Emile heard an explosion on the COM. The channel went silent.
"Doc? Doc?"
Nothing. Emile heard banging. Loud banging.
"They're breaking through!" Isaac shouted. And sure enough, the doors were blasted down and in rushed a swarm of Grunts and Jackals. Vinh and Isaac opened fire the second they showed their ugly mugs. Emile took down the Elites that followed right behind. Then an Elite General came in with a couple of Ultras. Vinh and Isaac tackled the Ultras but the General fired its fuel rod gun with reckless abandon, forcing the SPARTAN-IIs back. As they did, the General took aim once more. Emile leaped out of the way of the shot instinctively then realized what was about to happen right before it did. He turned to Vinh and Isaac
"RUN!"
But it was too late. The fuel rod gun blast collided directly with the unstable machine. The machine sputtered and sparks flew. For a brief second, it felt like the whole world slowed down right before a bright light swept through the entire room, consuming everything in its path: Emile, Vinh, Isaac, the Elites, everything. Emile felt a strange overpowering sensation, as if he'd been swept away by a tidal wave. He found himself falling through a multi-colored vortex. Then…there was a blinding flash.
New York City. 1980
Punisher's Journal-September 25th, 1980.
Jigsaw's drug trade is no more. A tip from a sympathizer and some of my own old fashioned ingenuity got me into the belly of the beast. Getting past Jigsaw's men was the tricky part. Each of them was packing and had especially itchy trigger-fingers to boot. Too bad they were lacking in brains. After that, well, once it was down to just me and the ugly bastard, it wasn't really a fair fight anymore. I even knocked off a few mob bosses who were there looking to make a trade while I was at it. In all, a good day, if there ever was one. Who knows? Maybe things are finally turning out my way…
(One last note): I must say though, fairly successful as I am, I can't help but feel the lone wolf crap isn't going to work forever. Not that I want my own team of costumed clowns, but a partner or comrade-in-arms wouldn't necessarily be an unwanted addition. After all, what's wrong with wanting more soldiers to fight the war?
-X-
The world swam and swirled around Emile before finally coming back into focus. But the sight he was greeted with was not quite what he was expecting: tall skyscrapers as far as the eye could see. From his alleyway, he could see throngs of people, some better dressed then others mulling about. Emile couldn't understand what was going on. Where the hell was he? Had that…thing sent him through slipspace? Then why was he on this planet? A planet that was obviously inhabited by humans, no less. The oddest thing was that none of these people looked terribly worried or concerned. How was that possible? Every civilian Emile had ever seen since becoming a SPARTAN always looked about ready to wet themselves. Fighting a losing war with a bunch of aliens that wanted your whole race dead can make one paranoid. Especially the masses.
Emile forced himself up and decided to figure out what was going on. As he stepped out, pretty much everyone in the street turned their attention to him. People's jaws were hanging open, a mother covered her little son's eyes, and many people just flat-out ran away screaming.
Think they'd never seen a SPARTAN before…. Emile thought. Although to be fair, he wasn't quite as nice-looking as an average SPARTAN, and they sometimes got a bad rep anyway. He walked forward, and more people ran way screaming. One shouted something about a monster, others shouted "robot" or "alien" Alien? He was the one killing the aliens! What was wrong with these people? Then he heard another person shout that he was "another super-villain".
What the hell is a "super-villain?"
Emile walked along a little more when he saw a newspaper lying on the floor. Now, Emile had never seen a traditional newspaper before in his life, so he curiously picked it up to see what it was. Then he saw the date printed on it:
1980.
"Oh Fuck"
He'd gone back in time. He didn't know how or why, but somehow, that damn machine had sent him back 572 years. That was a long time ago. It meant humanity hadn't colonized yet. Hell, it hadn't even fully developed space travel. Emile felt his stomach knot up.
I'm stuck in the Stone Age…
Seeing no reason to stick around in a crowd that obviously wouldn't recognize him, Emile retreated back to the alleyways and hoped he wouldn't start a manhunt. One thing was for sure. He couldn't run around dressed in his armor. Looking around, he found a man in a long trench coat that Emile decided would meet his needs. He walked up to the guy and dumped a couple of silver coins he'd found on the ground into his hand. The man looked at him perplexed.
"For what?"
"The coat."
The man sighed, thinking that his coat was worth more then 30 cents, but, able to tell that as the man had a skull for a face he wasn't to be messed with, took off his trench coat and handed it to Emile. Emile took off the shoulder piece with the sheathed knife on his armor and held it in his hands. He wouldn't be able to put the coat on otherwise. He wrapped the coat fully around his armor. Now all that remained was the helmet. He took it off, which exposed his face.
His skin was fairly tanned, in between Black and Caucasian. He had a five o' clock shadow, sharp cheek bones, tight lips, and more then his fair share of scars. And, like most male soldiers, his hairstyle was a buzz-cut. He looked at the helmet he held in one hand, gazing at the skull that stared back at him. What was he going to do with it? He couldn't run around wearing it obviously. Perhaps he should just throw it away…
Never. He liked this helmet too damn much. Heaving a sigh, Emile walked off, helmet and disconnected shoulder pad in hand. He didn't know what he was going to do with his life now that he was stuck on Earth at a time that was before the Covenant, before the war, and before the SPARTANS.
Well, whatever I'm gonna do, there's no point sticking around here…
-X-
The Punisher camped himself out on a low rooftop overlooking the warehouse where Hammerhead's gang was situated. According to his intel, Hammerhead's gang was meeting with Crossbones and the Russian, who were, coincidentally, old foes of Franks. And both had the scars to show for it. Punisher readied his sniper rifle. With luck, he'd be able to pick most of them off from a distance. He aimed at Hammerhead's heart, knowing that a headshot would be a waste of time, even with his kind of rifle. Eventually, he saw a black car drive up, followed by another car, gray, with a swastika brazenly emblazoned on the hood.
Right on schedule…
Out of the black car stepped a big burly blonde-haired man with a red and white striped shirt and blue jeans, flanked by two men armed with machine guns. Out of the swastika-emblazoned car came Crossbones and his flunkies. The two main baddies walked up to Hammerhead. Crossbones decided to cut to the chase.
"I don't really do meetings with small-timers Hammerhead. What do you have for me?"
The big man in the striped shirt, who Frank identified by his scar and the accent, as the Russian added:
"You never mentioned that this swine Crossbones would be here Hammerhead. I want answers"
Hammerhead held up a hand.
"Please, please, gentlemen, no need to get violent. I got more then enough goods ta go around for all three of us. Boys! Haul up the cargo!"
One of Hammerhead's goons brought up a large crate. Hammerhead continued.
"Inside there is some goods my boys managed to swipe from Oscorp and Stark industries. I'm sure you both could make good use of this tech."
"Yes, I think any hi-tech weapons you give me would help my cause greatly. What's the cost?"
"Oh, let's start the bidding, at say…5,000?"
"That's outrageous!"
"I know you both got the scratch. 5,000."
"Damn you capitalist pig…"
The Punisher readied his rifle. Who to shoot first? Now that was the real question. Crossbones, most likely. He was definitely the most dangerous overall; the guy had given Captain America trouble for pete's sake! He was just a little out of Frank's usual area of expertise. But, scum was scum…
However, as the Punisher was readying his headshot, he saw someone else approaching, a dark-skinned man in a long trench coat. This perked his interest. Another goon? Or just an innocent bystander. He was about to find out.
-X-
Emile had been wandering aimlessly, and as a result, he had sort of neglected to see where he was headed. Looking at the scene in front of him; he could clearly see a bunch of armed men that he immediately recognized as scum. Seeing how he had stumbled onto something bad, he cursed his bad luck, as well as his stupidity for walking right into it. The short stocky man with a freakishly shaped head smiled a wicked grin.
"Well, who the hell is this?"
The other thugs turned to him. One had a mask on that reminded Emile a lot of his helmet. But seeing how the guy was standing next to a car with a swastika on the hood, he probably wasn't friendly. Same went for the freakishly huge guy.
"Well, this just ain't your lucky day stranger. If I were you, I'd keep walking, and forget you saw anything." Hammerhead raised his tommy-gun, which he held in his other hand.
"Now."
Emile eyed the odd-looking gun that was being held by an odd-looking man. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he'd stumbled onto a freak show.
Crossbones, having had enough of the intrusion, took out his gun and shot Emile in the chest. The bullet tore through the coat, but it didn't destroy Emile's energy shields, which remained active. Upon seeing the electric field envelop him and the shot bullet fall to the ground, the others, the Punisher included, looked on in total horror and surprise. Emile glared.
"Well, now you've gone and pissed me off…"
In a lightning like motion, Emile unveiled his shotgun and blasted it at Crossbones, who hit the dirt. The Russian charged at him and was blown away for his trouble. As his massive body hit the ground, his men opened fire on Emile with their machine guns, prompting him to take cover behind the cars. Meanwhile, the Punisher saw his chance and shot at one of the goons from above with his sniper rifle. Crossbones, Hammerhead, and their remaining flunkies fell back behind cover.
"Shit! Castle's here too! You owe me big time Hammerhead!"
"Aw shut up! The Russian's dead, which means if we live through this, everything in that crate's yours. That's payment enough"
Emile, behind cover, took his helmet that he had put in a backpack he'd found on the street and put it on. Next, he reloaded his shotgun, and set about re-attaching his shoulder-piece…
The Punisher continued to snipe from his perch, desperately trying to stay in the game despite having just seen something truly bizarre.
It was probably just another mutant or some crap like that…. He kept telling himself. Still, he'd been taken by surprise, and he didn't like that. It was a good thing the mystery man wasn't aiming for him…
Back down below, Emile had used the cover to get his helmet and shoulder piece back on, as well as tear the coat off. When he leaped out from behind his cover, shotgun in hand, the gangsters were completely terrified by what they saw: a 6'10'' tall black armored soldier with a skull emblazoned on his helmet and grenades covering his torso was charging at them, and all their bullets did was chip away at his energy shields. Two more gangsters were cut down, and Hammerhead and Crossbones were falling back.
Hm. Punisher thought as he kept up the pressure with his sniper rifle. Maybe this nut's not so bad after all…the skull is a nice touch. No doubt to inspire fear, the same way my skull does. Perhaps are personalities are similar? Well, he seems more audacious, charging head-first with his shotgun, although that armor does grant him a lot of protection…
Emile kept up the assault, firing off on his shotgun.
"You punks had enough?" Emile shouted. "You ready to call it a day and scram?"
"Not a chance." Hammerhead came charging forward, headfirst at Emile, who wondered what the hell he was doing before the mobster rammed right into him with the full force of his steel-plated noggin. The impact disrupted Emile's energy shields as he was pinned against the Russian's car by Hammerhead. With his free hand, Emile took out his kukri-knife and jammed it into Hammerhead's neck. Hammerhead shouted out in pain, and Emile stabbed him in the neck again. Hammerhead attempted to grab Emile by the throat and crush his windpipe, but Emile stabbed one last time, in the back, and the mobster finally let him go before then slumping to the ground dead.
As Emile's shields began to recharge, Crossbones and the remaining gangsters opened fire once more, and this time Emile was injured by the bullets.
"Whaddya know. This damn freak can bleed after all. Keep at it, finish him off!"
A grenade went soaring through the air. Crossbones ran like hell the second he saw it. The blast killed the remaining gangsters, and disoriented Emile, who limped behind cover. Crossbones turned his attention to the person who he knew had thrown the grenade.
"CASTLE!" Crossbones shouted.
There was nothing. Emile stayed behind the cover of Crossbone's car, now partially aflame. His bloodied knife was still in his hands, but he'd left his shotgun behind. And bold as he was, there was no chance he was going to run out and try and grab it while that crazy bastard was still out there.
"CASTLE!" Crossbones shouted again.
"Castle! Where are you?"
Out of nowhere, a hail of bullets whizzed by, each one finding its target in Crossbone's flesh. For a moment, he just stood there, bleeding heavily, before collapsing dead. Emile peeked out from behind cover. Someone had shot Crossbones. Someone called "Castle" Emile looked out. There, through the smoke, was a man in black armor and a trench-coat, holding a pistol in hand. Emile could make out a large white skull on the body armor.
Probably the sniper…
Emile decided to take his chances now that his shields had recharged and limped out. The Punisher whipped around upon seeing him, but then lowered his gun. He eyed the SPARTAN carefully, and for a minute, the two just stood there in total silence. Finally, the Punisher said:
"So…who are you?"
"You first. Your name Castle?"
"Was. Frank Castle no longer exists. Only the Punisher does now. "
"I…see…well, you can call me Emile. Everyone does."
"Emile eh? Where'd you get the armor?"
"Eh….let's just say I'm not from around here."
"I sort of gathered that. Where exactly are you from?"
"What if I said the future?"
There was a brief silence before the Punisher said: "Well…I've already seen some pretty strange and crazy things in my life, so I'll just go ahead and believe you. Not gonna ask how you ended up in 1980 though."
"Yes, please. I still don't completely know myself."
"Well…I saw you in action today, and I think you're a damn good soldier."
"I do my best."
"Yeah, well, in case you didn't notice, I'm in the middle of a war here, a war on crime, as corny as that sounds. Up until now, it's been my fight, and my fight alone. But now…"
The Punisher looked Emile dead in the eye, or as the case may be, his skull-faced helmet.
"I could use a guy like you. You've got the training, you've got the skills, you've got stuff I've never seen before, and you've definitely got the guts for the job. Whaddya say? In or out?"
Emile thought about it. Everything the Punisher had said was true. But did he really want this? Helping this nutcase fight a never-ending war against thieves, rapists, killers, and guys with freakishly huge heads? Emile thought about the UNSC. The humanity he knew fighting a desperate (and losing) battle against an army of ruthless evil aliens. They still needed him. But he also knew that he'd probably never see them again. When or if he ever got back, humanity would probably be either victorious or dead by that point…
Emile decided he had nothing left to lose. So he gave his answer:
"Why not?"
The Punisher smiled. He and Emile shook hands and then left the burning carnage behind them.
"I think this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
New York had two skull-clad warriors now.