Michael's fist collided with York's helmet, white beating down grey. He was absolutely furious. This Spartan had not only betrayed his ilk, but had also caused much pain and suffering. Now, he was going to be the one in pain.

York staggered, clutching his head. A hairline crack formed in the visor of his Scout helmet, a bit of air hissing out of it.

Shit.

The dark colored Spartan responded with a drop kick to Michael's chest, which winded him as he was propelled into the ground. He gasped for air as he stood up, putting his fists up in a boxer's stance. York tried to follow with a left hook, but was halted by Michael's right hand, allowing his left to deliver a jab to York's kidney. He grunted in pain as he shoved Michael off, clutching his side for a moment.

Mike produced a knife from his sheathe and went for a stab in the other's side, who deflected by grabbing his hand and twisting it, causing Mike to drop it. He used his free hand to deliver a left hook to York before he could break the arm. Once both of his arms were free, Michael wrapped his hands around York's throat, pushing them both to the ground. The dark Spartan grabbed Mike's hands in a vain attempt to prevent himself from dying of asphyxiation. He needed another solution.

York looked frantically around for something, anything he could use. His eyes locked on Michael's knife. Jackpot. He quickly grabbed it with his right hand and plunged it into one of the white Spartan's hand, causing him to shout in pain and let go of his neck to rip the knife out of his arm. York took the opportunity, kicked Mike off of him, and started scrambling away.

That was a bad idea.

York nearly fell off of the cliff he had dragged himself to. He stood up and backed away, but a swift shove from Michael nearly led to his death. He grabbed the edge of the cliff as he fell, his feet dangling in the air. What a bad position to be in.

Both of the Spartans' suits were leaking air now, Mike's at a faster rate than York's.

The dark Spartan caught footholds on the rocks and tried to pull himself up, but Mike stepped on his hands, trapping him.

"Ach... look what you did."

Michael pointed past York.

"Look what you did!"

York obeyed, looking behind him to the sight of a ruined ONI research base. A tactical nuke had been detonated there, resulting in the deaths of hundreds and a new dead zone on Mars.

"This is all your fault! You did this! You killed them all!"

Michael did speak the truth. York was the one who perpetrated the whole thing, a plot to weaken ONI's presence on Mars and ultimately help speed along the Insurrection.

"Enjoy your flight!"

York felt his hands slide off of the rock and only had a second to frantically claw them into the ground in an attempt to halt his fall before losing grip completely. He was falling. He was going to die.

He didn't feel like dying, though. The black Spartan gripped on some rocks to halt his plummet. He wasn't dead yet.

Michael, meanwhile, panted. As far as he knew, York was finally dead. He gripped his suit breach once his adrenaline wore off and he felt the effects Mars's atmosphere was having. He turned around and began walking back to the Mongoose parked by some rocks when he felt a blow to his head.

York turned the knife in his hands and dropped on top of Michael, raising his hand high in the air, ready to plunge the knife into his throat. However, as his hand was mid slam, Mike caught it. Oh no.

The white Spartan tossed his counterpart to the side and switched positions, now being the dominant person in this struggle. York tried to jab the knife in his gut, but it was caught once more, and Mike ripped the blade out of his hands. This time, he was the one to raise the knife in preparation to kill.

York could only raise his hands in a vain attempt to stop Michael before he felt a cold sensation in his neck, the last thing he would ever experience.

A/N: Whenever color is mentioned, it's describing the Spartans' armor, not their actual skin color.