He would never forget.
Spartan A-239, a.k.a. Emile, planted his foot on an Elite Zealot's chest, savouring the moment of complete domination. Raising his shotgun, he pumped a round into the chamber.
"Say goodnight, motherfucker."
The butt of the shotgun hammered into his shoulder, the 8-guage charge splattering the Elite's brains all over the nearest wall.
Emile stood there for a moment, reveling in the rush of the kill. Bending down, he grabbed the energy sword from the Zealot's limp fingers. "I'm keeping this," he told the dead Elite. "Hope you don't mind."
Carter walked into the room, the barrel of his DMR still smoking slightly. He indicated the sword. "What've you got there?"
Emile responded by activating the energy sword. The familiar pssh sound made Carter jump slightly. Emile held it up. "Souvenir."
"Another piece for your collection?"
"Something like that."
From down the hall came the rapid bark of a M247 machine gun, mixed with cursing in Hungarian. After a few moments, Jorge walked into the room. "Any of you seen Thom?" he asked.
"I thought he was with you!" Carter responded sharply.
"Oh, shit," Emile muttered. "Damn fool."
For an instant, he was taken back to that day on Eridanus II.
He ran along the alley, keeping low to avoid the plasma bolts sizzling through the air. His parents were beside him, his father poking his head up every now and then to look around. Every few minutes, there was another deep boom as another part of the city was glassed.
A Marine appeared from a side alley, motioning them toward him. "Just a bit farther, honey," his mother whispered.
Panting, Emile managed to summon up enough energy for one last sprint. As he ran, he noticed a badly wounded Grunt stand up, pointing a wobbling Fuel Rod Gun at them.
"Watch out!" Emile screamed, his voice lost in the thud of the launcher.
The fuel rod exploded in a blast of green fire, flinging Emile into a wall. A stutter of automatic fire sounded from his right. Sobbing from the pain, Emile rose to his feet, clutching his arm.
The Marine pumped another few rounds into the Grunt's head, ensuring that it was indeed dead. He looked up and around, failing to notice a slight shimmer in the air behind him.
An energy sword appeared in the air, ramming itself into the Marine's back. Still stunned from the blast, Emile looked around. His father, blood running down his face, was hunched over the body of his mother, shoulders shaking.
The Marine collapsed to the ground, assault rifle falling from nerveless fingers. The Elite responsible deactivated its Active Camouflage, directing a malevolent, hate-filled look toward the two surviving humans.
With a roar, Emile's father dashed forward, snatching the fallen gun off the ground. Pointing it at the Elite, he leaned on the trigger, sending a spray of 7.62mm rounds into the Elite's shields.
Ignoring the bullets, the Elite moved forward, impaling the man with its energy sword. Emile's father gasped, slamming the barrel of the assault rifle into the Elite's jaw. With the last of his strength, he pulled the trigger, sending four rounds right down the Elite's throat.
"Dad!" Emile finally screamed, running forward. His father's eyes stared at the sky blankly. His breath was quick and laboured. "I'm…sorry…son," he said between gasps.
How could he forget?
Emile sprinted through the corridors of the Covenant Battlecruiser, retracing his steps by following the trail of dead Covenant. Carter and Jorge sprinted beside him, maintaining radio silence.
Emile had last seen Thom with Kat, and homed in on her beacon. "This way," he barked, turning down a side corridor.
"Oh, man" he said as they zeroed in on Kat's beacon. They had found Kat, all right. She lay crumpled against a bulkhead, armor scorched, right arm ending in a cauterized stump at the shoulder. Two dead Hunters lay near her, killed by close-range assault rifle bursts.
Carter tenderly gathered her up in his arms. She stirred and moaned as she began to regain consciousness. Jorge looked down the corridor. A trail of dead Covenant stretched down it, to the landing bay.
"Thom…" Kat said weakly. "He…"
"Don't worry," Carter said. "We're going to find him."
"No…no…not that…he took the nuke…we need…need to get out."
"What?"
"He said…leave…without him…he'll find…own way…"
"He WHAT?" Carter yelled. "Shit!"
There was a pause as he called Jun on his radio. "Jun, bring your Pelican to the aft hangar! We need an immediate pickup!"
Carter picked Kat up as if she weighed nothing, sprinting back the way he came. Emile sprinted behind him. What was the first thing I told him? he thought. Don't be a hero.
A Spec Ops Elite appeared in front of him, energy sword held at its side. Without hesitation, Emile whipped out the one he'd taken from the dead Zealot, driving it through the Elite's throat.
Without even pausing, he ran on. Hope we have enough time, he thought. Would be a shame to get blown up by our own nuke.
Sergeant Jake looked up. The new private had entered his office. "Ah," he said, quickly reading through a stack of papers on his desk. "Emile, I take it."
The new guy, a tall, dangerous looking man, nodded silently. Muscles bulged on his arms and chest. A massive knife, easily eleven inches long, was sheathed at his hip.
"I've read your service record," Jake said. "Glad to have someone of your caliber."
He frowned, glancing at the page. "Except for one thing. What's this about recommended phych evaluation?"
"Scared some people," Emile growled.
"I think I can see why," Jake remarked dryly. "Just one thing. Keep it together. Don't go all blood-crazy on me. The last thing I want to do is shoot you."
"Hey," Emile responded. "I just want those Covvie bastards to die."
Emile sat in the Pelican, watching the receding Battlecruiser. Just as it was about to pass out of sight, most of it was consumed in a wash of nuclear fire as Thom detonated the nuke.
A grim smile crept across his face as he imagined how many Covenant had been killed in that blast. His parents would be proud.
Memory was the only thing that kept him going.
He sat in the command bunker, idly sharpening his knife. He glanced up as a new person entered the room. Must be our new Six.
"Commander," Kat spoke up.
"Ah. So you're our new Six," Carter said.
"Kat," Emile spoke up. "You read his file?"
"Only the parts that weren't covered in black ink," she responded.
Emile chuckled. Good one.
He walked to his Falcon, overhearing Carter's conversation with Six.
"…but we're a team. That lone wolf stuff stays behind."
Emile snorted. Still hung up over Thom, I see.
Emile grinned savagely as his assault rifle spewed out a stream of slugs, tearing through the defenseless Grunts. His new MJOLNIR armor made combat a breeze. He especially liked the way his EVA helmet sat on his head. For some reason, it felt more comfortable than the others.
The last round poured from the rifle, slamming into a Jackal's midsection. Grinning wildly, Emile darted forward, his knife finishing the job.
But something was still missing. Some key element. Killing the Covenant was all fine and good, but Emile wanted more.
He wanted them to fear him.
Later, he turned this over in his head as his fireteam bantered back and forth in the Pelican. He needed some way to be recognized.
I need a face, he thought. A recognizable one. One that fits.
He removed his helmet, examining it. The other Marines and ODSTs ignored him, used to his introverted personality. A face. The helmet wasn't enough. That only hid his face.
Drawing his knife, he began scraping it over the helmet in slow, deliberate motions, scraping off the reflective paint.
Minutes later, he sheathed his knife, admiring his handiwork. A fearsome skull now glared at him from the helmet.
Now that's a face, he thought.
Emile sat at the back of the Pelican, dangling his feet over the edge. Six sat behind him, examining the A.I. capsule Halsey had given him.
"You know," Six spoke up, "Sometimes, I find myself thinking that they're still alive."
Emile turned to face him.
"Don't you think that sometimes?"
"You have trouble accepting it?"
"No, it's just…I don't know."
Emile grunted. "Dead is dead. Nothing you can do about it."
"Then why try to avenge them?"
Emile frowned. "Now what're you talking about?"
Six shrugged. "If dead is dead, why do you try to avenge your parents?"
Emile was, for the moment, lost for words. Of course, Six couldn't see that his eyes had narrowed in rage.
"Yeah. I looked up your file at Sword Base. Explains why you seem crazy half the time."
Before even Emile knew what was happening, he had lunged forward, hand around Six's throat. Six made a strangled sound, heels drumming against the floor. A metallic click cleared the red from Emile's eyes.
Releasing Six's throat, he looked over, seeing Carter's M6G pistol pointed at his face. Kat's pistol, actually. Carter had kept it after she was killed.
"Don't make me do this, Four," Carter said. The gun never wavered.
Emile straightened his back, stomping to one of the seats.
"Keep it together, both of you." Carter ordered. "We can't afford to go nuts now."
"Hey, Kat, what's so interesting over there?"
"Shh! Quiet!"
Kat pressed a hand to her earpiece, closing her eyes in concentration.
Emile tried again. "What's so-"
Kat held up a hand, cutting him off. "Intercepted a Covenant transmission," she said.
After a few moments, she opened her eyes. "It's an alert. Warning all ground troops that the…this part was a little weird, but it translated to 'the Skull Face is here.'"
Emile couldn't restrain a broad grin. They feared him.
Emile lined up the sights of the Mass Driver Cannon, pulling the trigger. The railgun roared, and another Phantom exploded into dust. Below, Six was just mopping up the last few Covenant on the ground.
Seeing no other Phantoms around, Emile watched as Six slammed a Brute's Gravity Hammer into a Grunt's face, pulverizing its upper body.
Emile grinned. They may have lost Reach, but he still got a warm fuzzy from the death of another Covvie bastard.
A Pelican landed on the pad, and Six moved in to deliver the package. Emile's earpiece crackled. "Four, we need fire on that cruiser or we're not getting out of here. Do you copy?"
Emile looked up. Sure enough, a Covenant cruiser was breaking through the tortured clouds. "You'll have your window, sir."
Before he could reactivate the MAC, several Phantoms moved in, destroying one of the Pelicans. Emile looked up, his view of the Cruiser now blocked by the underside of a Phantom. Dammit…
An Elite Zealot dropped down onto the canopy, raising its energy sword. "Oh, no you don't," Emile growled, grapping his shotgun and firing through the canopy.
The Zealot roared in pain, falling sideways, its feet shredded. Emile lifted himself out of the canopy, aiming his shotgun at the Elite's head. For my home, he thought.
He pumped a fresh shell into the chamber. For my family.
He pulled the trigger, blowing the top of the Elite's head off. For my life.
Emile stood up on top of the MAC. "Who's next?" he roared. Do you fear me?
He heard a clunk behind him. Then pain, unbearable pain.
Emile screamed, feeling his body lift off the canopy. He looked down, seeing the blade of a Covenant energy sword protruding from his ribcage.
"I'm ready!" he yelled, grabbing his knife.
He slammed it into the Zealot's neck as hard as he could, ramming it in to the hilt. Purple blood spurted across his helmet. "How 'bout you?"
The Elite collapsed, groaning in its death agonies. Emile slumped against the railing, his blood pooling beneath him. Do you fear me now, you bastards? he thought, panting.
I know you do.
A tribute to my favourite Reach character. I salute you, Emile.
Backstory here: Thom was the old Noble Six. He was killed in a mission to destroy a Covenant Battlecruiser in orbit above a city in an unknown colony, which is shown at the beginning.