Killed By Canon
Spartan-B312, a.k.a. Noble Six, a.k.a. the poor sod who was well and truly screwed knew he was all of these things.
Actually, in all honesty, he might not have been the second aspect of that short list. Noble Team was finished, even if not all of its members necessarily were. And even then, a balance between being a Spartan-III and being a poor sod wasn't equalized either. What he was, who he was, was something that he'd had fifteen years to get used to. The knowledge that there was absolutely no hope whatsoever was something he'd only had a few hours to get used to. Granted, the former experience made the second one easier to bear with, but-…
Screw it. There isn't anything easy about this…
Taking out an Elite with a sniper rifle, Six weighed his non-existent options, the proverbial heart outweighing the proverbial feather. He was surrounded, low on ammunition and no amount of references to Egyptian mythology were going to save him. The only thing he could do now was hold out for as long as possible, take out as many aliens as possible, and…
Or I could just leave…
The Spartan-III blinked, and not only because of the flashes of blue and red in the dusty sky. Making a final stand was all well and good, but there was only so much good it could do him. The Covenant were coming at him from all directions, but they hadn't formed a ring or anything like that. If he could get transport, maybe he could escape the doomed world. If not…well, he'd be doomed with it. All in all, the choice seemed quite logical. Even if all logic had disappeared decades ago, B-312 supposed it could still be applied. As could bullets…
Plasma could admittedly be applied too, but Six gave little thought to that. Vaulting down from the tower in the centre of the area, he began running, firing at anything that walked on two legs. Which was pretty much everything, considering that bi-pedalism was apparently universal for sapient species, but he wasn't going to challenge evolutionary theory right now. All Six wanted to challenge right now was fate, and luckily, it was putting up about as much fight as a Grunt.
Should have done this ages ago, the Spartan-III reflected, arriving at the edge of the battlefield and thinking how…vague it seemed compared to the area he was in. Guess I'm…
Boom!
His shields flaring, his ears pounding, Six was cast backwards, his stomach feeling like he'd just taken a tungsten shell. Getting to his feet, he realized that might not have been so far from the truth. Somehow, in the midst of all this chaos, a Cobra was parked in front of him, specifically in lockdown. And for some reason, it had fired at him.
"What the…" the Spartan-III murmured, gazing down the barrel of the vehicle's railgun. "What-…"
"Who, actually. But that doesn't matter. Know that I am but a cannon who is a servant of canon."
Six blinked, and not because of any bright light this time. The Cobra had talked. Somehow, in the midst of an invaded planet, the ruins of an alien civilization on said planet and everything else fate had thrown at him, a Cobra was talking.
"A cannon of cannon?" Six asked slowly. "You-…"
"No, a cannon of canon. One N on the last one mister I spell words incorrectly in my head. Honestly, why doesn't anyone understand the difference?"
Six remained silent as the tank mumbled something about fiction and that of the fan variety. Truth be told, he did know the difference, though his life had only ever factored in the double-n variety. A life that, he suddenly realized, might be cut short. He was on the edge of the battlefield, yet the Covenant were still present. And for some reason, this servant of canon was blocking his escape.
"Well…" Six began, wondering if he should act passively or aggressively. "It's been fun mister…canon guy, but I have to leave now. So I'll just pass you by and-…"
"I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't let you do that."
"…my name isn't Dave."
"True," the Cobra admitted, the strange red glow that had appeared in its cockpit fading as quickly as it had suddenly appeared. "But the point remains-you can't leave."
"And why not?"
The Cobra sighed, its 'breath' like the dying winds of Reach. Winds that were as dying as quickly as Six's self-respect. Hell, Emile might talk to weapons, but last he checked, he hadn't carved a skull on his helmet.
"Six, I'm sorry," the Cobra began sadly. "But canon is clear. You can't survive, you can't leave Reach and you certainly can't join the Pillar of Autumn. That would totally screw up continuity."
"Continuity! What the hell are you-…"
"I mean, sure, Spartan-117 can potentially have co-op duplicates on Installations 04 and 5, but you weren't conceived when the future was being written. Your destiny is to die, leave your helmet and breathe your last as the credits roll."
"Credits? As in currency?"
"No, written credits. You can't see them but I can. Right now they're listing those responsible for character development."
Six remained silent. He would have said the Cobra was insane, but to call a vehicle insane would have made him seem insane in turn. And besides, given the shouts and shots of aliens and plasma respectively, it seemed he didn't have time to chat.
"Right…" Six began. "Have a bit of a problem, but I won't say goodbye. Since we won't we seeing each other again and-…"
"Fear not, my son. I will watch over you in multiplayer. But before you leave, I have some parting words."
"Which are?"
Maybe this was it. Maybe this would explain everything. Maybe this would explain canon, continuity and the meaning of life.
"Make sure you have good team-mates in Firefight."
Or not.
A/N
Few acknowledgements are in order I think. The first is game mechanics, namely the tried and true formula of invisible walls in sandbox-style maps. Second is the meme from TV Tropes that this fic shares the name with. And last but not least is how many people write "cannon" when it should be "canon." Because as we all know, poor literacy is kewl...
Update (19/03/2011): Corrected spelling errors.
