Hey guys! just a bit of editing. Let a few things slip and a few things were out of order (not that anyone else would see but me... damn you OCD) so I'm going to touch it up. Again, a HUGE thank you to Credete for posting this up while I was away of vacation and thank you for Recon 11 and 11SnowLeopard11 for being the first to review! Both of your comments brought a smile to my face and made my day when I read them yesterday. I am just going to edit a few things I didn't catch before handing it over to my beta, but there's no need to reread unless if you really want to.

Thanks!

Edit: another small sweep

I tried again and again. No answer. Static was my only reply.

A scream rose in my throat before I choked it down, settling on hefting a decently sized rock and hurtling it at a boulder. It shattered upon impact.

How long has it been since seeing another human, other than the still smoldering corpses that lie on the cracked asphalt? I have seen videos of them, clips I have picked up and proceeded to watch the perfect lives of the average civilians. The majority of them were of the security cameras stationed in cities, filming their last moments of life.

They reminded me of those whom I had when I was young, of me and my brothers and sisters, filled with childhood memories and pictures up until adulthood. I still had some stored in my memory banks, a clip embedded within my helmet that replaced the camera originally installed to record my progress and life. It wasn't needed. It was never needed.

My sisters, my brothers, mom and dad... my family. All close yet no blood relation. Complete strangers became friends so close you would volunteer to die for.

How I wish I could have volunteered.

My brother, my friend- my best friend- had died young; too young. He was barely old enough to even experience the thrills and horrors of puberty. Many of my siblings, little more than half, died during and after a process called augmentation. He had died on the table.

They could do nothing, did nothing, to save the beings. They did everything they could to save the subjects. I still blame them from time to time for their deaths. Them, the scientists, our... aunts and uncles, if you would. They were not seen as our parents, and they were definitely not seen as one of us. They were more like a distant relative, a doctor like their job describes... or that ratty old aunt that rants on all your failures and beats you down.

Mix that thought with lots of needles.

When I do not blame them, I blame myself for the loss of my brothers and sisters.

Though there is much grief, and many lost, there were many of us. Hopefully, there still are. Fighting for our cause, our lives, for humanity itself. There must be a war going on. If there wasn't, wouldn't they take the time to check our home and look for survivors? Look for me, their little sister?

Or maybe they already did, and while doing so marked me as KIA. No, not KIA; MIA. Spartans never die.

Even so, they would look for me until they found a body. I mean they knew I had been frozen all this time, right? They wouldn't just leave and forget about me.

Right?

Debris crunched underfoot as I trotted along, looking for anything but the ugly remains of what used to be home to many. As of yet, I have only seen two survivors. Unfortunately, neither were too happy to see me. One was too far gone to be saved, dead inside, laid with a half skeleton of her daughter. The other believed that I was one of whom who had done this to our once lively world, the harsh words he screamed made no difference as I had walked past his battle worn body, his legs crushed and mangled, blind in the eyes. That was long ago, and now I am forever alone.

Bodies lay in the streets, bones and rotting flesh lying on top of blood stained grounds. Half crumbled buildings surround the area, deteriorating. Smashed and broken windows, eyes of the dead watching every movement, with the wind making shrill cries and wails in the dead city.

Strangely enough, I never saw a body of the people who did this. No unusual uniforms, no high tech body suits, nothing of any sorts that differentiated civilians from soldiers. Who could have turned this place, once so full of life, into a scene straight out of the after effects of a horror movie?

Reports that have long since collected its fair share of dust, tell nothing of news on other parts of the planet- except the same thing over and over. Under attack... The Enemy have found us… Humanity is doomed…

From some video clips, some civilians that had not been gunned down attempted a rescue, only to have the ships explode midair… Horrible, to feel like you're safe and letting your guard down because a metal casing is around you. Then you blow up.

While searching towns, I've seen bodies in the houses. Now I resort to wandering the streets, following the path of a single highway. Cars and buses of all kinds scattered among the road, rusted over and useless. Melted even. Apparently the few smart civilians, no matter how few there are, had made the decision to try and hide in their homes and wait out the attack. They then would be either found, or die from the poisonous gases that reeked outside my helmet. Though dispersed over time, some areas are much too dangerous, even for a Spartan.

Hands grabbed at flailing limbs, more and more being laid upon the being as the struggling increased.

"Calm down!" A man shouted, shrouded in a simple uniform, an ID swinging before being knocked off and clattering to the floor, plastic gleaming and reflecting across white sterile walls. The shout was half drowned by screams. Ears rung, people in coats cringed as the soldier and scientists firmly held their grips. A bark came up through the noise, splitting through like a gunshot, freezing all within their tracks.

"Soldier, cease at once!"

Our commanding officer, teacher, instructor. Dad.

Protest rose from the struggling being, revealed to be a woman clad in a skin tight suit, her face red, gray eyes wide and wild as she roared for freedom. Brown eyes hardened, black hair graying just a bit more. Anger grounded in his voice, his jaw clenched at an unseen force.

"ONI made it clear that this had to be done." And by 'this', he meant be made into a meatsicle.

"But why does it have to be me, Mendez? I can't stand cryo!" The woman shook off her live restraints, tied up her short hair, which shook in the loose ponytail, unwinding slowly with each movement. She walked up and stood in front of her commanding officer, not having to look down as much as the rest of her family had to. She was one of the shortest amongst the family; and now, after so many years, had officially attained that title. That made her less tough, underestimated, less intimidating, less likely to complete an interrogation that required her to roughly get information out of the informant. His voice softened somewhat, so little only special ears would be able to pick up after so long, his hardened eyes turning tired, used up.

"This was not my choice, soldier. Your talents will be needed in the future, ONI can see that as well." Sympathetic amusement glinted in his eye. "It'll be over before you know it."

And he was right. The day I thawed out seemed like I had only fell asleep in the freezer the other night. But instead of being greeted by friends and family, death and destruction was at my wake.

There is only static on the radio, no frequencies left unchecked. There has not been a ship in the air, no living thing on the planet, not even green to lighten up the day. Loneliness has come and gone like so many other emotions, passing and lingering in the edge of my vision, waiting to come and make its rounds once more.

A needle pierced flesh, muscles relaxed, sagging, almost needing to be supported. Two came up and held her by the arms, grip now gentle. Fake reassurance. They helped me to the doors, the thick iron sliding open effortlessly to reveal familiar faces, now saddened and happy alike. Sad to see me go, happy for the future.

Would they still be happy? If they had made it this long, would they be happy with what they have been built for? What they have been trained for? Are they fighting for humanity, or are they sitting back and finally being privileged to experience what they have missed? I hope they are all alright, I'm sure that they are alright. My gut says that they are.

Some were happy to see that I would have the chance to serve humanity in the near future, and possibly meet up to battle side by side with them once more. Others were happy that it wasn't them, and I would not blame them one bit.

Black hair, unbinding from its restraints of thread and rubber, was brushed behind an ear by a pale hand. Amber eyes glistened, friendly and warm; always have been and always will be. A heart of gold, a natural fighter and saver. A savior.

White hair tickled her temples, before she brushed them away as well.

"Cal…" She smiled, closing her eyes, an image of soft perfection. An angel.

Passing hollowed buildings, the wind died long ago, relieving me of the mournful sounds the holey buildings made. I wonder what they are like now, if they are the same or if they have changed. I wonder if Anton still liked beaches, even after that fish tried chewing off his foot, if Will still could wrestle the worst of the bunch, if Kurt still got those "funny feelings" on missions. I wonder if Cal was still the quiet angel I knew, if Kelly had been outdone by another Spartan yet, if Vihn still played the piano, if René was still stuck in the tank…

Bright blue eyes look at me, her black hair pulled into her trademark ponytail. Her grin shining, easygoing and humorous.

Gloved hands grip armor. My chest aches.

Sparkling green eyes shone, holding back tears toughly. Freckles dance upon her face as dark brown bangs hang just above her eyebrows. Her lipped smirk intimidating, yet comforting.

My feet stumbled over rocks and bricks, dust clouding up behind my legs and clinging to metal as I stumbled down the road. Why did the feelings have to strike now? I looked around, half blind. I see a half crumbled down wall and stagger towards it, armor feeling heavier by the second.

Honey eyes replaced amber, soft brown hair brushed against her cheeks, feather-like.

That had done it.

My armored shoulder clangs against the wall, dust and crumbled brick falling and bouncing off the worn metal suit. A hand absently claws at the helmet. Scanners show that it is dangerous to be exposed to open air. I'll have to do without the nice sweet air for comfort.

Metal clanks softly together as shoulders shake, almost unnoticeably at first, then the soft motions quicken. Armored head bowed, I remember. I remember my family. Then of my rousing.

I remember… tubes… long clear tubes, hooked up to my tank. It wasn't a cryo tank. No, it was more… technological. Medical. Did I injure myself in cryo sleep?

It's better not to think of it now.

I was traveling again, down Highway Route 62 West. My armor felt heavier every time I picked it up, lugging it with me along my travels. It would make sense, seeing as it has been years since it has been repaired or upgraded. It wasn't too worse for wear, but sooner or later I would have no choice but to scrap it. The shields have dwindled, faded from the lack of sun for its solar powered generator, the clouds ever darkening over the planet. Metal scuffed and scratched, paint faded in some areas while dark in others. Metal shone dully under archaic green paint.

Surprisingly the thought hurts me a little. My armor was falling apart, after rust from the liquid in the tank, the joints damaged and where the tubes were hooked up are starting to look quite worn. And yet it has been part of me for so long, it naturally feels like a second skin. That is what we were trained to feel when we had the armor on, and that is how I still feel now, long after training, long after those days. No, I would not simply scrap it. I would carry it on as long as my feet could carry my own weight, for this is the last physical symbol of my family.

My family, Spartans lined up, clad in our family's dark green MJOLNIR armor.

I tried the radio again, but it was fruitless. Anyone who would still be on this trashed planet would have gone insane long ago.

How long has it been since that day? The day I was frozen… And when was I moved to that mysterious tank? It was the only one in the destroyed room when I had awoke, the facility's power generator finally dying. It was so far down into the ground I believed that I had died in cryo and this was my hell, buried alive in a scientist's facility; a lab.

It cannot be Hell, not yet. I'm still alive, my heart beating, blood pulsing, head held high in a what used to be, and still is, prized possession.

Ah, now I remember. A few years ago, in the labs, I had looked over the lab reports, filed through some cabinets. Dated back to 2527… but that can't be. I would have been frozen. It confuses me even now, how could the reports date back from then unless if I were part of it? Or the reports were combined and I was reading another project's report.

My thoughts were scattered as something gleamed in the sun's rays, the metal seeming to sparkle as I looked on in disbelief. Could it be… yes it is! Feet clanked along the ground as I ran towards the rusty old vehicle- an old van rusted over from the glassing, in the cover of a half torn down garage. It looked to be in good condition. I lifted the creaky hood only to have it fall off. Brushing it off with a bang, I checked the engines. Well, everything that makes sense to me looks fine. I went around and opened the door, only to have it land on my armored foot. It rolled off, my eyes watching it before I clambered into the vehicle. Only if it works, that's what I care about.

Not finding a key I got down onto the floor, looking around and pulling out a protruding piece of metal that still managed to hang onto where the driver's door used to be. Using the metal, I embedded it between the sealed parts. Twisting it, it popped open and I removed it, grabbing wires and disconnecting them, then switching them up a few times for experimentation before the engine choked on rusted over wires and pipes. It rumbled, but only barely. I got out and checked the tires, only one busted up and three deflated of air, but still remotely drivable. I got back into the front seat and grabbed the wheel, only to see smoke erupt from the hoodless front. In mere seconds, the engine spat and died.

I sat there with my gloved hands on the wheel for minutes, staring until the smoke cleared up from the corpse of an engine. Then I leaned forward, and let my helmeted forehead rest against the steering wheel, jumping within my skin as the horn blared, before slowly slipping away like the rest of my life. In moments, it was silent.