{First Halo story. Picked up Reach as an old fan of the series who fell off the bandwagon around the time Halo 3 came out. I am proud to say how satisfied I was with the game and how emotional an ending it offered. This re-imagining is a fair deal lighter, something that floated around in my head for a while after finishing Campaign...}
Rust painted the earth and sky, echoes of thunder rippling out from near and far, all across the wasteland. A Covenant cruiser drifted silently overhead, shown briefly through the stagnant air. One of hundreds, thousands even, ready to glass the planet. The last sounds of gunfire had faded into the distance, the fight drawing to its inescapable conclusion. Reach was lost, we were doomed.
My rifle hefted flush against the olive gloss of my breast plate, I strode onto the hillside. Below sat a quarry of ruin, the remnants of a former U.S.M.C. compound. The modest base retained little of its structure, piles of broken stone and iron, chain fences twisted and wrenched with savage intent. Still forms littered the surrounding area, a scant twelve in all pitched over crumbled walls, collapsed against the earth, weapons tight in their post-mortem grasp. SPARTANS… they were all SPARTANS.
Just like me. Just like Noble.
I'd arrived too late to be of use. Despite my failure though, I could not help but give in to an odd lack of feeling. I'd known loss for some time already, the lives of my fellow Nobles dashed in the blink of an eye. Thoughts of how things could have been different, how I could have prevented their fates, refused to come. I was cold once more, desensitized.
No… something was there. Something that glowed hot and flared red at the sight of the first few drop ships on approach, full to bear with my personal execution squad no doubt. I took a knee upon the loose grain of the hillside, sighting my weapon on the first Spirit. A Jackal marksman leapt free of the open craft, falling swiftly to the ruins below. My crosshairs found his skull but an instant before my trio of rounds.
His dead weight crumbled to the ground, an escort of several Unggoy now racing about in a panic. Behind the visor and helmet, my face was a twisted image of satisfaction. To raise that kind of chaos with a single body, there was more power in that moment than in my entire career as a hyper lethal vector. I was a woman scorned – to my last breath, I would place onto them but a fraction of the torment they had put me through, me and all who stood at Reach until the very end.
And at my passing, they would forever cry tales of the nightmare I'd become.
They descended, relentless and unwavering. Some sort of insanity drove them surely, to send wave after wave of ground units to dispatch a single soldier. Tougher and tougher they came, from the crawling Grunts to the pride embodied figures of the Sangheili. All shapes, sizes, colors… I put them down. I showed no discretion, they were all the same, tallies to the body count.
I fought forever. As long as they had numbers, I had stamina to spare. When my weapons ran dry, I picked up theirs. Throughout this sad depression, carved upon the surface of Reach, I offered a dying planet, raised in war, a final offering of blood and havoc. Until the end.
Until the very end.
As I rolled aside to avoid yet another plasma sword, a glancing blow that pierced my shields and plate armor, I let go one last breath. To my other side, seven feet of dense muscle and shining gold roared with primal glee. The call of the predator, posed for the kill. I had my sidearm raised and loosed three shots at the speed of light. They bounced harmlessly off the Elite's shields, the officer's having more punch than the lowly troopers I'd been engaging.
It didn't laugh at my impotent display. Nor did it scowl or flinch. It was as though my actions had no consequence, as though I hadn't acted to begin with. With practiced skill, dark, corded flesh clenched and turned, ready to drive all thirty-seven centimeters of humming blade clear through me.
The Sangheili General's skull snapped sideways, its body trailing after. The first Elite, garbed in brilliant silver, turned to face the sudden threat. A wall of lead greeted him, the air further sprayed with violet mist. Over his hunched form, a gangly figure sprung from behind the remains of a fallen wall. Tattered clothes and armor jerking in a violent rage, he charged out, hip-firing into the wastes. The running gunner shot clear over me, not even a glance in passing. I traced his path to a waist-high mound of debris where he took cover in a hurry – three men joined him, all in similar states of disarray. Heated bolts of neon pelted their position; they were reciprocated with bursts of lead.
A palm pressed against my cheek and I realized I had lost my helmet. My naked face was laid to bear for the tired eyes of a man, no older than thirty. His skin looked dried and caked with dust, curled locks a sandy hue I surely doubted was their natural color. The man's lips curled into a small smile, a brief spark in his eyes.
"Heard you having quite the party over here, thought we'd invite ourselves over."
It was that simple and then he was pressing a Covenant plasma repeater into my hands. A quick salute and he was off, ordering the small contingent of men that had collected around my would-be grave. The lot of them looked like they'd come through fifteen kilometers of meat grinder, the walking dead with guns and foul language. An orchestra of howls and bullets, all for the sake of venting one last fury on the alien scourge who defeated us so soundly on the field of battle. We would die, kicking and screaming, "Fuck! Fuck," at the top of our lungs, more than dead enough for three lifetimes.
Sounded perfect to me.
I glanced briefly at the weighty Repeater in my grip before tossing the bulky device aside. In its place I held the powered-down hilt of the General's plasma saber. Eighty units of charge remaining, each and every one would be put to good use. Opposite the sword, in my left hand, I raised an iconic little blue sphere. The call of battle raging all around was insubstantial; every soldier in our hastily established block of defense perked at that tell-tale hiss.
I grinned through bloodied lips, "Think I can stick a bastard?"
One of the troopers, flight helmet and visor down, broke out laughing. "I'll take that bet and raise you five, Blondie."
{A mere one-shot, one that I am most proud of having read it over again. I have no plans for continuing this in terms of an extending story, but I may update it further with little entries if I fancy. Things that can be read and then left open for interpretation; again, I've no plans for this to be an epic tale.}
{My Six is indeed a woman. I like playing as females, particularly in action games. Balance out the ratio, you know? I was also, originally, going to base the rag-tag band that "rescues" Six on the main cast of the Modern Warfare series but decided to go original and leave them nameless.}
{Much preferred Halo 2's Battle Rifle to Reach's DMR, hence why it's used here. Can't accurately recall if that model actually used crosshairs in its scope but, well, call it author's preference. The little Mythology Gag at the end... what can I say, couldn't resist.}