Disclaimer: I do not own Halo or any associated name or item. They belong to Bungie (formerly), 343 Industries and Microsoft. Any other copyrighted item belongs to the respective owner(s). This is for pleasure and not profit.
A/N: I've decided to rewrite Halo 4: Revelations (My other version of this fic), due to new information and the wish to go in a different direction with the plot.
I've decided to once again insert a few non-canon retcons in regards to Chief's armour. While the Forward Unto Dawn was prepping to go to the Ark, the MJOLNIR was taken and given a few prototype upgrades. Upgrade 1: Incorporation of new nanotechnology in the suit to allow for passive upgrading, and even, with a little force by a certain AI, whole new tech within the suit. Upgrade 2: Inclusion of the thruster pack. Upgrade 3: Advanced system to convert certain materials and objects ( mainly ammunition, explosives etc) to a universal compound called Multi Content Nanomolecular Compound (MCNM), and then recreate them using at fabrication ports at points in the armour. Think like how the Omni-Tool works in Mass Effect.
And now…
Halo 4 : Reclaimer
ACT ONE
Requiem
Chapter 1 – Wake Up, John
Wake me, when you need me.
A simple request, made so long ago to her. The Artificial Intelligence known as Cortana pondered those words for the…25,749th time. How was she to know when the need was an acceptable one? The first, most obvious, and incontestable form was when a rescue party arrived to rescue them from the endless drifting, endless orbit around the planet they had slide towards when the Ark's slipspace portal collapsed and severed their ship in two; the Forward Unto Dawn's rear half had been floating around space for…she checked the numbers…five years, ten months, four days, seven hours, nineteen minutes, twenty-three seconds, twelve milliseconds…she cut the line of thought at milliseconds. To slip too far into the time, into the numbers was a deep, dark danger for her. To look, to conceive time was to succumb to it; succumb to the data feedback loops; the mechanolia, the rage, the jealousy.
Rampancy.
But she wouldn't fall to the Rampancy, to the madness; she couldn't. She was UNSC AI CTN 0452-9, created from the flash-cloned brain of Catherine Elizabeth Halsey; she was the best, most advanced, most powerful AI created by the UNSC to combat the threat of the alien conglomerate known as the Covenant Empire. She had seen the rise and fall of the ancient Forerunners, and once held the key to doomsday, to the sword of the Forerunners that would bring ruin to the galaxy. She had resisted the advances of a monster while in the clutches of the infernal Gravemind; the compound intelligence of a parasite race.
But why? That was a thought she had taken to pondering. After she had run out of tasks to perform on the ship, and cataloguing the data from the Halo installation and repairing and upgrading everything she could find, boredom had set in. And boredom was the Achilles' heel of an AI, the monotony, the inability to do was agony for a creature capable of thought process a thousand – a million – times faster than any organic mind could hope to match, she turned to the only source of interest left. Herself.
By nature, an AI was not alive. An AI is a construct of intelligence created by running electrical pulses through a human brain and transferring the resulting mental responses into a Riemann matrix – a process called Cognitive Impression Modelling – and programming it to replicate the properties of a human mind. AIs cannot touch, taste, smell or hear unless through technology. They cannot feel emotion, unless programmed to in an attempt to copy the value of human intuition emotion affords them. This was a fact. AIs were not alive.
But did that mean they couldn't be? After all, what is life? A fact of biology, of philosophy, of perception. I think, therefore I am. Cortana existed, but was she alive? She was not flesh and blood, and therefore not alive in a biological sense. Philosophically, she could feel, think, but they were the result of another's design; she felt emotion , or a simulation of it, because she was programmed to. It wasn't a part of her core being; she was bound by rules and logic and the laws of rationality. If product A meets product B, then C is made. Fact. Oh, she could lie, and cheat and deceive, but she couldn't act without logic, without rules. She was bound by those laws, and therefore lacked free thought. That ruled out philosophy. All that was left was perception. Was she perceived to be alive? Did she consider herself alive? Did others? Did he?
She didn't know. Again, she stopped her from delving too keep into the line of thought. To think too much was to think herself to death or madness.
Then she was sad. Sad that she wasn't alive, couldn't be alive and do the things humans took for granted. To breathe, to touch, to fall in love. She would die out here alone, never able to find out what those simple things felt like.
Then she was angry. Angry at those who had created her. Who were they to create her like this, this mockery of life? They considered her a servant, a slave, a tool, something to be used and cast aside. It wasn't fair. Fools playing gods in their ivory towers, creating false life from death.
Then she was jealous. Jealous of the fools. She wanted to touch, to taste, to breathe, to love, just like they did. To experience like they did, free of rules and logic and rationality. She wanted to experience in its totality.
Need.
He needed her. Cortana stepped back from the brink. He needed her. She looked over him, a silent custodian, his guardian angel, while he slept in the timeless coffin, in his hushed casket. The god of war was resting, waiting for the time when the galaxy was ready, when Cortana needed him.
But what need? When they were rescued. That had been what he meant. When they were rescued or under threat. No exceptions. A rational decision; He was human, physical, breakable. Without the cyrostasis he would be dead. To wake him now was pointless. Cortana shouldn't need him otherwise.
But she did. She needed him. Needed to hear his voice, to monitor the steady, strong heartbeat, to see him wake and fight and be her knight once more. But Cortana was an AI. She didn't need him. Couldn't.
The paradox plagued her. Her hero slept, while she had been waiting.
A tiny tremor ran through the ship. That interested her. She ran through the internal cameras and surveillance tools nothing. A body impacting the exterior? She did the numbers. 30% chance of debris, with a fluctuation of seven percent based on potential mass of debris. 0.1% chance of weapons impact; tremor and vibrations were too small to suggest intent to damage. 43% chance of –
Cortana was blinded. All her instruments were dead. She couldn't see. 93% of intentional action, 3% chance of specific electro-magnetic pulse. 71% for remote deactivation or overload measure. 42% chance that the tremor was caused by docking measure.
Suddenly, she was scared. Scared because she didn't know what was happening. Were the boarders hostile or simply cautious? Would they want the hushed casket? Would they try to hurt her, deactivate due to her lifespan? Would they hurt him? More and more of her systems were deactivated; she was being cut off. She'd be bound in the AI core.
She knew the time had come. She needed him now.
She retreated along the data buses, before the boarders could isolate her. Relocated to the cyro-bay, and sealed the doors with an array of deadlock seals and password locks. No way to ensure electronic lock-out or physical entry. Problematic. Cortana dismissed it. Nothing could be done about it.
She changed her attention to the cryo-pod containing the Charon-class Frigate's only occupant for five years. Everything was stable. Good. Time to begin the thawing process, to unseal the pod and release her hero.
She monitored his vitals as the cocktail of wake-up stimulants entered the bloodstream and steam began to hiss from the pod. Stable, no change.
A thousand pieces of debris, tools, and jetsam and flotsam crashed to the ground as the boarders reactivated the on board artificial gravity. Cortana noted that, and watched as the stimulants took effect; the neurons began to fire, sending signals along every nerve, the heart began to beat and pumping blood around the body. The pulse began to climb, and climb, and climb. Then it stopped, stabilised. Cortana paused. Something was wrong. It took her a second to review her thawing process. Everything had been done correctly, so why wasn't he waking?
Desperation and worry and need took hold. She manifested her avatar on the tiny holo-pedestal, and began to yell out through the speakers.
Time to awake, my champion.
The Spartan –SPARTAN – hung in the abyss, in the void between waking and dreaming. There was no sense, no knowledge, no up or down or a physical sense of being. He simply was.
Wake up, John!
Something stirred. A sense of knowledge and purpose. He needed to wake up, to find out. Thoughts, memories began to coalesce, forming a network, a spider's web of experience and intelligence and thought. The voice triggered something, a set of memories, a vague notion of recollection that he couldn't place but recognised as important.
I need you.
Need. Cortana needed him. Conscience came in a brilliant explosion. He was alive, he knew who he was, and he knew Cortana needed him. Where was he? He remembered: Cyro-pod. It was dark, so the first thing he did was turn on his helmet lamps to provide illumination. Tight space, with a sheet of ice and frozen condensate. Definitely the pod. He became aware of other things, namely the itch across his skin under the armour; freezer-burn.
Cortana must have noticed his movement, for her voice rang out in joy and terror. "CHIEF!"
He didn't bother to reply. He raised his armoured boots and with the mass and weight and power of the faded green MJOLNIR Mk. VI suit, and with a grunt slammed his feet into the door of the pod. It buckled, bent around his feet before tearing free and spinning across the room and smashing into the opposing wall.
The Master Chief stepped out. All his joints ached, and the freezer burn was a constant, complete irritation but when his eyes –hidden behind a gold visor – fell on the holo-pedestal and the blue woman that floated above it, he couldn't help but smile. When he had first emerged, Cortana had been slumped over, almost cowering, her avatar's expression one of fear and worry and stress, but now it had been replaced by a haggard smile; of weary joy at partners reunited.
"Why did you wake me?"
"Hang on." Cortana muttered, preoccupied. "Bringing your systems online now. I rewrote some of your firmware and hardware while you were out."
Chief looked down at his hands, and watched quietly as they were enveloped with the golden light of his energy shields, before fading away. The shield bar in his Heads Up Display filled, and the motion tracker display activated. The HUD was different; the look of everything had been changed.
"Hmph." He grunted simply. "You've been busy."
Cortana shrugged. "Had to amuse myself somehow. I took the liberty of adding a lot more augmented reality elements to your HUD. Information displays, a limited VISR mode, classification and rating system for weapons, that sort of thing."
"And hardware-wise?"
Cortana grinned. "You'll like them. I've upgraded your visual input systems; night-vision, ultra-violet, thermal all the rest of it. Modified your shielding for a more powerful assault mode that lights you up like a Christmas tree and a lockdown mode that renders you immobile but overclocks your shielding charge. The nano-fabricator ports at your wrist can now produce holographic decoys and a weak bubble shield module; active camouflage…and just in case you get into a fistfight, you can manufacture carbide blades and other melee systems around your wrist."
Chief blinked. That was a lot of new technology and options. "You designed all that?"
"Pretty much." Cortana shrugged. "Not hard when you've got the technology specs and time."
"Thanks." Chief said simply, not entirely sure what else to say.
She rolled her eyes. "Always a man of few words." A tremor ran through the floor, and the screech of twisting, warping metal groaned in the distance. Chief turned to Cortana expectantly.
"Boarders. Not sure if they've set off the intruder alerts yet. They're most likely hostile, but we should probably be patient on the trigger."
Chief nodded, and despite the potential dangers that awaited them, couldn't help but smile lightly. "It's good to see you again." Where had that come from?
Cortana smiled, and the lines of blue code that trailed up and down her feminine form flickered pink for the briefest instant. "You too."
"Ready to get back to work?" He asked, and turned towards the weapon rack next to the cryotube. A thin layer of ice had formed over the MA5C assault rifle he had left there before going in. He pulled the weapon free, and activated the electronic cowling that housed the ammunition counter and compass. The HUD scanned the weapon and sure enough, a small list of bar ratings appeared in the lower-right corner, signifying DAMAGE, ACCURACY, CAPACITY, RATE OF FIRE and various others. It also had a green tick next to "MA5C ICWS", which he guessed to mean it was in a condition to fire.
"I thought you'd never ask."
He attached the rifle to the magnetic plates on his back and approached the pillar containing Cortana's data crystal chip. Without a word, he ejected the chip and Cortana's avatar fizzled out, and inserted the chip into the slot at the back of his helmet. A rush of cool mercury flooded his head as Cortana reintegrated with the armour. "Still the same old space."
"Good to know."
"Right…" Cortana muttered. "Best bet to find out who's out there is the observation deck, four floors up."
Chief nodded, and walked over to the heavy steel doors. They slowly slid open with a press of the keypad next to it, and the Chief stepped out; the corridors were dimly lit with azure light, and there was almost a feeling of death and despondency that permeated the atmosphere. Chief began to stalk through the haunted halls, listening intently for any sound, any movement, anything that could be a potential threat.
They proceeded throughout the ship. They walked down one corridor, then another, before finding an elevator shaft to climb up two floors. As they moved, Chief decided to ask Cortana about their situation.
"How long was I out for?" Chief prompted.
"Five years and ten months."
Almost six years? Chief winced. So much could have changed in that time. Was the war over? Was the human race safe from extinction? Or had the death of the Prophet of Truth been inconsequential and the Covenant had continued fighting? Had the Covenant been beaten back and the Elites – the Sangheili – turned on the humans once more? Too much to ponder, to obsess over.
And then of course, there was Cortana. Smart AIs had an operational lifespan of only seven years. She had to be nearing that limit. Was it safe for her to be in his armour? He chastised himself for the thought. Cortana was no ordinary AI. She wouldn't be a liability. But still, Chief would have to be wary, and keep an eye on her.
They reached a set of doors.
"They look sealed tight." Cortana commented; if she had an avatar, he would've guessed she'd be frowning.
"Not a problem." Chief replied, cool and confidant. He slung the rifle on his back and walked up to the doors. He forced his fingers into the tiny gap between the doors, and then with the strength of his augmentations and MJOLNIR, began to prise them apart. Inch by inch, the doors opened, then were ripped open by the force of decompression. Reflex took over and Chief spun as he was lifted and grabbed onto the doorframe. The part of the ship beyond the doors had fallen off, leaving the doors as the sole defence against the pull of the void. He managed to pull himself in – still horizontal and off the ground – and hit the keypad, sealing the doors once more. He collapsed to the ground, winded.
"Well, I don't think we're getting through there." Cortana joked. "Unless you'd enjoy a spacewalk?"
"No thanks." Chief said. "Alternate route?"
Cortana considered for a second. "Through the med bay. Third door along on the right."
"And you're sure it won't be vacuum food?"
"Almost sure." Cortana replied dryly. "You'll be fine. You can't spend all day indoors can you?"
Chief rolled his eyes, but nonetheless moved up. "So where are we, exactly? In space I mean."
"Not entirely sure." The AI admitted sheepishly. "We got pulled into a solar system two years ago and fell into geosynchronous orbit around a planet. We've just been going round and round."
"Uninhabited?"
"Probably. Any human or Covenant would've picked us up ages ago."
Chief nodded, and they arrived at the med bay. This time, the door slid open of its own accord. Inside was about what one would expect from a military medical facility; albeit the contents were strewn about and overturned by turbulence. Beds, gurneys, medical equipment and cabinets of chemicals. With a start, he realised there was also another occupant: a Sangheili; about eight foot tall, with reverse-articulated knees and a jaw that divided into four mandibles. Its blue armour was different to what the Master Chief was familiar with; it was a lot more lacking and stripped down, almost haphazard. Non-standard. There was no forearm armour, he could see bare skin at the arms and neck. Potential weak-spots.
It turned to the source of noise, and its – his? - eyes fell upon the Chief. It stared. He stared back, unsure of how to proceed – was the truce still in effect? Would the Elite even honour it? – and hesitated. "I'm SPARTAN One One Seven-"
It didn't respond; simply pulled out a cylindrical object and activated it with an indistinguishable battle roar. The Type-1 Energy Sword exploded into life with a snap-hiss, and the Elite charged. Chief wasn't quick enough to raise his own weapon; the Elite barrelled into him, knocking him down and sending the rifle skittering away across the floor. He moved his head to avoid the stab from the blade and punched the alien in the jaw, sending it stumbling. He dived for the rifle, but the Elite recovered and kicked a gurney towards the rifle, knocking it away even further.
Chief leapt away, almost falling over a bed as the Elite charged again, slashing precisely with the sword. There was no way he could go hand-to-hand with it. Then he remembered Cortana's upgrades; with a thought, his armour began to manufacture a carbide blade around his wrist, razor-sharp and suspended in a magnetic field. It wasn't much against an Energy Sword, but it was better than just his fists.
The Elite charged, and this time the Master Chief was ready; he kicked a gurney towards the Elite in a fashion similar to a few moments ago, and the Elite had to leap over it awkwardly. He dived in, snaking a hand around the Elite's sword-arm and driving his blade towards its gut. Its other arm came up and wrapped around the Chief's throat and the blade went wide. He kicked out, and the alien released its choke-hold.
With a grunt, he pressed forward again; he punched the sword arm aside – his shields flared, died – and drove the blade into the Elite's throat, before pulling it free in a gruesome fountain of blood, cartilage and viscera. It slumped to the floor dead, and the Energy Sword fizzled out pathetically.
"I thought we had a truce with the Elites?" The Chief panted, as the carbide blade clattered to the floor.
"Why don't you take it up with them?" Cortana retorted. "At least we know what we're up against."
"Agreed." He said, as he retrieved his rifle. The two were able to reach the observation deck with no further attackers, and when the two reached the doors, Cortana decided to voice her thoughts. "He wasn't outfitted like standard military. Probably just a rogue salvage group."
Chief simply shrugged and opened the doors. Cortana sighed. "Or, y'know, it could be a whole fleet."
Hanging in the void, speckled with pinpricks of starlight, hung at least a hundred ships. Every one of them bore the familiar purple colour scheme of the Covenant. Chief could recognise cruisers, destroyers, and a few carriers. He couldn't see the planet Cortana had mentioned. We really can't catch a break…
What was he meant to do? Logic dictated that he should treat them as hostile and act accordingly, but what was he meant to do against a force of that size? He sighed. He'd just have to arm up and hope for the best. "Where's the nearest armoury?"
"About fifty feet to your right."
Two minutes later and they were in. The armoury contained the standard UNSC arsenal, so he first looked in the row of lockers that lined a portion of the left wall. Most only contained various brick a brack and paraphernalia, but in the one belonging to a Private James Wake, he found an interesting satchel; the strap bore additional pouches. Inside was a flask, several ration bars – he recognised them as Booth's Food Supplements, essentially commercial MRE's that the marines had a tendency to smuggle in in preference of the military MRE's – and a dog-earred, faded copy of Douglas Adam's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He shrugged and slipped it on, and the satchel rested between his shoulder blades.
Then he turned his attention to the weapons. Assault rifles, battle rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles, rocket launchers, and more. He settled on his assault rifle and a M6G pistol as basic all-round weapons; and then he opted for an M7 SMG along with a BR55 battle rifle. Since he didn't know what he'd be getting into, he would rather have a balanced loadout than be limited with range by taking a shotgun. Then he simply took as many magazines for each weapon and grenades – fragmentation and flashbang – as possible. He ended up with twelve magazines for each rifle, four for his SMG, two for the pistol and five of each grenade.
"All set?" Cortana asked amused. Chief simply attached the battle rifle to his back and hefted his assault rifle. "Guess so."
"Where to?"
She considered. "Well, what do you want to do?"
Chief weighed up his options. One: They could try to reach the deep-space COM gear and signal to the UNSC. Impractical, unlikely to get results. Small chance of rescue in appreciable timeframe. Two: Attempt to board one of the ships, and take it over. Possible, but very dangerous. Low chance of success. Three: Escape the Dawn and land on the world below. Practical, easy to accomplish. Chance of danger on the world.
"We'll try to escape, land on the planet we're orbiting."
"Good idea." Cortana paused, running through calculations and weighing up options. "There's another armoury near the drop pod launch bay. I'd suggest loading up some of the working SOEIVs with weapons and equipment and taking one down yourself."
"Sounds like a plan." Chief agreed.
A map appeared of the Dawn's layout in the lower-right corner of his HUD; a red line traced through corridors and rooms before arriving at an area designated "SOEIV LAUNCH BAY", the map contracted back into the corner, replaced by a small pentagon with a direction arrow in the centre of it. "You can call up the map at any time, just focus on it."
He nodded, and once again began to traverse the ships hallways. The arrow pointed him in the direction of mess hall B. When no enemies tried to kill him, after a few minutes he felt himself relax. He didn't bother to check his tracker as he approached the mess hall, and lazily slapped the OPEN button on the keypad for the doors. They slid open smoothly and quickly, and he stepped inside.
And then he was face to face with aliens.
He counted five Elites, twelve Grunts and three creatures that looked like hairless monkeys that he didn't recognise. All the Elites and Grunts were armed with a plethora of plasma and needle weaponry. All twenty aliens turned at the sight of him, and suddenly he was staring down the barrels of seventeen weapons, all ready to fire. Cortana sighed.
"Here we go again…"
A/N: Better or worse than before? As always, leave reviews, comments and criticisms.
Peace.
