A/N: Woo, I'm back at it again, ladies & gents!
At long last, the lone wolf joins NOBLE Team ;)
Many huge thanks to Corey-067 (Aliit_Netra) for helping me through this chapter and the next
I am Sierra Bravo-Three-One-Two. I am Noble Six. I am a Spartan; I am a Lieutenant. I am a lone wolf, set to join a pack. My team is people I must learn to trust, but I must also maintain distance.
The Spartan whose superiors labeled her as a hyper-lethal vector opened her eyes, feeling the wind on her face as it whipped past the Warthog. She stared at the steel grey helmet that rested in her lap, admiring for a moment the visor of bright blue, rubbing a gauntleted thumb over the material, before her gaze drifted out to the landscape around her. Her coppery red hair was blown out behind her like a streamer of fire, and she relished in the sensation. It was good to revel in the simple things, the little things; this would, perhaps, be one of the last times she would ever take her helmet off.
This new team she was going to be a part of, NOBLE, would not get the chance to see her face, to study her, to work out what kind of person she was. She was nameless, she was faceless. She was simply there to fill in the gap left by the death of another teammate some months ago; she would do her job, and she would not make an impact upon the other Spartans. She did not wish to get close to anyone; she worked better alone.
Once, a long time ago, she'd been known as Artemis-B312. But as the years had gone by, and she'd come to work under a branch of the Office of Naval Intelligence known as 'Project: COLD MOON', she soon came to be known simply as B312. No more, and no less. She was not a face, she was not a person. She was a number, a weapon; that was the only purpose she served in life.
Her train of thought was broken into by the Trooper sitting beside her, a fresh-faced Sergeant by the name of T. Vargas. "Ever been to Reach before, ma'am?" She had to suppress a groan at how curious he sounded; she hoped that her current companion wasn't chatty. She wanted to enjoy the last moments of feeling alone, before she had to join this fireteam of Spartans, an event that was out of her control.
"First time." She was lying through her teeth. She'd been born here; she just hadn't been back in fifteen years. For a Spartan, that was practically an eternity.
"Mine too!" His rejoinder was cheerful. Once again, the Lieutenant found herself suppressing a long-suffering groan. Couldn't he tell that she did not want to be having any conversation? She supposed he would have found it difficult to read her body language through her armour, but her face was visible enough. Time and again she'd been told by her superiors that it was her expression that had given her away. She closed her eyes, and nodded along, pretending that she was interested.
Pretend. Something she'd done for so long. She was good at it; it had become as second nature to her as firing a gun. It was one of many reasons why she'd made a damned good black ops soldier.
Her eyes snapped open as the Trooper spoke again, her attempts to drown him out failing miserably. "It's kinda daunting, though, I have to admit. So many Spooks here. And the security really is next level. Gotta be, what with this our military fortress world and all. Heh."
The Spartan ground her teeth together, and forced a smile; doubtless it would not have reached her eyes. It never did. She'd not smiled for real for a very long time. She did not want to engage him, and yet, it looked as though he was going to keep talking regardless of whether she spoke or not. "Given the amount of ancient alien artifacts they've uncovered here over the years…" she offered, casually, and it was hard to keep her mouth from flickering into a smirk when she saw the Sergeant's eyes widen.
"No way." He shook his head, and the amazement was clear as day in his voice. "You're kidding, right? No wonder there's…. Shit, I don't know whether that's cool or terrifying."
Bingo.
That would keep him quiet for the rest of the trip. Classified tidbits like that always worked in such a manner. More than once, she'd found being under the command of ONI to be beneficial to herself, particularly when it came to weaseling her way out of conversations… or worming her way into them.
Sierra B312 heard the driver tell her that they were almost at her destination, choosing to ignore the comment as it was drowned out in the hiss of her helmet sealing onto her armour. Not wanting to listen to another word that came out of his mouth, she instead focused on the sounds that were coming from the 'Hog. The pitch shift and whine that she could hear even more clearly now, that distinctive sound that was somehow both grating and smooth at the same time; all too familiar, and perhaps, in a way, comforting. She knew that they were coming to a rolling stop – the Sergeant preferring not to use the brakes unless he had to, for some reason – because of the number of times she'd heard the deepening timbre of the vehicle's engine as her talkative companion had slowed to go over bumps. Before it'd gotten to its typical, growling idle, the Spartan was already leaping from the Warthog, more than glad to see the back of it. The Marine honked the horn at her retreating form before the engine geared up once, pitch raising once again, its wheels spinning briefly before it vanished.
There was a sense of… not anticipation, that seemed like the wrong feeling. Apprehension, perhaps, was what sat in her gut. It was going to be a very, very different deployment to the ones she was used to. No longer would she be a solo operative; she would have to re-learn how to work as part of a team. It was not going to be easy, to say the least.
For just a heartbeat she lingered, before striding towards the outpost, head held high, natural Spartan pride written in every line of her armoured body – something that would have been noticed only by the members of Noble Team. And something she definitely wanted to be made known to them. She was not the type to be intimidated.
As she passed by one of two UH-144 Falcons, she could not help but reach out and pat the tail fin closest to her on the way past; with her pace slowing half a fraction, she was able to get a better look at the Spartan who sat inside the cabin of the helicopter.
Rifleman. Likely sharpshooter and scout, given the armour configs and colouring, and the sniper rifle that rests beside him. Discerning gaze. Calculated, calm. Probably sizing me up as much as I'm doing the same to him. I doubt he's the type to let much slip past without his notice.
As B312 drew closer to the base, she was able to hear a voice from inside; someone with an air of authority, but who also sounded tired, in a way; someone issuing orders, and giving a rundown of the situation that the Lieutenant was about to enter into, with her new team. Whether this was the team's leader, she could not tell; something told her that it perhaps was the team's superiors in the UNSC.
"Contact with Visegrád Relay was lost last night. All signals flatlined at twenty-six hundred hours. I responded with Trooper fireteams, which have since been declared MIA."
A second voice chimed in, again with that air of authority, but this time, they sounded like they were verbally assessing what they were being told. "And now you're sending us."
The first voice was cool, unperturbed even, as they added, "The Office of Naval Intelligence believes deployment of a Spartan team is a gross misallocation of valuable resources. I disagree." To the Lieutenant, it sounded like this man was the team's superior within the UNSC, as she had suspected. The other voice must have belonged to NOBLE's leader.
She allowed herself to wonder, for the briefest of moments, what kind of working relationship the Spartan commander had with his superior. As quickly as the thought arrived, she banished it. It was not her place to question how this team operated. She had her place among them, and it was as simple as that. Her job was to follow orders, and to get things done.
B312 stepped up into the base, and paused for a moment to examine the EVA-helmeted Spartan with a skull decorated onto his visor, and a wicked-looking kukri knife which he was scraping upon his shoulder pauldron to sharpen it. A shotgun was slung across his back, magnetically locked into place, and she silently noted the bandolier of shotgun shells on his right forearm.
Likely the assault specialist, or perhaps close-quarters. Maybe both. Wonder if they'll be one of those "nutcases", or if they have their emotions under control.
Before she could move deeper into the room she'd found herself in, however, a prosthetic arm shot out, blocking her path. The owner stepped into her path, and the Lieutenant found herself face-to-face with someone very familiar to her. Someone she'd once considered being very dear to her. But now… Well, seven years was a long time for Spartans to be apart. And she'd changed. This Spartan, though? Only time would tell how much she had changed over the years.
Catherine-B320. Kat. We were best friends, as cadets. Nothing could tear us apart. Perhaps war has changed things. Maybe she's more jaded, or more cynical, than I remember. Not my concern now. So long as it doesn't affect our battlefield performance, it is something I will keep behind me.
She watched as narrowed azure eyes assessed her keenly, the other Spartan not quite scowling, but neither was the expression on her features a friendly one. For a beat, it was almost impossible to resist the urge to snarl at her, but she quashed the impulse. The older woman then turned her face towards the other Spartans in the room, and her not-quite frosty voice rang out to grab someone's attention. "Commander."
The other two Spartans' gazes fell to her. One looked over his shoulder briefly, and for half a second she felt almost mesmerized as she looked into his deep blue eyes; that sensation passed as quickly as it had come, and some of her old dislike for authority figures flared up to take its place. The other Spartan leaned in, as if to get a better look, his eyes as discerning as the rest, yet his countenance gentle. His size alone indicated that he was not of her caliber – that he was a Spartan-II, a cut above the rest.
"So… you're our new number six." His voice rumbled as he spoke, and B312 caught the undertones of a Hungarian accent, which indicated to her that he was, perhaps, native to Reach.
However, there was something else in his voice, something assessing, and the way he'd summarized her new role as part of the team, had her lifting her chin and looking directly into his eyes as she voiced a reply. "Damn straight." Even though he could not see her face, she had no doubt that he would have felt the intensity of her stare from beneath her visor regardless.
She heard the skull-helmed Spartan give a quiet snigger of amusement, followed by a sharp, quiet reprimand from Catherine of, "Don't be rude." She chose to ignore both, and focused instead on eyeing the big Spartan, wondering what were the thoughts that ran through his head. If he was a Spartan-II, she had no doubt that he would form his own opinion on her, no matter how close he might have been to the other Spartans on the team. He was the type of person not to be swayed so easily by others' opinions; he would stick to his own beliefs.
"Kat, you read her file?" was what was next out of the skull-helmed Spartan, and her gut told her that he was definitely the nosy type. That would be a handful to deal with, should he decide to start interrogating her on her history.
"Only the parts that weren't covered in black ink," the aqua-armoured Spartan answered coolly, sounding entirely confident in her technological abilities, "And there was a lot of black ink."
Didn't you realize, her inner voice sneered at the other soldiers, that black ink is there for a reason? Project: COLD MOON doesn't want you – or anyone – knowing what I've done. A lot of unethical missions are listed in my file. And if word got out about those, it wouldn't be so much a problem for them as it is for you. That's not to mention that most of my ops were highly classified anyway.
The Lieutenant held her tongue, and instead continued to stand there silently, observing as the team's leader turned his back on the conversation, and focused once more on the holographic computer, through which he was communicating with his superior. "Anyone claim responsibility, Sir?"
She drowned out the ensuing conference, and so, five minutes later, had not realized that the Spartan leader had spoken, until he was standing in front of her, expecting a response. Half a beat, and she managed to recall that he'd summoned her by rank. He was clearly awaiting her to address him in a similar manner, and she expelled the air from her lungs in a slow breath, drawing in the next lot of air just as slowly.
"Commander. Sir." Succinct, and restrained. That would give him a good gauge as to what kind of Spartan she was, and what he could anticipate from her in future.
His head canted to one side, eyes flicking down, up, down, before meeting her gaze. And then, "So, what do we call you? Arty? Artemis? Art?"
B312 gritted her teeth, keeping hold of her temper. "B312 or Noble Six is fine. Even Lieutenant will suffice. It's been that way since I became a Spartan, and I don't plan on changing it." Another lie falling easily from her lips. But it had a purpose. None of these soldiers would be allowed to call her by her name. She was not a name; she was simply a number. She was not a face; she was a visor. She was not a human being; she was a weapon. That was the purpose she served. And she would make damn well sure her new teammates knew that.
He appraised her a moment longer, before giving a silent nod. Seemed like he wasn't bothered by her obvious attitude; he'd clearly dealt with Spartans who were short-fused before. "Six, then. I'm Carter, Noble One, team leader. Jun out there in the Falcon; he's Noble Three, our sniper. Kat by the door is Noble Two, cryptanalyst and my executive officer. Emile and Jorge are the others; Noble Four is our assault specialist, and Noble Five is our heavy weapons guy; can't miss him."
"We should get moving, Commander. Time is of the essence." Catherine called from halfway out the door. Jorge and Emile both rose and followed her outside; when the lone wolf turned to join them, however, a single motion from the Commander had her lingering, expressionless even with the helmet blocking her face from his view.
"I'm not gonna lie to you, Lieutenant, when I tell you that you're stepping into some shoes that the rest of the squad would rather leave unfilled. Thom was an integral part of the team, and we were all of us close to him, just as we are to one another. Me, I'm just happy to have this team back up to full operational strength."
I know all of this. Why are you telling me?
B312 stood silently and listened, one hand curling into a fist. What was his point, here? Was he trying to get under her skin? Was he trying to concrete the established fact that he was the authority, and that what he said was what went? It was frustrating, trying to get a read on him.
The other Spartan's voice turned deadly serious, as he continued with his talking to her – although it felt, to her, more like he was talking at her. "One last thing: I've seen your file. Even the parts the ONI censors didn't want me to."
She cursed under her breath, but voiced no objection. Of course he'd read all of her file. Of course he'd seen through all of the black ink. So he knew the stains in her history. So what? It wasn't like he didn't have the right to do so. He was her superior officer, and he wanted to know what he was getting into. It was his team. It made sense.
So why did she still feel so pissed off about it?
It's a breach of your privacy, that's what. And besides, he might just be exaggerating. There's no way he would have been able to dig that deep – his XO is apparently a cryptanalyst and she stated that even she hadn't got that far. I very much doubt that COLD MOON would have given him the "cleaned up" version of my file. They're the ones keeping all these secrets in the first place.
"I'm glad to have someone of your caliber and with your skillset on my team. Here's the thing though: we're a team. So that lone wolf behaviour of yours? It stays behind. I hope we're clear." His eyes narrowed, just a fraction, and his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. It must have been his manner of intimidating her; she wasn't going to let the expression her new Commander bore upon his countenance faze her.
"Crystal. Sir." Her voice was ice cold, calm, controlled. She was not going to let her temper get the better of her. Emotions were a human thing, and she was not going to allow herself to slip any longer. She would prove to these Spartans that once and for all, she was just a title given to an armoured shell.
The blue-armoured Spartan followed her wordlessly out of the base, clambering into the Falcon after her as he paused to motion the other helicopter into the air.
"Carter give you the rundown on what to expect?" Jun queried, his manner casual, Slavic burr flowing smoothly from his lips. His gaze never left hers, and for a moment, she wondered if he could see through all the layers of armour she wore – physical and emotional.
B312 snorted at him as she settled into her seat, hands resting on her thighs. "You could say that," she dismissed carelessly, "That's just him being a leader though, isn't it."
The sound of the rifleman's laughter was drowned out by the thumping of rotor blades as the Falcons lifted off, soaring away to wherever their destination lay.
