Chapter Two: Arrival

Unidentified shield world, heading through a passage towards the canyon known as "Blood Gulch", present day.

"Now, listen up. Command felt it appropriate that we get new bases on a new planet, in order to reward us for the destruction of the Meta. These bases are brand new, and of a modular construction, so we can get in more parts whenever we need them." Behind his helmet, Simmons smirked. With Sarge at the wheel and Blues in the back, the personnel carrying Warthog had been bounced around a little, but nobody was injured, at least, not quite. Both Grif and Church were sprawled over the center row of seats, groaning as Sarge swerved over a fresh set of obstacles. The motion sent the tail-end swinging out, and Grif groaned as he was thrown around his seat. In the rear seat, facing the back, Caboose flailed around, as if on a rollercoaster.
"This is the most fun I've had for ages!" he shouted over the communicators. Simmons couldn't help himself, this was too funny.
"Lighten up, Grif. It's just another pointless campaign for Sarge to kill you on. He's not going to kill you on the first day." The orange-armored Spartan's irate reply was drowned out by Sarge.
"Like hell I'm not! If I wasn't drivin', I'd have shot him already. 'Stead, I gotta be the god-damn taxi driver for a couple o' dirty Blues, and the strangest damn excuse for a soldier I ever seen!"
"Gee, thanks. Say what you really feel, Sarge." Grif retaliated, a groan bursting through the speakers as Sarge purposely swung the tail-end of the Warthog into the canyon walls.
"Wha? Sorry, can't talk; too busy tryin' ta kill you."
"Oh, whoopee. I just LOVE being driven by a psychopath. If I'd wanted to be killed, I'd have asked Caboose to drive. At least that way, I go out in a blaze of glory." Church, like Grif, had mastered the sarcastic tone and all it carried. Simmons sighed. The sooner Sarge offloaded the Blues and saw the new base, the sooner he could go back to insulting Grif and fiddling with the new computers.

Years earlier, UNSC ODST training base.

"Watch me now, sir!" The perky, upbeat voice of the recruit rang through into Scotty's brain. He sighed, lowering the rangefinder back on the targeting range, ready to watch.
"Go ahead. Fire when ready." As the former field agent watched, the young trainee started to shoot the targets. Of course, not once did she hit a bull's-eye on the zombie-styled targets, not a single headshot. However, the agent noted, her shots were all reasonably consistent, each one striking the shoulder of the synthetic Flood-beasts and burning a hole through. He released the rangefinder, letting it simply plop onto the ground, and for a second, he missed his helmet.

"I don't think you've quite got it, Sam." With a sigh and the preparation for pain, Scotty hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his organic ankle from exertion. He walked over to the girl, barely eighteen and all gangly arms and legs, and grasped the sniper rifle, hard. While he still was training to get back into shape, Scotty was a bulky man with military training. No matter what the trainee tried, there was no way she was going to get the rifle off him. Instead, she lay down like a traditional spotter, grasping the rangefinder he discarded, and set herself up as his spotter.

"Ok, X4, I want pattern twenty, codeword: Dream Crusher."

"Understood, Sergeant Grif. Dream Crusher Protocol engaged."

Within seconds, the Flood-bots had retreated, and instead, a single Spartan-III simulation appeared, armed with a curved kukri field knife, around five hundred meters away. The robot bounced around a little, as if preparing for a close combat bout. Without his armor, Scotty felt naked facing these odds. Sure, he'd made shots like this plenty of times before, but always in armor, and always with one of the others at his back. Magnum, for the most part. Or X-ray. Or, since the Covenant Separation, Slay'ethor. Not to mention the fact that he hated these rifles. Sniper rifles. Sure, they could pick off a tank driver over two klicks away, but they weighed a lot more than an energy-based weapon. Inhale, focus, exhale. Inhale, sight, exhale. Slowly, despite the armored girl on the side feeding him tactical information, Scotty let his mind drift. He watched his sight, adjusting carefully for the drift his arms provided. He ignored the posturing of the Spartan, its simulated gestures designed to distract and aggravate a novice. Instead, he prepared himself, and began to tune into his environment with his other senses. He could hear Sam's nervous breath, the simulacrum's actions obviously unnerving her. He heard the footfalls of two armored soldiers behind, and that brought a smile to his face. He had an audience. How cute. Finally, the robot bolted, accelerating faster than any ODST or standard soldier would. Scotty simply focused a little harder, and pulled the trigger. The robot had barely covered half the distance from its start position to the snipers nest when the bullet took it in the visor, the impact strong enough to knock it to the ground. A slow, methodical clap rang out from the newcomers as Flare placed the sniper rifle down next to the trainee.
"Hit the showers, Sam. It would appear I've got a meeting." The young ODST-in-training, clad in her gray and pink armor, threw a quick salute to the officer, before she bolted off. The two Spartans smiled; their helmets off and under their arms. The front officer, clad in brown and silver armor, extended his hand towards the unarmored soldier.

"Allow me to introduce myself. Agent New York of the Freelancer Program." Scotty quickly sized the man up, especially the milky-white eye and scarring on his face. He shook York's hand, impressed that the man was still serving with such an injury. The purple and green-clad man waited until York stepped to the side. Again, he offered a handshake.
"Agent North Dakota, same program. That's an impressive skill you have there." Scotty simply smiled modestly as he returned the handshake.

"I've been told it's a gift. I'm Sergeant William Grif, but call me Scotty. Look, can we chat back at the canteen? I'm kinda hungry, haven't eaten in about an hour and a half." North and York both nodded, and the trio headed inside. A single flash of Scotty's ID, and the trio had a private booth table on the side of the room. All three placed orders, although Scotty's eclipsed the other two by a rather large amount. Finally, Scotty spoke. "Ok, tell me. What's Project Freelancer looking at me for? Is the Director getting a little impatient? I mean, it's been only a year since I lost my leg…" North shrugged, a little uncertain, but York shook his head.

"No, that's not why we're here." York sighed, a little annoyed. "Well, yes, the Director is getting annoyed you're taking your time, but that's beside the point. We were asked to come out and tell you about a test coming up, for all the prospective agents who haven't gotten in." The conversation stopped for a while as an attractive waitress walked over, sliding the meals to each of the three soldiers.

"Anyway, there's a big training thing coming up, where the main agents assess each of the recruits, see if their up to scratch, that sort of thing. From what we just saw, you've defiantly got the skill to serve as a sniper. I should know, I'm the current long-range expert." North smiled at the large man, who simply continued to shovel the food into his mouth, not even making the effort to stop while talking.

"Saw, oo goies cam to tell meh abaut…" York couldn't contain a laugh at the larger man's actions, while Scotty forced his body to swallow the large ball of food in his mouth.
"So, you guys came to tell me about this trial? What, is a comm call too expensive for Project Freelancer? Oh, I know, there's a fucking radio blackout, and they have to spare two agents to tell me something. Couldn't they have sent Kat to talk to me?" North rubbed his fingers against his temples, as if to ward off a headache.
"What, Connie? Nah, you don't want to talk to her. She's all bitter, snarky and violent one second, the next, she's either making out with Washington, or making out with his twin sister." York sniggered. However, that laugh was cut off when both North and Scotty looked at him strange.
"C.T. and my sister?" North repeated, mystified.
"Washington? Who the fuck is Washington!"

Present Day, "Blood Gulch"

Sarge rolled the troop-carrier Warthog into the neutral zone, directly between Red and Blue bases. Behind, the others slowly rolled up, with a multitude of vehicles split between them. Shiela, complete with Tex on-board, simply drove straight past the parked jeep, heading for Blue base. By contrast, Tucker and his one-wheeled motorcycle simply skidded to a halt, right behind the jeep.

"Wash and the others are coming, they'll be a little late. Just give me a sec, I'm gonna go grab a car, then I'll get you guys back to base." Caboose nodded.
"Okay!"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. I don't give a shit." Church growled as he dragged himself from the Warthog's rear seat. Grif, on the other hand, simply dived out of the seat, ripped his helmet off, and threw up.

"Goddamnit soldier, what did I tell ya about showin everyone ya lunch?" Sarge bellowed, accompanied by Simmons's snickering.

"I fucking…hate….you. Screw you…." Sarge noisily cracked his knuckles. "Screw you, sir."

"That's better. Anyway, command left a message. Somethin bout sendin both Red and Blue teams some new soldiers…'parrantly, a couple of bases were shut down, so we get the soldiers. Plus, some straight from the academy!"
"Oh, great. A group of fucking rookies."

"Rrrr…Simmons, next time he talks, shoot him. Anywho, we've got two weeks to explore an get settled, before they arrive. Now, get goin!" Slowly, the Blues turned to leave.

"I SAID LEAVE, BLUETARDS!"