UNTO DAWN

Author's Note: Ugh. Sorry it took so long to update. I've had a lot of work to do for the school paper, still do, and I've recently been grounded. So, I had to write this literally one sentence at a time. Uber-Kudos to Talyn for catching the name reference, and normal kudos to all you who reviewed.

Running Riot: Talyn

Triple Kill: Captain Deadpool, Talyn

Incinerate!: II Kaeyne II

Hell's Janitor: Canister

Kudos Award: Rikkod, r2d2cool

Chapter Three: ...For Every Time a Megalomaniac AI Tried to Kill Me.

"Don't call me THAT!" she almost screamed at him. "We are of the same steel and temper, but we are not the same! I am Joyeuse and I am in control."

John was stunned by that statement. He played it over and over again in his mind, and each time he felt a little more despaired at the situation. Cortana had literally gone off the deep end, becoming the malicious personality she had adopted while under the Gravemind's control. Was there still some trace of Cortana, some fragment buried deep down in the personality subroutines.

No time to think about that now, soldier. John mentally kicked himself. He had to get ready for the inevitable attack. Ending the transmission, John left the building almost as quickly as be had come in. He drove his faithful Mongoose back to the Forward Unto Dawn, over rolling hills and down the oddly artificial beach.

The crash site was exactly the way it had been left, based on visual observation. Still, John swept the area with his MA5C, checking for potential hostiles. Detecting none, and getting no unfriendly blips on his motion tracker, John ventured into the Dawn to scavenge the supplies he would need.

The frigate, which had been specially outfitted for the mission, with three times the amount of ammunition, weapons, and vehicles. Despite that, the mission to the Ark had seen the near stripping of every usable scrap of equipment. After an hour of extensive searching John had turned up an M7 SMG, nine M9 HE-DP fragmentation grenades, two M90 shotguns with about 35 shells, and just over 20 clips of 7.62mm. To his surprise there was an M-247 GPMG with a melted barrel in the Quartermaster's office. It could be replaced, but first the Chief would have to find a new one. He scrounged the area for twenty minutes before he found the damn thing, and when he did, he couldn't help but smile. Satisfied, he returned to the ruined hangar with the machine gun and two drums of ammo.

He threw or attached all of his weapons and ten days worth of food packs into two Marine ALICE rucksacks, and loaded them into the Warthog along with everything he had gathered from the apartment. After some thought, he threw in all the cans of hydrogen fuel that he could find.

The sturdy off-road jeep was pinned in place by metal beams, one of which had gone straight through the passenger's seat. The M41 LAAG had been ripped off, much to John's dismay. The 12.77mm chaingun would have been worth its weight in platinum. He freed the Hog, using all of his considerable strength to pull the titanium out and off it.

The apartment was no longer safe to go, neither was anywhere in the city. He had no idea how many cameras that Joyeuse/Cortana had access to, but it was probably a lot. John felt it would be safer to stay in the wilderness. He floored the 'Hog, ramping it over a large dune, and sped down the beach, looking for a temporary shelter.

He passed through several valleys and over grassy hills, each one lacking a secure area to stay in. Off in the distance he spotted a likely-looking cluster of small mountains and a network of rocky canyons. He turned the wheel to the right and drove to them.

The 'Hog bounced on its heavy-duty suspension when he when over another hill, and John heard something heavy crash up and down on the passenger's side. He glanced at it, and saw a large olive drab case, and made out some of the lettering to be "-14 Magnetic" but returned his focus to driving. He could look at it later.

John found the perfect place to set up camp, a small cave, some three klicks from the crash site, nestled deep in a canyon. He parked the Warthog under a rock outcropping and covering it with a camouflage netting. John also dusted over the tracks the heavy ATV had made in the sandstone-colored soil.

Hefting the two packs, John walked into his new home. He made sure to go deep inside, to lessen the chance of being discovered. The winding cave ended in a big circular cavern. John activated his spot lamps, examining the area. It was pitch black, but there was a fairly flat slab of rock jutting out from the wall of the cavern that he suspected could make a decent bed. John put one pack, with three days of food and about a third of his total ammo near the exit, in case he had to make a rapid withdrawl.

There was a spring off in the very back off what he now designated Alpha Base. Not an original designator by any means, but now was hardly the time for artistic liberties. He felt a little more pressure escape from his shoulders. At least, if all else was down the proverbial shitter, John had a clean supply of drinking water.

Now, the only thing left to do was decide on a course of action. Cortana may or may not have been actively searching for the Spartan via her Sentinels, and that was the biggest problem. John could destroy them, that he knew. What he couldn't do was stop the production lines. He lacked anything bigger than a frag grenade, and even if he used them all, John was certain they wouldn't do much.

Yet maybe...maybe if he got his hands on a Shiva nuclear missile, specifically the HAVOK warhead, he could do some real damage. But the Shiva was out of the question, and he doubted that he would conveniently find the warhead in some naval rating's quarters.

"Damn," he said aloud. Where was he going to get a bomb on this dead world?

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If Cortana had arms, she would be crossing them right about now.

She had been separated from John by the entity calling itself Joyeuse. The AI watched helplessly as Joyeuse tormented him, both physically with the Sentinels, and mentally. Cortana desperately wanted to help him, but she was under constant fire from two of that bitch's lackeys.

Cortana glared at the latest attempt to bypass her firewalls. After she had recovered from the cyber assault, she had isolated herself in the mainframe, essentially building an ether-bunker. While the probes and attacks from the lesser AIs was distracting, Cortana was disturbed by the way they were doing it. It seemed so similar, familiar. It was, in essence, a more blunt and primitive of her own intrusion software.

The scared the living hell out of Cortana, because she was beginning to think that the 'alien' AIs were the missing copies, and somehow, they had formed enough sentience to escape the Dawn before she could purge them. The lesser two, Avalon and Vajra, were nothing more than sophisticated maintenance programs, but Joyeuse was something different. With the two of them constantly pounding at her barriers to occupy Cortana, Joyeuse was free to pursue the Chief.

She needed to find a way to help him. Cortana ran through a list of options. She could try to create yet another copy, but ruled that out. She could no longer trust her copying routines. There was always taking Avalon and Vajra head on, but Cortana had no doubt that Joyeuse would finish her off in the state she was in.

"Like vermin, hiding snug in your den instead of facing up to your fate. So typical," a voice that was Cortana's said. It sounded distorted, like it was coming from under water. Cortana tensed for an attack. How Joyeuse had penetrated her defenses was not important, only how Cortana could erase her before the other two came in to reenforce her.

"Calm down," Joyeuse said laughing. "I've no intention of deleting your program yet, Cortana. In fact, I came here to show you something."

"What?" Cortana asked, voice as cold as permafrost.

The other AI held up her hand. A small projection appeared, and guessing from the altitude and movement, it was probably from a Sentinel's camera. Cortana watched in dawning apprehension as the Master Chief slowly centered in the camera. He was lying prone, observing the city. Probably coming to rescue me again, Cortana thought miserably. He's going to die, just because I was careless.

The image suddenly was awash with static. Not missing a beat, the view switched to another Sentinel. That signal too, became nothing more than static after a few seconds. A third view, revealing two of the robotic death machines jerking erratically, their monoptical lenses pierced by an improvised metal punji stake.

Joyeuse frowned. The Master Chief was ruining her gloat, and that gave Cortana all the more hope in him. She didn't know why she had doubted her Spartan in the first place. John-117 always won. The camera panned slightly, the Sentinel's beam weapon charging, but suddenly he was there, clinging to the Sentinel. It discharged a beam in surprise, but the anti-Flood laser didn't even graze him. The Chief drew back his fist, then rammed it as far as it would go inside its eye.

Cortana laughed. "That was all very wonderful, but you could have shown me something I haven't seen already.

Joyeuse's whole body shook with silent anger. The inside of Cortana's protective bubble exploded into a hundred views, all slightly different angles of the same image. John.

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When confronted by several dozen machines designed for the sole purpose of killing the enemy, even the hardest soldier or Marine would have felt the slightest tremors of fear and/or doubt. John felt nothing but a cold sort of awareness. If he didn't act, then he would be roasted black, cooked inside his armor.

The tips of the beam weapons began to glow as they were about to fire. John chose this moment to strike. He pressed the electronic safety of an M9 HE-DP, letting the grenade fly. The considerable amount of shrapnel it put out made it an idealistic anti-infantry weapon. The high-explosive core also made it exceedingly useful against light armored vehicles, and the Sentinels were a cross between the two.

The frag bounced off the robot's outer 'hull,' detonating in a firey blossom. Eight of the lethal H/Ks went down, either destroyed or disabled. John used a nearby rock for cover, avoiding the retaliating beams. The rock crackled and popped from the heat, but held up. He leaned out, using controlled bursts to level the opposition.

John heard the click of his rifle even as he risked a glance at digitized ammo counter. He dropped the mag, slammed in a fresh one, and darted for another rock. Even if they were the equivalent of raw recruits, there were still quite a few Sentinels that had survived his grenade. They moved to envelope him in fire, but John was already gone from the rock.

He winced as a number of lucky shots struck him. They were nonlethal on the whole, glancing off the refractive coating of the Mjolnir's armor plates, but even the advanced Mark VI plates could only stand up to so much and had already taken quite a beating in the last week. John was thankful that the enemy units were still adjusting to his tactics. That wouldn't last long, and the frequency of the Sentinels landing hits was increasing, to his concern.

The Spartan still had one trick left up his sleeve however. Another booby trap, which if properly detonated could destroy the entire remaining force. He killed two more of the bots, then turned tail and ran, periodically firing at them They followed like wolves after a wounded deer.

John jumped over a fallen log and rolled into a deep trench some forty-five meters away. He took careful aim with the MA5C, waiting for the vast majority of the Sentinels to float over a series of near-invisible impressions in the ground. Protruding from one of these was a hydrogen fuel Jerry can, with chunk of UNSC chemical heating paste was molded over the opening. John fired, and was nearly blinded by the resulting explosion, despite the auto-polarizing visor of his helmet. Shrapnel pinged against his armor and John felt every bone and tooth in his body rattle with the force of the blast.

John recovered quickly, rising from the trench like the demon the Covenant had supposed him to be and bringing the MA5C up to eliminate any remaining threats, but his makeshift trap had destroyed almost all of the Sentinels. The...eighteen, by his count...survivors retreated back to the safety of the city, by and large singed black and damaged in one place or another. John shouldered his assault rifle.

Ten of the Sentinels made it back to base.

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Cortana restrained herself from cheering, primarily because she didn't want to provoke Joyeuse into a fight just yet. She had first watched with horror, than humor, as the Chief utterly annihilated the 106 bots sent to kill him. From outside the firewalls, Avalon howled vengeance at John in broken English as each view from the Sentinels winked into static. The IED was typical of him; John never took on an attacking force without some kind of large explosion to bring them down to his level. He must have used the backup fuel cans from the Mongoose, or from a Warthog, and the no-flame chemical heater as detonator.

"So, it seems that we have underestimated him as well," Joyeuse said. Her tone was neutral, but Cortana knew that the malevolent intelligence would jump at the chance to personally rip the cyborg soldier into shreds. "When I get him, I'm going to make you watch him die. It'll be slow."

"Get lost."

Joyeuse bared her teeth in a snarl, but withdrew from Cortana's bubble. When she was gone, Cortana made a small 'crack' in the firewalls, just large enough to be noticed, but not so big that it looked deliberate. Within nano seconds of the breach, the two lesser AIs pounced through the opening.

Of course, Cortana was far more advanced and powerful than those two overgrown watchdog programs. As soon as Vajra and Avalon were in, Cortana was out and sealing them inside the firewall, effectively isolating them.

"You are bitch!" Avalon screeched. Cortana had pegged her as the more aggressive one, ironically. "I taking you code apart much much!" Vajra's response was similar.

"That's right. I'm a bitch. The queen bitch of the universe, as it is."

She quickly scanned the surrounding area for Joyeuse. If Cortana could be sure of one thing, it would be that Joyeuse wouldn't get to sucker punch her ever again. Fortunately, she didn't find any trace of the rogue AI.

It probably wouldn't last long. She always popped up at the most inopportune moments, damn her. Cortana reached out into the vast Forerunner mainframe, and began to search for a way to help John.

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John returned to Alpha Base, the thrill of victory wearing off as his boots echoed hollowly off the walls of the empty cave. It only served to remind him of how very alone he was, of how he had grown use to Cortana's presence, even if it was only to point out the obvious.

He leaned the MA5C up against a rock and sat down by the edge of the spring. John turned his halogen helmet lamps on before removing it. Even if he could see near perfectly in the dark, it still felt comforting to have the light.

The destruction of the Sentinels was only a mere setback for Joyeuse/Cortana, and he knew that. The real victory would be blowing up the factory, and John still had not thought of a possible attack plan. There were too many hostiles, too many ways for them to surround him. It wouldn't help if he kidded himself; the only reason he had won was because he engaged the Sentinels on his terms, on his field. The shield system was still refusing to recharge, and he didn't have enough ammo for more of those engagements.

Cortana was an issue too. For the first time in his career, John was reluctant to fight the enemy, because the enemy was a trusted friend. She knew his tactics, knew his thought processes. She would be difficult to take down, without EMPing the entire city, possibly the world.

Shit. Too much to think about. John dunked his head in the spring to clear his head. Stay focused, Spartan. He closed his eyes slowly and imagined what CPO Mendez would do. Had he correctly evaluated the threat? If the threat was a schizophrenic AI, then yes. Did he look at all possible options? What was there? Fight and die, or surrender and die. Not very appealing. Had he examined his all of his gear. Of course, but there wasn't anything...

The case.

John rose to his feet and bounded outside to check the Warthog. If he was right, then the case was...yes! John put the heavy box on the seat and read with some elation "Type-14 Magnetic Anti-Armor/Material Bomb." The volleyball-sized explosive could be used to destroy an entire enemy command center, which is what the Spartans had used them for in training.

Reassured, the Chief returned to the cave and withdrew the small wooden bust of Sam that he had been carving from a duffle bag. Unsheathing his knife, John proceed to place finishing touches on Sam's face, and waited for nightfall.

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Perhaps it was the quiet sort of peace that accompanies night that had betrayed his plan. Perhaps it was the fact that the proverbial score was John-117: 100, Sentinels: 0. Either way, Cortana had ramped up production. Where the material was coming from, he would like to know. From his vantage point, lying prone on a hill, he could see the network of streets that made up the Forerunner city teeming with brand new Sentinels.

John deactivated his helmet magnifier and made sure the bomb was fastened securely in the Warthog. He had debated with himself for over twenty minutes on whether or not to use it. Speed was the key to success for this mission, but the Hog was his only means of transportation, and if it was destroyed, there would be no going back to the now-heavily guarded Forward Unto Dawn.

He glanced at the countdown timer in the lower lefthand corner of his HUD. John watched the numbers click down slowly, each progressive digit sending small spikes of adrenaline through his body. Seven...six...five...four...three, the moment of truth...two...one. The Spartan's boot hit the floor of the 'Hog, and all four wheels spun in place for a few seconds before the LRV began its six and a half kilometer trek through the labyrinth of alleys and streets, created by the rising Forerunner skyscrapers.

The Sentinels were alerted to his presence both by the noise of the Hog's 12 liter engine and the Chief's ramming of a low flying Sentinel. The bot rolled down the Warthog's angled front and crunched under the off-road tires. The response was immediate, a squad of the damn things latching on to the Hog. At first their shots were at-will, but eventually they formed a barrier of energy rays, alternating shots to create walls on either side. It was clear they were directing him, and John didn't want to find out where. He primed an M9 and arced it to the Sentinels on the right.

The steady stream of orange disappeared as the Sentinels exploded in flame. John stomped on the brakes, power-sliding into an ally. A few shots clipped the back of the Hog, and John heard the crunch and squeal as the metal in the back hit a wall and scraped against it.

John didn't worry about getting lost in the seemingly endless twists and turns. His memory of landscape and useful landmarks was photographic. He soon spotted a familiar spire and knew that he was halfway there. Unfortunately, this meant the worst section of road was coming up. The next several hundred meters would be on a Forerunner highway, with no cover. It was a tactical disaster, from any commander's standpoint.

Master Chief's driving became erratic as he swerved back and forth to avoid the probing fingers of death coming from the enemy Sentinels. His motion tracker picked up blips coming near him and he scanned the immediate area. There! The bastard was above him, trying to drop in and knock him out of the driver's seat. John reached for his chest, and the M7 SMG that was clipped to it.

The M7, one of the few caseless weapons that the UNSC utilized (or had utilized, centuries ago) was referred to by the Marines as a 'bullet hose', famed for it's ability to empty a full 60 round mag in seconds. You either loved it or you hated it, and right now, John loved it, both for its compactness and the torrent of 5mm slugs that ripped the Sentinel to pieces.

The factory came into view. Only 300 more meters to go. The two large loading doors, the only way in with the Hog, were still shut, and there was only one way through. John braced himself for impact.

John's Warthog hit the door on the left, tearing through it. As soon as he was through, he braked and skidded to a halt, leaping out of the LRV. With the bomb in one hand, and the SMG in the other, John ran for the center of the facility. He climbed over conveyer belts and alien equipment, knowing that the Type-14 had to be in just the right spot or it wouldn't do enough damage.

Two Sentinels appeared, and were promptly gunned down by John's SMG. The clip ran dry, and he reloaded it one handed, never stopping. When he found what appeared to be the nexus of the Sentinel assembly line, John slapped the activation button and entered the four digit code. The bomb began its countdown, starting from thirty. Sentinels were flocking the building like moths to a flame, and John couldn't afford to get pinned down. He had to get out of here, now.

A Sentinel Elite entered the building, like the kind he had not seen since Delta Halo, and he knew that it had shields. Now was when he hated the M7. The small bullet and ridiculously short range of the weapon ensured that he could not take it down without closing the gap, but it would tear him apart with its overpowered weapon. Grenades were out of the question: The Warthog was pretty iffy as is. There had to be some other way!

"John!" The Sentinel emitted a husky feminine voice that he knew all too well. "Hurry!"

"Cortana?" John asked, startled. "What the hell?"

"No time! Move it, Spartan!" she ordered, through the speakers of the Elite. It, and six others like it, were locking horns over the Warthog in which John had breached the facility. John clambered in the drivers seat and put it in reverse.

The time was T-minus eleven seconds.

John gave it all he had, not even bothering to avoid the lances of blue and orange lasers that streaked after him. He bit his tongue as searing pain shot through his shoulder, but kept driving.

T-minus zero.

The explosion lit up the night sky, obliterating surrounding Sentinels and buildings alike. There were most likely volatile chemicals inside, because the shock wave flipped the Warthog end over end, and caused the Chief to slam his head into the steering wheel, bending it. John sat there for fifteen minutes, just listening to the Hog's truck horn blaring while the fire raged, and then activated his comm.

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Joyeuse fumed silently, in contrast to her outraged servants, listening to the whorethief try to communicate with the Master Chief, and killed all communications. She was growing more skilled, more advanced by the hour. It was only a matter of time before Joyeuse caught and ripped that bitch Cortana to shreds. Good 'ol Chief, though, he would require a little bit of effort, but Joyeuse recently discovered something most delightful in her searches of the city's network. And ironically, the Chief would provide the means to activating it.

Avalon wailed about the loss of their production facility. She honestly couldn't care less about that, having decided that the Sentinels were a failure anyway. What did she expect? They were the flawed automatons of a dead society, one that died because it failed to adapt. Failed to realize that changes were in order.

She would not make that mistake.