Authors note- Two bad reviews has really done a number in my will to continue the story. So, with a heavy heart, I bring you the revision (complete rewrite) of Chapter 3. Hope you guys like it. Review or message me so I can figure out what chapter version to continue off of.P.s. I understand the Chief is OOC right now. But you have to realize that he's just a human. With emotions. And that's what I'm trying to exploit. And I own replicas of Chiefs dog tags. He's 6'10. Read the books -_-.So without further ado, here ya go. :/
The Chiefs pod rocketed towards the surface, wind tearing at the hull, Air currents shoved the pod, making him thankful for the safety harness. Gaining speed, Master Chiefs pod grew closer and closer to the endless green sea. Realizing the need to slow down or face certain death, he pulled the chute. As it unfurled, it caught the air, shoving him into the seat. He was slowing down, but not as quick as he needed. Reaching the tree tops, he checked his safety harness. Then the pod hit a pocket of air.
And dropped.
Smashing through a tree trunk, Johns head smashed against the seat, causing his vision to waver for a moment. Offering him no respite, the pod continued through, one impact after the other. Giving up, the Chief's vision narrowed, a black field closing in on him.
Groggily opening his eyes, the Chief tasted copper. His harness was torn, next to useless from the brutal punishment the pod had received. His head ached, pounding to the beat of his heart. Spinning the pilots seat around to face the interior area, he was given a view of utter destruction. The left side of the pod was gone, the metal casing laying fifteen feet below the Chief. Wrecked gear littered the floor, rendering everything next to useless. Not even the med-kit had survived the crash, its lid torn off and its contents thrown out. Shakily standing up, he gathered whatever was left, stuffing it into a supply pouch on his waist.
Looking out of the hole, the pod had caught itself within a rather dense thicket of trees, leaving the Chief dangling dangerously in the air. Of course, he was a Spartan. Dropping out of the side, he tucked and rolled, letting his armor take the brunt of the fall. Looking up past the trees, he watched the sky, looking for any other survivors. Almost giving up, a pod shot out of the clouds, heading south of the Chief. It disappeared behind the tree line, and explosion echoing, causing birds to scatter. Setting off in its general direction, he began trekking through the forest. The physical activity was easy, allowing Johns mind to wander. At the end of the galaxy, on a mysterious planet, he had no supplies. The Infinity was gone, struck in her core reactors. An effective way of cutting of both supplies and backup. Not only that but-
"Wart! Wart wart wart!" Said the Elite.
"God damn it," replied the Chief.
Charging forward and unsheathing his combat knife, he tackled the elite, throwing them into a tangle of arms and legs. The elites armor was a deep blue, indicating that he was a lower rank, but that didn't fool John into a false sense of security. Struggling to kill the elite, they ended up in a stalemate, the Chief trying to cut the aliens throat, and the other trying to prevent his death. The adrenaline flowing, the knife edged closer and closer towards the elites throat. Fear glazing over his eyes, he thrashed and kicked, trying to free himself. Bringing his foot up, he caught the Chief squarely in between the legs, causing him to relinquish his grip. Taking a hold of the chance, the elite pinned John down, his hands wrapped around his neck. His shields flickered then gave way, allowing the elite to effectively close off the Chiefs oxygen flow.
Struggling to get away, stars appeared in the Spartans vision. Pounding on the elites shields, they held.. then collapsed. Swinging his fist full force into the aliens chest did nothing to loosen the grip, despite breaking several of his ribs. By now, John was on the verge of blacking out, a hazy red field settling over his eyes. A mixture of denial and destiny coursed through the Chiefs mind as he realized this was probably the end of his path. Throwing his arm back in preparation to strike the Covenant warrior one last time, his hand slid over the knife's handle. Weakly grasping it, 117 plunged it into the elites chest.
The alien roared in pain, loosening his death grip ever so slightly. Repeating the motion, the Chief pushed up and away, throwing the alien off of him. Air flooded into his burning lungs, bringing life back from deaths cold, black hands.
Jumping onto the elite, he wrestled the Storm Rifle out of his hands. Placing it firmly under his chin, the elite gave up, looking the Chief in the visor.
"Wart?"
"Sure," the Chief said, squeezing the trigger and splattering brain matter on the ground.
Searching the Shanghelli, he scored a Plasma Pistol and two plasma grenades. Now properly equipped and ready to deal with anything else hostile, the Chief carried on. Remembering how the covenant had already been there when they had dropped out of slip space, he realized that there were probably thousands of troops on the planet.
Suddenly, static filled his comm channel.
"This is Sergeant Christian Pono, requesting immediate backup! Were under fire from Covenant forces. If anyone can hear this, please respond!"
"Sierra 117, making for your current location. How many marines are you with?"
"A full pod if 16! Hurry, we- agghhhhh!" His scream flooded the chiefs interior speakers, causing him to wince. Doubling his speed, the Chief sprinted through the forest.
Sergeant C. Pono's POV
"Alright, everyone buckle in. This baby ain't gonna give us a smooth time. We gotta break her in first." The Marines nervously chuckled, double checking that their safety harnesses were secure.
Though he tried to appear confident for his men's sake, inside he was shitting bricks. On the way down, he hadn't seen a solitary other pod take of from the Infinity. The brilliance of the explosion may have blinded him, but the chances of not seeing them now were slim. And the skies stayed clear. They were in a sticky situation alright.
"Hey, did anybody else see that other escape pod?" This was Corporal Jakob Reeves. A hooked nose and long face, he resembled a hawk. Skinny and tall, he didn't have much going for him.
"Nah mate, you're crazy. The only thing I saw was my life before my eyes." The other marines agreed, but were quickly shut up as the pod was tossed helplessly in the air.
"Alright guys, I've spotted a clearing up ahead, I'm gonna see what I can do." Deploying the shoot, the pods momentum rapidly and suddenly decreased, whipping the marines sideways. Chris looked each man and women in the eye, knowing that these could very well be the last moments of his short life.
"Aww shit guys, lock and load. We've got hinge heads!"
Grabbing his Designated Marksman Rifle, Christian flipped the safety off, checking that his clip was full. Small arms fire bounced off the outer hull and off the windshield.
"Okay boys! Here it is!" Not seconds after that, the Pod hit the ground, sending gear stocked overhead crashing to the ground. Screwing his eyes shut, the sergeant gripped the safety harness until his hands hurt. The bouncing came to a stop, and Christian slowly opened his eyes. Gear was unstrapped, strewn about the floor, but that seemed to be the worst of it.
"Get ready boys! We've got some aliens to kill. Hope they don't mind the smell of green!" An "Oo-rah!" Resounded through the pod, bringing a smile to his face. Un-wrenching the door and throwing it open, artificial sunlight flooded his eyes. Raising the rifle to his shoulder and looking through the scope he aligned the barrel with the head of a charging grunt. The rifle kicked, and the grunts helmet dinged, sending him flying. And so it began.
