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Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

Act 1

Chapter 4

"Their New Kind"

Don didn't remember much besides blacking out with a view of Agent Weaver's face. From that it seemed like there was nothing to feel but sheer numbness. He experienced no dreams and could not even begin to estimate the amount of time he had spent unconscious. Occasionally there would be a moment where he would begin to faintly hear things around him. This would always be short lived as there would be a slight prick before he would slam back into the numbness. From the little bit he did hear, he had been able to put together that they had been taken somewhere else to be 'figured out.' Once again, this was proving to be another situation that kept the chances of surviving this ordeal, low.

However, after what seemed like weeks without any sort of senses, the numbness began to dissipate. As his feeling began to come back to him, he was welcomed by the stinging of frozen nerves. His still deafened ears could somewhat hear sounds, of what he determined to be, was yelling and firefighting. Whether it was the distant sounds of gunshots or the feeling of his table being shook that woke him was a mystery. Regardless of the reasoning, he was waking conscious came back quite swiftly. He could feel his muscles twitching from their long and sore period of stiffness. After several moments, he was nearly fully awake. His eyes opened fiercely to see the emergency lights flashing red against the dimly lit gray ceiling.

With a grunt, he painfully sat up. He quickly took in his surroundings as he swallowed his abdominal pain to find that he had been left alone on an examination table. With no ONI personnel in the room, he looked down to make sure he was still mildly intact. After dealing with a brief amount of looking awkwardly down at his new legs for the first time, he noticed that there were several I.V. tubes inserted into his arm. Not wanting to wait any longer he swung his legs over the side of the table. With a rushed sense of determination he took a hold of the tubes and pulled them out. Ignoring the slight pain that he now felt, he stood carefully on his sore legs. He knew that he would have to take it slow, especially now that he was now bleeding from his arm in several places. Regardless of his condition, the continued sounds of gunfire surged his blood stream with adrenaline and tension danced on his nerves.

He quickly found some bandages on a nearby tray for his arm before he took one last look around the examining room for anything he could arm himself with. It would seem that his luck of bad situation would be lightened as his eyes spotted the glint of a single pistol on a desk not far from the door next to a computer monitor. With closer inspection, it was easily identified as a M6C. Not only was it loaded with a full magazine of rounds, there were also two other full magazines lying beside it. After putting a bandage around his arm, he took the pistol and its supply of ammunition from the desk before carefully glancing out the doorway of the room.

He would find that the hallway, much like the room he had been in, was dimly lit with only emergency lights illuminating the way. Even though he had no idea how far he would get or where to go, he needed to do only two things: find Mike and survive this godforsaken place. Since the room was at the end of the hall, he swallowed and headed the only way he could. Moving cautiously and as silently as he could, he kept the pistol forward as he traversed the halls. With each step he took, the sounds of fighting drew closer.

Within the sounds of the fighting, the cries of Human screams and firearms were accompanied by the sounds of alien shouting and weapons. From the fact that occasionally on his trek there were signs giving directions to a 'Bridge' and 'Hangar' sectors, he concluded that he was on some sort of ONI research vessel. With the sounds of whatever creatures the Humans were fighting, he assumed the situation as one of them being boarded by either some sort of space pirates or the Covenant. Either way, the scenario was stacked against him. He was clearly not at physical peak of what he could be while being in an unfamiliar location whilst being unclothed with only a single pistol to protect himself. Shaking his head at the thought, he knew he had to continue on; they had to try to get out alive. No matter what that might cost.

Further down the hallway there was the echo of a door being slammed shut, the sudden sound caused him to freeze in place. His breaths were rushed and panicked as he kept the iron sights of the handgun at the end of the hallway. His arm shook from anticipation and a slight tint of fear plagued at his nerves. The sounds of voices from down the hall could be heard over the now muffled fighting.

"We are so screwed!" One of the three voices whimpered.

"We'll be fine. We just have to wait here, the escort ship will be here to save us soon." Another answered.

"We don't have any ammo. Our guns are out! What the hell are we going to do about the aliens?!" The first asked again. At the sound of this, Don began to move forward towards where they were not only to continue on but to hear them better.

"What you can do is shut the hell up and keep the lights off." The third spoke up.

"Yes sir."

Don continued on quietly towards the other end of the hallway. He peeked around the corner to see that the three men had taken to hiding in the small lounge like room that the hallway turned too. The door beyond them was shut and they watched and sat pressed against one of the large couches in the room. They were unarmed and clearly deathly afraid of what they were hiding from. With a slight involuntary growl, Don moved around the corner into their view with his weapon raised. The three saw him at the same time and all raised their hands in surrender.

"Oh god! Don't shoot! I don't want to die!" The one yelled in fear.

Don gave a slight hum of consideration before firing the weapon several times into each of them, emptying the magazine fully as he did. It was slightly excessive and inhumane, but after what he had gone through, it was somehow acutely satisfying to him. Dismissing the conflict with his inter morals, he reloaded the handgun before stepping over the three now lifeless ONI doctors to the closed door. The door had been locked from this side by a simple screen panel on the right side of the door. With a quick look and a little bit of common sense, the door was unlocked with the press of the warm touch screen. The door pinged softly as it opened, revealing yet another dim hallway that ran either direction. Before he could walk through the door, he was alerted to a set of fleeting footsteps running down the hall from the left.

"This is Harvey and Terry! We are running through Hall 7B towards the breach zone! Hang in there, guys!" One of them shouted as they approached the doorway.

Seeing his chance, Don prepared himself after giving a quick little peek to see how fast they were going and what distance they had to travel. He was about to take a desperate, and possibly rash chance. As the two guards were about to pass the door, Don charged out and fiercely gripped one by the neck. With unprecedented strength, he took the man clean from his feet and slammed him against the wall of the corridor. As the other still sprinting man struggled to stop his pace to turn and shoot, Don placed several rounds into his back. Without any time to spare, he tightened his grip on the man who he held against the wall. The ONI guard struggled against Don's hold as he struggled for his sidearm. Dropping his own weapon, Don slapped the gun from the man's hand as he drew it.

With a growl and a sense of haste, Don took the man and threw him against the other wall of the corridor. His armor clambered loudly against the metal surface as he yelled out of pain and panic. Before the man had a chance to recover, Don took one of the two handed rifles that the men had dropped onto the ground the repeatedly drove the butt of the gun into the helmet of the man against the wall; each strike resulted in the crunching of metal as the man's helmet became compromised.

With both of the men dispatched, Don stood with the weapon he had taken from the floor. It was quite similar to the assault rifles that had been used against him and Mike the first time they had fought back against the ONI personnel, although this one seemed smaller in size compared to the other. The nameplate showed the logo and name of 'Misriah Armories', along with the model number of MA5K as well as engraving that the weapon had been assembled on the planet Mars. The ammo counter that was on the top of the weapon showed that the magazine was full with 32 rounds of ammunition.

With a better weapon and after spending a moment to collect the spare ammo from the dead guardsmen, he set his bearings for the direction that the two had originally been going. The sounds of fighting were still quite audible and it did not sound far off. If there was any chance of help, and if the best bet was that the attackers were Covenant, there might be some hope for the two. The population of Humans that Don and Mike had encountered thus far seemed to only want the opposite of their wellbeing.

Don continued on towards the fight. By this time the sounds had softened due, to what he would assume, to be casualties. He was glad that he was more prepared, though without coverings he hardly felt adequately prepared for a fight. If anything was beneficial, it would be the fact that his trek was not known and his presence was not expected; if he played his cards right he could keep the factor of surprise through all of this.

Up ahead there was a junction of the corridor. From the sounds of it, the shooting was just around the corner. Surprisingly the sounds of Humans fighting back could still be heard, albeit clear there was only a few left. Several streaks of color zipped through the junction from the left down the perpendicular hall, stopping Don in his tracks. Several Human screams accompanied the streaks of what he would assume to be plasma.

Suddenly, a single ONI guard, frantic and armed with a shotgun, charged around the corner towards Don. The man was just as surprised to see him as Don was. With the assault rifle already raised, Don attempted to fire the weapon at the man's chest only to find that the safety had been left active.

Shit. Don assumed his end would be surely be here.

The man stopped in his tracks as he leveled his shotgun at Don's chest. With panic in his eyes he too attempted to fire his weapon. Too much of Don's favor, the hammer gave a loud click as the weapon failed to have any shells left.

The man froze in stupidity as he muttered a single word. "Fuck."

With a smile and a brief glance, Don took the safety off and emptied nearly half of the magazine into the man's torso. As the man fell, a loud squawking sound bleated out from the same corner. This was followed by a deep voice speaking a language that Don didn't understand.

Just as fast as the guard had, a group of six foot tall avian creatures, each, except for one were armed with alien weapons and an illuminated circular shield on their wrists, bolted around the corner. The one that was not was slightly different from the others, it was stockier and had a large feathered plume on its head and neck. They came to a quick halt and hid behind their shields as they watched Don intensely. These avians were familiar to him; he knew them as Jackals from the games; he faintly remembered their actual names being the Kig'Yar. After a few moments had passed, the plumed one, a Skirmisher, stepped forward past the others and squawked loudly as it looked at him confused. Suddenly a trio of large figures came from behind the pack. The new figures were fully armored and very authoritative in their mannerism; these were Sangheili, better known as Elites from the lore.

At the sight of the group, Don immediately dropped his weapon, letting it tumble to the floor as the group glared him down. To seem as least menacing as he could, Don lifted his hands as a sign of surrender. This act seemed to cause greater confusion amongst the Jackals, leaving them to chirp and tilt their heads at each other. One of the Elites, the one clad in decorative Maroon armor, took a step forward and spoke demandingly at Don. He cringed slightly, not at the sounds that the Elite was making, but rather at the realization that he had no idea what to say or do to communicate back to them.

"I don't understand." Don shrugged very slightly as he swallowed nervously.

The Elite jerked his head back with an unsure glare at Don while the other two muttered amongst himself. Unlike his confused counterparts, the Skirmisher pulled out a Personal Data Assistant of some sort before speaking into it. A loud beep rang out and a deep toned voice called out from the device. As the device sounded off, the Maroon Elite snarled slightly before having a very quick conversation with the group. With that he pointed at Don and waved him to follow. Not wanting any confrontation, he quietly nodded and complied.

With the escort of all of the Elites and Jackals, Don was lead throughout the station. He knew not of Mike's whereabouts or where or even what they were on. From what he could see, this was an ONI station of some kind and the Covenant had boarded by force. There were many bodies of men and alien alike scattered around the halls, each were surrounded by scorch marks and their own bullet casings. Each of the corpses had been burned in high degrees and had clearly been overwhelmed. From the amount of brass casings on the ground it seemed like they had somehow put up one hell of a fight. As the group led him on, more members of the Covenant were seen waiting along the way as if they were waiting for further orders. Each would salute the Maroon Elite and follow behind the group; clearly this Elite was fairly important. The feeling of concern could be felt from the escorting aliens; the sounds of their confused and questioning chitters echoed quietly throughout the halls and passing rooms of the ship. After a few more moments of walking, a loud hum of a generator could be heard.

The group eventually turned around a corner into a cafeteria-esc room. The room was clad in the same metal and gray color that the ONI personnel seem to love, however there seemed to be one significant difference to this room. The wall opposing the entrance have been breached violently inward from the exterior of the ship's hull. Protruding through the breached wall was a well sized tube that was clearly a means of docking. Though the breach was far from being a cleanly made insertion, the open space around the docking tube that was not touching, had been filled with a sort of illuminating electrical pane of what could be described as an energy barrier. Without missing a beat, the Jackal escort took Don straight onto the docking tube. He only stopped to glance back at the interior of the Human ship. There was a strange feeling that he felt hint over his worry of Mike's wellbeing. It was the unfamiliar quirk that this might be the last 'Human' interior he would see for quite a long time. That was only if he would actually survive.

Eventually the escort brought Don to an open room that seemed to be for a gathering of a few dozen people. While there seemed to be no one there at the time, it was only a few moments before the sounds of arguing Jackals were approaching. Within moments another escort came into the room. The members of this group were struggling with the heavy body of a nearly unconscious Mike, a sight that put Don greatly at ease. This solace was short lived however, as a door before them opened to a great number of highly decorated Elites coming through. This group was escorting a new figure into the room that Don had yet to see. The figure was small; slightly smaller than the stature of a Human, frail in build and atop of a floating gold throne. As this individual entered the room, the entirety of the Covenant members lowered their head in respect to him; this was a Prophet.

The Maroon Elite began to speak to the Prophet. Don wished he could follow along, but to him, the Sangheili language was complex mess of growling and warbling. From the sound of the Elite's voice, he was not in a playful mood. The Prophet looked between the Elite and Don several times while he was being spoken too. Unfortunately, all of the shooting and talking had woken up Mike who immediately blessed the room with his charm.

"Who the fuck are you people?!" Mike, with the grace of a truck slamming into a brick wall, jerked into the one sided conversation.

The Maroon Elite snarled in disgust. "As you can see, Holy One… They only speak the language of the parasite."

"What is it too you?" Mike shot back aggressively as he stood carefully by himself from the two Elites carrying him.

"Explain yourselves!" Mr. Maroon shouted at the two.

Before either of them could answer, the Prophet brushed his hand on the Zealot's arm, giving him the cue to silence himself.

"I am the Vice Minister of Exploration, and I have questions that require answers." The Prophet spoke with a sense of fine grace. "Such as to why do you not know of your own language, Sangheili?" As he posed the question, everyone in the room shifted to allow more room for the Prophet's interrogation.

Don rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he picked his brain for a false answer. "Both of us were beaten and tortured psychologically for several days." It wasn't a necessarily terrible excuse.

"Psychological?" The Prophet asked as if he did not quite understand the word. "You received trauma to yourselves?"

"Yes"

"Interesting..." he paused to stroke his chin." I was not aware that the Parasite had taken any of us..."

"They are called Humans, sir." Don added dumbly to try to at least give some polite help.

The Prophet hummed. "How were you captured?" He asked.

"We don't remember..." Don answered after a pause.

"Do you remember your state of birth?" He questioned skeptically.

Don tightened his mouth closed, not knowing what to say.

"Do you know who I am? Or mother's name?" he paused "Or... even your oath?"

"No." Don answered with his hands balled slightly at his sides. His answer caused a slight chuckle through the others of the room.

"What use are you possibly to the Covenant without such knowledge?" The Prophet frowned. "I hardly could label you both as Sangheili with your present standings."

The Maroon Elite leaned forward to mutter something into the Prophet's ear.

"What would I like done?" The Prophet beamed to him with a slight smile. "Zealot Quotomnee… I would implore you to dispose of these two as you see fit." He answered as he turned to leave.

"Of course." The Zealot bowed his head to the fleeting Prophet.

With his escort, the Prophet exited through the same doorway he had entered before, leaving the rest of the Covenant members that only stood and watched respectfully. As the door closed, the Zealot turned back to face Don and Mike with a smile. He gave a quick order to the spectating Covenant troops in which a good portion of them quickly vacated the room. As they did the Zealot paced back and forth in thought.

"Now… what to do with you two." He spoke in an English tongue as he grasped a small hilt-esc item in his fist from his side. "Do I leave you to the birds or do I take the pleasure of ending you both myself?" He asked as he stopped pacing to look at them.

With such a trying scenario, Don stood firm and silent with his fists clenched at his side. He hoped that there might be some further trial or test to compete for their lives. Despite his firmness, the loud clatter of struggle sounded off behind him. Too much of his dismay, Mike had decided to take action by swiftly grappiling one of the Jackals that had gotten too close to him into a choke hold whilst lifting its side arm.

"Drop your weapon." Mike demanded fiercely as he held the weapon to the Jackal's head.

In light of this unfolding of cards, the Zealot began to give a hearty laugh.

"I'll fucking do it! Don't fuck with me, bitch!" Mike shouted as he tightened the weapon against the Jackal's head.

"What will you do, sir?" The Zealot continued to laugh. "You are without shields or armor. You may kill the Kig'Yar as I care not of his life. I have more pressing duties to lose rest too."

Don swallowed nervously; this guy was the kind of rigid and cold hearted bastard that he despised.

"Please. Continue, filth. I will simply let his fellow warriors avenge him." The Zealot smirked. "It is your play."

Mike shook slightly at this. Even in high stress situations such as this, his morals got the best of him. "Fuck..." He grimaced as he dropped the weapon and let the Jackal free.