AWWW YEAH! Big fat entry for you guys! If you're squeamish, I'm sorry, this one I went a little nasty with to capture the horror of war and 177 darker side. DESCRIPTIVE POWERS ACTIVATE!
"I'm out!" D-183 yelled as he fired his last two shots from "Bouncin' Betty". 177 watched the two green shots hit Elites dead on, but their shields only flickered. He ducked his head back down behind the overturned Scorpion he had been driving only minutes ago. As to how it had even flipped over, the steel and blue Spartan knew not. D-183 tossed the Fuel Rod Cannon to the side and slinked over from the far side of the tank barricade.
"We're sitting ducks here, we need to move," the white and blue armor said.
"I didn't notice!" 177 yelled back sarcastically. "Marines!" he called out to the two remaining, one had been fried to a crisp from a Focus Rifle, a favorite amongst Jackal Snipers. "I don't know what your standing orders are, but I say its time to pick a different battle field."
"We're pulling back?" one asked.
"No, we are moving to a position where we can better take care of our friends over there." The whine of a plasma grenade detonating made the troopers wince; the concussion made the tank buckle. "They were getting much too close."
"There was a set of buildings with large balconies overlooking each side of this street a while back. That might be a good place for an ambush," the second marine said. 177 could have sworn their names were optimist and pessimist.
"Sounds good to me," D-183 agreed.
"Now all we need is a distraction that is somehow going to keep them off of our backs," Pessimist added.
"Please, we have these," 177 and D-183 said in unison. They handed a couple grenades to the marines.
"On the count of 10. I want them closer," D-183 whispered over the comm system. "1… 2…"
"Ten!" 177 yelled, pulling his pin. All he needed for justification was a sudden shadow coming around the tank. Spartan 177 spun around the corner as the world slowed. Though the Elite stood over him by a good couple feet, 177 curled his fingers around the first grenade, and punched it into the Elite's mouth. What would have been a battle cry became a choked muffle, almost seeming to silence the arena. 177 retrieved the M45 Tactical shotgun from his right thigh in time to blast a second Elite in the face at point blank. Blood didn't even have time to splatter his armor; 177 had already pulled the pin and was high tailing it away.
177 ran with his comrades; they had only managed to get off their grenades in the time 177 had dispatched two Elites. While not the fastest, Spartan 087 - Kelly held that honor, Spartan 177 - Andrew had a reaction time that had its moments. It even defied Spartan standards when his adrenaline was pumping. It allowed his mind precious milliseconds to do whatever he wanted. Halsey had always wondered if that was why all of 177's kills were perfect. At least to what 177 saw in his mind.
"Next time you do that I'm gonna have Deja teach you how to count!" D-183 yelled, expertly jumping over a trashed Warthog to land perfectly. The memory of the AI from their training days brought back good memories of food and drink while learning everything they ould need to know to be Spartan's.
"It's more fun my way!" 177 called back. "This pace is going to kill me though!" He couldn't help that little outburst. He was thankful the marines were booking it, but to a Spartan pumped up, this was a jog in the park.
"Shud'up," Pessimist said.
"We'll take the high ground Spartan's," Optimist said, punching his fellow comrade in the shoulder. "What are you guys going to do?"
"Working on it!" 177 yelled. Behind him he heard the whine of a Ghost in hot pursuit. He pinged D-183 and jerked a thumb backward. D-183 nodded, and the two set off to prepare a makeshift ambush that the marines weren't even ready to help support.
The two Spartans broke off into a run for the pillars supporting the balconies the marines would shortly be set up on. D-183 grabbed hold of a misplaced dumpster, using it as a counter weight as he launched himself at his building. It was then that even a several ton Spartan pulled off a move that an armor-less teenager could. He treated the wall like level flooring, and used his hand to pin himself. D-183 scooted to the ceiling, preparing for the moment. 177 had jumped and slid feet first into a pillar, halting his sudden rush of momentum. The pillar cracked and crumbled slightly, but withstood the punishment. By the time a normal human could have comprehended what happened, D-183 would have snuck to the ceiling and 177 would have already have his trusty Sniper Rifle nicknamed 'Truth" out and deployed.
The Ghost was driven by an Elite Minor. 'Easy kill,' 177 thought as he leveled the reticule over the Elite's head. He held his fire, his finger no where near the trigger. He lay as still as possible, hoping the flung dumpster from D-183 was providing enough cover, though it revealed more than half of his body.
The Elite was cautious, scooting slowly forward, wary of the trap just feet away. D-183 fired his Assault Rifle from the ceiling one handed. It took a moment to see where D-183 was going with this. The bullets pinged off of the Elite's shields, but it did little to the driver and vehicle. But as D-183 dropped and dived for cover from the coming barrage of plasma fire, 177 understood.
The purple vehicle turned, leaving the Elite completely exposed. Faster than a hummingbirds wing beat 177 had relined the shot and fired. The bullet left "Truth" and entered the Elite's brain, but only after piercing the shields and removing most of the Elite's skull. As the body slumped off of the Ghost, D-183 realized, and 177 had a subtle reminder of why he liked the Sniper Rifle's oversized rounds. The round would leave the muzzle with such speed, and its mass was enough to truly be considered an "Anti-Material" weapon. Upon impact, it creates a hole much bigger than itself. The force completely rips everything apart like soft targets and creates a cavity. Bigger, it matters not. It just plows through to the prize. In this case, an Elite's brains which were reduced to something smaller than the thickness of a dime.
"Remind me not to piss you off," D-183 said, inspecting the headless Elite. 177 popped out the clip and scratched in another mark before placing it back and cycling the bolt through. The marines who had witnessed the tail end of the skirmish were wondering where such copious amounts of badassery could be obtained. 177 looked at D-183 and left it at that, letting the black visor of his helmet speak all for him.
The moment was shortly lived when the entourage of Covenant tailing them finally caught up. D-183 picked up the dead Elites grenades and tossed one into their mix, hoping it would cause them to focus their attention away from them for a moment.
"Let's save the group hug for later," he said, hopping into the Ghost and spinning it around protecting himself. 177 dove behind the Ghost, popping up only to fire two shots. A Jackal Sniper and an Elite fell. The barrage of plasma kept most of the Covenant at bay.
"Marines, fire!" 177 yelled. The staccato of the Assault rifles filled the air. Grunts and unarmored Jackals fell dead on the spot, completely unaware of where the fire came from.
"We're low on ammo!" Optimist yelled. "You guys are going to be without covering fire quick!"
177 blinked over the comm acknowledging the intel. To make matters worse, a sticky grenade sailed through the air and found its mark on the Ghost. The two Spartans dived for cover and the purple speeder blew up. 177 dived behind a pillar and shot off again, watching with smug satisfaction as an Elite fell.
"We need to end this now!" D-183 shouted.
"Wanna see how 'Truth' acts in close quarters?" 177 said casually before reloading both of his weapons. A blip came through the comm and they tore from their cover. Plasma raced around them but 177 disregarded all of the different colored plasmas and went for the kills. It was easy to dodge them anyways, their aim was shit when you were charging right at them. D-183 hopped and bounced around; he was like a little monkey on everything.
When the pair finally reached the Covenant line, hell truly broke loose. The first Elite went down with a loud "craboom". The Elites head was left with a good portion of it missing; it only remained intact because the bullet hadn't had enough time to build up its initial speed. D-183 had brought out his brand new model issue Assault Rifle and began to fire a stream of full auto rain. He kicked a Grunt in the face, watching as the skull caved in. The Assault Rifle quickly brought the end to two Jackals.
"Where'd you learn that?" 177 asked using the butt of the shotgun like a baseball bat. It sent a Jackal flying, knocking into an Elite.
"From you!" D-183 roared back. He holstered the rifle and began wrestling with an Elite for its "Elite shot". He butted heads with the angry Elite when its mouth was open in protest.
177 let off the Shotgun three times, noting with pride that four Grunts fell down. He grabbed a Grunts head in one hand and crushed it; simultaneously shoving the Shotgun down the open maw of a Jackal. Blue luminescent covered his left hand as the shotgun and face shield were smeared with the Jackals blood.
"Keep learning!" 177 shouted angrily. He wasn't angry at D-183, something else entirely. An Elite started to charge the steel and blue Spartan. 177 stood his ground and Sparta-kicked the Elite when it got close enough. He finished it off with two shells to the face. "Get the hell off my planet!"
D-183 kept the Elite's Launcher in one hand and ducked, whipping out the Assault Rifle with the other. The remaining portion of the 60 round magazine was emptied into the Elite; starting from the pelvis to the forehead. The armor piercing ammo made short work of the shields and body. D-183 stood with the "Elite Shot" in one had and Assault Rifle in the other.
The remaining Grunts dove back down the way they came. "That wasn't many, wonder where they all went," D-183 said, checking the Launcher ammo and reloading the Assault Rifle.
"Marines, get down here and scrounge ammo. We have more incoming." D-183 felt like giving him a "huh?" but one whole side of his motion tracker went red.
"Split up, I'll meet you on the other side," 177 running directly into the fray. Sniper shots rang out fast and loud as at least 3 sets of plasma turret streams raced to burn the battle crazed Spartan.
D-183 ducked off to a side alley. With the Launcher out in front, he awaited whatever would come from the side streets. As he watched a couple Covenant go by, he bided his time. He could only hope that a high priority target would walk by.
Shortly a Field Marshall Elite went by, barking orders. D-183 holstered the Launcher and snuck closer. He was afraid the Elite would move, but thankfully he was too busy ordering some Hunters.
The Elite only felt pain, then death. D-183 had used the Elites hip armor as a step ladder to get higher. He was looking down at the Elites neck where he had stabbed, then brought the blade up into the head, and through the brain cavity. With every once of strength, D-183 brought it through the skull. D-183 hopped down as the body stood momentarily and finally dropped.
It was like a chain reaction. Everyone minus the Hunters ran for cover, looking for someone to give orders. The Hunters began charging the giant guns attached to their hands, planning on blasting the Spartan to bits. The white and blue Spartan dodged their shots easily enough. He tossed a frag in their direction, knowing it would distract them long enough. The Launcher came out and Grunts and Elites went flying. Even the odd Brute was caught up in the midst of carnage. The concussive effect tore them all apart in a very pleasing way. D-183 switched to the Assault Rifle for and entirely different way of killing. Much more surgical.
D-183 was beginning to wonder why 177 enjoyed bullets so much when the pair of Hunters came back to view. One brought its shield down to try and squish him; D-183 retorted with a burst just underneath the head shield. He was rewarded with his already Elite blood slick arm get coated in Hunter… something. The orange florescence added an odd mix to his armor. He rolled backwards and away from the massive beast only to meet another just as it brought its shield down.
The Spartan ran up the shield-arm of the monstrosity and planted himself on its shoulders. With one hand he ripped the head shield back and fired point blank into the Hunter. The magazine quickly emptied, but the Hunter stood. Its partner wasn't too happy about him piggy backing and fired. Again the shot was dodged with a simple jump back. Faced with the opportunity of the exposed back, D-183 loaded his last magazine, and fired another burst. The first finally had taken enough and fell to the ground. The second roared and bared down on D-183, charging its gun and raising its shield in a vengeful strike.
"Well this wont work," D-183 said tossing the spent rifle to the side. He drew out the Launcher and charged at the Hunter. Even by Spartan standards, this was stupid and rash. To his "mentor" 177 it was brilliant. D-183 was just hoping it would work.
He dived between the Hunters legs and popped up quickly, wishing he would have enough time to react. He spun to find the Hunter had had just enough time to halt its progress. With a forceful shove, D-183 plunged the "Elite Shot" into the Hunters body. D-183 felt the Hunter give a slight twitch before he fired. The usual "electrical" aura it gave when it fired covered the Hunters body before it fell to the ground. At this point D-183 whole right forearm was covered in orange goo. He turned to see two Wraiths at the end of the street, both charging their massive artillery cannons.
"Gimme a break," D-183 said reluctantly as he noticed he had nothing with any ammo left. Off in the corner of his eye he spied a relatively full collection of Needlers and an odd weapon. It had a large width barrel and a sharp curved blade on the other end. D-183 said nothing, he just raced for the weapons.
177 rounded the corner wishing for six rockets as three Wraiths rounded on him. The plasma turrets rained their deadly blue fire on him. It was only by tossing his last frag did he manage to have enough room to move behind a Covenant weapon block. He retrieved "Truth" and gave a single heavy sigh. His rest was brief, for the whine of the Wraith's main cannon of destruction told him he had to move.
As his dived back out, he let a shot fly, watching his shield dwindle from the multiple barrages. The first shot hit the Elite manning the turret. One stream of blue fire stopped. Feeling hopeful, 177 let off two more shots on the run, heading for the first Wraith. He was pleased to see that both shots hit their mark.
"You really should see someone. These thoughts in your head aren't good," father spoke up. 177 hadn't even felt the AI move from the chip and into his head.
"They say my insanity is within normal limits," 177 said sharply. It was easy to rip open the driver canopy and set off one of the drivers grenades. He hopped off just as the floating death machine crashed to the ground exploded. The second met a similar fate, but not before being fired upon from the second. The seconds driver had a nasty wound; 177 had reached down the Elite's throat and ripped out its voice box and part of its throat before firing the shotgun point blank into its chest.
177 walked away from the smoldering wreckages with an empty shotgun, and a silent father. 177 looked at the sight before him; five Elites stood in a deathly silence. the two before him were Spec Ops, their energy swords drawn. The three Generals in the back stood by, waiting for orders. One Spec Op stepped forward and brandished his sword.
The steel and blue Spartan was tempted to pull out "Truth" and start firing, but the first Elite didn't give him the time. 177 drew his knife knowing it was pointless. Luckily for him the Elite seemed to was to teach him a lesson. 177 watched as his large eight inch blade get reduced to three with a simple swipe. The knife at the end burned bright from the recent removal. The Elite growled low in its throat in a challenging sort of way.
177 circled around the Elite, waiting for the next attack to come. He almost din't hear the near silent footsteps of the second Spec Ops approach. 177 ducked and plunged the knife into the second's shoulder. While the blade wasn't long enough, 177 pried the knife until he felt the Elite's sword arm give way and dislocate. It slipped with a sickening crunch and howl. 177 quickly grabbed the energy sword from his opponent and stabbed it into the neck. The howling stopped, and it was with a quick slash at the first that both Spec Op Elites fell. The three Generals roared for their fallen comrades, both pulling out their own swords. 177 picked up the second energy sword.
"Bad ass points wins. Now get off my planet." He knew the taunt would not work. He gripped the unfamiliar energy swords, hoping to win against three seasoned warriors with the same weapons.
177 used both to block the first couple attacks before attempting a swipe at one of the Elites. 177 missed completely, watching as his now exposed arm became the focus of attack. Thankfully with his reaction time boosted by the power of the suit, 177 twitched and was happy to see half an arm drop to the ground when an Elite had lunged for the tempting target. Sadly it wasn't the sword arm, and the Elite lurked in the outer edge of the battle, jabbing here and there. It was a great flurry of color and strength; 177 parried the blows where he could but he was nothing compared to the master swordsmen.
The two full and complete Elites went to each side of 177 and swept down in a chopping strike. It was only by sheer luck that 177 caught both blows with the small spacing in the swords. As they locked together, the Elites pushed, bringing 177 to his knees. 177 grunted under the strain. As much as he willed his arms to stay straight they buckled just like his knees. He started to sweat under the strain of the Elite's force. The third circled to 177's face, preparing to deliver the finishing blow. A spark lit the Spartan's mind, bringing him back into the fight.
"Psych!" 177 said through gritted teeth as the jetpack on his back activated, carrying him and the other two Elites into the air. They made kicks at him, but with nothing around them to put any force in, they were harmless grazes.
"You just got death rolled!" 177 said paraphrasing the rick-rolled line. Twisting the thrusters in opposite directions, the Elites were flung from the locked sword hold and hurled into the air.
The first never saw what happened, it just had a sword plunged into its back and then ripped downward, its innards falling to the earth. 177 kicked off its body and fired a burst from the thrusters. As he rocketed to the second, the Elite had time to raise its sword to block the strike. It was useless when 177 stabbed at its face between the energy swords blades. With the second down, 177 hovered in the air a moment and looked down at the arm and a half-less Elite. It roared at him as the two other bodies fell to the ground. Father could only imagine how evil his son looked, black visor staring down soullessly at the creature. "Andrew reign it in..." Father said, but 177 never heard a word.
177 cut off the jetpack and made his decent to the earth. The Elite made an expert swing at him, but missed completely when 177 dropped to his one knee pose. He hit with a loud metal clang, facing the ground. Once he felt the energy sword swing over his head, 177 stabbed a sword into the Elites chest.
"Perhaps you didn't hear me from over there," 177 said. He didn't know it, but any other human would have backed away in fear. 177 rose up to meet the Elite eye to eye. The Elite roared, still trying to make an attempt to kill the Spartan. "But I said GET THE FUCK OFF MY PLANET!"177 stabbed the second blade into the Elite, twisted both 90 degrees and ripped apart.
The Elite fell apart in front of him, a nice smear of blood all over the front of his armor. "I think I'll keep this," 177 said, dropping the second sword and deactivating the one in his right. He slipped it into the hard case for safe keeping, knowing that if he needed it, some ONI spook would have taken it away from him. 177 rolled his head to each side, popping his neck.
Off in the distance the Spartan heard more Wraith's. Like a wraith the the Covenant, 177 became his nickname and disappeared into the darkness before soaring into the sky unseen, headed for the sounds of trouble.
D-183 reloaded the Needler in the usual flicking fashion. He was starting to like the super-combine explosion, but it was still too much a weapon of 177 tastes. 'Let's see, lets make a weapon that spikes into your armor and then where there are lots in your body, lets make them explode. Oh, lets give it homing too!' D-183 thought as he narrowly dodged the artillery barrage he was wishing for a couple grenades when one of the Wraith's made a charge at him.
The white and blue Spartan realized only after he switched weapons that there wasn't enough time to fire and make it count. He knelt and locked his armor. The overloaded shields held their ground, completely caving in one front side of the purple tank. It seemed like the driver knew what he was going to do. D-183 quickly jumped up onto the vehicle and brandished the sharp business end of the odd Brute Shot weapon.
"Open up!" he yelled before plunging the sword into the Elites mouth. War is gross. War is sick. War makes most people feel phantom pains in their body. Spartan's were desensitized as much as one could be. It was all just a mission, the number of kills any Spartan would rack up would be enough to make any ODST's stomach churn. Even some would gag on how some of the Covenant met their end. To a Spartan, this was all just a mission. How they killed, it mattered not.
D-183 hooked the Elite with the blade and flung him out of the turret position. He flipped the weapon around and shoved it into a small hole on the vehicle and fired, knowing that he had just fired point blank into the driver's head.
"Who's next?" D-183 called out, immediately loving the Brute Shot as a weapon. Nasty blade, nasty concussion. What more could one as for?
As the second Wraith turned on D-183, the one behind him exploded, placing D-183 in a dark haloed explosion. He raised the Brute Shot with one had and rested it on his shoulder. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn the Elite in the turret paused.
It was all 177 needed. He was a good 50 feet above the Elite in the turret when he fired. The bullet tore through the Elite, leaving nothing bigger than a shin for an autopsy. The black visored Spartan pulled out a Covenant grenade and opened the hatch.
"Hold this for me will ya?" he said as he tossed the grenade into the Elite's crotch, right where any man would cringe from getting hit. Though an Elite's anatomy was quite different from a humans, the Elite still gave a growl that was somewhere between "Oh shit," and "Why me?".
177 jetpacked away just in time as the Wraith blew up, showering the area in bits and pieces of it. He landed on the ground next to D-183 and they surveyed each others armor.
"You look like shit," the steel blue Spartan commented. D-183 scoffed the other Spartan, noticing that while he didn't have quite the mix of colored blood, he seemed to be covered in more of it. The blue from the Grunt's head earlier was a nice touch.
"I look awesome," 177 said happily, scratching his kills from the skirmish onto the rifle.
"You're gonna run out of room," D-183 said, noticing that the butt of the "Truth" was covered.
"Not bloody likely. Every eighth of an inch scratch is just one kill. Fourth is 5 kills, half an inch 25…" 177 explained. D-183's eyes widened. He suddenly had newfound respect for the Spartan, there were more kills to that Sniper Rifle's name than most ODST's could brag about.
"Spartan's 177 and D-183 report in. 177 and D-183 report in," said a female's voice. Most likely Command.
"Go ahead," 177 answered.
"Head to your waypoint destination I'm sending you. Detail time, we need some Spartan's there to insure its safe departure."
"Roger that," 177 growled. He clicked off the line. "Detail sucks," 177 said to the white and blue Spartan.
"Come on," D-183 said, running towards the starport. 177 followed him, reloading his Sniper Rifle. It was another day in the life of a Spartan.
Hope you all enjoyed! Review, I love reviews!