"An exile, an outcast on the verge of oblivion" The slow voice ominously spoke through the chamber, hints of despair and hysteria hitting the high tone of the vocal chords. Flashes of red bounced of the purple chamber walls in dysfunctional harmony, causing more strange noises to emulate from the corrupted golden monitor system.
Recognisable Barrier of Testimony hovered through the large covenant corridor in a retarded and jerky fashion, his colour pallet shifting from the monochromatic gold to desperate surges of crimson at times. Two large forerunner promethean knights walked behind him slowly, their heavy and bulky triangular body frames prodding at the low ceiling as they followed their commanding monitor system.
The oracle continued to lead them through the tight maze of corridors that would eventually lead to the cockpit of the covenant storm Supreme Carrier 'Infamous Fury'. A thousand and one thoughts ripped through the remaining sanity sections of his data core, as he vibrated violently; a segment of pain turned into pure cold anger as he remembered who had done this to him.
Rage started to overcome the golden monitor, surviving as a channel as the memories of his corruptive data core started to plague him; but soon enough he could channel that fury into something equally as violent. After realising that his entire data core had been completely corrupted with the propaganda of the Thunder and Covenant, he had slowly started to reassure his original set of code and sought out an emotion that was, until now, completely unacceptable for an entity such as himself. Anger was something new to an Oracle such as himself, but after been reacquainted with the hatred of the covenant; the Monitor realised the potential and quick acting resolve of this new emotion.
And so he continued to travel through the corridor, readying himself to properly speak and even strike down the Hierarch if need be, even if it was in front of his entire crew; if his forerunner masters had taught him anything, then it was that revenge was something that required an audience.
Meanwhile
The resounding noise of a round smashing into a large red target echoed throughout the entire training room floor, it was almost as if every marine that had ever gone inside had simply started training just so they could hear the satisfying noise of the bullet hitting the target.
Robert stood at the aiming rack of the whole room, firing a standard issue silenced SMG at the red patterned target that stood almost twenty metres away from his position; firing another volley frantically he managed to hear the familiar noise of his rounds not impacting with anything that he meant to.
The lone ODST sighed to himself, looking around for anyone or anything that might motivate him to keep going. But as he hung his head low and breathed out slowly, he realised that there was no one left to tell him to keep going; everyone that ever really cared had become simple victims to the Thunder and even each other.
A figure entered the room quickly, creating heavy sets of the sound of footsteps and thus revealing himself to be clad in a heavy set of Mjonlir armour. The Hell-Jumper looked up sharply and hopefully, only for his head to lay low again as he saw the huge white Spartan IV known as 'South' enter the room. Surprisingly a friendly growl filled the atmosphere as the bulky warrior acknowledged Robert before turning his huge golden visor to the side and grabbing a set of weaponry to practice with.
Robert returned back to his work, somehow motivated and pleased by the simple growl of the large Spartan; for him it was the little things that truly mattered and as he continued to fire a round of SMG bullets into the opposing target, a smile escaped his visor.
Suddenly voices echoed from the opposite side of the room, the harsh and cruel tone of the Spartan commander caused a shiver to tunnel down the backbone of the ODST. He hadn't forgotten the punch that had almost cracked his spine, North may have acted out of place at the time but that didn't excuse how he had legitimately almost killed the young and weaker soldier.
"South?" North called from the side, "I need your allegiance this time."
The massive white warrior shook his head slowly, barely even noticing or caring about the upstart golden commander; it was clear that South was merely disgusted in the behaviour of his leader, especially after the betrayal of Lucifer.
"That's an order Spartan!" North growled furiously, a large assortment of pent up rage starting to overflow in his system as his own soldier refused to even acknowledge him. South merely clicked his tongue impatiently, he was unimpressed and couldn't even be bothered with the conversation.
The golden commander clenched his fists in frustration, preparing to try and physically persuade the white warrior; but after rubbing at his sore back and noticing how intimidating South really was, he decided to merely leave it alone.
As North left, the ODST walked up forward to the lone white warrior; standing by his side in defiance against the terrible excuse of a leader.
"It goes to show, leadership should be given to those who earn it." Robert finally spoke, his tone betraying the pure hatred he felt for North.
South growled in agreement, turning back and nodding to the lone hell-jumper before walking to the training room floor and resorting back to practicing the fine arts of death and destruction.
