Red vs. Blue: The Spartan Rejects
Episode 8: ES-CAP-E

: AREA 51, MARS

They didn't stand a chance. Guns shooting, fists flying, and long strings of curse words uttered at super-angry-fast-speed, Church was single-handedly pwning the Flood.

"Daaaayum!" Tucker whistled.

"The anger…" Caboose awed.

"Hey. Why didn't he fight like this when we were in the labs?"

"Perhaps he wasn't angry enough…Or he's just started PMSing right now."

"…Dude, only girls get PMS."

"No way…! Are you saying Church is really a girl?"

"…"

"…"

"Caboose?"

"Yes, Tucker?"

"Don't talk to me anymore."

Simmons then called to their attention, "Hey, guys, we can't hang around too long. Dr. Pavlovla's beginning to cough blood all over me. We gotta take her to the infirmary—"

But Dr. Pavlovla interrupted, despite her deteriorating condition, "No…The infirmary's overrun by Flood…Destroying the facility is…our number one priority now."

Sister reminded, "But we lost the Andys."

"I've managed to contact the Andys and sent them to the weakest points of Area 51. Soon they'll be ready for detonation."

Sarge hollered to the frenzied Blue leader, "You hear that, Blue? Sheila's already talked with the Andys! She says they're okay!"

"Wha? Really?" Church immediately stopped fighting. One last armless combat form moved to jump him but was met with a sucker-punch in the face.

Grif queried as the cobalt soldier shoved his helmet back on, "What have those bowling balls been doing anyway? I mean, where did they go?"

"They said that, when the arsenal was razed, they got scared and just fled."

"Afraid? They're bombs! The Flood can't infect them…Can they?"

The Spartans glanced at each other, uncertain of the answer, until their radios beeped. The Spartans attempted to respond, but their communication lines were still muddled. Church turned to the A.I. in Simmons's head, "Sheila, our radios aren't working. Can you find a way to patch us through?"

"The Flood's brain form is interfering with the com-network. I'll see what I can do."

After a couple moments, a fuzzy transmission came over their radios. "Yello. Yello. Come in. Yello. Anyone there? Anyone ALIVE, that is?"

"It can't be. That sucker's not dead yet?" Sarge said incredulously. Church replied to the call, "Vic, is that you?"

"Hey, hey! Church, my man! Wuzz goin' on?"

"Nothin' much, except being nearly consumed by aliens," the Blue leader brushed aside Vic's mundane question and inquired, "Where are you?"

"In the transport bay. Security systems have shut down the teleporters, so the army's rounding up any survivors left in the building and plan to leave by ship. And there's this dude here that told me to call you."

Relief washed over Church, recalling his previous actions, "That's right. I've set up an escape route for us. Thanks, Vic!"

"No problemo, amigo. Hasta." And the feed was cut.

Heading down one of the intersecting corridors, Church motioned to the others, "C'mon. We're getting the hell outta here." To the Spartans, it was like the first good news in hundreds of years.

"Finally! I'm getting claustrophobic in here," Grif exclaimed.

Sarge sighed, "Never thought I'd live to see the day when Vic does something useful."

As the company of Reds and Blues marched to freedom, Doc mentioned, "Hey…whatever happened to that brain form anyway? I don't think I ever saw it when we were down in the labs." Certainly not interested in the welfare of some freaky monster, the others shrugged and thought nothing of it.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

: BASEMENT, BELOW SUB-FLOOR 20

The steady hum of Area 51's power generators was like a soothing lullaby, a tranquil pond of flowing water bouncing against vast walls of shimmering glass and steel. For Preston, however, his world was nothing. All he could hear was an infinite buzzing in his head.

For the past two hours, he was alone. Frightened, cold, straining for a taste of that sweet air. Bit by bit, the "other", the parasite infesting his body, would pilfer his memories and exploit them for its own use. Already he has forgotten his childhood; already he has forgotten the family waiting for him back home. It took every ounce of his strength to hold what few memories he had left. Just his name, his military rank. Recent recollections of a woman named Pavlovla and her Spartans, the people whom he struggled all this time to protect, retaining as much Flood in the heart of the facility as possible. And for what reason, he did not know.

For the past two hours, he was Captain Jacob Keyes. And soon he will be no more.

I…I can't let "it" have them…I can't… The buzzing grew louder. The memories slipping faster. …No! No more time…Please hurry…Leave now! Leave before…before… Just a name, just a rank.

I am Lt. Ryan Preston…I am Lt. Ryan Preston…I-I am…I…I am Ryan Preston! I am Ryan…Ryan…I am…I am…

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

The farther and farther the Spartans traveled from the center, the less dangerous and less often the Flood showed up. They figured it is because the ONI forces and the Flood had trashed each other so bad that there is now very few opposition left to contend with, which is kind of a good thing for the Reds and Blues. Nonetheless, just because there are less Flood, doesn't mean they can let down their guard. At least, that's what a soldier should think like.

"Ahhh," Grif yawned and stretched and smacked his lips, scratching his chest lazily, "Are we there yet?"

"All right. More ammo," Sarge klept some shells from the random dead lying scattered in the halls. Donut, now finally healed by the bio-foam in his suit, reproached his superior officer, "You shouldn't steal from the dead, sir. It's disrespectful!"

The sergeant raised an eyebrow while sliding the new rounds into his shotgun, "Donut, in life-and-death situations like this, would you really prefer being buddies with these boys in the afterlife, or chance disrespecting a few dead people?" Donut blinked for a couple seconds, glimpsed down at the bodies, and then scooped up some ammo as well.

Fifteen minutes passed and the group still hasn't located the transport bay yet. Aside from this, whenever Dr. Pavlovla goes silent longer than two minutes, Simmons would worry and stir up a little chat between them. In one instance, he asked about the team that accompanied her when they went to retrieve Sheila. "They're dead…the Flood infected them all," she said with glassy eyes, her voice frail, "Preston saved me…killed the combat form that injured me…Before he was taken, he pushed me into my office and locked the door…I shall never forget his bravery."

Overhearing the conversation, Church gazed downward. I know I hated the bastard, but…

"Church?" Tucker spoke up, "You sure we're going the right way?"

"Huh?" the cobalt Spartan abruptly awoke from his daydream, "Y-Yeah, of course I do. The doc lady gave me a map, remember?"

"Then how come we walked past that mark three times just now?"

The aqua soldier was right. On a bench, they saw a familiar X-shaped blood splat. Everyone looked at the bewildered Blue leader. "Are you reading that map upside down or something?" Simmons frowned.

Church retorted, "How could I be reading it upside down? The map is automatically set with North pointing at the top."

Caboose suggested, darting his wary eyes from side to side, "Maybe the walls are moving…and making us walk in circles!…Which are actually squares!"

Now everybody is staring at Caboose. Grif said sardonically, "OR there's a rip in the space-time continuum that's keeping us from leaving this section. I think the only way to break through it is to hold your ankle with one hand and pat your head with your other hand while hopping around like a retard." As Grif had spoken, Caboose began patting his own head and hopping around on one leg.

Church promptly faced the others, ignoring his gullible comrade, "Anyhow, I think the map's compass was busted during one of our fights and making us come back to the same place."

"Like a circular square!"

"Shut up, Caboose."

Tucker scoffed, "Pff. 'One of our fights'? You literally jumped into—"

Church talked over him impatiently, "Okay, fine! Probably during MY fight. But that still doesn't change the fact that we're lost."

"Don't worry. My navigational system will lead us to the ship."

"If you had that, why didn't you lead us instead of letting us follow the Hulk over there?" Grif questioned, gesturing towards Church, who in turn looked indignant.

"You never asked." Grif muttered something about 'smart-ass computers.'

"Well, thanks anyway, Sheila," Simmons spoke with appreciation, "You know, you've been really helpful since you came back."

The amiable A.I. beamed inside his head, "After the events at Blood Gulch, Dr. Pavlovla allowed me access to the UNSC's records to gain more insight on military tactics and human culture. With the new information I've learned, I wish to assist my friends in any way possible."

Suddenly, their radios crackled and the jumbled rude voices of the Andys spilled through, "Yo, lady! We're ready for countdown! Oh, hey, lemme do it! 10, 9, 8—"

"H-Hey! No, not yet!" Church hastily shouted. Sarge barked along, "We need to escape first, ya zealots!"

"Aw-haw-haw-hawww, frickin' whiners! Can't we just bomb 'em? Nah, Sheila'll defuse us if we try. That sucks. Well, she can kiss my—If you had one."

"Not only can I defuse you, but I can also cut off your vocal processors as well."

"A'right, a'right. We get it. No blow 'til they say go. Ugh, the suspense is killin' me! Hurry up! Hey, Bobby, why're you so quiet? Bobby…?"

Sheila calculated the time and distance required to reach the ship, "Ten minutes should be more than enough."

Just then, a huge explosion went off somewhere, violently shaking the building. The Spartans braced themselves against anything solid and whirred their heads about, "Wah! What the—?" The Andys clamored in distress through their radios, "NOOOO, BOBBY!"

"What's going on?" Church yelled in confusion. Sheila exclaimed, shocked that she didn't catch this beforehand, "An Andy was infected by the Flood! They may have accidentally set it off!"

"I can't believe it. They blew him up and he wasn't even mentally there to see it! Poor Bobby…That's it, you ugly little shits! You're goin' down!"

The A.I. urgently informed her host, "We only have 9 minutes. Get us out of here!" When Simmons hesitated, she stressed harder, "Now!"

He then nodded and told the others, "C'mon!"

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

Vic yelped and shielded his head as electrical sparks crackled above him. The ONI Alpha leader ordered civilians to board the Albatross heavy dropship, a transport bigger than the Pelican, and prepare for departure. In the meantime, the armed forces hurriedly piled together sandbags and debris to create a makeshift barrier. "Guard the door! Don't let them get in!" The door to the transport bay shuddered as pale wrinkled fists pounded on it relentlessly, bending the metal inward. Some soldiers fortified the door with the remnants of storage containers and a Ghost.

"It's not enough…" a soldier murmured to his friend, both hiding behind sandbags, "They're coming."

A hand punched a hole into the battered door and a grotesque mouth snarled through it. The Alpha leader thrust the barrel of his M90A into the combat form's open mouth and pumped it with lead.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

The explosion triggered another series of alarms. Only this time, the computerized warnings sounded much more critical. Emergency doors began to slam shut, locking off all sections inside the facility, including the garage the Spartans just entered. "Ohh, now what are we gonna do?" Doc wrung his hands as the wide iron door closed on them.

"Simmons, that tank!" The maroon soldier spun sharply to his right and saw a M808 Scorpion tank lying on its side in a ditch. "Caboose! Gimme a hand with this!" Simmons summoned the Blue and both soldiers heaved the tank back onto its treads.

Astonished, Grif gawked, "Simmons, since when have you gotten so strong?"

"I'm a cyborg, duh!" Simmons helped Caboose into the driver's seat, "Do your stuff, Caboose. Here, Sheila." Shifting Dr. Pavlovla into one arm, he extracted the data chip from his helmet and inserted it into the tank's computer.

"Hello, Sheila! Mmn, this brings back memories, doesn't it?" Caboose trilled merrily. Knowing they're pressed for time, Sheila dismissed him, "We'll talk later, Caboose. Firing main cannon!"

The door was blasted apart and, naturally, a surge of Flood came sweeping in. "Everyone on the tank!" Sarge commanded and the Spartans hitched a ride of the tank's sides.

"Firing main cannon! Firing main cannon!" The crunching of bones and squishing of tissue rose from underneath the tank's treads. Caboose then drove them out of the garage and into a humongous corridor, where they conveniently discovered more Flood blocking their path.

Sister alerted, "Watch the little guys!" Miniature infection forms scuttled for them. Sheila pegged each of the pests with her machine gun. "Get the ranged forms!" the company aimed their weapons at the protruding partitions and pelted the spiked parasites until they dropped dead. While they were preoccupied, a stalker form pounced onto Doc.

"ARGHHH! HELP MEEE!" the medic cried, flapping his arms in terror. Sister struck the stalker with the butt of her rifle and sent it over the edge.

Doc sighed, relieved, "Thanks! I owe you one." Just as he ended his sentence, a combat form jumped Sister from behind, "Uh?—Ahh!" Before it could even touch her, a gunshot rang out and the beast's skull was completely blown away.

Grasping the tank's cannon, Tucker swung in and booted the headless torso off the vehicle and straight into another stalker. He lightly landed in front of her and cast a smug grin, "Told you I'd protect you."

Sister returned the smile, "Heh. I guess that means I owe you one too, huh?"

Tucker bestowed to her a sly look, "With interest." But the sight of an inflamed Grif cocking his gun swiftly extinguished the womanizer's plot.

They soon approached an unbelievably lengthy bridge spanning over an immense chasm. "4 minutes!" Sheila announced, "We need to go faster!"

Sarge searched the area and found three Warthogs. He did a hand signal, "To the Warthogs!"

Grif pointed at the jeeps, "You mean those Pumas?"

"GRIF…!"

"Okay! I'm going."

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

Unfortunately, that one blast from the infected Andy had caused a chain reaction among other Andys nearby, gradually enveloping parts of the facility with bubbles of fire.

Come on, come on! Where are they? The ONI Alpha leader did his best to keep the Flood from overtaking the ship, but exhaustion dulled his senses and fatigue attacked his systems. Several wounds coated his body and he was running low on ammo. And to add to his troubles, the number of Flood was growing ever still. A corporal tapped his shoulder, "Sir, we have to go. Sir? Sir?"

He chuckled faintly, quickly becoming aware of the truth. So this is it for me, eh? This is it for me…

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

"SON OF A BIIIIIIIIIII—!"

The Spartans' Warthogs zoomed over a gaping hole at the end of the bridge and bounced onto the platform. Flames started to consume the other side of the bridge.

"Fucking Dukes of Hazzard, yeah!" Grif roared, temporarily releasing the wheel. With Dr. Pavlovla resting uncomfortably in his lap, Simmons reproved his friend, his voice high with fright, "Grif! Keep your hands on the wheel!"

"Whoa," the orange Spartan gave the 'Hog a jerk to the left, barely missing a wall. In another jeep, Doc puked over the side as they zipped into another corridor. The medic groaned and mopped his mouth with a moist towelette, "Urmghh. I'm gonna dehydrate…"

Sheila shouted in Simmons's ear, "1 minute!"

Sister stood up in the side seat beside Sarge and hung onto the edge of the jeep's windshield, "Awesome! There's the ship!"

"Down, soldier!" the Red leader snatched the yellow Spartan's wrist and yanked her back down just before a cascade of pulse shots could hit her. The Flood had obliterated the transport bay's door and were engaged in a ferocious fight with the ONI forces. Half of the remaining troops were already dead or wounded. Adorned with a new eye-patch, the Bravo leader glanced up and saw the straggling Spartans, "Where the hell were y—? Never mind, get on the ship! Men, fall back!"

The Reds and Blues drove their vehicles into the three adjacent hatches of the dropship's cargo tray. The Bravo leader and his rag-tag platoon made a mad dash for the ship, the Flood right on their heels. Some combat forms almost nailed a retreating soldier but were torn asunder by the Warthogs' machine guns.

"Eat lead, zombies!" Donut yelled as he and his fellow Blood Gulchers scoured the bay clean of the hideous monsters, defending the ONI guard while they climbed in. "5 seconds!"

The Bravo leader called to the pilot, "Go, go, go!"

The Albatross sealed its hatches, lifted into the air, and took off. Tremendous fiery explosions encased the dying facility, its reddish ambers close to touching the dropship's tail. An aftershock followed, giving the craft a final vigorous shake. "Hold on!" the pilot flipped a few buttons and switches and pulled back the wheel. Riding the wave, the Albatross kicked a burn and shot out of the Martian atmosphere, soaring into the depths of space and toward the stars.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

: AFRICA, EARTH

: VOI, KENYA

The slimy, pulsating walls provided the Covenant ship's interior the image of the inside of an alien creature's belly. Goopy brown fluid dripped from the ceiling and soft substances depressed beneath Master Chief's feet as he stepped into the central chamber. If what those Elites said was the truth, then Cortana must be here! He focused his gaze on a small distinct device settled innocently on a dais in the middle of the room. Moving forward for a better look, he recognized the device as a Covenant handheld memory unit. Is this…? He drifted his hand across the unit and a distorted image instantly materialized into view.

"Chief!"

The mere sight of his A.I. companion made his heart skip a beat, "Cortana?"

Coming from her end, though, he was greeted with a less than happy response. Her words charged through, objective and oddly rushed, "High Charity, the Prophets' holy city, it's on its way…" Cortana's projection flickered and vanished.

"Cortana!" Master Chief called out. His precious scant moment with the A.I. was infringed by the purring of a Phantom's gravitic drive. Instinctively priming his MA5C, he located the noise from above and was surprised to see the blue cubic form of 343 Guilty Spark.

"Reclaimer!" the Monitor floated down to the Spartan's eye level. The growling of a Flood combat form loomed behind the Chief and Guilty Spark curtly zapped it to a crisp. As Master Chief took a glimpse back at the scorched carcass, the Monitor zeroed its energy beam on the memory unit. Witnessing this from the corner of his eye, a cool rage flared from within the Master Chief and he grabbed the intrusive A.I., pushing it away as hard as he could from Cortana. But Guilty Spark persisted, "We must act quickly, before your construct suffers any further damage!"

Wrenching the Forerunner construct off the device, Master Chief glared menacingly into its central eye, "Leave. Her. Alone."

Guilty Spark stated with composed imperativeness, "If we do not take this device to a safe location, somewhere I can make repairs…" It continued interfacing with the memory unit, but was tugged off once more by the Chief, who protectively clutched the unit in his hand.

"On Halo, you tried to kill Cortana. You tried to kill me," hissed the Spartan.

"Protocol dictated my response! She had the Activation Index, and you were going to destroy my installation. You did destroy my installation. Now, I only have one function: to help you, Reclaimer, as I always should have done."

Master Chief glowered quietly at Guilty Spark for awhile. In spite of the adverse past he and the Monitor shared, the Chief figured that if the construct still wanted to kill him, it would have done so by now. Forgive me, Cortana. Reluctantly offering the unit to the blue cube, a pang of regret wrought the Spartan as he watched Cortana being taken away from his hand.

The Phantom projected a Gravity Lift and Guilty Spark was taken up into the aircraft, along with an uncertain Master Chief.

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

: SPACE, ENROUTE TO EARTH

"No Flood?" the Bravo leader hovered over the pilot's left shoulder, the same pilot from Blood Gulch.

"Negative. We're clear, sir."

The Bravo leader exhaled, "All right. Take us to Earth. We need to report this to HighCom."

Meanwhile, in the back of the ship, the Spartans were doing all they can to make the doctor feel comfortable. Her body was reclined onto some blankets and pillows, and Doc brought out his medical tools and a First-Aid kit to alleviate any pain she happens to endure. Nevertheless, they knew the inevitable was to come.

"Why are we putting so much effort into taking care of someone who had just thrown us into hell?" Grif griped.

Tucker sided with him, "Yeah, and she's about to die anyway. Usually whenever one of us is dying, nobody really cares."

"I care," Caboose contradicted.

Church crossed his arms, replying to Grif's query, "Don't ask me. Simmons is the one with the 'touchy' feelings."

"I am NOT sentimental," Simmons denied while opening a can of ointment, "I just thought that, well, if it weren't for her, y'know…we all probably wouldn't have met."

"…" they all stared at him.

Without missing a beat, Church looked at Dr. Pavlovla and said, "I hate you."

The doctor laughed, "I can't blame you, Church. Lots of what I've done has caused more harm than good." Her laughing had suddenly changed to coughing. Blood dribbled over her lips. Doc went to help her, but she held up a hand, "No. No, it's no use. I'm dead anyway. But…" She pushed herself into an upright position; Simmons adjusted the pillows to cushion her back. "…There's something I have to tell you, before I go…"

She tilted her head toward Church, "Remember when you asked me why I told you everything about Blood Gulch?" The cobalt soldier bowed his head awkwardly, unable to stand her piercing green gaze. "Well…I told you because…I felt guilty."

"Guilty?" Church repeated.

"But when we first met, you were totally giving us the cold shoulder," said Doc.

"I thought you didn't care about us," Donut chimed in.

Dr. Pavlovla confessed, "I had to act professional. I apologize if I seemed apathetic. But I won't say I was…glad to see you at the time either. I was still feeling a little disappointed then."

Taking note of their puzzled faces, she asked them, "Do you know of Master Chief?" When they nodded, she resumed, "Well, like you, he's a Spartan, but from a different program. They call it the SPARTAN-II Project, headed by Dr. Catherine Halsey. It produced super-soldiers through biological augmentation. You may have noticed that the Chief is faster, stronger—"

"You don't have to say the third part. We get it," Sarge interjected.

"Anyway, the SPARTAN-II Project was a success. Jealous of Dr. Halsey's work, I decided to also try my hand at glory. I told UNSC that I would create Spartans at a faster rate and with cheaper funding, to have soldiers ready on the battlefield sooner than it takes to train a Spartan-II. But that brings about the question of who gets to be the candidates to this project. That is what carved the difference between the IIs and 2.5s."

The doctor took a deep breath, tired from her speech, then continued, "Master Chief never told you this, but when he was child, the UNSC kidnapped him and forced him to become a Spartan."

"WHAT?" the Reds and Blues cried.

"Why would they steal kids?" Tucker blurted out.

"That's like so wrong!" Sister supported.

Grif added, "Yeah. What do they expect the little midgets to do? Kids don't do anything anyway but play, whine, and stink!"

Simmons remarked, "Like someone we know."

"Good burn, Simmons," commended Sarge.

"Thank you, sir."

"Kissass."

Dr. Pavlovla went on, "I suppose they did this because it'd be easier to mold the training into their heads. But I couldn't bring myself to approve of such methods, so I enlisted willing ("Tricked." – Grif) adult candidates instead. Heh. To my surprise, I found my way far more difficult than Dr. Halsey's. Many of the adults were hard-brained, too used to the world they grew up in, not adaptable to super-soldier training or augmentation. Some of my subjects were successful, but the rest…"

When she reduced to a hushed whisper, they had to lean in to hear her speak, "After they pulled the plug on the 2.5 Project, I was, needless to say, furious. They told me the project was a failure and that they 'cannot afford to put anymore funding into these Spartan rejects'."

The doctor's hands were balled up into fists and her body shook with such loathing vehemence that Doc was afraid she might fall into a seizure. What Caboose said next, though, startled her out of her anger, "So, does this mean you hate us? For failing you?"

She elicited a quivering gentle smile, "No. I was disappointed before…but I can never, ever hate my Spartans. Although you are not heroes, you are my best."

A tear trickled down her beautiful face as she closed her eyes in shame, "I can't believe I brought you into this. I ruined your lives simply for my selfish wish for glory. I won't ask you to forgive me, but…" She brought a hand over her eyes, her heart distraught, "…Oh, God…I-I am sorry…I am so sorry…I…"

The Spartans stood there silently. In normal circumstances, they knew they wouldn't even care if some wuss was bawling on their knees. Typically, they would just be unsympathetic or poke fun at the poor wretch. But this lady was different. This lady actually cared about them.

Church reflected stubbornly, But she did this to us! Why should we care what the hell she feels? He stared down at her crumpled injured form. But…she looks so pitiful…I don'-I just don't get…How can she love a bunch of assholes?

A thin moan came from the doctor as she slid to one side. Simmons and Doc caught her and laid her back against the pillows. Her breathing had become ragged and more blood oozed from her mouth and stained her front.

"Mom!"

Simmons stroked a hand onto a holopad and Sheila's hologram appeared on it. "Just hang on. We've almost reached Earth," the A.I. reassured her maker. However, Dr. Pavlovla was smiling, the life just about gone from her eyes. She gave the Reds and Blues one last look, "Please…take good care of my Sheila…Don't, don't let…unhh…" Her head lulled downward.

"Huh? Uh, wait!" Church took her shoulders and shook her a bit, "'Don't let' what? What were you trying to s—Hey, doc lady! Hey!"

"Church…" Caboose sounded like he was a mile away. Church glanced back at them, his hands still gripping Dr. Pavlovla's shoulders.

Then Tucker said in a hollow tone, "She's gone, man."

OOOoooOOOoooOOO

: To be continued…