Chapter Seven: The Weight of Failure
Lieutenant Oreo's feet sank into the lush silver carpet of a dim, incense lit room. She walked to the end of the room where a glittering throne made of silver stood proud from a pile of silver silks and pillows, with silver jackal-headed statues situated every five feet on the walls, all of which seemed to glare down at her. Each of their eyes was inset with the Hope Diamond. Finally she stood before the throne. Major Silva lounged there in his rumpled gray uniform, one leg flung carelessly over the arm of the chair. A silver painted slave girl massaged his bare silver haired foot while two more metal bikini wearing wenches sighed languidly and tittered to each other. At the Major's right hand, Corporal McKay stood in a set of silver Helljumper armor, a shotgun muzzle grounded between her toes as she rested her gauntleted hands on its butt. Her emerald green eyes seemed to cut straight through Oreo's black ones
Silva yawned and stretched. Behind the throne the portrait of him wrestling an oiled up Jesus, both of them in taut silver man-thongs, seemed to watch her.
Oreo saluted. "Sir! Lieutenant Or-hei-ho Crème reporting for duty, Sir!"
"Ah…Lieutenant Oreo" said Silva, his lips gliding over every syllable with aristocratic precision. His silver eyes watched her with an indecipherable intensity. "And how are you today?"
"Just fine, sir," said Oreo. "Butte's as quiet as ever. Though I'm a bit confused as to why I was transferred from the Chief's division. And to where we are. Where are we?"
"The Chief," scoffed Silva. "Do you know nobody has ever seen that man's face. He could be an alien for all we know."
Oreo raised her dark caterpillar thick eyebrows. "Uh, I guess."
"Forget him," said Silva. "His path leads nowhere—he's a dead end. But with me, with my division—with the Helljumpers…you will go places, indeed." He extended a silver hand. A silver ring was on that silver hand, and in the silver ring was a silver diamond.
"Accept the gift that I offer," he said.
Oreo rubbed her temples. "If you're offering to promote me I don't think I really have a choice."
"So you do accept!" Silva clapped his hands. "Excellent! Now kiss it."
Oreo rolled her eyes, then leaned forwards and kissed the ring.
"E-e-excellent," said Silva, steepling his fingers. He turned to the Helljumper Corporal. "You see that, McKay? Oreo will be the first woman—I mean, the second woman to join the ranks of the Helljumpers as my second left hand. Mendoza wants to be called a woman, right?"
"No," said McKay.
"Oh, okay. The first woman, then," said Silva. Oreo glanced confusedly at McKay but received only a dower glare in return.
"I'm done with you," said Silva. "Go on."
Oreo hesitantly turned and began the long walk back out of the throne room.
That night she did not sleep well. She dreamed—but she did not dream of Silva or of the war. Instead, she dreamed of the Master Chief. He was standing in a dark room, laughing, laughing as if he would never run out of air. And when he took his helmet off he had the head of an Elite underneath. She recognized it from somewhere.
She awoke to rhythmic squeaking punctuated by two sets of masculine grunts. Mendoza's bunk was above her. Oreo rolled her eyes with the practiced ease of a professional 'female-character-in-any-online-series-written-by-a-neck-beard-loser', the motion popping the huge oreo cookie crumbs out of her eye lids. She had fallen asleep spooning a box of cookies, which was now empty.
The revelry horn blew as the Lieutenant got out of bed and got into her fatigues, putting on a black and white undershirt before donning a black and white uniform and running a hand through sleep tousled black hair that stuck to her white skin, almost as if she looked kind of like that particular iconic entity known for its delicious taste that is colored black and white: a cow.
As she did all this a half naked man awkwardly clambered out of the top bunk and waddled over to his own foot locker, cupping his genitals with obvious soreness. Oreo ignored this and used the bedpost to stretch out a bit before putting on her fresh, brand spanking new Helljumper armor, as well as a personal side arm. As she got in line with the other Helljumpers, who were all talking trash as they waited to grab their weapon off a rack (I have no idea how the military works, okay) another half naked man clambered out of Mendoza's bunk and sheepishly waddled back to his locker. Oreo tried not to notice this as well as the retarded trash talk that the Helljumpers were engaging in.
"Bunch of open-mouthed homosexuals around here," said one Helljumper to the room at large.
"You should smoke cigars like me," countered another, as he lit a cigar. "They'll make you a sexual predator."
"Ha, rapists and gays—bet they both got AIDS," said an Asian Helljumper, whose name was Bruno B. Brown, know to his friends as Chink.
"Sheet, we all know you jus' jealous cause you was born with the clap, Chink," laughed a Black Marine, so it was okay for him to say that.
Instead of rolling her eyes and telling them to shut up, Oreo had a personality. "Hey guys," she said, yawning half way through her sentence as she spotted yet another man climbing out of Mendoza's bunk, "Do you think you could maybe not make jokes about AIDS?"
"Sorry new girl," laughed the Asian, "we wouldn't want to hurt Mendoza's feelings, would we."
One of the men who had climbed out of Mendoza's bunk heard this with an expression of horror. At that moment a dozen half naked men tumbled from the bunk at the same time and scattered across the floor, collecting themselves and racing off towards their respective foot lockers.
Oreo stared. "…Did anyone else just see that?" she asked, looking back at her new co-workers.
"Huh?" asked the black marine, grabbing his rifle and checking the safety lock whatever thing.
Oreo looked around at the quizzical faces of the Helljumpers. "Okay, never mind." She, the last in line, grabbed her gun and turned to leave after the others. When she looked behind herself she was faced with an entirely new line of half naked men, all clutching sheets to their genitals and blushing in utter embarrassment. Oreo's glanced up at Mendoza's bunk, where a lightly tanned and stereotypically shaven and bleached ankle hung over the edge. Obviously the marine was going to miss roll call.
"Oh, god damn it." Oreo irritably pushed past the line of confused Adonises and hopped up onto her own bunk to get a good look at Mendoza's. Her eyes bugged out.
"I guess you set a new record, huh?" She rubbed her eyes, trying to get the sight of a Uranus sized anus out of her memory. But it would always be there, for the rest of her life. Like a scar. Like child abuse.
"Not really," mumbled Mendoza, face down in the very white sheets, almost as if they had been bleached white by some white fluid, like bleach or paint. "You should've been there that night at Cape Pito en Butthole back on Earth, back in 2069."
"Should I have?" She glanced over at the gun rack. All the half-naked Helljumpers had left by now, leaving only Mendoza's extremely large, curved assault rifle with a bulbous head. Oreo shook her own head ruefully. "Get up, Mendoa," she said. "You don't want to get dressed down by McKay."
"Oh, if only I were straight, I could have made a crack at that." Mendoza slowly peeled his body away from the bed sheets. "I need to get a shower before I head out, girlfriend. Will you cover for me?"
"You're such a mooch." Oreo felt faintly ill at the massive haze of bleach stench that swept over her. "Uh, yeah. Sure. I'll see you later, Mendoza." She staggered off towards the door, rubbing her sore muscles. Her makeshift bunk had been harder than Mendoza's ass, the communal shower was as cold as the devil's tit, the cafeteria lunch made up of mystery meat and skim milk. To make matters worse, she had tried calling the 'Breast Reduction Special Department' that was included in her medical plan. Apparently all female Marines got free consultations. Unfortunately, the service was only available back on Earth. Embittered, she had squeezed herself into two small athletic bras, only to have them rip down the back when she put her armor on. The spiffy armor and promotion to Helljumper were the only good thing about the transfer away from the Chief's infamous 'Early Retirement Detail', as her new comrades liked to call it. Cupping her pale chin in one hand, Oreo thought back to her promotion.
"Drifting off there, girl friend?" asked a familiar voice.
She looked up distractedly to find a small, bronze skinned and almost hairless young man before her. "Mendoza? I thought you'd be fucking everyone in the barracks before breakfast. Again, I mean."
Mendoza flicked his wrist at her. "Girl, you should just pop a crazy pill and find yourself a fine Doctor House, because you crazy!"
"Yep." Oreo walked on without him, continuing her patrol route. "I'm definitely the craziest person here."
Mendoza faffed after her. "So, girlfriend, how's…you know."
"What do I know?" Oreo turned at a ninety degree angle and continued around the square landing pad. A pack of Techies huddled in a corner and watched her, whispering to each other in their strange language. She threw a pebble at them and they dispersed, squawking and shitting themselves.
"You know. The Chief. And you. You and the Chief. Both of you. Together."
"Ah. Well, you know, we're at war here. Nowadays isn't really the time to worry about that kind of thing." Took a deep breath. "Plus I think he might be retarded."
Mendoza just snorted like a gay pig.
Oreo continued, "And also there's the fact that I only just met him yesterday and I don't even know his last name. Or what he looks like."
"Well you know what they say," said Mendoza. "Danger is love's booster shot!"
"Uh huh. I guess that's true: we did have at least three romantic moments so that must count for something." Oreo sighed. "I don't know…there's just something about his innocent bigotry and his pure, thoughtless stupidity…it's hard for me to look away sometimes, even when he's accidentally stepping on the throat of a dying man while throwing children like javelins to impale his allies with friendly fire…"
Mendoza nodded understandingly. "He must have a giant cock, right?"
"I have a feeling no." Oreo checked her watch. Two more hours before her shift. She sighed woefully.
"Sounds like things are going pretty well between you two," said Mendoza encouragingly.
"Yeah, well, he doesn't think I'm a cookie anymore so at least that's something."
Oreo stopped. Corporal McKay had stepped in front of her, her silver armor glinting in Halo's noon day sun. She had a mean look about her today.
"Sir." Oreo saluted.
"Aren't you a Lieutenant?" whispered Mendoza. "Don't you out rank her?"
"I actually have no idea," said Oreo.
McKay cleared her throat. "So…Lieutenant. You seem to have acclimatized to the Butte rather well."
"She learned from the best," said Mendoza, placing a hand on his own chest. And the other on his own butt.
"Hmph." McKay looked her up and down. "Let's just make one thing clear, little girl: I'm top bitch of this dog heap, do you understand?"
"Um, not really," said Oreo. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Let me make this clear." McKay advanced on her, planting a finger in the center of Oreo's breast plate. Now, if you were to view this scene from the side you wouldn't have been able to see McKay's whole forearm. And do you know why? Because Oreo has large breasts.
"These motherfuckers answer to me," spat McKay. "Silva? I'm his left hand. And if you put one pretty little foot into my territory, I will break your ass open. You got that, sweet cheeks?"
"Yes ma'am," said Oreo blandly. McKay just snorted and stalked away. "Well that was…" Oreo winced, her words faltering. "…pretty…" She reached into her pocket and took out a bottle of medicine, popped two pills, and put the half empty bottle back in her pocket. "—okay! I'm sure she's just misunderstanding me." Oreo plastered a half-hearted smile on her face and continued her route.
"Huh," said Mendoza. "That's odd."
"What?"
He pointed. "Those two Marines—the short one and the tall, skinny one over there—"
"Yeah?"
"I haven't gotten to know them yet." Mendoza winked. "Which is weird, considering I thought I'd gotten to know everyone on this deck already."
"Oh, wow. Well, you'd better get to it," Oreo said sarcastically.
"Thanks! You'll cover for me, right?" Mendoza skipped off towards the fresh meat. Oreo sighed as she watched him approach the two awkward looking Marines, then after a few minutes, the trio moved furtively behind a packing crate.
She groaned. "You've got to be kidding me. That guy! Why do I always let him take advantage of me? How do other female soldiers deal with their one stereotypical gay friend?" With that thought, the Lieutenant began her patrol around, shall we say, the 'rim' of the Butte's whole area; Major Silva had the Helljumpers each do one patrol in the morning before going to the mess hall to eat breakfast—at least, that's what McKay had told her. Oreo wondered why she didn't see any of other ODSTs patrolling in the morning at any other time of day, ever. It was probably all one big misunderstanding.
Oreo checked the XXXL sized breast pocket on her uniform to make sure her medication was still there. She jumped when the loudspeakers on the outside of the base suddenly crackled to life.
"Attention, all peons! This is Major Silva speaking. Mandatory deep cavity searches of all non-ODST personnel will begin this month as scheduled, replacing the daily mandatory and highly invasive pubic and nasal hygiene inspection until I find a fit time to reschedule it. Also, Major McKay has informed me that some uppity young men and women have taken to putting panties and collars on the Covenant prisoners and leading them around the cell block. I will of course be handing out medals to all involved, so long as they are great, perfect, and awesome Helljumpers."
"I'm sure he has his reasons," said Oreo. Her patrol route took her around the barracks again, and she stared hopefully at the screen door. "Damn, I wish Mendoza were here." She yawned and stretched her arms up into the air, rolling her eyes. "Gee, it sure is boring around here."
"My boy!" said a voice behind her. She whirled to see the singular black Marine from before trotting up to her. He saluted her. "Private Kit Fisto, ma'am," he said smartly. "I was just trying out some of these ebonic phrases that everyone thinks I should know."
"Shouldn't you be—" Oreo stiffened. "I recognize that name! Sergeant Johnson said that one of those Covenant bastards was disguised as a black person—I mean, a Person of Color—named Kit Fisto."
Kit eyed her rifle. "It's true. They stole my identity over the internet. Don't worry; Silva cleared me for active duty." He winked. He had yellow eyes. "I won't throw my sack at you."
"What?"
Kit Fisto rattled his gym bag. "My bag. I—" he shook his head "the Covenant hid some of their agents in a bag last time."
"That's really…weird." Oreo lowered her gun and extended a hand to Kit. "Well, I guess if the Major cleared you, then you're okay. The name's Or-hei-o Crème."
Keith shook. He had a very mild grip that seemed to belie his fearsome, muscularly tattooed aspect, marked with the likenesses of the likes of dragons and skulls. "Is that an Asian name?" he asked.
Oreo nodded. "My great grandfather was a Japanese breast milk growth hormone technician. He spent his whole life obsessing over breast milk." She laughed, her gigantic tits bouncing. "They kept the name." Then she swallowed, holding back tears of despair.
"I see," Kit said. "Mind if I join your patrol? I'm from Africa myself." They set off on Oreo's patrol route.
"Just…Africa?" asked Oreo.
"Yes." Kit looked around. "Say, where is Mendoza? Is he not usually with you?"
She sighed. "Oh no, not you too."
Kit Fisto pursed his lips. "You think I'm gay. I get that a lot."
Oreo's face flushed with shame. "Sorry. But it's just that Mendoza seems to be some sort of quantum anomaly; he can't exist in a place with more than three men around without having sex with at least one of them."
"I hear that. I mean, I hear it every night because he has orgies in the barracks every night."
"Ugh, don't remind me." Oreo shuddered. "You don't want to know what kind of shit soaks through his mattress and drips down onto me."
Kit Fisto made a sympathetic noise. "Mhm. Tell you what: I'll patrol the landing strip for you so you can go get your morning food nipple—I mean, breakfast. Maybe that will make you feel better."
"Oh wow, really?" Oreo shook his hand. "Thanks so much, Kit Fisto. We'll talk later, I guess."
"I'm sure we will." Fisto waved her away. Oreo jogged to the mess hall. As she went, the intercom system blared again.
"This is Major Silva again. I would like to announce the completion of the long awaited feature film 'Lord Commander Major Silva the Savior of us All: An Educational Documentary,' which was shot on site by some of our very own very special and talented Helljumpers. Viewing this will also be mandatory. Everyday. For the next year. Major Silva out."
Oreo shook her head as she pushed into the cafeteria and trudged up to the food line. Behind her, a pack of Marines barked and growled at each other, fighting over a pudding with loud yips and nips. The Helljumpers watched with amusement, then went back to staring at their own reflections in their silver lunch trays and preening.
Oreo slammed her own tray down on the sliding counter and looked at the cook. "Feed me." After stocking up with a hearty meal of one jell-o cup and two fruit roll ups, Oreo turned and walked towards the Helljumper's super awesome table in the center of the cafeteria. The Helljumpers all looked up at her as she made to sit down in an open space. As one they moved to block her, shifting so that there was no longer any room for her to sit. Some of them glared at her and whispered behind their hands.
"I heard she and the Chief—"
"What a slut. What a total slut."
"She's such a bitch whore slut. I heard she and Mendoza fuck all the time."
"Slut."
"She has a huge vagina."
They giggled amongst themselves.
"Huh. I'm having flash backs to high school, except here nobody's trying to kill me all the time." Oreo sat down at an entirely unoccupied table and began to eat. She took a sip of her coffee. It was the worst god damn coffee in the world. Somebody sat down next to her.
"Hey…uh, can we sit here?" asked the Marine. He grinned sheepishly.
"Yeah, sure." Oreo chewed on her fruit roll ups while looking him over. He was a very pale and flabby person and had an odd manner to him, as if he were not comfortable in his own skin. She felt immense sympathy welling up in her for another sufferer of white guilt.
"Cool!" said a voice from her right. Oreo swiveled in her seat to see a rather tall and lanky Marine sitting down on her opposite side. He grinned at her with small, pointed teeth.
"Oh, hi," said Oreo, recognizing them as the short and skinny Marines who Mendoza had just fucked. She ate some jell-o in the silence that followed. It had pine apple chunks.
"My name's, uh, Julius," said the short Marine, extending a pudgy hand to her. He was a bit fat as well as being a lot short. Oreo shook with him.
"Nice to meet you," she lied. "I'm Oreo."
"Cool name," said the tall and the thin Marine. "I'm Pompey."
Oreo forced a smile. "Hi. Why aren't you guys sitting with the others?" She nodded at the Marine's table, which was a bright yellow plastic table covered in dried gum. A pack of Marines sat at it, drooling and smashing their own faces into plates of gruel.
"Oh, uh…we're new here," said Julius. "Uh…we uh…"
Pompey laughed nervously. "It's cool, Julius. We just came in from…a drop ship. We are survivors."
"Survivors of what?" asked Oreo.
Pompey's eyes darted about. "Death."
"Ah." She nodded sympathetically. "You mean you're from the Chief's division."
He nodded quickly. "Right. That's right."
Julius burst out: "Hey, uh, so, how about this food? It's pretty great, huh?"
Oreo looked at him skeptically. "I thought it was terrible, actually."
"Uh, yeah, I'll say," back tracked the short, pudgy Marine. "I mean, I'd take the food nipple over this any day."
Behind Oreo, Pompey made frantic head shaking motions.
Oreo was confused. "Huh? Food nipple?" she eyed Julius suspiciously. "Hey…wait a minute…"
Behind her, Pompey slowly removed a Covenant energy sword from his pocket.
"I know what's going on here!" said Oreo, sitting up. "YOU'RE SOME KIND OF BREAST MILK FETISHIST." She threw her arms up. "God DAMN IT how do you people find me!? LEAVE ME ALONE." She stormed away, leaving her tray behind.
Pompey sighed in relief and holstered his sword. He glanced at Julius, who was shaking with nerves. "Hey, bro, it's cool," he said. "We can do this. Just wait for the signal."
"Uh, right." Julius wiped sweat from his brow. "The signal. Are the others in position?"
Pompey smiled evilly and tugged at the side of his face, revealing alien flesh beneath. "Oh yeah. We're just waiting for the right moment."
An ominous organ hummed around them. Everyone in the mess hall turned to the source of the noise. Oreo stopped at the door and looked too. Pompey and Julius both began to sweat heavily, until they realized that the sound had come from the wall behind them. They turned to see that someone had started up a movie projection on the far wall. The intercom was broadcasting ominous organ-synth music. Vomit inducing marching band music played as the movie began, and a 1950s Newscaster's voice blared of the speakers.
"Helljumper Productions-'Feet First into Hell' Presents: Lord Commander Major Silva: Savior of us All—an Educational Documentary."
The Lieutenant's black eyes began to bulge. She pulled frantically on the door, but it would not open. Somebody had locked them into the room.
"Hello there, little Timmy."
Oreo turned back to see a horrifyingly cute cartoon boy in a Little League uniform, standing in empty space and looking around curiously for the source of the narrating voice.
"Oh my god what is this shit—" She slumped into the doorframe, mouth gaping open in Lovecraftian horror.
One of the Marines shushed her angrily. "Shut up, slut, this is my favorite part!"
"Off to the footballs game, eh' Timmy?" said the voice of the movie. "Yes, America's favorite paste-time. But wait: before you go enjoy fine day old American cuisine and pent up homosexualust expressed through groping and phallic violence, you might want to learn about who it is that makes a day at the ball game possible!"
The cartoon Timmy nodded vigorously.
"It's all thanks to our lord and savior Major Silva! Why, without Major Silva, fine things like pumpernickel and mom's homemade apple slash hair pie would not exist. Why, without his careful, considered leadership and saint's soul, everyone you love would be torn apart by ravenous huns and raped by romanskees. Is that even a race? I don't know. You would DIE, is what I mean. Everyone you love would die, and their corpses would explode in the sun, and you would weep every night for the rest of your miserable life."
"What the fuck is this," said Oreo.
"And furthermore, Timmy, the very reason your fine, supple little ass is still being pumped round and round with delicious, glorious blood is that Major Silva, savior of us all, had the great, incomprehensible wisdom to command our old pal Master Chief to go and rescue mean ol' captain Keyes. Why, I bet you didn't know that it was only at Lord Silva's behest that we all ARE ALIVE? With Captain Keyes's tactical advice, we've been able to formulate an effective plan against us—I mean, me—I mean, those darn heathen Covenants. Better dead than red—or non-white, whatever."
The triumphant trumpeting music changed to ominous organ synths.
"But even good ol' Captain Keyes can make mistakes. Any man can overstep his bounds, just like our old pal SATAN did in Paradise Lost. If you don't catch the simile I'm making here, it's that Captain Keyes is Satan and Major Silva is God. I impress myself with my own intelligence sometimes."
Oreo wiped sweat from her brow. Everyone else in the room was staring raptly at the projection.
"You might also be interested to know," continued the cheerful voice, "that just like those heathen rice eating duck fucking pagan Japs, Captian Keyes plans to DESTROY EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR."
Everyone in the room gasped. Little Timmy's face had become a featureless mask, the eyes replaced with two round spinning disks.
"This is so retarded," said Oreo. "I mean, differently abled."
"Yes," continued the voice jovially, "you can't trust anyone. So remember: trust only Major Silva, because everyone wants to fuck you. Jeez, where was I? Sorry. I got kind of caught up in the moment. In the moment. In the moment. That's the code word, by the way. Moment."
Plasma fire erupted from one corner of the room, showering over the occupied tables. People shrieked as immensely heavy loads of plasma hit them, finally killing one. Oreo gave a gigantic scream. A second later, a masterpiece of a plasma grenade skidded across the table and detonated, spraying them all with burning hot death. Oreo dove for cover behind the counter. She pulled out her pistol and peeked around the corner as the projected movie continued to play.
"Moment," rambled the narrator. "That's the super-secret signal, by the way. I hope you're all attacking now. I'm getting paid by the hour, by the way."
She saw the source of the attack: a Covenant Elite and Grunt were hidden behind an over turned table, taking pot shots at the scattered Marines and Helljumpers. People were dying left and right. Oreo noticed two discarded rubber human suits near the aliens. She shook her head; no time to worry about that, or why Major Silva's brainwashing propaganda had a secret message in it for the Covenant, telling the Covenant that had infiltrated their ranks to attack while the humans were being brainwashed by a movie that Major Silva had made for the Covenant.
"My god," she hissed under her breath in horrified realization.She looked off to her right and saw that the cafeteria cooks were all dead; their throats had been cut by the aliens as everyone was distracted by the film. She looked into the dead, tragic eyes of the Mexican barista.
…No me gusta…
Oreo gritted her reeth, then corrected herself and gritted her teeth. She stood up, aimed her pistol, and fired off a crack shot at the Grunt that had called itself Julius. The diminutive alien spun to the ground, blueberry ice cream ejaculating from his head. Its Elite companion screamed in rage.
"Juuuuuulius! WE WILL NEVER HAVE A FOURSOME WITH THE TWINS AGAIN!"
He stood up and started firing at Oreo, who was making for the door. By this time the Marines and the Helljumpers had collected themselves enough to find each other's dicks with the help of a map and a flashlight. As Oreo dove for the door they returned tepid, measly fire at the elite. His shields flared and he ducked down out of sight with a curse.
"Get…open!" screamed Oreo, smashing her foot into the lock. It would not budge. The Elite poked his head out and shot off a plasma bolt at Oreo. It hit her on her armored back, doing no damage but making her stumble forwards from the impact. One of her tits swung wildly and smashed into the door. Immediately it was torn out of its frame and slammed into the opposite wall, splitting in half as it did so. Oreo ducked out of the room, then poked her head back in.
"Can you guys handle this mook?" she asked the Helljumpers and the Marines.
They were all dead.
"…God damn it."
"Ah ha!" said the Pompey the Elite, jumping out from behind cover. He aimed his gun and fired at her exposed head, but he was out of charge from killing everyone. The rifle fizzled impotently.
"Fuck."
Oreo shot him in the head with her pistol. Pompey flipped over backwards, dead.
The Lieutenant turned back to the hallway at large. It was utter chaos. Herds of techies stampeded, chased by packs of slavering Marines who had been spooked by the Covenant attack. Plasma bolts flew from the plasma rifles of cloaked plasma Elites, searing and scorching the assembled masses. Oreo shot a grunt with a panty hose on its head and a collar on its neck who was chasing after a Marine, waving a dildo. Her mind raced as she took cover around a corner, around which a group of Jackals were trying to hack the door to the Helljumper's private vomitorium and bathhouse. There were too many of them for her to take out on her own.
"Wait up!" Kit Fisto the Helljumper from that morning came barreling down the corridor towards her. "Lieutenant," he gasped, "we're under attack!" He had his plasma rifle ready and everything.
"I know," said Oreo grimly, "and I have reason to believe Major Silva is to blame. The man's insane!"
"This may sound inane," said Fisto, "but I think you're right. He's turned the butte into his own personal mad house."
"Right! Help me take out these Jackals," said Oreo.
Kit Fisto pulled out a plasma grenade and threw it at the Jackals. They squawked in surprise and exploded.
Oreo nodded in approval. "Good job. Now we have to make a trip to the Command Center. Maybe if we can stop Silva, we can stop this attack."
Fisto nodded. "Right. Cut off the head and the serpent dies."
Oreo nodded. "That doesn't really apply, since Silva is a traitor not their leader, but let's go."
They made for the exit, which had a sign saying 'exit' over it. Some Covenant chased them down the hall and Fisto returned fire with his plasma rifle. Oreo watched him do this, then gave covering fire so that they could escape through the push-door unharmed. They stepped out into the night, even thought it had been morning an hour ago. It was also raining dramatically. A buzzing sound caught her attention and Oreo looked up to see swarms of Covenant dropships swooping in to drop off their cargo. Human Pelican drop ships were exploding left and right, as were human bodies. Some marines tried to return cover fire with their guns, but guns generally don't work against space ships unless they are also space ship guns. Protip: they all died. Oreo shook her head and headed towards the command center with Kit Fisto in tow. They kept their heads down so as not to attract unwanted attention. But unwanted attention found them.
Mendoza came flouncing up as they were almost to the command door. "Oreo," he gasped. "The Covenant attacked us from behind! We never saw them coming! They came from behind!"
"I get it," she said, rolling her eyes. "Very funny Mendoza."
"I thought so." Mendoza looked at Fisto. "Who's your cute friend?"
"This is Kit Fisto," said Oreo. "He's a Helljumper." She paused, arching an eyebrow at Kit who sheepishly hid the plasma rifle and plasma grenades behind his back. "Uh…" Both she and Mendoza watched him.
"What?" Kit Fisto demanded.
Oreo shrugged. "Nothing. I was just wondering if you were going to try to make out with Mendoza or something."
"I am not gay," insisted Kit Fisto.
"But you're a man," said Oreo. "And Mendoza's right there!"
"I'm definitely a man," agreed Fisto.
Mendoza was peeking out from behind cover at the squads of Elites mowing down his fellow humans. "Plenty of meat to go around, Oreo. You can have Kit if you're jealous. I'm thinking I'll try out some of the purple meat tonight."
"Ew. Mendoza, really?" asked Oreo with some disgust as they finally reached the back door to the command center. "I mean they're aliens. That's just sick, if you think about it."
"I'm definitely a human," said Fisto a bit too loudly.
Mendoza held up a finger. "Don't hate, my dear; it is my sacred duty to tap the male booty."
Oreo cut him off. "We should go: Silva's office is in the center of this building." She motioned for them to follow her through the door. Mendoza closed and locked it behind them. A quick recon revealed that there were Covenant patrolling everywhere, as if they had made it a point to secure Silva's command center first for some fucking reason.
"We have to be stealthy," said Oreo sagely to the others. They nodded and set off down a side passage, taking a less direct route to Silva's office. A passing Elite patrolman walked down a side corridor and they all gasped, standing perfectly still. He walked closer and closer and stopped fifty feet away. His cone of vision fell just short of them and he turned and left. They breathed a sigh of relief, only to re-inhale that sigh when another Elite came around the corner behind them.
The blue armored alien looked down at the ground. "Hey, whose footprints are these?"
"Shit!" Oreo grabbed the others and pulled them around a corner. When the Elite started to pass, investigating the wet prints, she stepped out and karate chopped him in the neck. The Elite grunted and crumpled to the ground.
"Smooth moves girl," said Mendoza. Fisto nodded as well, and they proceeded on to Silva's office, only to find that there were two veteran Elites and four Jackals guarding it.
Oreo took note of the impressive troops and ducked back around the corner. She turned to her friends. "It's bad out there," she said. "I don't think we can take them."
Kit Fisto peeked around the corner. "That silver bastard really did it—he betrayed us." He looked at Oreo with resolution on his face. "We've got to do this, Lieutenant. Remember, cut off the snake and the head dies."
"What?" Oreo shook her head. "Never mind. We just need a plan, some way to distract them…" Her eyes fell on Mendoza. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but…hey Mendoza…what did you say about wanting to try the 'purple meat?'"
Mendoza grinned.
Minutes later he rounded the corner dressed in nothing but daisy dukes and a knot-tied shirt. He fritzed towards the guards, crotch bulge clearly visible.
One red Elite nudged the other. "Hey, Pyrrhus, check this shit out."
"God damn it Africanus what is it now?" barked the other, looking up from his iPhone. His eyes raked across Mendoza. "What the…fuck?"
Mendoza smirked sexily at the guards and slapped his own ultra muscular ass. He beckoned for the aliens to follow with a single crooked finger, making kissing noises with his blowjob lips and rubbing his belly.
"I just got waxed," he said.
Fisto poked his head around the corner to look as Mendoza led the guards away.
"That worked." He shrugged. "One hell of a weapon. Good thing we were out of range."
"I know what you mean," said Oreo, still half not believing what she had just allowed to happen. "I think unleashing Mendoza on them qualifies as chemical warfare. If semen is a chemical." She glanced at Fisto. "…You were standing a little close to the corridor when it hit, actually."
"Hey, I'm fine." Kit Fisto gave her an incredibly awkward wink. "You should walk on ahead of me. So I can observe your behind covertly. I'm a straight black human male."
"It's not a race thing. Forget I said anything." Oreo looked worried but turned and opened the door to Silva's office. Kit followed Oreo inside and closed it behind him, looking nervous as well.
Major Silva sat there in the darkness as his flickering monitor flickered onto his face with an eerie silver light. He was gripping the silver arms of his silver chair, silver glasses glinting in that silver light.
"Major…Silva," intoned Oreo.
Silva looked up from his computer and casually closed all five hundred and fifty nine tabs of macro inflation vore reverse unbirthing furry scat porn. "Ah. Oreo. And you brought a friend. What is this about, Lieutenant? Surely you should be outside fighting the Covenant." He grinned, the silver fillings in his mouth glittering ominously off his silver eyes.
"Don't try that bullshit on me," snapped Oreo. "I know your game. I saw your movie. I saw your guards. You sick son of a bitch—how could you betray humanity like this?"
"It's quite simple," said Silva, standing up. He was wearing a silver business suit. He walked over around the desk and picked up a silver golf putter, then began putting a silver golf ball around the miniature golf course in his office while Oreo watched.
"The UNSC has been trying to replace real flesh and blood men with boners of gold for a long time now. They've been trying to replace me with Keyes' and Halsey's toy soldiers—" his eyes flashed "replace me, would they? Well, I beat them to the punch, didn't I? We'll see how they like facing my personal army of humans replaced with aliens. That's right, Lieutenant: the Covenant have promised to reward me well with my own fleet. First, this ring world will become my base of operations. Next? Earth itself."
Oreo shook her head. "This doesn't make any sense; I thought you loved your men, Silva. You're just going to throw them away?"
Silva's hands tightened on his golf club. "Yes. As much as it pains me to do so, yes. I could not let the UNSC's insult to me go unrevenged." He putted beneath a chrome bridge. "Surely you can understand what it's like to be…under appreciated." He glanced at her rack. "Yes, I think you can, being a woman from…JAPAN."
Oreo gasped. "How did you know I was born in Japan?"
"You have quite the impressive file," said Silva. "Scientist father, early military service, breast milk donations to the 'Mothers Without Boobs' foundation.'"
Oreo sneered. "That's enough. I'm placing you under military-type arrest, Major."
Silva continued to ignore her. "No husband or children, parents dead, nothing to live for…the perfect soldier. Or are you?" He grinned. "Tell me, Oreo, what do you remember about your parents?"
"Sit down, sir," said Oreo, her finger caressing the trigger of her pistol.
Silva laughed. "Lies. Lies within lies within lies. Tell me, what do you think of the color silver? A simple color, almost innocuous. But shown to a certain woman, a woman who never saw the sun until she killed the enemies of the Earth beneath it, a woman without a past or a future…a woman programmed to sleep walk through life until she saw that one specific color known as silver." He flashed the silver pin on his silver suit. "Run, silver. Jump, silver. Kill, silver. Die, silver. A woman chooses. A slave obeys. Would you kindly-"
Oreo shot Silva in the knee. Blood sprayed everywhere as he collapsed, screaming in agony as bits of bone tinkled across the floor.
"I told you to sit down," said Oreo. "Cuff him, Fisto.
"Oh…I don't think so," snarled Silva, his words making blood bubble through his bloody teeth even though he had been shot in the leg. Corporal McKay stepped from the shadows behind Kit Fisto, wearing silver armor and totting a silver shotgun.
"Drop the gun, sluts," said McKay. Kit Fisto put his hands up, his Covenant plasma rifle falling onto the floor.
"Oh god damn it." Oreo's pistol fell from her fingers. "McKay, don't you get it? Silva betrayed the human race. That includes everyone in this room."
"That's right," said Fisto vehemently. "Everyone."
McKay sneered. "The human race? Who said anything about the human race? I just hate you."
"I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING," Oreo screamed.
"Shall I make a list?" spat McKay. "First you waltzed in with that cow's rack and whorish attitude. Don't you know that's not how women are supposed to look? Then you had to muscle into the Helljumpers and corrupt my boys—that was the last straw."
"I don't buy it," said Oreo, staring at the wall as McKay aimed the shotgun at her back. She backed into the barrel of McKay's shotgun and looked over her shoulder. "If you really want me dead, McKay, if you really want to betray the human race for no good reason and follow this crazy bastard, then shoot me. Look me in the eyes and shoot me."
"Okay," said McKay, and pulled the trigger.
But Oreo was already moving. She pirouetted around, her left tit slapping into the shotgun from the side. The blow smashed McKay's fingers and tore the weapon from them. She screamed. Oreo drew her assault rifle in the same motion that she used to kick McKay over onto her ass. She kept Silva in her sights as Kit Fisto secured McKay with Covenant energy bonds, drawing his plasma pistol to help Oreo cover the room.
"That's enough," she said. "You will come with me, Major Silva, and you will tell the Covenant to call off the attack."
Silva opened his mouth to speak but at that moment the door opened. For a fraction of a second Oreo swung her gun to aim at it, but it was only Mendoza. He stepped into the room and zipped up his fly.
"Hey guys," he said dreamily, not paying attention to the world around him. "I managed to slip all of them!"
"Oh wow, you actually managed to escape?" exclaimed Oreo. "Good job!"
Mendoza looked at her. "What?"
Then Kit Fisto shot him in the head. Mendoza fell over dead, a smoking plasma hole in his face.
" MENDOOOZAAAA!" shouted Oreo, turning as if in a dream to aim at Fisto. It was too late. He knocked the gun out of her hand with one hand, then, with the other hand, punched her in the body. She fell over, the wind knocked over at his incredibly surprising strength.
Strength that only….an ALIEN COULD HAVE.
DUN DUN DUN.
Kit Fisto the black human male's body was shed away like a rubber suit, and from it emerged Kit Fisto the Special Operations elite. She aimed her plasma pistol at Oreo.
"OH MY GOD!" exclaimed Oreo from the floor. She pointed at the Elite. "You were a woman all along?"
"Yes Liutenant," said Fisto. "You're a good soldier compared to the other humans." She narrowed her eyes. "But so am I." She attached more energy bonds to Oreo's wrists.
"You were an alien all along! AGAIN! You bitch!" exclaimed Oreo, straining to get free. She spat into Fisto's yellow eyes but the Elite ignored it.
"Hey, what about me!" complained McKay. "Untie me. We had a deal!"
"Whatever." Fisto ignored them both and turned towards Silva.
"So. I upheld my part of the bargain," said the Major, grinning smugly at the agent.
Fisto nodded. "The whole of the Butte is ours." She glanced at Mendoza. "We lost some men to that one's ass, and a few on the way. But zero loses besides. So much for your Helljumpers, Major." She sneered at him.
Oreo glanced at Mendoza's smoking body. Mendoza was dead.
And he was never coming back
"They were good men," said Silva. "But I know when to cut my losses." He rubbed his hands together greedily as he limped over to Fisto. "Like I said, I want it all: a respected command of Covenant Forces, my own army, my own title, my own ship, my own fleet of ships, my own planet, country, state, religion, star, sun, galaxy and my own harem of green skinned alien bitches." He leered. "Perhaps you'd care to join it? I've always been attracted to strong women, unless they were Corporal McKay there."
"The feeling is mutual, sir," said McKay.
Kit Fisto eyed him. "You'll get what you deserve soon enough." She glanced down at the captive Oreo. "First you will carry this 'Or-ie-ho' human with us back to the Truth and Reconciliation. We might need her."
"Very well. But you'd better not try to betray me," added Silva. "Because I am the master of betrayal, obviously."
The Lieutenant hung her head. It was all over. The human resistance on Halo had effectively been crushed and their nearest commanding officer had betrayed them, masterfully. The only hope they had now for stopping the Covenant from taking over Halo was Captain Keyes and the Chief, wherever the hell they were now. Oreo felt super emotional womanly defeat tears rolling down her face. She threw her hands up to the ceiling and screamed in frustration and despair.
"Nooo!"
Hours later…
Commander Darren sank into the shadows of the Shade drop ship and lit his plasma cigar. The bulkhead he leaned against vibrated with the presence of a dozen other dropships in formation around his; the raiding squadron was returning to the Truth and Reconciliation. Darren took a satisfied huff of his cigar: it had been a good mission. He had watched it all from safety, observing with his plasma binoculars and making orders on his communicator.
"Suckin' down on a faggot? Those guys'll kill ya."
A blue armored Elite nearby was talking to him. Darren raised his eyebrows at the interruption from such a low ranked Elite. "I always smoke a plasma cigar after a successful operation, minor." He blew a ring of pale blue exhaust into his inferior's face. "It's better than sex. Well, some sex."
"Straight sex, right?" The minor sniffed the smoke. "That's a nice rim of smoke. Nice job on that rims."
Darren placed the cigar between his forefingers. ""Rim job", I get it. Very funny. Who are you, again? I don't remember letting you onto my ship. Or into my army."
An Elite in black armor poked his head out of forward compartment. "You called for me, sir?"
"No, Rimjob." Darren waved him away. "Update me when Kit Fisto sends in her operation report."
Rimjob stepped into their compartment. "I just got her report, sir. After we took out the main of the human resistance, she stayed behind to mop up the rest of the Butte and take prisoners."
"Prisoners?" Darren stubbed out on his armored thigh, leaving a dark brown spot in the pure gold of the Covenant alloy. "The Covenant doesn't take prisoners. Praise the Forerunners and all that."
"Yes, sir, but this is the…uh, special case…"
"Close the door," said Darren, as if there were a breeze that needed taking care of.
The minor watched with interest as Rimjob closed the door to the other compartment. "Having a secret meat meeting? What about me?"
"Don't worry," said Darren, smiling cheerfully at the stranger. "I'll just kill you after this and dump your body out of the bay door."
"That's terrifying."
Rimjob sat down across from his Commander. "Uh…sir, the bulkhead's sealed, too. We should have complete privacy, now."
"Cigar?" asked Darren genially. "They're from High Charity. Rolled on the flat chests of Elite virgins and packed with Grunt mucus tobacco."
"No thank you, sir." Rimjob cleared his throat nervously. "So, sir, about the human…"
"Mayor Silver, wasn't it?" asked Darren thoughtfully. "I assume everything went as planned. I had my doubts about his loyalty—a traitor once, a traitor twice, if you understand my meaning."
"Yes, sir. He gave us the landing codes and signaled the best time for an attack. Without that human's help, taking the Butte might have been a minor inconvenience." Rimjob smirked.
So did Darren. "Excellent. Radio Kit Fisto: tell her to make sure Mister Silver and his partners in treachery get to the Truth and Reconciliation alive. I want to make sure they get their just desserts before they...before they die. Yep."
"Sir?"
"I had something for this, hold on." Darren rubbed the ash off his golden armor with a thumb. "Get his just desserts? No, that wasn't it. Properly rewarded? Oh well. Would you like a cigar, Rimjob?"
"You already asked me that, sir."
"I'd like a cigar," said the minor. "A straight one, though, try to keep your dickhole juice off it."
"Shut up," said Darren.
Rimjob looked nervously at the minor. "If I may, sir—isn't it a little dangerous to let that man hear us? If less circumspect souls than Kit Fisto and I were to discover your…unorthodox methods…well, you might be accused of heresy."
Darren sighed. "Great generals are rarely appreciated in their time."
The minor giggled. "And shitty ones never are, har-har."
"Oh? You think you can do better, dead man?"
"One hundred percent attrition, baby. When I'm on point, they get the point. Up the butt."
"Do you even know what attrition means?" asked Darren.
"Do you, Cummender Faggen?"
"Hold a moment, sir." Rimjob held a finger up to his ear, listening to some transmission. His face grew steadily paler. Then he broke out into a sweat. Darren and the minor watched with interest as Rimjob leaned back in his seat, his hands shaking. He mumbled something into his communicator and then turned to Darren.
"S-sir?"
"What is it, Rimjob?"
"Do you remember the weapons cache you sent a team to uncover?"
"Ah, yes," said Darren. "The one's that the Forerunner's database described in that elegant little poem—how did it go again?
'Death, dying, disremember
Blood and fire burning ember
Screaming darkness neverever
It's not a weapons cache, it's the Flood?'"
"Y-yes. I have bad news, sir. The team has been attacked by an unknown entity. Our dropships came to relieve them, but have been commandeered; forwards operation base The Prophet of Truth's Amazing Clubhouse has been overtaken already—we just got word from a few survivors. It sounds like the hostiles are heading east, to camp Praise the Forerunners. They're working their way through the ground forces, like a blade through flesh."
Darren sat back as well. "This is…news. And can you tell me anything of the nature of this foe?"
Rimjob quivered. "Yes, my lord. Separate reports indicate that the team you sent found something buried in a Forerunner facility and…woke it up. It takes over the bodies of our troops, my lord; for every man that falls, an enemy rises in his place."
"Could this be adversary the Prophets' prophecies speak of. The…parasite?"
"I'm afraid so, sir," said Rimjob. "I have no doubt in my mind that this is the eldritch horror that the prophets spoke of. The devourer of worlds. The scourge of the galaxy. The destroyer of the Great Journey. The Flood."
Darren rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Welp, I'm out."
"…what?"
"I'm not going be blamed for unleashing the bane of all life onto the galaxy. I quit." He snapped his fingers at Rimjob. "You're Commander now, Commander of the whole fleet. Congratulations, my friend."
"Sir!" Rimjob sputtered. "This is most unorthodox. You must accept responsibility—"
"What responsibility?" asked Darren. "You're the one who ordered the team to find the weapons cache, Rimjob." He smiled sadly at his subordinate.
"How dare you!" Rimjob stood up. "This is—this is the basest form of cowardice! Dealing with humans is one thing, but this is a dereliction of your duties and—and—"
"Oh, relax. I've done this a hundred times. Ask Kit Fisto, she knows."
"Her too!" exclaimed the Spec Ops elite. "This is heresy! A great conspiracy of heresy!" He reached for his plasma rifle. "I've helped with your schemes for the last time, sir! You won't shame me and my clan with this accusation!"
Darren pulled out his energy sword and stabbed Rimjob in the heart. The body crumpled limply to the ground, a glare off accusation still stuck on its face. Darren sighed and then sat back down, leaning back hard against the wall as if trying to force himself to calm down.
"Such a shame. And I was just starting to like him, too. I'm glad Eric isn't here to see this." He turned to the minor, who had watched all this with obvious excitement. "You there, clown-idiot, guess who's next in the chain of command?"
"Me?"
"You." Darren smirked. "Congratulations, minor. What's your name?"
A thousand miles away, the Chief perked up and said: "Cercil Saltstein."
"What?" asked Cortana.
"I was just thinking: what would the most annoying person in the world be named?"
"Scottie Lipschitz," suggested Cortana. "Timothy Todd. Samson Johns. Jacob Keyes. Oreo Crème."
"Cercil Saltstein," said the Chief. "I'm pretty sure it would be Cercil Saltstein."
A thousand miles back in the dropship, Commander Darren said:
"'Master' isn't a name. It's a title. Nobody's just called 'Master.'"
The minor squirmed. "Okay, fine, Mr. I Know Everything All the Time. Call me Cercil Saltstein."
"Is that a Jewish name?"
"Do Jew have a problem with that?"
"In the Covenant we tend to worship the Forerunners rather than human gods. It's just a little quirk of our culture, nothing major." Darren produced another cigar and tucked it between his own mandibles, then lit it. "Would you like a cigar, Commander Cercil?"
Cercil beamed. "Don't mind if I do, electric boogaloo."
"Well, I do mind if you do."
"Ah, funny joke. But I thought you only blew a fag after a successful operation." Cercil snapped his fingers. "Or do you also suck one down every time you fuck up this bad? That's called addiction, my friend."
"Laugh while you can." Darren puffed a halo of smoke into Cercil's face, his mandibles curling back on a joyless smile. "This ring's all yours, now."
"Ok," said Cercil. "But couldn't I just have you killed and then quit and run away?"
Darren's cigar fell out of his mouth. "Uh. Of course not! Don't you think a genius mastermind like me would have thought of that? I mean, of course I did! Of course you can't!"
"Okay. Jesus. Looks like your brilliant political maneuvering has out-maneuvered me. Do I at least get your armor?"
"No, but there's a half empty bucket of gold paint in the back."
