There was a thump, followed by loud hasty breathes. Peter glanced through the windows of the abandoned gold land rover that he was using as concealment, at the purple suit of armour that was stomping calmly forwards, down the road. He was all alone out here. With that.
The Spartan stopped, staring through a silver visor ahead of her. Peter's breathing spiked and he spun, planting his back against the wheel and door of his cover.
"Come on li'l Innie!" A woman's voice chirped through the silence. "I feel so cold and lonely!"
The voice died down and the stomping of mechanical feet resumed, getting louder with every other step. Peter glanced up, his face drenched generously with sweat, up to the window. Through it he saw the broken reflection of the silver-black visor of his hunter, clenching his fists until he felt them going numb and white.
Another few steps. She was past the bonnet of the car now. He could see the edge of her boot and the barrel of her rifle. He closed his eyes in resignation. Another step, and another. Silence.
Peter shivered, opening his eyes and tilting his head slowly. She was facing away from him.
"There you are!" She chuckled.
"No, no! I surrender, I surrender-"
The Spartan tilted her head at the unseen victim, slinging her rifle onto her back and breaking into a bestial sprint. Peter bolted to his feet, backing away from his hunter. A darkened figured was stumbling desperately away from her, between a trio of cars, but to no avail. The screams of the man sent shock through the air as she pinned him to the car and punched, and punched.
Peter had broken into a desperate sprint himself, gaining distance from his attacker as she dealt with her prey. He ran through a clear white door into what looked to be a supermarket, leaning against a shelf of sauces and spices to regain his breath.
He hugged the cold, litter-strewn floor when the Spartan returned, dragging the lifeless body of the Insurrectionist behind her. She laid it on the floor just outside the door, running a finger over its chest until she found his dog tag, which she took for herself. Then she pulled up his right hand, laying it flat against the window and wrapping her armoured fist around the trigger finger. She pulled.
Peter cringed at the sight as an expanding patch of blood burst onto the window when the finger came loose. The Spartan tilted her head curiously, peeling the finger from the tattered glove-finger that had accompanied it and dropping it into a small satchel that was attached to her waist.
"I will be the best shot… I will, I was always told that." Her voice was strangely posh and articulate, belying her venomous and psychotic undertones. "If nobody can pull the trigger, nobody can be a better shot… and he will be right…" She laughed childishly to herself, wiping moisture from her visor before lobbing the mangled corpse over a nearby civilian warthog.
Peter backed up, shuffling along the floor so as to not draw attention. He made it to the back end of the shelf and began to turn, when his foot clipped the shelf to his left. The falling tins and cans made a horrible, echoing din. The Spartan smiled, her head unmoving.
"Yet you can still shoot, marine, yes. You… can still shoot." She sighed in frustration. "Well, we can't have that, so I guess it's only fair I deal with you, too!" She yelled through the night, her head darting up and her visor catching the Shock Trooper in its gaze.
Peter's breathing spiked as he turned and broke into a clumsy sprint, over clattering foodstuffs and out the back door with a thump. He darted left, into the back-alley with a streetlight casting the end in light. He heard the heavy sprinting steps of his pursuer and every thump made his heart jump.
He was halfway down the alley now. A rifle shot spiralled past him, popping the streetlight ahead of the shock trooper in a hail of filament that receded into darkness. Peter staggered in confusion, his sight impaired, when a metallic hand gripped him by the neck and flung.
The ODST flew out of the alley, arms and legs flailing, landing stomach-down onto his assault rifle and gasping for breath. He flipped onto his back, scuttling back, deeper into the road. The purple Spartan bent down and picked him up again, landing a firm punch into his gut which sent blood leaking out of his mouth. Hanging him in mid-air with one hand, the other gripped his elbow and pulled. The shock trooper screamed out, his vision blurring as the forearm came loose.
Over the Spartan's shoulder, two expanding yellow dots came into hazy view. They were growing exponentially, leaking out into the blackness as the owner advanced towards them. The vehicle's motor stopped, a harsh mechanical spinning sounding out. The Spartan dropped Peter's body and turned in time to eat a barrage of machine gun rounds.
She darted back down the alley, the force of fifty bullets making her shields flare yellow. The machine-gun fire stopped, a trio of men advancing towards Peter.
"Shit, man." An Irish voice spoke out. "She beat the crap outta ya's."
"Bill, come over here and help me lift him."
"Who was that?" The young French voice spoke back. "Some Innie operative? Will it come back?"
"I don't know…" Sean stopped thoughtfully, pulling off his helmet and crouching down, his brow furrowed. "Come on, Pete. Let's get you fixed back up."
The two Helljumpers lifted him from either side into the passenger seat, with Sean taking the wheel, Billy manning the gun and the final man sliding into the backseat.
"Try to get off the ship and we'll kick your sorry ass." Billy murmured venomously even as the engine roared into life.
"Yeah, I know, I won't." The unknown responded quietly and monotonously.
