Souls of Steel: Resurrection Chapter 9

Morning light filtered in through the window, coming to rest on the still-sleeping face of the Master Chief. His eyes twitched and creaked open, squinting through the sunlight. Routine kicked in, and he sat up, throwing off the covers of the bed he had just finished sleeping like a rock in. It had been an odd experience. One would think that a military base wouldn't bother with high-quality mattresses, and it was definitely not what he was used to. Not unpleasant, by any means, just... Different. Then again, everything was different now.

He quickly showered and put on a fresh pair of clothes, trying to look respectable. He was about to go and ask the world governing body for the means and permission to go and cavort around the galaxy unfettered with a very large gun in his hand, after all. It was going to take a bit of persuasion.

The room had a small kitchenette (he was beginning to think that it might be a VIP room) and he made himself something that he assumed was cereal for breakfast. His eyes scanned over the report he had sent to the council the previous evening on the provided tablet. He briefly wondered if he'd be allowed to keep it. He then wondered whether it was a good idea to do so anyway. It could have a tracer. The extranet had seemed to have a rather mixed view of the Federation. On the one hand, it had brought peace and prosperity, but on the other, corruption and power struggles ran rampant behind the curtain. He wasn't sure he liked the council, either. A lot of old men and aliens, all with that Machiavellian glint in their eyes. Honestly, he was eager to get away and start a new career. Hopefully this one wouldn't end with him frozen on a ship with his guardian dying a slow death outside.

With that off-hand thought, it all came crashing down on him again. Everyone he had ever known and loved was long dead and buried. He was alone. Completely alone. Cortana had died alone and half-mad, all to make sure he survived. Was it his fault?

Well, he had been effectively comatose at the time. And it was either go to sleep or starve to death before that. So, no. It couldn't have been. But that only made it worse. He had been powerless, unable to help or comfort her in any way before she died.

He leaned forward, running his hands through his short fuzz of brown hair. It was no use beating himself up about it. He had a job to do now, and this baggage was unlikely to be helpful.

He stood, cleaned up and left the room, pushing the pain down once more.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

A quick call ahead later, another chauffeur was outside, ready to take him back to the council. As he sat silently in the cabin, he wondered how exactly he was going to spin it. He hadn't exactly planned ahead. What was he going to say? Probably just out and say what he wanted. It would look rather awkward for them if they refused, after all. And if not, he could probably knock what he needed together from his back pay, if they were serious about that.

The car stopped outside the curiously shaped council building, and with a short word of thanks he was out, his jacket flapping about in the wind. The purple secretary waved him through, and he entered the lift up to the chamber. The guard at the top nodded to the man chamber's door when he arrived.

"They're expecting you." He rumbled through his helmet. The Chief stepped through the sliding door, walking back into the council's amphitheater. He was surprised to see the engineer who had removed his armour currently in audience, talking to the human councillor. The two heard the door close behind him, and looked over. They were both smiling.

"Ah, the man of the hour arrives!" Said the older man. "Splendid timing. We were just talking about you." The engineer beamed at him. The small man looked quite tired, but inexplicably euphoric too. The councillor looked at him. "Go on, Mr Conagher, explain your findings." The technician nodded, and tapped at a PDA.

"Whilst decommissioning your armour, I found a set of files in the main memory unit that are frankly, priceless. As yet unheard of translated Forerunner messages and schematics, presumably decrypted by your AI unit over the, uh... long haul." John felt a stab of pain at the mention, but didn't interrupt the man. "They've given us incredible insights into pieces of Forerunner tech that we thought were centuries of research beyond our grasp! We're wheeling artefacts out of the archives as we speak, now we can finally make them work!" The councillor looked down at the Spartan, smiling warmly.

"It seems you surprise us yet again, Master Chief. This is a priceless gift. Need you any remuneration from the council, you have it, no questions asked."

Bingo. At first he was hesitant about letting the Federation have this miracle data, but if it helped him now...

"As a matter of fact, councillor, that may tie into what I wanted to ask you today." The old man nodded.

"Alright then. Mr Conagher, will you be so kind as to let us converse? I'm sure you have other things you wish to be doing..."

"Definitely, your honour." The techie turned and made to leave, pausing by the Chief for a second. "Thanks for this." He said. "The biggest tech revelation in fifty years and I'm slap bang in the middle of it...!"

He passed by and left, leaving the Chief alone with the council. The human politician leant forward.

"So, Master Chief, what is it you wished to discuss? Your plans for the future?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Let us hear it, then." The Chief paused. Here it was. All or nothing.

"I want to become a bounty hunter."

The resulting silence was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. The councillors broke out into murmurs. The Chief continued on. "I believe that this is the most appropriate job for me to do. I want to keep fighting, and although I am grateful for the offer, I wouldn't want to be a commissioned officer."

"On such short notice..." Started the incredulous human in front of him. "Are you sure...?"

"Yes, sir. I am. I would like to ask for the council's aid in assembling the necessary tools and equipment for the profession." The request hung in the air. The older human looked around the chamber at the various species. Most of them looked surprised. Some were appalled. Others were glaring at him expectantly. He opened his mouth to speak... Only for another to speak before him.

"Esteemed councillors, who are we to deny this hero his wish?" The voice was slow and somber. All eyes turned to its owner, a tall, wide figure, covered in feathers and possessed of avian features. A Chozo. One of the last of his kind. His face was worn, beak wide and eyes kindly, his plumage a mottled brown. He did not flinch under so many gazes, staring down at the source of the disarray. He spoke again. "Surely the Galaxy owes him at least this much? Although..." He tilted his head slightly. "...Whilst I respect his wish, I do not understand why he wishes to do so..."

John felt the old bird's gaze on him, almost piercing. These were truth seeker's eyes.

"It's what I'm good at." He replied. "I can't imagine doing anything else." The Chozo councillor nodded slowly.

"And is it what you want to do? Return to war in a time of peace?" He met the bird's eyes, knowing he was quite unsettling as well.

"Yes."

The Chozo bowed his head and sat back down in his seat. He looked almost... Sad.

The human councillor looked around the chamber, the denizens having been silenced.

"Will any oppose the request?" He called out. No one replied. He blinked and spoke again. "Very well. We accept your decision, and will aid in the acquisition of anything you require for your venture. Did you have anything in mind?" Just like that? He'd done it?

"A custom armoured suit, some weaponry, and a ship." He spouted. Success. Another nod.

"Ah. That should not be a problem. We shall contact you with details when you are required in the process." Various further nods were exchanged, and the Chief left the room. The council relaxed back into its rhythm, and the Phrygisian councillor took the human's place as speaker for the next cases. The human in question took his seat and began to stew over the events that had just happened.

The situation was unfortunate. The Master Chief would have been a great asset had he joined the Federation. Now he was going to be let loose on the Galaxy. It was unlikely that he'd do any harm, but it was regrettable to let him go. Links would have to be kept. Perhaps getting him to prototype new gear? He would have to return to have bugs fixed, allowing them to monitor him... Yes. That was a preferable course of action.

He wondered where he had gotten the idea from. Samus Aran no doubt. He'd either admired her lifestyle, or she had suggested it to him. She'd always been a wildcard go the Federation. Quitting it's army, only to return to work for it, then betraying them over the X. She would likely need monitoring as well now... And there was certainly enough leverage in place to keep the relationship between them and her from collapsing for the time being.

Why not... Why not make them travel together? Force them onto the same ship? They'd both have to return for the Chief's armour debugs, and it would likely stabilise them both to have such a conflicting personality working with them...

But he'd have to verify her involvement first. Luckily, that was just a short call away.

Silently and discreetly, the councillor booted up the phone in his neural implant. Making the best of a situation had always been a specialty of his...

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Samus was sitting in a coffee shop with a sandwich and drink when she got the call. She'd taken the opportunity to sleep in that morning, something she very rarely did, and had decided to pop out for some real food for breakfast. Halfway through, her pocket buzzed, and she pulled out her small, functional phone. It was relatively unused, given as she only used it for communication, and most people she communicated with either did it in person or via a job listing. She didn't exactly socialise much.

She read the display: a blocked number. That meant Federation. Sighing, she pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Miss Aran." The councillor's pleasant tone piped through the speaker. "Are you well?"

"Yes." She replied curtly. "Why have you contacted me?" The next sentence through the speaker was less pleasant, almost accusatory.

"The Master Chief came to us not five minutes ago with the request for aid in acquiring the necessary equipment to become a bounty hunter. I don't suppose you had anything to do with that?" She kept her face blank.

"I may have."

"Don't be coy, Miss Aran. That was a yes." He sighed. "You may have just cost us a valuable asset. Not the best start to your new relationship with the Federation. We are, however, willing to overlook it, in exchange for an extended favour."

"And what would that be?"

"Take him with you for a while. Make sure he doesn't die on the first mission. Talented he is, experienced in this world he is not. Of course, we'd provide the necessary..."

"Do you understand what you're asking me, councillor?" She interrupted him. "You're asking me to babysit." There was the slightest edge of venom to the last word.

"Not at all. I am asking you to teach this man, impart knowledge. Then, when you deem him knowledgeable enough of our time's way of combat, you can go on your merry way. Should you refuse, however, the consequences will be... Dire." Samus clenched her jaw. She didn't really have a choice here. She needed to stay on the GF's good side, or the whole charade would have been in vain.

"...Fine. I'll need a bigger ship, for starters. And a few energy tanks wouldn't go amiss."

"Done. I'll throw in some prototype gear as well, for good measure." She didn't see anything wrong with that. Adam could check it for spyware.

"Fine. Does he know?"

"No. He knows that we approved his request, but nothing else. I leave it to you to tell him the details of his transportation. Also, tell him his requisition is conditional depending on whether he accepts or not." Samus was about to put the phone down, but the councillor cut in again.

"Miss Aran?" She contemplated putting the phone down anyway.

"...Yes?"

"Please, don't take this as ill will. You've mildly inconvenienced us, and we mildly inconvenience you in turn. That is no reason for a grudge, is it not?"

"...No." She sighed.

"The Federation values you, Miss Aran, and we have no reason to vindicate you. I know you see us as a bunch of controlling bastards, but we have similarly derogatory opinions of you. Such is the nature of a healthy relationship."

"Quite." She felt slightly assured by the councillor's admittance. He was being honest, that much was true, and it was definitely refreshing. She didn't like it, but it was reasonable enough. Who knew, she might even pick up a few tricks from the Chief as well.

"Very well. We look forward to working with you."

He hung up. Samus finished her breakfast, got up and walked out the door in the direction of the Federation base.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The Chief grunted, blinking a stray drop of sweat from his eye as he continued his exercise. He'd been in the gym for a few hours now, having seen no more productive alternative use of his time waiting for his requisition to go through. He was currently doing pull-ups on a suspended metal bar, waiting for the real burn to set into his muscles before he went all out. No point in counting when there was no one to compete with. A few others had passed through the gym, but no one had recognised him. The helmet was more of an icon than he was.

Right now, a Jovian male was packing up to leave, giving the Spartan a friendly nod as he slung his bag over his shoulder and made for the door. As he passed through, another figure walked past him, going in the opposite direction. Aran again. She wasn't looking terribly cheerful.

She walked directly over to him, stopping to stand directly before him.

"Morning." She said. He carried on doing pull ups.

"Mmhm." He replied. "You come here to see me?"

"Yes, actually. Didn't take long to find you." He snorted. He wasn't likely to be anywhere else, was he?

"So...?" She sighed.

"The Council has ordered me to take you with me on a few missions. Get you to learn the ropes, or something. Basically, they want to make sure you don't mess up and die."

The Chief's booted feet dropped to the floor, which wasn't much of a distance. He crossed his arms.

"You can't be happy about that."

"I'm not. And you probably don't like it either."

"No offence, but I prefer working with people I trust."

"None taken. But he did say you wouldn't be getting your requisition if you didn't agree." The Chief blinked, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What's stopping you from just leaving?"

"You think I woke a cranky super-soldier up on the wrong side of bed to just ditch the benefit of doing so? I need to stay on good terms with the Federation." He groaned.

"Looks like neither of us have a choice then."

"Quite. All the same..." She stuck out a hand. "Pleasure to be working with you, Mr One-hundred and seventeen."

He reached out and shook it, the faintest twitch of an eyebrow betraying his minor amusement.

"And with you, Miss Aran."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that day, they both received a message. Their new equipment would be ready in three days.

The Chief, not seeing any better way of passing the time, spent the time predominantly in the gym, sparring with Kilo or exercising his newfound strength. He'd been hitting all sorts of personal records, and it was only getting better as he trained. He usually felt a little weaker after a long sleep, but never so much that he improved this much in the proceeding days.

Likewise, Samus spent a lot of her time in the target range, practising with her arm cannon, Paralyser and grapple beam. In order to compensate for her weaponry's slow shot movement, she needed dead-on target leading and accuracy. Anything less was personally unacceptable, and would be ruthlessly practised until perfect.

It was safe to say that neither of them had a social life. Nevertheless, they saw nothing of each other for the whole period.

Then came the summons to the centre's engineering workshop for their equipment.

John walked in to find Samus already waiting. They exchanged a nod, and sat down in the impromptu waiting room in the corridor outside.

Eventually, a glass-goggled man in dirty overalls opened the door, stepping out to greet them. The Chief recognised him as the engineer that had removed his armour. The man smiled at him before turning to Samus. He handed her a small flash drive.

"There you are, Miss, all the flash-generation blueprints for your promised prototype gear, fresh off the AI grid. You might want to stock up a little on Iridium, though, one of those things takes quite a lot. Any bugs happen, come see us." She inspected it, and nodded.

"Alright. And..."

"Ah, yes. Can't forget that, can we?" He took a small black box out of his pocket, proffering it to her. She pressed her thumb to it, and a green glow scanned it. A small metal spike took a blood sample, the box buzzed for a second and beeped an affirmative conclusion. He pocketed the box, smiling. "There, ship should recognise you now. Hangar 22, South City spaceport. Have fun."

"Thank you." She replied, then turned to the Chief. "Meet me there when you're done." She walked off down the hall, and the technician turned to his second charge.

"Now, here's the interesting bit..." He smiled, opening the door for the two of them.

The metal-walled workshop was chaotic, covered in grime, and smelt slightly of ozone. At various workstations, various species tinkered with machinery, tapped on keyboards and in one case, frantically hosed a project down with a fire extinguisher. "Don't worry." The guide said. "That there isn't for you."

They rounded a corner, coming to a large steel tube on the corner of the wall. The engineer picked up a control pad from an adjacent table, and turned to the Chief.

"In here is your brand new suit. Have to say, sir, you're really reaping the benefits of that data you brought in. We've managed to incorporate thirty-five new Forerunner subsystems into this, and we've only scratched the surface of the archives. There's a huge one that we get to work on soon- Sorry, sorry. I'm getting off track. Ahem..." He cleared his throat.

"Now. Custom tailored to your specific physiology and skill set, may I present... The Ares-Class Combat Skin." He pushed a button on the controller, and the tube slid open, revealing the suit, suspended in midair.

The suit certainly looked familiar. Olive green armour, shining golden visor, the distinctive wraparound helmet. They hadn't been particularly liberal with his look. He took a step towards it.

It was similar to his old suit, yes, but there were differences as well. The bulkiness remained, but seemed more rounded now, the edges smoothed over. The plating fit close to the black undersuit, giving more defensive coverage than before. The hands were fully armoured, featuring segmented finger joints, as well as what appeared to be a small hardpocket in each wrist. He reached out and held the cold metal of the shoulder, spinning it around so he could see the back. Two glowing orange lines curved down the back, pulsing gently, presumably to do with the shields. The ever-present magnetic strips on the calf and back remained, as did the data port on the back of the helmet. It looked like... Like him. For years, to all but a few, the armour had been his face. And this looked almost exactly like it, updated and ready for anything the new age threw at it.

"You like it?" The technician smiled as he span it back around. He watched his reflection in the visor.

"...Yes. I do."

"Then you're going to love the new features." The engineer tapped a button on the pad, and the suit disappeared into a shower of particles, slipping through the Chief's fingers and into a large port on the pod's roof, leaving only the undersuit behind. The Chief stepped back, alarmed. "Firstly, it utilises flash-generation tech, meaning an authorised unit with the blueprints can essentially just form the suit around you whenever you want, so long as you're wearing the undersuit, that is." He gestured to a small changing cubicle. The Chief took the metallic suit and wandered in, leaving with it on, clinging like a second skin to his body all the way up to his chin, and a data chip clutched in his hand. The engineer noticed. "You'll need to put that down to generate the suit. Otherwise, you can end up with a phase-through, and that gets ugly." Grudgingly, the Chief placed the chip down on the nearest table. "Okay, now, first time can be a bit tricky sometimes, but just... Will the suit on." It sounded ludicrous, but he shut his eyes and did it anyway. He felt an odd pressure in his head, then a feeling like a floodgate bursting, and the second skin gained weight, the armour appearing on his body.

He felt the familiar power rush as the force-multiplying circuits activated, putting nigh unstoppable force behind his every body movement. His neural link connected, and the suit linked to his brain. He moved an arm, and it jumped into position before he even finished the thought. They'd preserved some of the Mjolnir's best features in this.

"I can see you know we kept a couple of those old systems. Thought we'd make it more homely for you. Likewise, your shields work off the old system, too. Self regenerating, low capacity compared to most batteries. Still strong enough to tank a few mines, though. All thanks to hardlight shielding. Never quite cracked it before those codes of yours came through, but we can start rolling it out now. Here, catch." The Chief nodded absentmindedly, looking at his hands, and caught the helmet thrown his way without even registering it. A few days out of his suit and it was all such a novelty again...

He turned the helmet over, inspecting the port. Quickly, he reached for the chip on the table, and slotted it into the back. He felt a little better for that. He put the helmet on.

"We ported over the design the old VISR system used. You've got your shield, weapon diagnostics, motion tracker, the works." Putting on the helmet, the familiar layout booted up. It was feeling more homely by the minute.

"Now, for the new stuff..." The technician grinned. "Those pockets in your wrists, open one up." He did so, and a handle grip fell out into his hand. Immediately, a luminous orange blade sprung from the end, wickedly sharp. "Two hardlight combat knives. Amazing stuff, hardlight. Ultra-dense, ultra-light, nearly indestructible, and instantly available in any shape or size from a generator." The Chief returned the blade to its home, and the engineer tapped the back plate of the suit.

"That generator's in here. Powers your shields, those knives, any a bunch of other stuff I haven't showed you yet. Use anything too much though, you'll exhaust other systems, and have to wait for a recharge." The Chief nodded.

"What are the other systems?"

"Two more. Just look at your palms." He did so, and was surprised to see white crystalline circles on each.

"What are they?"

"Structural projectors. Hardlight is a brilliant building material, so long as it stays powered. That means you can use it for things... Like... This!" A few taps of the pad, and a tiny blue cube appeared over each of the projectors. They spun gently in the air, and disappeared. "You've got blueprints loaded for domed shields, stationary turrets, and tons more in that suit. Make use of it, just be careful. It takes a lot of power for something to stay active for long. Now, where did I put- Ah! The crowning glory of the lot!"

After rummaging briefly through the mess of a workbench, the techie brought out what looked like the grip of a pistol. It was white and smooth, like marble, attached to what looked like a small block of the same material. It barely looked like a weapon.

"This is the Hephaestus Multipurpose Arms Platform. Exclusively for use with the Ares." He held it out to the Chief via the block. Taking it, he held it experimentally, pulling the trigger to no effect.

"How...?" He incoherently asked. "How does it work?" The engineer smiled, ever happy to talk about it.

"Same way all the systems work. Neural control. Project the thought of whatever you want to be using into the handle." The Chief blinked. A rifle.

Instantly, the block atop the handle sprung out into a shower of tiny boxlike units, stopping dead and forming the outline of a rifle, the framework quickly filled by orange hardlight. Less than a second later, a fully functioning weapon had formed in his hands. He almost dropped it, but tried again. A shotgun. The shards jumped away as the hardlight reformed, filling the new shape given by the outline; a thick, tubelike 8-gauge shotgun.

"Change weapons to match the situation on the fly. You've got pretty much unlimited tactical flexibility. Plus, all the weapons use hardlight rounds, which have been damn effective in simulations." The Chief looked at the weapon, ordering it to collapse down to its base state, it complying near instantly. A weapon that could change form at any time. From a shield-draining automatic to a high-calibre precision finisher. Anti-armour one moment, anti-personnel the next. It was perfect. He clipped it to his thigh and turned to the smaller man.

"This is all brilliant. Thank you." He held out an armoured hand. The engineer grinned, (He did that a lot.) and shook it.

"My pleasure, Sir. Now get out there and wear it in."

I think I'll leave it there. Usually endings have a bit more closure, but this one is getting kinda long.

So, what did you lot think of the Ares? No prizes for guessing why I called it that. Or for the Hephaestus. Pretty neat bit of kit, eh? Although generally, the main reason I came up with it was so I didn't have to constantly write inventories of equipment. After reading Halo: The Flood, I can tell you that that gets boring really, really fast. I did it for you...

Also, there's a new Reference Race in here! (Yes, I'm calling it that now. Don't judge me.) This one is a TF2 reference, and quite a nerdy one at that. Don't worry, nobody here will care. You know the prize, get searching!

Also, shoutouts!

Jachabo: Lumioth coming right up!

Guest: If you've got an issue with the timeline, be sure to let me know, so I can correct it. Glad you like the story, though. :)

SaintMichael95: The second one. ;) And I'm afraid I have no link to show you. I came up with the idea myself, but I can't draw for toffee. Sorry about that.

TheAccursedHunter01: Samus will get her opportunity to show off next chapter, don't you worry. And the second wind will be explained in time. As for the final thing... Dammit. Sorry about that. I'll see about correcting it.

TheMetaReborn: Glad you like it, but I'm not sure about trading it for H4... Loved that game. :)

Hazzamo: Not quite... Not quite... *evil laugh*

The rakiat: Far Cry 3, if I'm not mistaken? Coincidentally, I just got FC4. If it has anything as good as the Weed Field mission in FC3, I'll be happy. In any case, thanks for the review!

SPARTAN-626: Here's the system I was talking about. I think it meshes well with some of the weapons you suggested, and it'll definitely see some use. Hope you like it!

SilenceCmdr: Glad you like the story, and hope you like the armour just as much!

ChaosxPaladin: I couldn't just split them up, could I? :)

Anyway, new ship next chapter, as well as the first job! Hope you're looking forward to it! Until then, bye!