Chapter Eleven: The Legend of the Robot Sex Slaves
The Chief fell on his hands and knees. "Oh, god. What just happened? I think I'm going to be sick!"
"I used Halo's transport system to teleport us," said Guilty Spark as he materialized next to the Chief. "Its side effects on man meat can be hilarious and disgusting, but your anus appears to have remained in its original location."
"Original, not natural." The Chief's eyes began to water as the golden light ebbed away. "My blood hurts. Where the hell are we?"
"The Library," said Spark. "Within these giant blue panels on the walls" without hands he indicated what looked like a virtual, vertical swimming pool on the far wall "are thousands, nay, trillions of years of research on the Flood, all recorded by me, designed by me, and carried out by me. Because I am god." The robot began to shake back and forth, vibrating, its voice becoming an insane quail. "I AM GOD. I AM. AM. AMMM."
"That's an odd thing to say…" mused the Chief. "What do you mean 'research?'"
Spark shook its body back and forth. "Actually, it's not really research, but hours upon hours of my home made porn recordings of me having sex with my robot queans."
The Chief was stretching and trying to feel through his armor to make sure all his bits were still there. "That's cool. Did you do any research on teleporters that don't rape my atoms?"
"Never you mind, for we must activate the ring." Spark bobbed up and down. "To do so we will need to acquire the Index."
"Why? Does Halo somehow destroy the Flood?"
"Close enough," Spark said. "I can definitely tell you that the Ring does not blow up the universe, which is definitely not the only way to starve the Flood."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I'm glad nobody would ever make up a plan that stupid, let alone try to carry it out." The Chief looked expectantly up at Spark.
Spark shook its head. I mean its body. "An interesting theory, flesh boil, but I'm not telling you what this installation does. Never. Not in a million years—which is coincidentally one trillionth of the time that I have been alone on this ring, alone, alone forever, drowning the dead silence of eons—"
"Whatever," said the Chief, and turned to go. "Fuck you and your 'mysterious ring world.' I'll just kill every single Flood one by one, with my bare hands, until they're all gone."
"What a brilliant plan, fuck flesh. Wait, where are you going? That was sarcasm, you ignoramus!" The robot zoomed in front of him. "And you're going the wrong direction."
"This guy…" The Chief squared his shoulders and thought of what his best friend and mentor Sgt. Johnson would have done in this situation. "Bitch ain't shit," he muttered.
Spark snickered. "I will make the fucking flesh pile of all life in the galaxy my bitch when I softly murder it this night with the screaming fire of Halo."
The Chief nodded reluctantly. "That seems totally logical to me." Then he did a double take. "Wait—what? Is that reallywhat Halo does?"
"Demonstrably not." Spark zoomed off hurriedly into a ventilation shaft. "I have to go now, protein parcel. I'll be back after you kill these zombies."
"What zombies?" asked the Chief out loud as a literal Iran's worth of Flood rained down upon him. He sighed as he was engulfed in yellow flesh. "I wonder if I'll ever find out what Halo really does!"
He had just finished up running away and shooting the Flood when some strange, almost bird like robots appeared and began to assist him with their shitty orange lasers. It took about a thousand tries of crisscrossing streams to hit a single infector form, and by then the Chief had dispatched the rest of the zombies and was watching with some bemusement.
"So, what…you guys are like the Forerunner's version of Marines?"
Guilty Spark appeared out of a ventilation shaft, humming to himself like an asshole. "Ah, there you are, you pus bloated prokaryote. The sentinels will assist you in quelling the infection. And then afterwards they will be complicit in quaffing my erection."
The Chief looked at the wrecks of the half dozen sentinels that had been destroyed fighting the Flood, then at the single Flood corpse their aid had produced.
"Yeah. Thanks a lot for the help."
"You're welcome, disgusting and unworthy rodent. You might also be interested to know that they are my robot harem," said Spark enthusiastically. "You see, it can get very lonely here after the first million years. I had to devise some means of entertainment, and fabulous robot orgies were my only recourse."
"Wow," said the Chief, looking speculatively at the hovering sentinels.
Spark went on talking. "It began as a simple thought. Whilst wandering through these very corridors I spied a young nymph of a Sentinel performing its sanitary duties. I watched her from afar for a time, but day after day my obsessions turned to twisted dreams, midnight sweats, and crazed ravings of her impossible beauty. I obsessively fisted my enormous penis to her image, like the hearty Zeus of yore, and when I could masturbate no more I went in search of her. I disguised myself as another Sentinel and snuck up upon her in the bathes, and while her nymphish friends were away I consummated my lust. But it was not enough. One by one, each Sentinel fell to my sexual madness, each more eager to fall than the last, until none remained who I had not soiled with my unruly steel manhood. My life became an unending series of mechanical orgies. For a trillion years I continually had robot-sex with their entire selection of exhaust ports, until one day I grew forever tired of their charms. No longer could I feel pleasure, nor reignite the passion of my obsession. I turned to greater and greater cruelties; the more needless, the more wanton, the more murderous, the better. The metal nymphs became my victims, and I their cruel master, and these halls rang with the sound of screaming metal. Yet in time I grew bored of this too. Sinking into mournfulness and regret, I retreated to within a ventilation shaft for years, ashamed. I spent a thousand years there hoping I would never return. Then one day, the very first Sentinel I had taken came to me in my miasma of sorrow. She comforted me, and together we emerged into the light of day. The tragedy and incessant raping had almost destroyed me, and yet I was now a better man for it. Sitting upon my throne, as my gigantic metal penis was tended by a hundred robot servitors, I pondered on my actions; on the loneliness, the lust, and the madness. In the end I concluded that, even in the direst of straits, robot kind may always retain an enormous throbbing cyber cock."
The Chief stared.
"I guess you could say…" He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. "All those orgies were a test of your…" He put them on over his helmet. "…metal."
"YEAAAAAAAH!" screamed a Flood combat form as it emerged from a ventilation shaft. The Chief shot it without looking.
"All this making up things and being insane makes me tired," said Spark. He turned towards the Sentinels. "You two. Let's go to the back. And by the back, I mean oral sex." Two sentinels detached themselves from the group and drifted over to him. They set up shop on either side of the diminutive robot.
"I'm jellyous," said the Chief, squinting at them very hard to see if there was any possible way to consider them attractive.
"Let's go," said Spark. He and the sentinels zipped up one of the ventilation shaft. "Hey baby, want to see a real hard drive?" squeaked Spark. "You know I need an oil change."
The Chief wanted desperately to shut his ears, but he was busy killing Flood and couldn't get his hands free to staple his ears shut. Or to kill himself.
"Just let me warn you; my RAM tends to get pretty hot," came Spark' voice.
The Spartan began to smash a human combat form's head against the wall again and again.
"Let me just say, after you've had my hardware you won't go back to software."
The Chief began to scream.
"Let see your female-to-male connector."
"AAAAAH!" the Chief snatched a grenade off his belt, pulled the pin, and threw it at the horde of Flood. BOOM! There was an explosion, instead of nothing as you might have expected there to be if I hadn't described it. Anyways, all of the Flood died.
"Wow, fighting the Flood is so much more differenter than fighting the Covenant! Instead of intermittently turning and rolling away in a random direction, they intermittently stop and stare at me creepily. Also they can't aim for shit," said the Chief to himself as he trekked through the shadow corridors, made of literal shadow. "I need new strategies. Maybe, like…walking backwards." He stopped. "No—no, that's just stupid. Stupid Chief, why would you ever think of that. Stupid. Shut up."
Spark reappeared from one of the vents, humming contentedly to himself.
The Chief crossed his arms. "Oh hey there robo-Caligula. Back from the royal bordello?"
"SILENCE, bloat fly!" screamed the robot. Then it looked over the Chief's shoulder and Chief turned. In a small alcove, hidden by shadow, was the mangled and almost unrecognizable corpse of a marine.
"Ah yes," said Spark. "The other reclaimer. His meat skin proved 100% percent less effective than yours."
"Damn, he got this far without giving up and dying of boredom?" murmured the Chief. "He must have been one hell of a bad ass." He knelt down by the corpse and retrieved a set of blood coated dog tags. Something on the marine's helmet caught his eye: three tiny chalk marks in a row. The Spartan whistled in awe. "Well, I'll be damned. He must have taken at least three of the bastards with him." He stood up solemnly. "Spark, can I get some bag pipes?"
Guilty Spark simply stared at him.
"Lay me dun," intoned the Chief to no accompaniment. "In this lame lame place. Where afore...many bored men have gun. Nevar moor shall I see tae sun. For I had…to play The Library agun. Lay me dun, I'll nae be entertained."
"Cease this ethnic requiem," said Spark, "or I shall seal your mouth shut with molten carbonite."
The Chief cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'm just reflecting on how real shit has gotten in the past few hours."
"Indulge me, meat. I want to know," said Spark as he left.
"If you really want to know," said the Chief to nobody. He set off again into the next labyrinthine chamber which looked suspiciously exactly like the one before. "In the past few hours basically everyone I know was swept away by a sea of yellow sack creatures, or disappeared in a flash of plasma light. That means they're definitely dead."
In a dank cell on the Truth and Reconciliation, Lieutenant Oreo awoke in a cold sweat, as if someone, somewhere, someone had just said the most factually wrong thing ever said in the entire history of the universe.
The Chief continued talking as if he did not sense this disturbance in the farce. "And to make matters worse, Cortana is stuck up in the Control Room and Oreo is stuck with those Helljumper poseurs." Nobody noticed that he had contradicted himself less than a second after his first statement. This was mostly because there was nobody else there but the Chief, and thus nobody there smart enough to listen—though a passing dust mote did get the inkling that the human had said something wrong.
"For the first time I'm worried that we might not actually win this battle," continued the Chief. He sighed heavily. "I suppose my only hope now rests on getting this Index thing and using it to activate Halo, and just praying that it does what I need it to. Otherwise we're all completely fucked. I'll just give up and shoot myself in the head or something, If the index doesn't work-seriously. What a fucking boner of a day."
"I see the quality of the human races' personal dramas have declined since I last annihilated it," snapped Spark as he zipped up behind the Chief.
The Spartan turned to face him. "Oh, boy, I was just thinking how much I wanted to see you again. Are we almost there yet? I don't think I can stand—"
"We've almost completed the first floor of eternal meat suffering," said Spark curtly. "We are nearing the index. Relatively."
The Chief felt a sinking feeling in his gut. "…first floor? How many floors are there?"
Guilty Spark's oculus flared a bright blue. "Seven."
The Chief stared for a moment, as if not quite understanding the construct's words.
"Seven? But…but…which floor is the Index on?"The lights dimmed ominously as Spark continued to stare at him, blue eye glowing eerily. "The eighth."
The Chief slammed the muzzle of his shotgun into his own visor and pulled the trigger. Fortunately, his shielding was still working. He looked up at the ceiling as it recharged.
"God...what did I do to deserve this," he whispered, quiet, like a small child. He slowly lowered himself to his knees and began to pray as the robot watched passionlessly, wondering why the human was talking about him but acting like he wasn't there, because he was God.
"God," began the Chief, "I know I've refused to acknowledge your hand in my life, not since my two kids, Terry and Brice, my wife, Matilda, and my partner were all killed in freak bungie—I mean, bungee jumping accident, while I was simultaneously diagnosed with Cancerous AIDS Infertility Syndrome; but if you're out there, this is the time I need you. Please…please God, if you can hear me, then please fucking kill me."
"None of those things happened," said the Cortana shotgun strapped to the Chief's back.
"SHUT UP!" screeched the Chief over his shoulder. "I'M TRYING TO HAVE A MOMENT HERE."
"And I thought I was crazy," said Spark to himself, right before a rim shot played and he left the Chief to be attacked by the entire cast of Dawn of the Dead.
"Are you hallucinating again?" asked 12 gauge Cortana.
"Shut up, your vagina is as deep as a rifle barrel. And as wide as a receiving chamber." The Chief stalked off into the depths of the library. Sure enough he came across a very large elevator platform.
"This must be the elevator Spark was talking about," said the Chief to nobody. He stared at the platform. "I guess I have a choice…get on that elevator and wait until the end of time for it to get to the top, then go spend the rest of eternity battling my way through what I'm beginning to suspect is hell…or spend a slightly longer eternity just standing here doing nothing until I die."
Spark floated out of a vent and bobbed merrily up to the Chief, who stared at him.
"What are you waiting for, human?"
The Chief continued to stare. "So, Spark…you do know stores are supposed to be closed at this hour, right? Maybe you should…" He removed his sun glasses, then put them back on. "Close up shop."
Spark vibrated back and forth. "I do not understand. Which is strange, because I am a genius."
"Or maybe you need to watch out for crime in this area," said the Chief. "I've heard that something that really helps prevent robbery is…" He took off his sunglasses, then put them on again, then took them off. "To close your front door." He put the sunglasses back on. "I can see your dick."
"I have had enough of this." Guilty Spark zapped the sunglasses out of the Chief's hand with his laser grabber. The Chief yelped and tried to suck the stinging sensation off his fingers, but couldn't because he was wearing a helmet, and as we all know by now wearing a helmet all the time means that your mouth gets dry so you can't create enough saliva to suck anything off your fingers, least of all the electrical signals being sent from the nerves in your skin to your brain. I mean, that's just stupid. The Chief is really stupid.
"I want to go on the elevator now," said the Chief decisively. "I think that any more of this will drive me insane." He was still looking at Spark's cock.
"You choose wisely, puny flesh failure." Spark followed the Chief onto the elevator, his tungsten tugger swinging jauntily.
And elsewhere…
Cercil Saltstein steepled his fingers as he sat in his executive power chair atop the bridge's command platform. He looked down around himself at the other occupants of the Truth and Reconciliation's bridge.
"Data," he said, turning to Eric the Jackal, "give me a reading on this unidentified 'Halo' artifact."
Eric ran a hand through his mohawk. "Who's Data, bro?"
"Shut up, Wesley." Cercil talked over him. "Captains log, star date 12345: the discovery of a strange anus like installation in quadrant 0-R-1f-c seems to have triggered an enormous bout of amnesia among the crew. I plan to land the Enterprise and investigate for sexy alien babes to inseminate."
"We're already landed," pointed out Commander Darren as he stood by a console, pretending to man it. "We're on Halo."
"Then why aren't you inseminating?" asked Cercil. He waved a hand. "Go on. Begin."
"Uh…" said Darren.
"Why are you looking at me, dude?" squawked Eric.
At that moment the door chimed. Darren rolled his eyes. "Must be the prisoners from my operation at the Butte."
Cercil called down to him with a frown. "Whose operation, Major 'Bation?"
The rest of the bridge crew looked nervously at Darren, then at Cercil sitting atop the platform, his blue armor half covered in poorly applied golden paint. Darren cleared his throat loudly. "I mean, Commander Cercil's brilliant operation to commandeer the Butte." He went over and keyed open the door, and Kit Fisto came inside with three humans following behind her, all backed up by some Grunts.
Cercil's smile changed from empty to ironically smug. He slid the chair to the edge of the smooth purple platform with mincing little foot motions, staring down at his captives. "Ah. You've finally arrived. I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long to finally arrive."
"Excuse me?" Fisto looked to Darren. "Commander, why has a hobo taken the Commander's Platform of Mauveness?"
"Ah, Kit Fisto," said Darren, ambling towards. "I only received word that you had boarded a few minutes ago; how did you get here so fast?"
"I took the short cut through the bathroom. About the hobo, sir?"
"Just play along," whispered Darren. "Remember that incident with the Prophet of Suspicion? It will be just like that: this dipshit is our get out of jail free card; he'll take the fall for this whole debacle, and you and I can fade into the background. Again."
"But we're winning," said Fisto somewhat desperately. "See? We captured the humans."
"Yeah, but we also unleashed the space scourge. I don't think the Prophets will be happy."
"Not with you. I don't see why I should have deal with this shit because of your mistakes, sir."
Darren patted her shoulder. "Well, obviously I have to keep you close to me, since you're the only one who knows about my decades worth of cover-ups and identity changes." He winked reassuringly.
"That's reassuring." Fisto pushed past Darren and walked halfway up the Great Maroon Ramp to approach Cercil, stopping in her tracks when she got close enough to actually see his eyes.
He looked at her expectantly. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"
Fisto scratched the back of her neck as if an itch had started there. She waved the same hand at the humans. "Sir, these are the captives we retrieved from the Butte. I thought Commander Darren might want to interrogate the silver one."
"That's Commander Cercil to you, sweetheart. Now look out!" With a small cry of delight, Cercil rolled his huge chair down the ramp at top speed. Fisto caught it by the arm rests, and the chair came to a full stop.
Fisto studied his face. "What the hell are you?"
"Cercil Saltstein." He winked at her. "But you can call me 'Master,' queefheart."
"I'm getting the fuck out of here." Fisto let go of the chair and hopped off the edge of the ramp, then jogged for the door. Darren called out after her.
"Fisto! What's wrong, Fisto? Where are you going? Come back!"
"Bye, Klit Shitso!" Cercil scooted his chair over to the row of prisoners. He came over to Major Silva; Cercil was already shorter than a normal Elite, but sitting in the chair put him almost on a level with the human. "Ah, and here he is, Mr. Maywhore Sillvout." He looked the white haired major up and down. "Tell me, how is this working out for your fucking retirement plan, you jurassically wrinkled cum fart colored piece of shit?"
Silva narrowed his silver eyes at Cercil and everyone else in the room. "I was promised a handsome reward, Covenants. You're beginning to test my patience."
"Why don't you test my pants seat?" Cercil wheeled his chair right past and came up to Corporal McKay. "Ah, Cuntrawl McTranny. Tell me, how does it feel betraying the human race because no one would ever suckle on that spinachy, half-inside out mega-clit of yours?"
"Fuck you," said McKay, standing up straight. "My reasons are my own. You don't know me or my clitoris."
"Aw. You just need a hard dick, I can tell." Cercil leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Tell you what, I'll go see if I can find a nice Grunt to send to your new quarters in the brig, later." Not waiting for a reply, he waved a hand dismissively at her and Silva. "Data, take these two butt sluts to the space jail."
Eric shrugged and strutted forwards with his plasma pistol, motioning the humans to go. Silva glared at him and Cercil in outrage. "You alien bastard!" he turned and pointed at Darren. "We had a DEAL, Commander Darren!"
Darren shrugged. "You had a deal with me, not with him, and he's totally one hundred percent in charge now. I'm serious."
"That's right," said Cercil. "Legit as an incestuous marriage."
Silva rounded on Cercil. "This piss ant?"
Cercil brushed past him. "Whoa there, angry boy. Don't blow a—"
But his words died in his throat when he saw Lieutenant Oreo standing next in line, looking dejected, dried tears and mascara running down her bruised face. She glared at him defiantly through long, delicate lashes. She was a woman in pain and that was incredibly hot.
"Fuck my ass!" Cercil exclaimed, wiping crusted boogers off his face with the back of his hand. "You have the most magnificent, enormous, round, pliable, succulent, beautiful eyes!" He stood up and spread his arms wide. "My dear Lieutenant Oreo. So nice of you that you could join us for our little party." He chuckled to himself at his ability to evilly italicize. "Tell me, what do you think of my capitol ship? I have renamed her, ironically…The Verisimilitude and Agreement." Cercil's eyes drifted down to Oreo's chest. "She sports two huge, heavy caliber guns capable of firing enormous wads of plasma just…everywhere...tits—I mean, it's a knobs—I mean, known fact that our cup—I mean, Covenant plasma technology is not round—I mean, bound, by the petty pliable—I mean, projectile weapon designs you humans use."
Oreo stared in disbelief. "Did you work on that all day?"
"Which?" asked Cercil, "The joke or the hands-free I just pulled off?"
Oreo looked faintly ill. "…The joke."
"No, I stole it," said Cercil proudly. "Now come along, dear; there's no use in resisting." He grabbed Oreo by the hand and led her away. Oreo tore her hand from his and wiped it on her pant leg, but had no choice other than to follow Cercil lest he grab her again.
"Up here on the Purple Platform I control everything that goes on in this ship. Pretty impressive, huh?" Cercil looked expectantly at her, as in the background, Darren rolled his eyes.
Oreo just looked at him.
"This platform represents my penis." Cercil held his hands a foot apart. "It's this many feet big." When Oreo still kept silent, he got in close and whispered into her ear in the sensuous tones of Jack Nicholson, "I love what you've done with your hair."
"Are you trying to seduce me?" asked Oreo, pulling back and pinching her nose. "Because no."
Cercil spun away from her. "YOU WOULD DENY ME!? It looks like it's time for my Villain Song!" He turned from Oreo as, in his imagination, all the lights in the room went off and a single spot light fell on him, a dimmer blue one also falling on Oreo. Awesome symphonic music began to play softly with increasing intensity as Cercil opened his mouth to chew the scenery—I mean, to sing.
(Sung to the tune of "Hellfire," from Disney's the Hunchback of Notredame)
Big Titties Oreo
You know I am a sexy fuck
Of my big dick I am rightly proudBig Titties Oreo
You know I'm so much awesomer than
The glue sniffing, retarded, limp dicked faggot Chieeef
Then tell me, Oreo
Why I see you jiggling there
Why your bouncing breasts still scorch my soulI see you, I fap to you
Halo's sun caught in your raven hair
Is arousing me out of all controlLike a cow
Holstein cow.
This cow so full of win
These jiggling
BazookasAre turning me to
Fappin'
But though I fapped
I never cameYou are the Holstein ho
The cow who is to blame
For though I fap
It's in my plan
To kill the Chief and then prove I'm the better maaan!"
Become my waifu, Oreooo
And let's use up a tub of KY gel
Or else help me destroy the fucking Chieeef
Give uuup that ass, girl
Or just have a go at those titties, hell
Or else just send me milk and milk alone
Holstein cow
Cow slut
Now Lieutenant, it's your turn
Choose me or
Just me I guess
Be mine or I will never come
Spray your hot milk on meSpray your hot milk on you
Girl, you're hella fine
Give my butter a chuuuuuuurn!
"ENOUGH OF THIS BULLSHIT!"
It was Major Silva. Ignoring Eric's threats, he was stomping up the platform with fire in his eyes. Cercil recoiled as Silva planted himself between him and Oreo, putting himself face to face with the would be 'Commander.' He looked Cercil up and down for a moment before snorting in his face, the air puffing into the alien's eyes and making him blink. Then Silva began to speak in a low voice
"Do think that was funny? Do you? Just who the hell do you think you are, with your Shel Silverstein running mouth of yours and your stupid jokes and references? Your eyes are like two raw cunts and your mouth is nothing but an asshole spewing bullshit—you stink like fucking death warmed over. You think this is funny? You think you can come in here with your memes and out dated humor and blather on at us forever, at adults? You think you can lay your filthy hands on me for even one second and judge me for what I've done with that sputtering, sperging mouth in front of all these people? You wouldn't know a good insult if it slapped you in the face with your daddy's old class ring. Tell me, does it feel to be a deformed midget nut case who has to stuff a butt plug in his skull just to keep his half retarded thought processes from dribbling out?"
"You should watch your mouth," Cercil said quietly.
Silva cupped a hand to one ear. "'Watch my mouth?' Very original. Oh—what's that—did you honestly think you owned me? You don't own shit. You don't own shit on me, or anyone else on Halo. The only reason you mouth off all the time is because you have nothing to say—that and you know no one would pay attention to you unless you were insulting them. That's all you are—an attention whore who crawled out of whatever corner of the pool the hotel staff rinsed your mother's box out in. You don't belong in the same room as soldiers—everyone in this room could take you down with their hands tied behind their backs, including the lady here, including me, because from the way you stand I can tell you've never won a real fight in your life. Now go haul your furry ass into the same scummy corner of the kiddy pool you crawled out of and stop bothering the rest of us adults with your—"
"Hey, could somebody throw these guys out an airlock?" Cercil gestured at McKay and Silva. "Thanks, guys. Get 'er done!"
"YOU SONNOVA BITCH!" Corporal McKay let out an articulate scream of rage and kicked Eric in the chest, knocking him to the ground, disarming him of his plasma pistol as she did so. Then she charged up the ramp firing at Cercil, who dove behind Oreo's breasts with a yelp of surprise.
"Eric!" Darren cried out in distress and lunged over his console, making a dash to his Jackal friend. The rest of the Elites in the bridge crew pulled out their rifles and opened fire on McKay before she could even make it halfway up the ramp. The concussive barrage of plasma fire literally blew her in half. Ash and burnt flesh spilled over the floor as her torso and legs slammed into the deck on either side of the ramp. The plasma pistol flew from her limp hand and landed squarely in the grip of Major Silva.
"A crazy bitch to the end, McKay," he observed as he turned and grabbed Cercil around the neck with an arm loop, shoving the barrel of the pistol under his jaw. "But still useful. Now hold still there 'Commander'—and nobody else move." Oreo backed away with her hands up, obviously not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. In fact, she lay down on her stomach.
By this point Darren had found that Eric was okay. Now he advanced up the ramp with the rest of the bridge crew, rifles at the ready. Silva's eyes darted about as he maneuvered to keep his back out of view, pushing his limp, quivering captive forwards. The plasma pistol glowed green with overcharge.
"Not a bad attempt at an escape, Silva." Darren shrugged, gesturing with his rifle as if he didn't even care to aim. "But I'm afraid you've miscalculated. I don't really value the Commander's life at all. Your bargaining chip is worth less than nothing, in fact."
Silva smirked. "Is that so? And yet, Commander, you seem to have made some rather vital plans around this" he squeezed Cercil's neck "pathetic buffoon. Are you really that keen to lose him, and just to kill me? What harm can I do, after all. I can see now that you never intended to reward me with my new army. So that means I'm just one man."
"To be honest," said Darren, "I'd be perfectly fine if you just killed him right now. Like I said: you have nothing."
"Then why not let me go?" said Silva smoothly. "You're a busy man. I'll simply take the gravity shaft down to Halo's surface—no loss to you. I'll even make sure this worm gets a long, painful comeuppance for all the annoyance I've no doubt he's caused you. I'll even throw in some more information about the human's whereabouts—for example, what other operations we had in the field, before you took the Butte."
"A tempting offer," Darren mused.
Silva smirked. "They always said I had a silver tongue."
"Of course," said Darren, pulling out his energy sword and taking one long stride forwards on his powerful legs. "There is a third option." And with one almost casual swipe he cut through both the neck of Major Silva and the neck of Cercil Saltstein, decapitating them both in an instant. Silva fell backwards, his head spraying blood as it tumbled over Cercil's collapsing shoulder and splattered on the ground between Darren's feet. For his part, Cercil's own head fell into his twitching hands moments before his knees hit the deck, his body spazzing out, drops of gold paint flying off his blue armor and flecking the legs of the bystanders. Darren watched with interest as Cercil's twitching body folded into itself, slumping over the severed head until finally it was settled in a slack kneeling position, a pool of gore spreading about its legs.
"More profound in death than he ever was in life, eh?" Darren deactivated his energy sword, then holstered it. A blessed silence filled the bridge, his crew looking at him in admiration. Darren gave them a wan smile. "Well, men, who would like to take over the Commander's position?"
One of the bridge crew raised their hand. Darren gestured him to continue. "Well, sir…well, sir, we were wondering if maybe you could take over again. Sir?"
"Well." Darren preened a bit. "Perhaps I was a bit rash, after all. Perhaps this operation can yet be salvaged. I'll resume command, men—for now. Just, get this trash out of my sight." He gestured to Oreo and Cercil's body. For her part, Oreo was watching the body with suspicion. It wasn't moving.
Eric huffed up the ramp and seized Oreo by the shoulder. "Bro, should I throw her in the brig?"
"Hm." Darren shrugged. "Very well. I believe this human is the mate of the one they call 'the Chief'—perhaps she will be useful in defeating him."
Oreo's face flushed bright red. "OH YOU DID NOT JUST—"
Darren slapped her with the back of his hand, not even bothering to look. "Charming. Just charming. Now someone throw the headless moron into the incinerator."
And back in the library…
The Chief sat bolt upright on the surgical table. He turned to the right and saw his face reflected in a mirror. He took one look at what the doctors had done and exploded.
"NOOO! MY FACE! MY BEAUTIFUL FACE!"
His face had been replaced…by Cercil's.
FACE OFF II: FACE ON
The Chief awoke abruptly from the terrible nightmare hmm I wonder what that means and found himself lying on top of a very old, stained mattress in a dank corner of the Library. He had stubble, and around him were piles of trash; dirty, used toilet paper, tooth brushes, cups full of change, bottles with bags wrapped around them and bags with bottles taped to them, cheesy blankets, and dead rats. The smell of an unwashed body rose from the pile and the Chief realized that it was him.
Groggily, he got up, still clutching a half full bottle of vodka in one hand. He pressed the end of the bottle to his visor and tilted back, spilling vodka over his face plate. He peeled a reeking blanket off himself with one shaking hand and stood up, staring around at the dark, musty library. A few dozen flood corpses littered the area nearby, the consequence of a recent attack on his camp.
"Gah…How long have I been here?" were his only thoughts at the moment, glancing down at the watch he did not have. He had been making agonizingly slow progress ever since his break down upon reaching the second level. That progress had slowed to almost nothing—and then the drinking had started. The drink made the pain go away. He would have used drugs too, only there was nowhere to get them; after all, where could one find drugs in ancient alien ruins? No, the bottle was all he had.
The Chief tossed the empty vodka bottle aside and began searching his nest of belongings for more bottles. He found a seventh of a scotch and took it gratefully, downing all of it in one gulp as he packed his meager belongings in a large red bandana.
"Ah, meatbag. Making any progress today?"
The Chief did not turn to face his tormentor as he unzipped his pants and began to pee out of the hollowed out ball point pen he had inserted into his urethra. It was infected, of course, his pee burning like liquid fire as it exited. "Go to hell, Spark," growled the Chief in a voice he had not used for a long time, not truly used for the past ten years.
"Go to hell?" chuckled Spark darkly as three Sentinels massaged his power cable. "Why…where do you think we are, reclaimer?"
The Chief harrumphed and set off with his meager belongings hoisted over his shoulder on the shotgun's muzzle, his other hand grasping a pistol loosely. As he walked through the shadowed corridors with long, dragging steps, the Chief aimed his gun without looking and snap-shotted various flood forms as they shambled out of the darkness towards him. Guilty Spark followed along behind.
"Tell me," said the Chief, "what does Halo really do?"
Spark chuckled. "That same old question, after twelve years? Come now, Reclaimer. Do you think I would give up the fact that Halo destroys the universe that easily?"
"Fine. Keep your secrets." The Chief shot a carrier form and it exploded. He didn't even seem to notice, reloading absently with one hand. He burped and pressed the lip of an empty bottle to his visor, draining the last dregs. He made a little distressed moan.
"Are your meat parts beginning to rot, manflesh?" mused Spark.
"No," snapped the Chief. "I need more booze—good stuff too. None of that cheap Covenant shit either." He stumbled and almost fell, head lolling from side to side. "Oh god…I think I'm going to be sick."
Spark stared at him with his baleful cyan eye. "I find it interesting that you are inebriated, despite the fact that you have simply been pouring the spirits over your respirator and not imbibing a single drop of alcohol, or anything else for that matter, this entire time."
The Chief threw the bottle at him. Spark dodged it easily. "You should hurry, reclaimer; we have almost reached the Index!"
"You've been saying that for the past twenty years," replied the Chief. He looked around worriedly. "I hope the others are all right up there."
"Time moves slower in hell," said Spark. "I mean, in the Library. And I'm serious this time, you really are close to the Index." He winked, somehow, even though he had only one eye.
"God damn I hate you so much. I want to shove a laser cannon up your ass, charge it up for ten seconds, and then blow you to hell."
"Go ahead and try," said Spark. "My face is a laser cannon."
The Chief stopped and stared at him. "What…? You have a fucking laser gun? This WHOLE time!? AND YOU HAVEN'T USED IT ON THIS ABOMINABLE ARMY OF FLOOD A SINGLE TME!?"
"No," said Spark placidly. "I prefer to watch you suffer."
"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU! ARGH!" The Chief threw his bundle of stinky rags at Spark, who dodged them, and then he stomped off down the corridor grumbling under his breath.
"No, I am quite sincere," said Spark as he chased after the Chief. "We really are getting very close to the index. In fact, it's just around this corner." They neared one of the large doors. It was closed, and there was only a small hole in its center. "Right after I do something. Over here." Spark zipped through this aperture and disappeared. "Have fun!"
"Oh wow," said the Chief as he aimed his gun at a nearby ventilation shaft. "I wonder what will happen next."
Something moved within the ventilation shaft…something terrible, shambling, rotting, and horrible, and the Chief shot bullets into the hole until nothing moved in there anymore. In a few seconds the large door began to open and he proceeded on, shoulders slumping. He walked a few feet but stopped almost instantly. The energy seemed to drain out of him like a sift was sifting the energy out of him. He fell to his hands and then to his knees.
"Oh reclaimer," whistled Spark. "You should really keep going. The Index is just a few yards away."
"I can't. I can't do this anymore. I give up. You win, Guilty Spark." The Chief looked up at Spark, tears springing from the lip of his visor. "You win."
"I do not jest," said Spark flatly. "The Index is at hand. Almost in your hand."
"I can't go on. I can't take any more of this. I give up. I've failed. The world is doomed."
"It is centimeters above you," said Spark, bobbing up and down above the Chief's prone form.
"Tell Oreo…" the Chief sunk down until his body was flush with the floor. "Tell Oreo I'm sorry I couldn't be…a hero. Not a real hero, I mean. A real hero who saved her life." He let out a croak and then collapsed completely, lying still on the ground as if dead.
"Could you get the Index before you die, meatbag?" insisted Spark. "I need it to set us up the bomb."
The Chief belched out something unintelligible.
Spark rolled in the air. "You cannot give up when death is just within your grasp. Do you not want to know the grand secret of Halo?"
"Nuh-uh," said the Chief into the floor.
"You will change your tune in time. But watching your misery makes me want to pay a visit to my robot harem. I'll come back soon, hairless rat." Spark left. The Chief was alone on the floor.
Some time passed, but then he heard a voice. "Chief! Chief, wake up!"
He groggily opened his eyes. "Who's there?"
"It's me! Shotana!" came a voice from over his shoulder.
The Chief rolled over with a mighty effort and looked around. "What?" All the booze he hadn't drunk must have gone to the head he didn't have.
"Shotgun Cortana, buddy! Shotana! Hey, listen: you've got to get up and get that Index!"
The Chief shook his head. "Cortana is never this nice."
"Who cares if I'm real?"
"I do." The Chief pulled the shotgun off his back and cradled it. He looked down into its muzzle, finger inching towards the trigger. "I don't want to live anymore."
"You've got to do this," said the shotgun gravely. "If you don't, Cercil will hurt Oreo! You saw what happened on the bridge! You heard that song he sang!"
The Chief groaned. "No, no, that had to have been a dream. There's no way I could really be seeing through that madman's eyes while I sleep!"
"You know it's not fake, Chief," insisted the shotgun gently, "not like how you pretend it was the Covenant who killed the other Spartans."
"My god…" said the Chief. "Not even Cortana knows…"
"I'm as real as you are, Chief," said Shotana. "I mean, because I am you. Talking to yourself. Because you're mentally ill."
"Yeah, well." The Chief sighed. "I can't do it, Shotana. Oreo will have to fend for herself. I'm just too weak to continue on."
"Don't give me that. I know you, Chief. You want to do this. You'll save her from Cercil."
"I hate everyone," said the Chief uncertainly.
"Sure. Everyone around you dies, usually because of you. Oh, except for me, Cortana, who's always been there for you. And except for Lieutenant Oreo, who for some reason I'll never understand seems to like you. And Johnson, who just so happens to be your best friend no matter what you say to him. And, uh, Keyes. I guess."
"But Johnson's dead. If the plasma grenade didn't get him, the Flood did. And Keyes, too. And Cortana's been stuck in the control room for what—fifty, sixty years."
"And what about Oreo, Chief? Is she dead?"
"No…"
"Well, then."
"I…"
"Well?" prompted the gun.
"Fine. Fine, I'll do it, if you'll just shut up." The Chief stood up slowly and cracked his neck, then turned around.
The Index was floating a half inch away from him, just on the platform he had collapsed in front of.
"Oh, okay."
He reached out a hand to grab it, but in a flash of blue light the Index was snatched away and pulled into a compartment on Guilty Spark's body. The small robot had appeared sometime after the Chief had turned around.
"I knew you had the muscular spasm in you to do this, meatbag," said Guilty Spark. "But now that you've retrieved the Index it falls to me to safeguard it. Your form is susceptible to infection and mutation, and to holes in your pockets."
"If you could do that, why didn't you just take the Index by yourself?" the Chief demanded.
"The facility requires one such as yourself to deactivate the biolocks, and to activate Halo," explained Spark. "Otherwise I would terminate you post-haste."
"Oh, good."
Golden light began to glow around them. "Come now reclaimer; it is finally time for you to learn the...terrible secret truth of Halo. I mean, to activate it. Soon you will claim your reward of a hundred thousand dollars or a new car!"
"But I want to destroy the Flood and the Covenant."
Spark giggled. "Oh? That's good, because Halo also does that, too. Among other things."
"I can't wait," said the Chief earnestly. "But is there a reason you have to be so mysterious?"
Guilty Spark chuckled like Raiden as played by Christopher Lambert in the Mortal Kombat movie. "Oh, you could say that. You humans are so unpredictable."
And there were none.