SUUUUUUUUUUP.
And here's another chapter. Just to specify/recap: the Chief is 'going out' for weapons cuz he has yet to receive a second weapons shipment from the Dawn which may or may not contain cc weapons.
Ahat else? oh yeah, the Chief is incapable of repairing most of his own shit, because logic. (According to the novels, he can only do really small things. THEREFOR, he needs others to get things done for him. And since his armour is pretty is becoming a liability...)
Aaaaaand yeah. Enjoy?
Chapter 10 – Exiles and Cyborgs first
The Master Chief stood on a street filled with market stalls, each one selling all manner of exotic goods. Despite the fact that the Chief had money to buy things now, he didn't even bother to peer at their wares, knowing there was nothing that would interest him. He was currently waiting for Riven.
They had agreed the day before on a time to meet up, and naturally the Chief arrived an hour early, scouting out the area for potential threats. It also gave him time to test out his new motion sensor, and it was working perfectly. Civilians were marked by yellow dots, and potential hostiles were marked out by new blue dots.
The Chief had tried as hard as he could to think of a reason to not show up, but he couldn't. He knew that the Dawn would carry no weapon small enough to serve as a replacement for his combat knife. In the end, he had no choice but to show up.
Everyone gave the Master Chief a wide berth; people seemed to recognize him and were still wary of what happened the other day.
A blue dot moved slowly towards him from behind, but the Chief didn't turn around, assuming it was Riven.
It wasn't.
"Why hello there," a feminine voice purred, practically in his ear.
The Chief turned around, giving himself enough room to use his magnum if need be.
The blue dot was a league champion - she had bright, curly, flaming red hair and wore a pirate hat. She smiled at the Chief with half-lidded eyes.
"What's a big guy like yourself doing out here alone?" she asked. "Need some company?"
"No," the Chief responded flatly. "I'm waiting for someone." He had no idea who this was, but she was being an annoyance. The Chief briefly wondered how much trouble he would get in if he hit a fellow champion of the Summoners Rift.
"Oh come on," she purred, moving closer. "I thi-"
"Sarah?"
The women half grimaced and turned around, smiling as soon as she saw who had spoken. "Riven! I had no idea you'd be out here too!" She spread her arms wide.
Riven frowned and looked between the Chief and Sarah. "I'm helping the Chief out," she said.
The Chief quickly distanced himself from the red haired woman.
Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Wow, Riven," she said. "I didn't think you were this adventurous."
Riven blinked and clenched a fist, face reddening. Sarah began to smirk, putting a hand on her hip. The Chief watched the two of them with confusion, completely lost as to what was going on. This was one of those times were he was glad the mask hid his face.
There was a tense moment, then Riven turned to the Chief and grabbed his armoured hand. "Come on," she said, refusing to meet his eyes.
She led him down onto another street of stall, away from Sarah's laughter.
"Who was that?" asked the Chief. While he really didn't care, he felt it would be wrong not to ask.
"That," said Riven, not meeting his eyes, "was Sarah Fortune, the bounty hunter. It isn't a good idea to get caught up with her."
The Chief didn't reply. He did not really understand what 'get caught up with' meant, but he planned on avoiding it.
A few people stared at the pair of them, some snickering at the sight of the white haired woman leading around the massive armoured knight. The Chief didn't understand the laughter, though, so he just ignored it.
The Chief looked past all the areas that Riven was leading him passed, committing them to memory. Eventually his eyes alighted on Riven's back, and realized she wasn't wearing what she usually did in the league. She wore civilian clothing, and it made the Chief feel rather awkward, though he didn't know why.
Eventually she led him to a medium sized shop in a rather busy area of the city. He could see all manner of weapons in the windows: swords, axes, bows, long-swords, great-axes and more besides. There was a curious lack of ranged weapons, much to the Chief's confusion.
Riven led him inside, quickly letting go of his hand when a bell chimed through the store. A man walked in from a door behind the counter, wiping his sooty hands on his not-so-white apron.
"Riven, my dear!" he called out. "What brings you in today? More repairs?"
"Not today, Strum," Riven replied. She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. "My friend here needs a weapon."
Chief tensed slightly at the word 'friend'. It made him feel awkward. He wasn't here to make friends.
"Friend, eh?" Strum walked up to the Chief, eyeing him. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Strum, city blacksmith."
Chief took the outstretched hand and shook gently. "Master Chief," he said. No use in giving out his full title to someone he wouldn't see again.
"So, watcha looking fer, Mastur Chef?" The man returned to his place behind the counter and gestured to the weapons lined up underneath the glass.
The Chief thought for a moment. He had not given this much thought. What weapon did he want? He could get a knife to replace his now useless one, but any knife small enough to fit in his shoulder guard would suffer the same fate as his last one. He looked over the rows of weapons and decided that a short blade would be best, since he would be able to transfer his combat knife training to it. Or maybe he could transfer energy sword techniques instead. He'd have to test the weight of the sword first before deciding, though.
"A sword," he said. "Preferably short, forearm length."
The man nodded and began to stack weapons on the counter. The next hour passed with the Chief trying out different weapons (and failing) while Riven watched, laughing. Apparently energy sword techniques were meant solely for energy swords.
Eventually he decided on a short gladius, the blade slightly longer than the Chief's forearm. That meant the blade was more of a sword to the average person than a short-sword, but it worked fine for him. It was silver inlaid with black, and slightly serrated towards the hilt. It was a stabbing weapon, and it fit the Chief's combat style well.
Riven just kept laughing, commenting on how the Chief used his blade.
When Strum listed the price, the Chief had been going to pay the price of the weapon in full because he didn't know much about bargaining, but Riven stepped in and began to list off prices with Strum, eventually deciding on a price that was little more than half of the original.
As they left the store, Chief wondered why Riven had bargained for him. Was the original price that bad? The Chief realized that he had absolutely no idea about anything in this civilian environment. He also realized that he was actually glad he had Riven around. If nothing else, he would be able to see how to interact with these people.
They walked for a bit aimlessly until Riven said, "Why don't we go eat something?"
The Chief had to stop himself from saying 'no' automatically. Now that he was out, he might as well stay out. It would provide him the perfect opportunity to study the city, in case the data was needed later. Not to mention the fact that his last excursion out hadn't given him much time to study his surroundings. And he knew that no matter how much he'd rather be inside the Institute, he'd get bored of it soon enough.
They eventually arrived at a small restaurant on a side street. It had an outdoor seating area and an indoor one, and it seemed to be self-sit.
"This one's really good," Riven said as she led them to a table on the inside of the restaurant. The Chief took one look at the fancy wooden seat, then led Riven to one of the tables on the outside, which had stone benches for seating. Riven just shrugged and sat down, the Chief sitting across from her.
It was a lot emptier outside than inside, much to the Chiefs liking. He grabbed one of the menus lying in the middle of the table and began to browse through it.
It was many pages long and Chief actually had some trouble attempting to find what he wanted to eat. It was his first time at a restaurant, after all, and he wanted to get something good.
Riven was not having the same troubles he was, though. The scanned through the menu quickly and found what she wanted immediately. It seemed like she was quite familiar with this place, and the Chief told her so.
"I used to eat a lot here, before I got used to the League," she replied, downcast.
The Chief felt immediately bad for bringing out bad memories. He wanted to apologize, but didn't know how to do so properly, so he stayed silent. He continued looking at the menu, and eventually he found something on the menu he wanted: some sort of native fish with more fish as a side.
Riven called the waiter over, and they both placed their orders.
The man left, and silence fell.
Riven tried to start a conversation, and the Chief tried to not kill it, but he was unable to. He just had no idea how this 'socialization' thing worked.
Riven stared out at the large group of people entering the restaurant and said, "Are you really the last one, then?"
"What?" said the Chief; even though he was pretty sure he knew what she was talking about.
She tried met his eyes. "The last… Spartan? That's what you're called, right?"
The Chief nodded warily, wondering why Riven decided to bring this up.
"I know what it's like to be a lone survivor," she said. "It's the kind of thing you never really get over, especially if you're the last of a tight-knit squad."
Chief felt a rush of emotions and looked up, breaking the minimal eye contact he had with his visor on. "Spartans never die," he said, trying to take reign of all his feelings. "We're always listed as Missing In Action, even when there's proof of death. That doesn't happen often, though; Spartans tend to go missing a lot. Glassing tends to wipe away evidence."
"Spartans never die, huh?" she chuckled. "It seems like a nice sentiment, if not necessarily true."
The Chief nodded. Sometimes the tradition seemed more depressing than helpful, although he understood the need for it. Sometimes, though, he jsut wished they would get honoured in the way they deserved.
Riven chuckled a little bit louder, as if a funny thought occurred to her. "You know what? You're probably the only Spartan legitimately missing in action, and your command is probably certain you're dead, on account of that whole dimension collapse-y thingy."
It took a few moments for the Chief to understand what Riven was saying, but he let out a short snort when he did.
Riven gave him a bemused look. "Was that your laugh?" she asked.
The Chief shrugged and took off his helmet as their food was placed before them.
Riven gave him one more bemused look before turning to her food.
Chief's meal looked absolutely delicious. Riven's meal was a sandwich of some sort with a bunch of sides, and it looked equally appetizing.
The Chief dug in, enjoying the taste of the food and the memories it brought back.
Chief sitting on a beach, his Spartans around him, roasting Calamari they caught from the ocean as they waited for Mendez to get himself out of his 'predicament'.
Riven eyed the Chief over the rim of her water glass. "You know," she began hesitantly, "I could teach you a fighting style I know that would work well with your gladius. Because, after all, your style is ridiculous."
The Chief really didn't think his style was all that funny; it was just different. While it wasn't perfect, Spartans made do with what they could. Not to mention the fact that applying knife-fighting styles to a short sword wasn't flawless. It would still work in combat, though.
Nonetheless, the Chief accepted. It would do him some good to learn more about the fighting styles of Noxians, in case he needed to fight against them someday.
Riven smiled. "I have a condition," she said.
Of course, thought Chief.
"You have to go shopping with me. We can't have you wearing that armour out here all the time."
The Master Chief paled.
Elsewhere
Nightfall was still quite a ways away, but Marin wasn't going to wait for the cover of night to make his move.
His target was a Demacian noble currently stationed in the outskirts of Kalamanda. He had tracked the man for the better part of the day, and finally an opportunity presented itself.
The noble was going back to his room in the Demacian quarters to do paperwork.
Marin now sat just outside the building, hiding in the shadows of an alleyway. He checked the charge on his new rifle: primed.
His rifle was truly marvelous: it had many features and its design was aesthetically pleasing. It looked like something alien. The only problem he had was the glowing lights; he had to cover them up so as not to reveal his position.
Marin climbed up the ladder that he had placed in the alleyway and arrived on the roof adjacent to the building. He glanced around: no one was in sight.
He began to crawl, slowly. Once he reached the edge, he jumped across, and rolled once he landed. He stayed upright this time, padding to the window set into the side of the building.
It was unlocked: good. It would shave some time of the mission tome he had set for himself.
He entered the building, scowling in distaste at the blue and gold walls. He had always hated Demacian architecture.
He quickly moved off the main path into a servant's corridor. He followed the path up several floors, always pushing himself against the wall whenever he thought he heard someone close by, always ducking low when he passed a servants quarters or kitchen.
He couldn't be discovered. Yet.
Eventually he made it to the floor the ambassador was staying on. He made his way through the halls, and eventually made it into a large circular chamber from which a bunch of other hallways branched off. The floor was marble, but with a square of what looked like solid gold in the middle. If he hadn't been on the job, he would have grabbed a few of them to bring back.
Dead ahead was the hallway where his targets room was located.
And in the way of it were three burly Demacian soldiers.
"Halt!" one said, drawing his weapon.
As if I'm gunna do that, thought Marin.
He propped his rifle against his hip and pressed a button. The weapon began to reform, the barrel elongating and metal plates retracting. It took less than five seconds to transform.
He fired.
A beam of scintillating green energy struck the first guard, melting through his breastplate and mauling his chest.
The second soldier stumbled and ran forwards, sword raised high.
Marin, without moving his finger off the trigger, passed the beam over his body, neatly bisecting him.
Marin stopped firing and smiled, admiring his handiwork.
The last man stared open mouthed at his comrades. He shook a little bit. His fist turned white as he gripped his sword.
He turned to the assassin and hurled his blade with all his might.
Marin caught it one handed, and threw the blade right back at the soldier.
The soldiers face was briefly registered shock; and then turned to pain as realization set in.
Marin walked to the dying man and shoved the blade in deeper, ending his life quickly.
He pressed the button again, and the weapon reverted back to its original state. He checked the power gauge: three quarters full. Apparently, firing it in suppression mode used a hell of a lot of power. He'd have to be more careful when using it.
The assassin took a moment to admire his weapon. While arguably louder and larger than his old bow, it was much more effective. And it looked cool as fuck, which was always a bonus.
He walked forwards, making his way towards the door of his target. He jiggled the doorknob: locked. He heard shuffling on the other side.
He raised his rifle and pointed it at the lock. The weapon discharged with a crack and the lock shattered.
He pushed open the door, and saw the Demacian ambassador standing in the middle of the room with a blade in his hand. The blade was clearly a two handed weapon, but the man held it one handed. The weight of the folded steel dragged the weapon point first to the ground, and the assassin snickered at the man's obvious incompetence.
The man paled at the sight of the weapon in Marin' hands. "W-w-what do y-you want?" he stammered out, backing away, letting the blade fall completely towards the ground.
Marin snickered again. There was nowhere for the man to run.
He calmly raised his rifle, and lined up the sights with the man's head.
"Your life," he responded, and fired.
O.K.
So my intratubez has been down for the last few days, allowing me to replay Halo 4 on legendary. Such fun, Much wow. I always laugh when Del Rio orders Palmer to arrest Chief. Who in the hell would think that's a good idea?
ANYWAYS, ignoring my rant, just a few things on Marin. Since he's an OC character, you guys wont know what he looks like... so take a look at Arctic Ops Varus in the store or on the googles. Change the armour to a dark steel, and imagine it more like halo 4 CIO armour. Change the camo to black camo, and all the light-up-ey bits to green. BINGO, an assassin straight from the depths of wtf.
Again, if there is any part you guys didn't like, did like, or any mistakes I made, don't hesitate to point them out. This is still my first story, so I can use all the help I can get. Getting interactions down tends to be a bit difficult.
CYA.