Tonight's Episode

"Motel Hell"

We return to Earth. The crèche and cradle of mankind, the first frontier, the final marker in the genocide of the human race, it is as small and blue and round as it has ever been. None of our countless wars have yet scarred it. Not a billion bombs could burn its skin, not a million toxic spills could poison its air, not an entire continent of corpses could seal its ocean; still it spins on, speeding through the shadows of space, flashing in the light of the stars. And caught in its orbit are the wreckage of our guns. Festering among them are the meal worms, the violent and purple carapaces of Covenant ships. It took perhaps a dozen of them to wipe away the entire orbital defense grid. Trillions of dollars and endless years of work were gone in an instant and replaced by morbid shadows looming over Africa. And down on that dark continent now peer the eyes of alien warlords.

Ah, I distinctly now remember my days living next door to the synagogue. Often I would sneak in, relishing the cool relief that the air conditioning granted me against the summer inferno, my cheeks smeared with strawberry ice ream from the truck outside. There Rabbi Steinsaltz would be sitting in his chair in his office and reading in whispers from the torah. Yet he would always twitch alert at my entrance. His bushy pepper eyebrows rose in perpetual amusement and his neatly trimmed beard twitched in a smile as he said: "Mahookem mahakem maheekem, schlep goy."

Peering down at New Mombasa with eyes that had not dulled with his many years of experience, the visual made possible by the holographic display enveloping his command platform, the High Commander of the Grand High Fleet of the Prophet of Regret and Ship Sub Master of His Great Flag Ship the Retrograde Emancipation, also known as Stoog 'Gulliblee, called out to his personal communications officer situated below him on the bridge.

"Major Franklin Cash—play the transmission again, if you wouldn't mind."

Cash, a very tall and very thin Elite, nodded idly and flicked his expert hands that had not dulled with many years of experience as he expertly manipulated the controls. There was a rustling about the bridge as a low quality transmission came in on various speakers that had been artfully hidden in giant purple egg shells plastered to every corner and parapet. The panicked voice of yet another Elite exploded into the room.

"Sir, the demon has breached our defenses! He's coming straight for us! Forerunners, this is the end!" Interrupting the screams, there was a smacking sound and a loud crunch. A low and gravelly voice replaced the previous one. "High Commander, this is Bigbals 'Eatswoodee, Ultra of the Office of Fervent Intercession. I have replaced Major 'Pussee as head of this operation." There was a buzzing, whirring sound, much distorted by static. "The demon has routed our forces in the city and is approaching our last remaining encampment, a local public flop house that we converted into a temporary base of operations. I fear we have lost contact with all other ground units."

Stoog closed his eyes as Ultra Bigbals' voice gained a note of urgency. "The demon will be upon us any second. It appears to be chanting an ancient hell curse upon us. At the risk of spreading this curse to the bloodlines of all who hear, I have set up the recording equipment in the hopes that some insight and advantage will be gained against it. I very much suspect that this will be the last thing any of us ever hear."

There was a buzzing sound, then what sounded like ocean waves, then the sound of a grunt farting as Bigbals carried the microphone receiver. There was a loud pop followed by some scraping and then a noise erupted into the world.

"AS SOON AS I FIND A FUCKING GUN I LIKE THEY GO AND CHANGE IT. WHAT KIND OF GUN HOLDS THIRTY SIX BULLETS? WHY WOULD YOU MAKE A PISTOL LESS GOODER? WHY WOULD YOU REPLACE A SIXTY ROUND ASSAULT RIFLE WITH A THIRTY ROUND POTATO GUN? MY LAST SHOTGUN HAD LIKE TWELVE ROUNDS IN IT. THIS ONE HAS, LIKE, EIGHT. WHAT'S NEXT, HUH? SIX?"

Each indecipherable sentence was punctuated by bursts of human weapons fire and the screams of Covenant soldiers. Every so often, the hissing of a plasma or fragmentation grenade would pan across the sound, followed moments later by more Covenant screams and then a loud pop. The sounds of battle did not let up in intensity—in fact, they seemed to be growing more frantic as the voice grew in volume, as the demon drew closer to the microphone. Suddenly, the war cry of Ultra Bigbals 'Eastwoodee overloaded the microphone and the transmission dissolved in a cacophony of plasma fire. The last sound that anyone heard was the continuing clatter of human weapons.

Stoog 'Gulliblee lifted his grand golden helmet so that he could wipe sweat from his brow. The bridge had fallen into silence again, and the holograph of New Mombasa flickered ominously, occasionally digitally interposed with images of blood covered Elite skulls.

"Who's doing that?" asked Stoog tartly.

Franklin Cash raised his hand. "Sorry, sir. It just seemed appropriate." He pressed a button and the flickering stopped.

Stoog shook his head. "Connect me to the Prophet of Regret's quarters. He must know of this development."
"Regret told us that he was not to be interrupted—"

"That's it," said Stoog. "I've had enough of you. I want your head on my desk this time tomorrow."

"But sir!" exclaimed Franklin, scrambling for his console. "I was only—"

"Save it for later," said Stoog as a miniature hologram of the Prophet of Regret appeared before him, looking quite diminutive. Seeing this, Stoog's eyes bugged out. "Oh no! Cash, magnify! I mean, amplify! Five hundred percent!"

His second did as he was told and the Prophet's holographic appearance grew to a respectable and non-blasphemous size. Then it continued to grow. It grew so much that the Prophet's wrinkled, mole ridden, elephantine ears drooped directly into Stoog's face. And upon the lips of the great being a massive wart rode, a sailor on a storm. Three long hairs protruded from the middle of that wart.

Stoog cleared his throat. "Cut it down to four hundred percent, please." The Prophet shrank down to approximately life size, an impatient scowl on his face.

"What is it, 'Gulliblee?" he husked, thin fingers propping up his chin. "Has the human fleet come out from behind the moon yet?"

"No, my lord," said Stoog. "Reports from our space bound ships indicate that their entire fleet still hides like measly cowards while we ravage their world. We await their pathetic retribution yet."

"Very inspiring." Regret rolled his other wrist in a evocative gesture. "One could almost say that you await to insert the fiery tongue of purity into the septic anus of mutant decrepitude."

Stoog's eyes lit with admiration. "Truly, my lord, your tongue—I mean, your words are effulgent!"

"I know," said Regret in a bored tone of voice, looking over Stoog with disinterest. "Now, is there a particular reason you interrupted my recreation?"

The High Commander rung his hands. "My lord—have you, by chance, received the last transmission of our ground forces?"

Regret looked guilty off to the side as someone giggled from his end of the transmission. "Cassius—" he hissed. "shut up."

Stoog and Franklin Cash looked at each other.

"Yes, of course," continued Regret as if nothing had happened. "Of course I received the transmission. It is my force, after all. My capital ship presides over the very city at this moment."

"I know," said Stoog. "I mean, I am the ship master. Of your ship."

"Of course," said Regret. "I knew you were here. You…Captain Cash."
"It's Stoog, actually." The High Commander looked with a questioning expression over at Franklin, who just shrugged.

Stoog shook it off and proceeded with his report. "Well, um, regardless, they all appear to be dead, my lord. Our ground forces, I mean. That's what the reports confirm. The legendary demon is indeed on Earth heading the human defense. Most holy prophet, who brought us to this righteous battle—" he took a knee, bowing his head before the hollow image. The rest of the bridge followed his example. Even the famous skeptic and critic Franklin U. Cash bowed his head. Stoog continued: "If I may make the suggestion that you consider reconsidering your position, and instead consider the option of returning to space? In order that we may glass this planet from a safe distance, of course."

Regret observed these proceedings with piously raised brows. "I am surprised, High Commander. I thought the Sangheili were more brave than this. Perhaps Truth was right about your entire species."

Stoog was obviously taken aback. "My lord! Please believe me, if I were in orbit now I would not hesitate to deploy my entire legion with myself at the head. It is only my concern for your safety that moved me to suggest a tactical charge, in reverse."

"Your concerns are noted," sniffed Regret. "But they are not needed. I have an entire blood pack of brutes patrolling my quarters at this very moment, so my safety is not a concern. I will continue to deploy the legion into the city." There came another giggle from out of range of the hologram.

Stoog shot to his feat. "Brutes! Protecting a Prophet!? This is an outrage! My lord, I will send a full compliment of Ultras to defend you from their vile stench and uncomfortably long eye contact!"

Regret sat back, massaging his forehead. "Please, High Commander, your species' childish rivalry with your rivals is so last year. I have things inside control. I mean, under control." Regret fiddled with some controls on his throne as Stoog sputtered. "The rest of the fleet shall remain in orbit for the unlikely hour that the humans attempt a counter attack—perhaps you can manage that without your species destroying another Halo, eh? I will be proceeding with my original plan to use this city as a beach head while we search for the artifact. In fact, I shall be committing my personal ultra heavy assault Scarab to the venture. We will spear through the human forces like the cock of righteousness tearing the anal lining of heresy."

Stoog made to speak but Regret ignored him pointedly. The hologram shut off. Stoog 'Gulliblee stood there in absolute shock with his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his mandibles working soundlessly. Finally, he managed to manifest intelligible speech.

"What a brave guy!" he said.

Down on Earth, Liutenant Oreo had to agree. Except in her case she was thinking of the eight foot tall walking tank who had just exterminated every single Covenant soldier in the world.

In the wake of the Chief's destruction, the human ground forces had set up an impromptu command center in a downtown hotel known as "The Brown Marriott," which had been where the last remaining Covenant went to hide. It hadn't helped. Oreo picked through a carpet of alien bodies in the foyer of the half destroyed residential building just to get in. Once inside, she followed the trail of purple blood to a low level apartment that had a large patio. There were marines and ODSTs milling around collecting Covenant ordinance and trying to salvage any other useful equipment. Outside in the street there were Pelicans unloading human cargo: reinforcements from space who were coming to secure as much of New Mombasa as they could. The Chief was there on the deck when Oreo arrived, leaning against a terrace railing and looking down onto the bombed out street. A dead Ultra elite was lying in a pool of purple a few feet away. Oreo sidestepped this obstacle and sidled up against the rail to get a look at the Chief. He was breathing steadily, his armored fists clamped calmly over the metal bar.

She began cautiously. "Hey, big guy. How're you doing?"

"Fine," said the Chief hoarsely.

"Still mad about the guns and stuff?"

"I guess."

"Do you want to get ice cream?"

Cortana's voice came over their headsets. "I'm pretty sure all the ice cream shops are closed at zero hour."

"That's fine," said the Chief. "Usually killing hundreds of people really makes me work up a hungry, but not now though."

"Killing hundreds of Covenant, you mean," said Oreo.

"Yeah targets whatever." The Chief shrugged. "I dunno, it's just…ever since I killed Halo it hasn't been the same, it's like…I can't stop thinking anymore, even when I'm angry. When I shoot them I wonder if it hurts as much as when I stub my toe or walk into a wall or you know, whatever. But I didn't used to not wonder that."

"That's a good thing," said Oreo confidently. "To wonder, I mean. It shows you have a conscience. Probably."

"Wow," said the Chief.

Cortana wasn't so confident. "It's not such a good thing for a Spartan. We don't want him going rampant. The last thing we need is a rampant Chief. Again."

"Can people really go rampant?" asked Oreo curiously.

"Not really. As an A.I., I just wanted to remind everyone about rampancy. By the way, I'm seven years old."

The Chief pushed off from the railing. "And that's really significant. Cookie, you might not know this but Cortana is a special sort of A.I. because instead of being based off of a computer, she's based off of a real woman's brains."

"CHIEF!" Cortana exclaimed in outrage. "That's supposed to be top secret information! How do you even know?"

"You told me," said Chief.

"Well. I don't remember."

"It was right before that one time you made me eat that entire can of dog food."

Cortana made an 'ah' of remembering. "Must have deleted the memory. To make room for the video."

"I'd hate to meet the woman you were based off of," said Oreo.

"Have you ever met Dr. Catherine Hasley?" asked Cortana. "Creator of the Spartan project?"

"No," said Oreo. "Is that—"

The Chief interrupted her. "I guess we'll never know who Cortana was based on. Oh well!"

"Chief, she just—" But at that moment their radios all crackled to life. A sexy voice slithered into the Chief's ears, sexily.

"Hey boys, it's Miranda Keyes, up here flying around the city safe in my ship. Lord Hood just sent me an e-mail telling me the battle above Earth is going great. He says he's beaten my dad's record of Covenant ships killed—three times, even." She sounded doubtful next. "He also said he's on a winning poker streak."

"How does he have time to play poker?" asked Oreo.

Miranda Keyes snorted. "Oh. Great. You're still alive. I don't know how—hey, Chief, do you think it's strip poker?"

The Chief imagined Lord Hood naked. "Ugh. That's disgusting." He shook himself out of the reverie. "Wait, sorry, I wasn't listening. Did you say something about ship poker? Is that some new kind of poker?"

Miranda laughed throatily. "I bet you've got a few hands I've never seen before."

"What?" The Chief was now utterly confused. As usual.

Cortana cut in. "So, Ms. Keyes, what's the plan? We've cleared the city temporarily, but you can bet the Covenant will be restocking the shelves within the next few hours. I hope you've inherited a bit of your father's" she snorted—or rather, the Chief covered his respirator so that she could snort. Oreo looked on in confusion as Cortana finished with these words well laden in sarcasm: "tactical judo."

"The plan is to capture Regret," said Miranda Keyes. "I thought we covered this. No? Okay. Well, you've got to finger a way to penetrate his ship, preferably from below. Once inside you can come upon the Prophet of Regret and enslave him. So that you can interrogate him, so that we can find out what the Covenant is doing on earth."

"What the Covenant is doing on Earth?" echoed Cortana in disbelief. "Ma'am, I'm pretty sure they're here to kill us."

Oreo looked worried as usual. "How will we know when we find the Prophet? I've never even seen one. What do you suppose they look like?"

"Good question," said Chief. He turned and pointed down the street. Faintly, up above the skyline, a giant purple shaft rose up to meet a hole in the looming Covenant capital ship above them. "I've got a few ideas about how to get up there myself."

"That's not what I—"

"This isn't the Truth and Reconciliation again, Chief," said Cortana as Oreo folded her arms over her breasts, somehow. "That ship is capital class. It's a hundred times bigger in every way." Miranda Keyes started to moan. "Be quiet, Miss Keyes, I'm trying to talk. The moment we got up there we'd be surrounded by a legion of Covenant troops—not to mention they'll probably be sending more down to meet us head on the whole time. There's no way we're getting in there alive."

"Yeah," said the Chief. "But how about dead?"

"Not really an option."

"Oh."

"What about Miranda Keyes?" Oreo put in.

"I don't know," said Cortana. "Maybe a six, seven out of ten. What do you think, Chief?"

Oreo winced. "That's not what I meant. Miranda could take us right inside in her ship. Cortana, could you hack Regret's capital ship? Lower the shields, or find a weak point for us to get in?"

"Maybe. But that capital ship has some serious defenses, and not just physical ones. To be honest I don't think I can crack them for any significant length of time."

"I know what to do!" The Chief slammed a fist into his hand. He looked at the fist in surprise, then threw it over the edge of the balcony. Then he slammed his own fist into his hand. "I know. We can't let the Covenant take control of this city. If Nude Mommy Base is a weapon and the Covenant gain control of it then they'll use it against us and wipe out the entire human race."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Oreo.

The Chief scowled audibly. "Ladies please I was trained in every military tactic ever invented, which I forgot but never mind. What we need is eyes in the sky and also eyes on the street, from the street. We're in the inner city after all." The Chief touched the side of his helmet. "Sergeant Sergeant Johnson, come in!"

"I'm right here," said a voice from behind them. It was Sergeant S. Johnson, hero of Halo and an icon of African American equity and social justice. "WHAT UP NIGNOGS!"

Oreo was disturbed. "You were there the whole time?" she asked.

"Nice to catch you on the fly too, shorty," Johnson sassed. He swaggered over to the Chief and delivered a high five to the Spartan, then saluted. "Chief. Cortana. Nice to see you tear up shit all over the hood just like old times. That was some damn fine work."

The Chief responded with relief. "I'm glad you caught up to us. I thought I was going to go nuts surrounded by all toxic femininity."

"I hear that," said Johnson. "I mean, I could hear ya'll bickering from two stories up in my hotel room."

"You guys are so funny," said Cortana in a way that suggested otherwise very subtly.

Oreo was more annoyed than sarcastic. "So, what were you even doing in a hotel room up there, Johnson? Keeping an eye on the sky?"

"And catching up on Bel-Air. One eye on the scene, one eye on the screen." Johnson winked. But then his expression turned serious. "That reminds me, Chief. I was hoping to ask yo advice 'bout that Miranda Keyes honey up in the sky. She's all over you like a fly on shit if you know what I mean. What's your secret?"
"I have no idea," said the Chief seriously. "Why don't you ask her yourself. Hey, Miranda, what's my secret?"

"Guns always turned me on since I was a kid," explained Miranda.

"But I've got a gun." Johnson hefted his black shotgun.

"Yeah, but the Chief is like one giant gun, with a penis," said Miranda.

Oreo cleared her throat.

"But I do," said the Chief. "Lately, anyways."

Miranda huffed. "I don't hear you guys making plans to capture Regret. This is kind of important to the war, you know. Almost as important as sex is to me. So you can imagine how important it is to the war."

The Chief stood up to his full height and towered over everyone. "Keyes is right! This is serious, and we don't have time for fun banter like we used to back when we were vacationing on Halo! Earth and the entire human race is in danger, guys. And it's our fault because we haven't done what God wants and put Mendoza in a camp yet."

Cortana laughed. "Pretty sure he's got more than enough camp already."

"Disregardless," continued the Chief, "we need a plan of action to capture Regret. We need to put things right. And I've got a plan to do just that." He hunkered down by the railing and scuffed at the ground with a boot to clear a space for his tactical planning. "Hey, someone get me a knife."
Oreo sighed and handed him her combat knife. "Please don't make me regret this."

Johnson guffawed at her words. "Nice one, shorts!"

"What?" asked Oreo in confusion.

Ignoring them, the Chief snatched the knife out of her hand, then stared at the spot on the ground in front of him that they had all gathered around. "Uh, does anyone have some sand I could draw a plan in? Like in that movie. And that game."

"Sand? You could check the Lieutenant's vagina," suggested Cortana.

Johnson swallowed. "Hey, Chief—hold on a minute my green ass gangster." He tried to get the Chief's attention, but the Spartan was having none of it.

"Not now Johnson my man." The Chief crab walked awkwardly around his chosen spot, sweeping dust and debris into a thin pile. "And don't worry, Oreo, I can make do with dirt and stuff so don't take off your pants again."

"I wasn't going to," said Oreo.

"Niggs, I ain't jokin', this is—" Johnson shook the Chief's shoulder but to no avail.

The Chief looked down at the measly pile of dirt he had collected. "Dang. That's barely enough—and I can barely see in all this darkness. Did the sun just go down or something? And why's the ground shaking?"
Oreo's jaw dropped as she looked up, up, up at the thing that had eclipsed the sun. In the next moment, Sergeant Johnson grabbed her around the waist and dove out of the way just as the insectile steel toe of the Scarab slammed down directly onto the Chief's head, smashing him through the solid concrete deck and into the earth below. Oreo and Johnson rolled apart as another foot of the Scarab smashed down where they had been a second before. The great four-legged robotic monstrosity quaked and twitched above them for a moment as it readjusted itself, compensating for the unexpected holes it hand punched into the veranda. Then it smashed two front legs into the façade of the Brown Marriot and heaved itself up, crawling over the great building like the biggest beetle in the world. Huge shards of glass showered down all around, quickly followed by rubble that crushed the heads of the screaming marines who were milling about in a panic; their brief moment of rest and recuperation thanks to the Spratan had been violently interrupted, and not by the Spartan! But the irony was lost on everyone present. Oreo shot to her feet amongst the deadly hail, sprinted, and jumped into the hole that the Scarab had made with the Chief's body. Johnson followed a split second later. Then the entire area was blasted with one final deadly storm of glass and masonry that killed everything that had stayed on the deck. Below, Oreo and Johnson were protected by the angle of their escape hole.

They lay in the rubble face down, the world shaking all around them. Gradually the quakes began to fade as the Scarab made its way up town. In the following minutes, Oreo coughed about a milk jug full of concrete dust from her lungs. Johnson opened his eyes to find a large steel girder whose broken end had planted itself right between his legs in the fall, only inches away from his groin. He shuddered and got to his feet before helping Oreo as well. Miranda Keyes' voice scratched their ears.

"Oooh god that must be the biggest gun I've ever seen, you could see that fucking thick cannon from orbit. Did you guys see how it destroyed that shitty patio just by walking over it? Like, a hundred people must have died just from that. So hot."

"We were on that patio," said Oreo tartly. "We barely got off in time."

"That makes two of us," said Miranda predictably.

Oreo blinked. "Wait—Chief!" She spun in a circle, mind finally clear of panic and now being filled by a new kind of dread. "Where are you, Chief? Are you all right?" She waited for Cortana's tell tale voice to interrupt her. Nothing.

"Oh, shit no." It was Johnson, standing above a twisted green hand that protruded from the rubble as if grasping at the air. Oreo fell to the ground, legs splayed haphazardly, and clutched at the gauntlet.

"Oh my god Chief are you okay?"

"Yes."

Oreo looked around. "Where? I don't see you?"

"I'm not sure," came the voice again, coming from somewhere below them. "It's dark. I can't see."

Johnson paled. "Nigga—if you see a light don't you ever go towards it! You hear me?" He clutched at his hair, sweat pouring down his face as he spun in a circle, searching for his friend. "Stay with me Chief by god!"

"It's…getting hard to breath." The Chief's voice was getting more labored by the moment. "I don't know how much longer I—"

"Wait, hold on," said Oreo. She scooted over to the side, revealing the Chief's helmet poking out of the rubble where she had just been sitting. There was a large foggy butt-print on his face plate.

"Oh," said the Chief.

"Oh," said Johnson.

"Let's never talk about this again." Oreo began hurriedly pulling rocks off of the Chief's body. "So, how's Cortana?"

"I'm here," came the A.I.'s voice. "That impact jostled my chip and I had to reboot. And by impact I mean the Lieutenant's fat lard ass."

Oreo flushed an even brighter shade of red. She and Johnson continued to work in awkward silence as the Chief began to help them remove debris from his body, as he had been freed and reoriented enough to pull his own weight. Finally, the Spartan was freed from his confines and able to stand tall again. He brushed white dust off of his armor with a few casual motions. He gingerly fingered the rather large dent that the Scarab's foot-prong had left in his helmet.

"Well. Ain't that a kick to the head."

Cortana made a sound of abject misery. "Oh, great. Here we go."

"That Scarab really gave us the boot," continued the Chief as Oreo stumbled backwards into a wall, exhaustion and resignation painting her features. "But honestly, that whole thing was kind of shoehorned in, even thought it was a step up from the last fight we had I don't think this whole Scarab thing has any legs. But it was certainly a step in the right direction. Come to think of it I can't remember the last time I've gotten my ass kicked like this. That thing really stepped on our toes. I'm gonna have to walk this off."

Johnson put a hand on his shoulder, his face stony. "Chief…come on, man."

"What?"

The Sergeant shook his head. "You know what it is, Chief. You're no good at puns. You need to step down."

"Step down?" repeated the Chief as Johnson's sober expression split into a knowing grin. "AW YEAH!" They high fived again, then went down low (in the sense of slapping below their waist lines, in the sense of slapping their hands below their waist lines) and trailed it off with waggling fingers. The Chief clapped him on the shoulder. "You almost had me going there, you fucking tar baby!"

"What can I say," said Johnson. "I'm really stepping up my game."

"Whoa," said the Chief. "You're putting your foot in on my territory. You need to step down."

"This is just the way I make my walk, brother."

"You'd better run," the Chief shot back in mock seriousness. "Before I give you the boot."

Oreo removed her helmet so that she could cover her ears and bury her head in between her knees. Miranda Keyes' voice came in, distorted by the concrete above. "Uh…guys? What's going on down there? Everything okay?"

Cortana's voice was full of woe. "You don't want to know, Miss Keyes. Trust me. You don't want to know."

"You guys are having sex without me, aren't you?"

The Chief turned from Johnson abruptly. "Well, time to go. Let's catch that Scarab, squish it with a shoe—"

Oreo wretched loudly.

"—and flush it down the toilet!" The Chief clapped his hands excitedly. "And by that I mean, you know, take it down. First thing's first—we need a car."

"I've got you covered." Johnson walked up beside them, looking street. "I know a couple of chop shops that can hook us up with a pimped out ride in no time. Follow me."

"You heard the man!" the Chief helped Oreo up and they followed Johnson out from under the patio and into the light of a very brown day. They walked out from under the shadow of the ruined hotel and turned a corner to find the road where the marines and ODSTs had parked their cars. On the way over, Johnson had stooped to snatch some keys from the pocket of a dead marine. He pulled them out now and clicked the dongle until a nearby warthog burped its horn, and then he motioned the others to follow him aboard. The Chief slid into the driver's seat, Oreo took shotgun, and Johnson holstered his shotgun and took the gunnery position.

"This isn't a chop shop," said Oreo in confusion.

Johnson pretended not to hear her, and Cortana spoke up as the Chief pulled out and into the road. "Miss Keyes, can you get us a radar or visual on that Scarab?"
"Already tracking its incredibly sexual progress!" said Keyes enthusiastically. "Guys—it's heading straight for the bridge, straight towards the west side.

Johnson paled. "W-west side?"

"Hold on, I'll coordinate a Scorpion tank drop on this side of the bridge for you to pursue the Scarab in!"

"Finally!" exclaimed the Chief. "I'll be able to get behind the all powerful wheel of one of the UNSC's indestructible powered "Scorpion" class tanks!"

Oreo and Johnson looked at each other, worried.

"Chief…"

The Chief held up a hand to silence Oreo. "Don't bother. I know everything sucks now."

Johnson wiped the tears from his eyes. Oreo nodded in sad resignation, and the Chief followed Cortana's directions towards the bridge. Even though the sun was shining and it was summer and Africa, it was a cold day. There was nothing all around but the sounds of burning buildings and the distant tromping of the Scarab as it made its way straight for the west side where all the orphanages and puppy hospitals were. The great metallic horror passed over scattered marines and ODST who had been cut off from their units and left to wander aimlessly in the ruined city; the humans looked up as it towered over them, climbing over their meager shelters as if they were nothing but cockroaches. In their hearts they knew that nothing could stop such a creature. There was no hope—not for New Mombasa, not for Earth. Not for anyone. This was the end.

"Uh on," said the Chief as he looked down at a flashing red light on the car's dashboard. "We're running a little low on gas."