EDIT 12/14/17 - Due to confusion over the last few lines of this chapter, I went in and tried to clear things up.
.:.
Not going to make any excuses, only tell it like it is - I know this chapter is very late. In my defense, there have been some rather heavy things going on in my life of late that, combined, cost me both much of my free time as well as quite a bit of my motivation to write.
I've since gotten a handle on some of these issues and, fortunately, my muse has deigned to whisper to me once more. Now that I've found the time to apply its inspirations, I can only hope you are satisfied with the results.
In any case, thank you for your patience readers.
Standard disclaimer: I don't own RWBY or it's characters, I don't own Halo or it's characters. My permutation of Noble Six is my idea but I ain't making dough off it, so lay off Microsoft.
xx
Six followed the rest of the male huntsmen-in-training to their gender respective locker room following Glynda's pronouncement.
Upon entry, Six's trained eyes ran their usual course of threat discernment and tactical evaluation; the quarters were rather plain, made up of several rows of chin-height (for a seven footer) octagonal lockers, divided to either side of a clear path in the center of the room, each set in groups of twenty a row. They were arranged side-by-side and across from an identical set facing them past a long, wooden bench halfway between each grouping.
Set in the far wall, past the rows, was an open doorway with a sign above reading 'SHOWERS', and it was to that doorway that Six would be headed; the Spartan saw what he just gone through as training - and it was - and therefore was falling into the old routine of a post-exercise activity.
But first, he had to track down the device he'd be relying on to safegaurd his MJOLNIR.
As the smattering of his fellows broke off, Wolf eyed the first number of each row - indicated on top of the door of each compartment - as he walked through the center of the room.
Finding the 300s, he turned down that aisle. Six idly thought there was either no one else that had theirs in this particular lane or he was the first to arrive as he settled before his assigned storage chamber.
At first glance, the locker didn't particularly strike him as terribly sturdy and he couldn't immediately figure out what made it 'summonable'. As he punched in his unlocking code into the light blue holographic panel midway down its height, Six figured that it didn't matter much as it was only a temporary housing for his irreplacable gear.
The door swung open after the last number was keyed and the Spartan took a moment to eye the contents; a boy's uniform hung from two hangers, a white towel on another while a pair of dress shoes and socks lay on a small shelf above the rod the hangers were attached. Wolf figured it would be tight and would take artful arrangement, but his armor would fit - if barely.
After moving the shoes and socks to either side of the top of the container, he squeezed his helmet in between them as if they were bookends. He next went about disarming himself before disengaging the numerous pieces of the MJOLNIR and setting them along the floor around him.
Once he was only protected by his underlayer, he brought his hand up the front of his neck where an in-built, hidden keypad resided and entered the nine digit release code. The black suit went slack after he pressed the last number and began to sag slightly before he pulled it off of him, like a man shaped lizard shedding its skin, leaving him clad in only his black trunks and gray wife beater.
The Spartan then went about stacking the many pieces of his armor into the locker, bracketting them with his DMR and IGL, like some sort of rediculously expense and oblong Jenga tower. Completing this task, he took out the towel before divesting himself of the remainder of his clothing and tossing the two articles into the remaining room in the compartment before shutting the door.
The whole process took far too long, in Six's opinion, as he now headed away from the row of the 300s with the towel firmly gripped in hand and headed for the doorway the showers were supposed to be beyond.
As observant as Wolf was, it was totally lost on the him as to why some of the other huntsmen-in-training paused in their own sojourn to get cleaned up. The myriad of despairing looks he received as he passed by were a minor yet ultimately unimportant mystery to the Spartan as he singled out one of the unoccupied stalls and made to cleanse himself of what little dried perspiration may have accumulated during his bout with Yang.
As he scrubbed at himself mechanically with a bar of soap, Six briefly thought back to the fight with the blonde brawler; while he felt he'd had her on the ropes from practically the word go, he couldn't deny that it was all over the moment she was able to land a blow.
And what a blow it was; it made Wolf briefly recall a spar he had with Jorge. That titan was something else.
But back to the blonde.
If she had aimed that stike higher, at his head, she may have knocked his block clean off - or at least broken his neck; no small feat, what with the chemically strengthened bone structures and far more robust musculature the Spartan IIIs possessed.
The match may have been deemed a draw, but Wolf saw it as a loss on his part.
Once more, the Spartan confirmed to himself that he needed to rectify his Aura issue. He couldn't stand seeing a vulnerability in himself and lack the means to address it.
As he rinsed off, he rationalized it wasn't a completely fruitless experience; he learned the minimum threshhold of strength he could safely commit in a practice fight against allies without turning them to pulp and still deliver heavy damage; if he had to quantify it, it would be roughly a third his total. He also found his estimations to be true that his enhanced perception permitted him to outmanuever even an agile girl like Yang.
So, he figured as he shut the shower off and began to towel himself dry, all-in-all it wasn't a total loss.
Heading out of the showering area the same way he came in - stark naked - he headed back to his locker, once again ignoring the incredulous and demoralized looks along the way.
The Spartan stepped close to his storage unit - to block any would-be attempts to discern his security code - and quickly tapped in his locker's keycode. He stepped back as it opened and withdrew the items that made up Beacon's male uniform; a white dress shirt fitted with a red neck tie covered by a dark blue vest and a gold-trimmed black long sleeved jacket for upperbody wear while long black dress pants sufficed for the bottoms.
And the dress socks and shoes, that is.
Having donned his trunks and pants - the latter he found to be a bit snug - he made to put on his dress shirt when he encountered a problem - it was a tight fit. It wasn't as if it was an entire size too small, but just about - such was the problem with having an inordinately tall and stocky body. He ran into similar issues with the vest and he could barely get his arms through the sleaves of the jacket.
Wolf was used to wearing a skin tight suit (underneath plate armor), but this was material that didn't have much give to it; because of this, he found himself having to make some concessions with the uniform. The shirt was really constricting so he left the top four buttons undone - practically all the way down to his vest. The vest was a pullover so he wasn't stressing too much there. However, he was entirely unable to close the jacket as (he assumed) was proper, so he left it open.
As for the tie, he had no clue how to tie one of those, so he chucked into his locker. Thinking a moment, the Spartan reached in and unclipped his combat knife's sheath (and knife itself) from where it was magnetically attached to his MJOLNIR's chestplate and worked his pant's belt through the unused loop in the sheath's design to affix it to his right side. He then isolated his left thigh piece among the stack of gear, opened it and retrieved then pocketed his Scroll.
Nodding to himself, he shut his locker door and proceeded to leave the locker room.
He found his movement uncomfortably less fluid, clad in this textile ensemble as he was. He dared not make his stride as long as he usually would or use too wide of movements of his arms, lest he rip the uniform - modesty wasn't the reason for his caution, but (in Wolf's mind) he already was misrepresenting his status as a student by altering his attire as he had, so he thought it best not to do anything else that would be seen as further thumbing his nose at what was expected of him.
Again, it was lost on Six that some level of individuality would be accepted and that he wasn't the only one forgoing a tie or leaving his jacket open, but such was the discipline he had been instilled with.
Another thing, Six thought as he exited back out into the Training Hall among a throng of departing boys, was that his field of vision was disconsertingly clear and lacking telltale information; his lessened height wasn't too much of a problem, having only lost two inches with the MJOLNIR's booted greaves, but - more importantly - the HUD he'd come to rely and count on was absent. Because of this, the unarmored Spartan was even more on alert with his visual sweeps and paying attention to sounds in his personal space.
It should be said that what Wolf considered his personal space - especially outside of his armor - was a bit larger a bubble than most other people.
In any case, as he searched out his comrades in one of his more frequent scans of some of the milling about students who were chatting among friends, he caught more than a few looks directed his way. Of those whose looks could be construed as staring, were some of the girls of his class. He noted an unfamiliar gleam in a few of their eyes. The Spartan wrote it off as a mixture of confusion and a lack of recognition and he put it out of mind as he moved to pass them by.
Unbeknownst to him, he was only partially correct.
As he was about to leave the Training Hall in the belief the other members of Team PRSN had gone ahead, he was suddenly waylaid by the voice of one of the very teammates he was looking for.
"Spartan?"
Turning on heel to face away from the entrance to the Hall, the so named youth turned around to face the not-as-red-and-gold, uniform clad Pyrrha Nikos.
"I almost didn't recognize you." she said as she closed the gap in distance between them. She looked a bit sheepish a moment, "I mean, if not for your height and hair."
The Spartan raised a brow the barest of fractions. He surmized that was about right; this was the first - and likely to be the only - time he was uniform clad.
"Have you seen the others?" he inquired. Noble Six wanted to get to the venue. He was all about being on time, or better yet, early; all the better to recon the area the photos would take place and - most importantly - 'summon' his locker so he'd have eyes on it. He was starting to get paranoid.
Well, more paranoid.
"No. Well, Nora was one of the first girls done getting dressed and she ran right out of the locker room a bit before me. You didn't see Ren?"
As he was about to answer to the negative, Six was cut off by another familiar voice.
"Bossman! Red! Wait up!"
Noble Six turned to look back into the Hall to see the rapidly closing forms of Nora and Ren, the latter of whom was practically being dragged along by the rambunctous orangette from the entrance to the boy's locker room.
"I didn't see you in there, Bossman! I thought it would take you longer to get outta that metal suit of yours!" the implaccable hammer wielder declared.
"You... went into the boy's locker room?" Pyrrha asked disbelievingly.
"Of course! How else could I get Ren to get done changing in time?" she replied, patting Ren on the head. "He's so slow. He'd take forever!"
To this, Ren just sighed.
"But don't worry Ren," she continued, turning to the pink fringed youth. "I'll always have your back!"
"Right." Ren said, noncommittally, before looking to Pyrrha then the Spartan. "So, we ready to go?"
With a silent nod from Six and a "Yup." from Pyrrha, Team PRSN departed the Training Hall.
Or tried to, anyway.
They didn't get five steps before they were once again halted.
"Wait up, you guys!"
The energetic voice of one Yang Xiao Long washed over them as the group turned as one to face the approaching members of Team RWBY.
"Geez, Nora!" the blonde started, "You were out of the dressing room like someone lit a fire under you."
"Well, I had to make sure Ren would be done changing sometime this century. Someone has to be the responsible one." the so-named girl replied with a nod, puffing out her chest.
"Nora, before we split off to get changed, you said you wanted to swing by the food court and check if they had pancakes before the photo shoot." Ren said knowingly.
"Well, pancakes are the fuel of the responsible, Ren." Nora argued, "We all have to make sacrifices."
Ren sighed.
"Now, let's go!" she chirped as she began dragging Ren once more, heading out of the Training Hall at a fast clip.
Those remaining could only stare after the departing duo for a moment. The Spartan had to wonder if this obvious addiction to the fluffy food would inhibit Nora out in the field and affect unit cohesion.
"Well, that happened." Ruby stated before turning to Six then Pyrrha. "You guys want to walk with us?"
"Sure." Pyrrha replied and Six nodded.
As the group of six exited the Hall in the direction of the amphitheater, they fell into a row arranged such that their acronym would be WBRYPS. The Spartan decided to observe their interaction a bit, to get a feel for their dynamics so he watched the five out of the corner of his eye.
Ruby spoke up again with a grin.
"I'm so glad I got to come here. There are so many things I wouldn't have thought that people would have made into weapons! Some are kind of obvious and unimaginative, like that first guy with the gun-sword."
At this, Weiss's eyebrow twitched.
"But then there was his opponent! I mean, yoyos as a weapon? Who'da thought! And did you see how that one girl used that sash? It was all like 'WHOOSH!' and 'SNAP!' and that guy was all bug-eyed and leaping out of the way and then-"
"Here she goes again..." Weiss muttered while rolling her eyes, but was ignored as Ruby plowed on, gesticulating as she did so.
"- it got him by the leg and he was all "WHOAAA!" and he got slammed into the ground! Then the cloth just slithered right back up her arm like a snake! It was awesome!"
"I believe that was her Semblance at work." The still unnamed black haired girl put her two cents in.
"Really?" Ruby wondered aloud. "Hmmm... I wonder if a Semblance like that would make doing laundry actually fun?"
Ruby seemed to ponder that thought before shrugging and grinning again.
"Well, that girl with the axe-guns, she was pretty cool, too. I really thought she was going to win there, near the end!"
"That was a pretty close match." Pyrrha pitched in with a nod.
There was a brief moment of silence as the group passed under the large archway that spanned over the path connecting the outer and inner portions of the campus.
"I wish I had gotten called up." Ruby said with a sigh.
"Patience, Ruby." her sister replied as she ruffled her hair. "There's always next time."
"You're only being all cool and calm because you got a chance." the usually red-and-black girl protested, fixing her hair as she did.
"Yup!" Yang replied before looking over to her left, past Pyrrha, at Wolf.
"And you there, big guy, you really know how to throw a punch." the blonde said with a grin of her own.
The Spartan cocked a brow slightly. He was just going to observe their interactions, but having been drawn into things, he felt compelled to participate.
"Not as well as you, apparently. Though I recall striking you five times to your two, all it took for you was two." he said as he briefly replayed the bout in his head; the first blow that would've ended it when he activated his Armor Lock and the second that did end the match flashing by as if in fast-forward.
"Tell you what, the next time we have a go of it, maybe I'll teach you how to hit properly. You know, like a girl." she replied with a wink as the other girls giggled a bit.
Despite himself, Wolf found his lips twitch slightly in a small smile.
"Hmm... now that you bring that up..." Ruby began, tapping her finger on her chin, "Right at the end of your match with Yang, both of your Auras were depleted, but you were still standing up like you weren't even feeling it."
The Spartan's mask slid back in place as Ruby pondered aloud. Pyrrha seemed to notice the shift as she raised a brow, but the others carried on.
"I'll admit, I was winded." from her punch compressing my chestplate, Six added mentally. "I've been told I'm too stubborn to know when to quit." that's what they made us to be, after all.
"Stubbornness or no, people go down - at least for a few seconds - when their Aura is depleted." Weiss interjected, "You just stood there." her eyes narrowed slightly.
"I'm really stubborn."
The little snow fairy huffed and removed herself from the conversation once again as the group finally arrived at the amphitheater (Main Hall).
A small, wooden double tiered stand had been set up outside where - presumably - the students would be gathered for the shot.
As the rest of the five proceeded to head into the crowd of students loitering about near the stand, Six hung back a bit.
Noticing his disappearance, two of the girls - Pyrrha and Yang - turned back to see what the hold up was as the Spartan began fiddling with his Scroll.
"Spartan?" the redhead spoke.
Yang looked like she was about say something as well until the whooshing and thudding accompanied a rocket propelled locker as it impacted the ground several feet away from Wolf, kicking up a tiny cloud of dirt.
Unsurprisingly, many of the students - who had been chatting amongst themselves - were now looking at the source of the sudden disturbance.
Six, however, tuned them all out as he pocketed his Scroll and tilted his head ever-so-slightly in thought. So, that's how it's 'summonable'. RPL would make for a more accurate name.
"What is the meaning of this?" a middle aged man stepped away from the camera he had been setting up opposite the throng of students and toward the Spartan.
Finally looking away from the on-demand storage compartment, the Spartan regarded his addresser. Lanky build, medium height, chin length greasy black hair and a rather snooty expression cast from his hook nosed face.
"Part of an arrangement he has with the Headmaster, Mr. Slate."
Wolf was spared having to having to explain his actions by the appearance of one Glynda Goodwitch, who'd come out of the amphitheater no doubt to check on the source of the disturbance.
The so-named man scowled and walked back over to the camera he had been fiddling with.
The instructor made stern eye contact with the Spartan before directing her gaze to the gawping assemblage of students.
"The photo will be taken shortly. Find your teammates and gather near the risers."
Following her instructions, Six walked away from his locker and joined Pyrrha next to the stands.
The redhead met his eyes before looking around. "I don't see Nora or-"
"REN! We're gonna be la-a-a-ate!"
"Oh, there they are."
The exuberant hammer-wielder came running from the direction of the main building, followed by a stressed out looking Ren.
Sliding along the grass to a stop next to Pyrrha, Nora beamed.
"What'd I miss?"
The Spartan cocked a brow, noting her breath smelt of maple syrup.
"Not much, you got here just in time." Pyrrha replied with a smile.
The pink fringed boy finally caught up to his three comrades, huffing and leaning forward with his hands on his knees.
"C'mon, Ren! Suck it up!" Nora chirped, slapping Ren on the back and causing him to nearly tip over and cough a few times before levelling a glare at the orangette.
A glare she totally ignored in favor of glancing at the lone weapons locker sitting on the lawn about a yard from the risers.
"Someone get changed in public?" she gestured to the metallic octogon.
Pyrrha looked to the Spartan briefly before meeting Nora's eyes once more.
"No, it was called here as part of an arrangement between the Headmaster and Spartan."
The pancake-fiend turned her bubbly gaze on the youth in question.
"An arrangement, Bossman?"
"An arrangement." Six replied evenly.
"Okay!"
"Attention, students..." the photographer - Mr. Slate, apparently - had stepped away from his rather dated looking camera as he addressed the gathered huntsmen and huntresses-in-training, a Scroll in hand.
All eyes were then on him as he looked down his nose at the handheld device.
"... arrange yourself by teams as I call them out, in the order your name falls according to its acronym."
The man looked up from his Scroll momentarily before returning his attention to it, speaking in a slight drawl that was strangely a near whisper, yet clearly heard by all.
"Teams CRME (Chrome), RWBY (Ruby) and CRDL (Cardinal) on the first row..."
The so-named teams stepped onto the lower level of the riser in the order they were called before the greasy-haired man continued.
"... and on the second, Teams BLUD (Blood), PRSN (Persian) and HAZY (Hazy)."
Wolf and co. took their place on the second tier directly behind Team RWBY and arranged themselves as instructed. Slate's dark brown eyes crept over the gathered students, then he folded and pocketed his Scroll before stepping back behind the clunky looking camera as Glynda looked on from beside him.
Silently, he held his left hand up with all five fingers raised, before curling them back one at a time into a fist.
"Think happy thoughts..." the man said in a monotone that contrasted with his statement as he reached the two count.
Six's eyes were on the lens of the camera, so he didn't see the others around him smiling brightly. He also didn't know what thinking about crushing a squidhead's skull in his bare hands had to do with taking a picture, but it did bring a small and tight, toothless grin to his lips as the flash went off.
As the Spartan blinked the spots away, Ms. Goodwitch spoke up.
"Alright everyone. You have the rest of the day to yourselves." she looked over the students - some of whom were departing the stage at her words. "If you intend to leave campus, come see me in my office to receive clearance signatures after lunch. In any case, you are to behave responsibly. You are dismissed."
As the blonde professor stalked off and the hook-nosed photographer continued to tinker with his equipment, the remaining assembled teams on the stand climbed off.
"You heard her, Ren," Nora licked her lips, "we must remain responsible. To do that, we'll need to fuel up!"
"Didn't you just eat?" Yang asked with a smile, walking up with the rest of Team RWBY.
"There's always room for pancakes." the orangette replied in an all-too-serious tone.
"Isn't that the old Gel-O* motto?" the bow-wearing girl asked with a cocked eyebrow.
"Only if it's pancake flavored." Nora said with a nod and returning grin.
There was a sudden collective shudder shared by all but the stoic Spartan and the flapjack obsessed girl at the thought of such a 'treat'.
"So," Ruby spoke up, obviously trying to move things away from the aforementioned culinary abomination, "we going to be heading to the cafeteria then?"
Both Ren and the unnamed ravenette shrugged.
Weiss seemed slightly irritated about something as she gave her nonverbal assent.
"I don't know about pancakes, but I am starving after that match." Yang revealed.
"I was getting a bit hungry, myself." Pyrrha put in.
"What about you, big guy?" the blonde directed at Wolf.
"I'm afraid I have another engagement to see to." Six replied.
"No way! Again?" the golden haired girl deflated slightly.
"Where are you headed?" Pyrrha inquired with a tilt of the head.
"To retrieve my lost item." the Spartan revealed, stepping away from the group.
"Oh... so it's part of your arrangement with the Headmaster?" the redhead questioned.
"It is."
"Lost item?" the scythe-wielder broke in with a tilt to her head.
"Something I was separated from on my way here to Vale."
"So it's out in the Grimmlands, then?" Yang scratched her chin as the Spartan gave a nod, "Would some extra sets of eyes help?"
"I would be willing to go along as well." Pyrrha added.
Wolf considered the offers for a moment before dismissing them - the Pod was classified, if not more so, than his armor; who he revealed its existance to would need to be carefully scrutinized. While he didn't get any bad vibes from Yang or Pyrrha, he still didn't know - and therefore trust - them enough to allow them into his confidence to that extent.
"What I'll be heading out to retrieve is something of a personal nature. I appreciate the offers, but this is something I must do alone," seeing the somewhat downtrodden expressions on their faces, he felt oddly compelled to add, "but thank you, anyway."
"Oh well, can't blame a girl for trying." Yang said, perking back up.
"Do you have any idea how long you'll be?" Ren asked.
"I cannot be certain, so it's best I set out immediately while there's still hours of daylight yet." he replied, looking up briefly and noting the sun before returning his gaze to the group, "In any case, I'll see you later."
With that and a few farewells and wishes of good luck, Wolf headed over to his locker. Looking at it in judgement a moment he then withdrew his Scroll and navigating the menus to the 'Locker Requisition' tab. After inputting his passcode, he swiped through the menus. Aside from the 'To my location' option were some preset coordinates - one of which being the Training Hall, which he selected before heading in the designated direction himself.
The rockets in the locker spooled up before flaring to life behind him as the 'RPL' took off and zoomed past him overhead to his destination.
Under the noise generated from the lifting-off locker, the Spartan didn't hear a few words exchanged in his wake.
"Poo."
"What's wrong, Yang?" Ruby asked innocently as the group turned away from the amphitheater and began their walk to the main building.
"I was hoping he'd change." the blonde replied, kicking an invisible stone along the path.
"His mind?" Pyrrha inquired.
"His clothes." she said with a saucy grin.
"Yannnng!" her younger sister swatted her on the back.
His armor re-equipped, Six departed the Training Hall and headed down the path leading away from the academy proper. His trek took him down a stone walkway which was bracketed by symmetrically placed trees whose branches were swaying in the gusting wind.
His destination had already been in sight from the entrance of the Training Hall he departed; the cliffside air docks, and the Bullheads seated thereupon. As he drew closer he saw a man smoking a cigarrette who looked to be in his mid twenties in full pilot gear, save a helmet - which was on the ground at his feet - leaning against the open bay doors on one such craft.
The man seemed to take notice of the approaching seven footer and rocked himself away from the vessel before bending at the knee to fetch his helmet.
"Spartan Wolf?" the short blonde-haired man spoke gruffly as he took the butt from his mouth and dropped it onto the ground, grinding it with his heel.
The Spartan nodded and the man continued as he set the helmet on his head, "Colin Brickmeyer. I'll be your pilot." he finished adjusting the straps, "I have the flight plan set if you're all ready to head out."
The pilot's response was another nod of the head.
"Alright, hop in." Colin spoke as he followed his own direction - climbing into the passenger bay of the craft before making for the cockpit.
Wolf followed suite as the doors began shutting and the engines started keying up.
Over the growing whine of the turbines, Brickmeyer's voice was heard through speakers in the passenger compartment, "We're looking at about an hour's flight! Take a seat and get comfy!"
Heeding the man's words, Wolf took a seat near one of the port side windows - the seat groaning under his weight.
The Spartan watched as the ground began to rapidly shrink away from view as the Bullhead lifted off, rotated in its ascent to face away from Beacon, then sped off.
As the city of Vale passed by underneath in a blur, Wolf began to have a better idea of its size; from his point on the wall surrounding it several days ago, he believed it to be a large city, but a bird's eye view really hammered home just how sizeable it was.
Though the sound of the engines were different from that of a Pelican's, Six found himself being lulled into a familiar state of drowsiness - a rather common occurance for frequent fliers like himself, he tended to fall into a near dozing state prior to an aerial insertion.
Six was pulled from his lethargic state some forty five minutes later as the speakers once more boomed out the pilot's voice.
"We're about five minutes out!"
Getting his head in the game, Wolf turned to look out the window once more. A nearly unbroken carpet of tree tops flowed past beneath his gaze as he rose to his feet, his hand resting on the bulkhead near the viewport.
The engine's began to ease up and the barest hint of g-forces he had been feeling dialed back.
As the Bullhead slowed to a hover, Brickmeyer once again spoke into the passenger's compartment, "Alright, we're above the coordinates now but I can't put down here!"
True enough, out of the window he saw an uneven break in the canopies below, as if something had crashed through them from above.
"I saw a good sized clearing half a klick north of here!" the pilot went on, "We're out in the Grimmlands here so I won't set down until you've gotten what you came here for! Until then, I'll fly a holding pattern 'round it!"
With that, the doors nearest the Spartan parted with sound of machinery and hydraulics as the Bullhead lowered just enough to almost be scraping its underbelly on the jetwash swept treetops beneath it.
"Out you go!"
Six went to the edge of the now open bay door and looked down - he didn't see the telltale greyish white of the Pod from his position, but he remembered that it had come in at an angle.
His feet cleared the ramp as he entered Armor Lock before gravity took him. Limbs were smashed aside as he dropped like a rock through the foliage, slamming into the ground with a dull thud half a full second later.
Releasing himself from the protective stance in a small burst of energy, he he rose to his feet, his practised hands withdrawing his DMR from his back as he did so. The sound of the Bullhead's engines beginning to drain away as it put some distance from its titanium-clad cargo.
Surrounded by freshly broken detritus from his most recent crash landing, his head swiveled to take in his environment before he froze, staring dead ahead of himself.
Around him was an uneven arrangement of browns and deep grays of the bark of elms and willows; that was what he expected to see.
The unmistakable whitish, metalic sheen of the angular Pod was also present, several meters before him; that was what he hoped to see, but also half-expected.
The Pod, absent a Spartan-sized hole in the side of the alien device and looking entirely undamaged, however, he did not.
XX
*- Gel-O is obviously a name for a certain gelatin product whose actual name I won't use because I don't want to be sued.
EDIT 2/20/2018 - Please reference my bio regarding my stories as updates are pending.
Stay awesome, readers!
