Legacy of the Precursors
Chapter 24: A Past Better Left Buried
The reverberation of determined, armored footsteps packed the starship's narrow corridor as Six journeyed his way down to the crew deck, the spartan keen on speaking with his Captain. The security measures on the encoded information had proved to be more of a challenge than expected and with his numerous diurnal tasks onboard the ship keeping him busy, it had taken the spartan a few days to break through the encryption. ROB had demonstrated himself as a surprisingly helpful asset in that regard, the machine's processing power proving to be the nudge he needed to crack it.
That was the first time he had encountered an automaton, such machines did not exist in the UNSC and the Covenant had never bothered to utilize mechanized warriors. ROB was just a foot shorter then him and while stocky, did not appear to be designed for combat duties, lacking any visible weaponry and a lack of sufficient armor. Their encounter had been a rather interesting affair though and he had copious amounts of notes stored on his MJOLNIR's data drives, now joining the significant files he had gathered since his arrival. So far Six had compiled several terabytes of information on the system's history and the Starfox team. It was more of a force of habit and means to pass the time than anything else. Had the UNSC existed such info would be vital to any communications to occur between the two sovereignties. Yet as humanity did not seemingly exist and he was cognizant of the data, already having researched this himself, it served little but perhaps as some form of posterity.
But there was information that was still useful, like that recovered from the venomian asteroid installation. The translated data had uncovered a planet, a name, and an objective. But it was the objective that put haste into his steps.
The aparoids... whatever the information this individual possessed, it vitally pertained to the impending extragalactic threat. It was new a development that the Remnant was aware of the aparoids but not important in the overall grand design. The documents were what mattered, and they were not specific in their details on why, but any lead they discovered could not be refuted. They had neither the time nor luxury to pick and choose what was worth following. Each trace of information was imperative and must be treated as such.
That being, the sooner they set out the better.
Arriving at the vulpine's door, he knocked firmly on the steel access way, impatiently standing in the corridor as he waited for a response.
Thankfully he was not kept long as the bulkhead hissed open, revealing a partially clothed Fox.
"What is it, Six?" He mumbled tiredly, dressed in a pair of colorful boxer briefs and a hastily thrown on tank top.
Having taken off his MJOLNIR soon after the mission, the spartan glanced at his isolated TACPAD's chronometer, realizing that hammering on the vulpine's door at two o'clock in the morning was perhaps not the most subtle of moves. Still, this information was possibly critical and as such could not be allowed to wait.
"We need to talk." He replied. "It may involve the... discussion we had before."
Confusion was plainly writ on Fox's muzzle before he understood the spartan's implications. Any trace of exhaustion was wiped away from his expression as the vulpine adopted a serious guise and ushered Six into his room to talk in private.
The vulpine's quarters were as Six remembered them, minor curios scattered about the desk and a few shelves just above it. An armored porthole next to the bureau offered a clear view of the star speckled void, an amenity solely for the captain it seemed. The spartan paid such things little heed as he moved to Fox's desk, taking a seat as the drowsy vulpine fiddled with a machine. Soon, the familiar aroma of coffee filled the confined and homely space.
Six waited patiently as Fox prepared himself a drink, declining an offer for a mug of his own. Shrugging, the vulpine resignedly lowered himself into the cushioned chair, pulling the mug to his muzzle and taking in a deep draft of the hot, caffeinated beverage.
"Alright, lay it on me." He mumbled through the cup.
With a nod Six detached his TACPAD from his wrist and set the miniature tactical computer down on the desk, turning the screen so his commander could read what was displayed.
Taking one more sip from his mug, Fox leaned closer and grabbed the device, pulling it nearer to interpret the tiny digital script. He scanned the first few lines of text before a deep frown formed.
"Fichina?" He muttered in confusion. "What the hell do the Remnants want with that frigid snow ball?"
Six had done his own homework on the planet. Extreme arctic conditions, low habitability and minimal colonization efforts. The only purpose it served was as a research and military outpost for the CDF. Otherwise it held no real tactical value. The spartan had at first thought they intended to attack, but the sheer amount of resources needed to siege a hazardous ice world exceeded that of the Remnants capabilities to produce and the world in itself held little strategic value. It had only been after he cracked the rest of the data that he uncovered the real reason behind their interest.
Likewise Fox soon found out for himself as he scanned partway through the rest of the text, his frown deepening in response as he set down his drink. "So..." He sighed heavily, leaning back into his chair. "This has something to do with the Aparoids."
Six nodded grudgingly.
It seemed as if some form of device had been recovered by the Remnant, whatever it was being a vital clue as to the cryptic origin of the strange creatures. Yet, the object had been stolen from them, the perpetrator fleeing to the frozen planet in an effort to escape their pursuers.
And as Fox read who exactly had appropriated it, he let out a longer, more protracted sigh and a displeased grunt. "Damn..."
Confused, Six glanced to the screen, at the digital mug shot of the thief. "You know this person?"
"That particular feline," Fox began with a resigned gesture at the screen. "Is none other than Katt Monroe, an old friend of ours, Falco in particular." The vulpine shook his head wearily. "She always knew how to get herself in trouble. Though by the looks of it she really stepped in it this time."
Six studied the image in greater detail, hoping to perhaps glean how important this Katt was. The only unique aspects he could see was her decidedly outlandish fur color, and that imperiously smug grin, which uneasily reminded him of the cat he already had to deal with. No matter, he only needed to know one thing.
"So, are we going after her?"
Fox ruminated on the decision for a few moments before nodding firmly. "Yes, we don't abandon our own. No matter what trouble she's found herself in, we'll get her out." His secondary concern was the device she had stolen, her life was more important than whatever it might be. Katt may not be a full member of Starfox, but she was still family.
"Just give me the order, Fox." Whatever needed doing, the spartan would see it done.
The vulpine smiled at his friend in appreciation, feeling truly fortunate to have a comrade like Six to rely on. "Head to the bridge and have ROB redirect our course. We're quite aways from Fichina so the sooner we get moving the better." He performed a quick mental calculation. "Halfway back to Corneria, it should take about... four days to arrive. Hopefully she can last that long."
Fox sounded uncertain; she had most likely already been in hiding for some time. And while four days did not sound like a lot, time took a whole new meaning once you were being hunted. However he had hope, just like everyone on the team, she was a survivor. She would make it, and when they did arrive, she would be brought back safe and sound.
Six rose from his seat and saluted Fox, swiftly departing the cabin with his typical single-minded purpose and stride. No doubt before Fox even prepared to send General Pepper the report on this new development the ship would already be well into its new heading.
Krystal stepped into the hanger's open expanse, ears flicking in agitation at the wall of industrial white noise that assaulted her sensitive hearing. She did not like coming down her whenever Slippy was occupied with his routine maintenance. The vixen preferred quiet, peaceful environments, which was certainly not the hangar bay of a starship. Still, the reasons for her arrival were important enough to push aside her distaste. Doing her best to ignore the shrill whine of power tools and screeching metal, she fixed herself a resolute gait and headed towards the familiar bulk of her spartan, who she saw partially hidden under his ship on a mechanic's creeper, arms buried deep inside the inner workings.
Surprisingly enough, Slippy was with him as well, the toad working on a wing as he stood beside a hovercart loaded with parts, which upon closer inspection revealed themselves to be weapons mounts. Krystal faintly recalled hearing Six talking about something involving his ship, this must be what he had been referring to. It would certainly explain why he had been so busy for the past few days. The spartan had hardly been to their room to sleep since they finished their last mission. And though she missed him when he went off like that she had realized long ago that their relationship would not be an easy one.
But it was what she wanted. After all, good things in life did not come without sacrifice. She would have to content herself with the knowledge that eventually they would stop fighting, that she, Six, and Miyu she supposed, could move away from all this, find a place to settle down, far away from the problems of the galaxy. Let the next generation of heroes take their place. The vixen had only passed her nineteenth naming day some months ago, yet she could not help but find herself tired of this life, waiting for the time it would all be behind her.
However, as much as she looked forward to that day, she could not extinguish the little voice in her head, the one that whispered she would never get that chance. And while she could not remove it, she could do her damn best to ignore it. She had so many concerns to worry about that the last thing she needed was self-doubt to find a place amongst them.
I will have what I deserve. We will have what we deserve. She promised herself.
Six deserved peace, had endured more than his fair share of sacrifices and unremitting obligations, to no longer feel the need to force himself into battle until he fought against odds he just could not beat. Krystal would give everything to stop that day from coming, her own life if need be. He was her everything, she would not and could not hope continue on without him, his passing would leave an abyssal void in her heart that could never be mended. He had shown her so much, about herself and what the word sacrifice truly stood for. He was the anchor that kept her soul firmly rooted, the guardian she had never thought to have but desperately needed.
These ponderous facts on her mind, Krystal approached the working pair, studying the quite literally alien spacecraft, focusing mostly on its unique design. The manufacture was so unlike anything produced by any of the locals of this system, bulky, rugged, monochrome, and yet magnificent in some mysterious form, like a lunging bird of prey. It was reminiscent in a way of the armor he wore, sleek, powerful, and dangerous, much like its owner. She knew now the true nature of his past, what dangers he must have faced to warrant such extreme combat ability and emotional purgatory.
It was a world she would never wish to live in, one where he had just barely managed to escape. Krystal knew not the type of man he was back where he came from, nor did she care. She knew the kind of man he would become here. And it was that man that she had given her heart to, would follow dutifully and faithfully until her dying days. She would be behind him. No matter the circumstance, no matter the odds.
They would endure together.
But these were matters for another time, an indeterminate ways down the road of life. Here in this moment, they had work to do. The details were unusually scarce, but she had learned that they were once more setting out on a mission, this time to help an old friend. Krystal remembered Katt quite well; the feline was certainly hard to forget. She and Miyu shared much in common, perhaps too much.
Still, a friend was a friend, no matter how uncouth they might be, just like Falco. At times she was tempted to gut him with her claws, yet at the end of the day he was a member of the team and her family, asshole and all.
Her musing took her all the way to the side of Six's craft, the spartan's military grade boots sticking out from under the ship in some bizarre parody of story she once recalled reading... something about wizards in a land of odds if her memory served her right?
A teasing smile tugging at her black, distinctly canine lips, the vixen toed at his boots with a sandal, rewarded some moments later with the uneven rattle of wheels as he slowly emerged from underneath, oil stains near invisible on his onyx jumpsuit, just one of the many articles of clothing he had purchased for himself. Though she had noticed he had yet to get anything remotely 'civilian'.
Upon seeing who had disturbed him, she watched in pleased satisfaction as a similarly relaxed grin appeared on his face. The softened edge to his otherwise generally stern crimson gaze and slight notes of warmth in his rugged expression was all it took to brighten her day considerably. Here was a man that had never found reason to smile in his life. Yet she was able to draw such an exceptionally exclusive manifestation from him.
Krystal found that the more time she spent gazing at his alien features, the more enamored she became with his distinctiveness.
He really should smile more often.
The vixen found that she enjoyed it immensely. It would be a tragedy to hide such an attractive visage away.
"What brings you down here?" The spartan asked absentmindedly, having spent the better part of six hours assisting Slippy with his Sabre's renovations. With ammo for his UNSC munitions near exhausted, he had been forced to look for alternatives. Thus this coordinated effort with Slippy, the toad assisting him with installing new weaponry.
In response he merely received a wain tilt of the vixen's muzzle as she looked silently down upon him, Krystal patiently waiting for the spartan to connect the unspoken dotes. She had become used to the fact that Six often forgot his other obligations, such as the dinner he and she had been scheduled to share, a dinner she reminded herself, that was supposed to have transpired two hours ago.
Faced with such a look, the spartan racked his memory, realized what he had forgotten, and gave a suitably sheepish nod... well, as close to sheepish as a spartan could hope to imitate. which looked more like an uncertain shrug.
Krystal decided in that moment that it was cute in its own eccentric way.
Reticent in his mistake, Six slowly rose from the creeper to stand awkwardly beside the bemused vixen, hands clasped firmly behind his back as if under the scrutinizing gaze of a superior officer. He had yet to grasp the full complexity of his newfound commitments, things like scheduled dinners easily brushed away by his subconscious mind. He had thought that ensuring that he had at least spoken with her a few times a day would be sufficient in placating the female fox.
He should have known to expect little success in such an ill-conceived tactic.
It was not that he was loath to spend time with her. On the contrary, he very much welcomed her presence, it being one of the very few things he desired that uplifted his mood. But he had a list of responsibilities that spanned several pages on his TACPAD, modifications to his MJOLNIR, the Sabre, weapon upkeep, even plans he had recently drew up with Slippy to improve the team's aerial and groundside armaments. As such he had been exceedingly busy the past few days, to the point where he had not slept in the past thirty-six hours.
Ironically, he put himself through all of this for her benefit. The better his equipment, the better he could fight, the better he could keep her safe. Everything was for her and the team. Now however, he would have to factor in private leisure time for her, the spartan already crunching numbers in his head to calculate how to fit this into his already tight schedule. Perhaps if he shifted his weapon drills and armor maintenance to early morning, he could divert the term usually scheduled for the Sabre's diagnostics to a more interchangeable timetable, that would allow him some latitude for instances such as this in the future.
"Lylat to Six, you in there?" The spartan felt a gentle rap on his forearm, turning to regard the amused vixen standing next to him.
"My apologies." He responded contritely, stowing away his considerations for a later time.
Smiling to show him it was alright, the vixen focused on Slippy, who had watched the exchange with some measure of amusement of his own. The amphibian was glad to see Six finally finding a niche in the team, lowering his otherwise stringent guard, however minutely. If anyone could help him find a place for himself, it was Krystal. She was the kind of soul that could influence even an inhibited and bitter man like him. The spartan could not have picked a better match.
"Do you mind if I borrow him for a while?" The vixen asked, the tips of her ivory fangs visible from the thin-lipped, rueful smile she offered.
Slippy waived her off with a laugh and a grin. "Feel free, I can take care of the rest of this on my own." Noticing the spartan's uncertainty, he continued. "Go on, don't worry about me. I'm a quick learner. I think I've already got a grasp of this tech. In fact it's already given me a few ideas..." The toad trailed off, mumbling to himself on the many possibilities UNSC technology offered as he scratched thoughtfully at his bald head with a spanner.
"See, he's got it. Now come on. It's not polite to keep a lady waiting." Krystal urged, shepherding the silent, slightly bewildered spartan out of the hanger and into the corridor, intent on getting the meal and time she had been promised.
As they passed through the halls, the vixen purposefully slipped a slender paw through the crook of his muscled arm, nestling up to his burly chest. Despite an involuntary twitch, Six showed no outwards reaction to her affection, what she took as his acceptance. Muzzle resting on his upper arm in utter satisfaction, she held him close and allowed her thoughts to wander.
It was a good day, a sunny day. The flowers in the park were at full bloom and a soft summer breeze carried the fragrant scent of pollen as they meandered down the moss covered cobblestone path. Ahead of them, a pair of lively kits ran through verdant fields of low cut grass, born of her own womb or adopted, neither mattered in her fantasy.
The fighting had ended, Venom would never rise to prominence again. The Lylat System was at a peace unheard of in a hundred years. The team had split on good terms and went their separate ways, forever lifelong friends.
On her urging they had settled on Sauria, a world that reminded her of her own and a newfound lylatian colony, Six had found work that did not threaten his life and she was able to find employ of her own as a grief counselor for those in need. And she had the rest of her life to find out just who the man was that she fell in love with.
Miyu did not have a place in this dream, not yet. She was unsure how to factor the feline in though she realized she would have to eventually. But for now she would content herself in this one pleasant thought, a future she desperately wished to make a reality.
The vixen felt a light touch on her shoulder, slowly coming out of her daze to Six's ever attentive eyes, those blood red irises studying her with mute curiosity, an undeclared question on his aristocratic expression. Before them the door to the mess hall lay open, the faint echo of chatter emanating from the entrance.
She smiled softly, dismissing his concerns with a negligible shake of her head. Krystal had a feeling that he might not be ready to share in her dreams. The spartan had still quite a ways to go before a peaceful civilian life sounded in any way appealing to him, and she doubted he had even begun to consider being a father. Better to let such thoughts wait, one day she would broach the subject, that she promised. But that day was not today. For now, they would enjoy this brief, peaceful moment, for however long it lasted.
Leading him inside, Krystal found a majority of the team to be present, all except for Slippy and Peppy, she having just seen the toad down in the hanger and the hare most likely locked away in his room with one of those dusty tomes he was so fond of reading. She held back the frown she felt developing and pressed forwards to sit at the table they shared.
The group's low conversation paused for a few moments, Fox turning to greet the approaching pair.
"Six, Krystal, you're just in time for a late-night meal." The vulpine acknowledged them with the ever present warmth he always had ready.
"What's the occasion?" She asked, Six remaining silent for the moment, a lingering aura of unease still cast over him. The spartan had yet to become a sparkling conversationalist but that would come to him in time. She was sure of that.
"No reason, just an evening dinner between friends." Miyu replied, though the feline's attention was centered on Six, the cat giving him a warm grin as he put in an order for the hall's autonomous meal machine, or AMP as most of the CNDF called it. The AMPs had become a staple of the Cornerian navy in the last decade, allowing them to divert personnel to more important duties.
Though, the quality of naval food had decreased sharply since then it should be noted.
Not everyone was glad for this party. Krystal would have preferred to dine alone with Six, the time they spent together having become a rare commodity as of late. However tonight would not be such a night she realized with a well-concealed sigh. Putting her desires aside, the vixen grabbed a meal and settled herself in beside Miyu and Fay, her spartan finding a place for himself next to Fox and the ever arrogant blue pheasant, perhaps more comfortable sitting beside the men then trapped between women.
After a few fleeting words to appease the others, Krystal adopted an air of muteness, unwilling for the moment to contribute in the mutual conversation the team had going since they arrived. Instead her eyes centered on Six, watching as the spartan consumed his meal with autonomous and meticulous intent, dividing and ingesting the stew with the same impassive quality as he dispensed to the remnant soldiers he fought. No doubt Six was deep in thought as he was often to do and the vixen wondered what went through his mind in those moments, how frequently those contemplations were about her.
Disconnected with the current of discussion as she was, Krystal nearly did not hear Falco as he spoke.
"So, Six..." The avian began, setting down his fork to focus intently on the spartan, readying to air a question he had been eager to ask for quite a long time. "Do you have any good war stories? Are there any action packed blockbusters hidden and untapped in that ol noggin of yours?"
Silence descended upon the room at that particularly pointed inquiry.
The spartan paused his meal, utensil still impaled in the half-eaten dinner as his gaze deliberately lifted upwards to regard the multi-hued bird. Six's eyes, as dark and somber as arterial spray, studied Falco's eager expression with an indecipherable stare. It was of the same quality that Miyu had once had the unwelcome privilege to witness for herself when she had traveled down a similar road, pressing him too far on issues he would keep private.
To be fair it was a harmless question. Some soldiers enjoyed the act of storytelling, a tradition that had been observed for thousands of years. It was just the soldier in question happened to not be one of those varieties. Six had not and never will fancy himself a teller of tales.
The spartan knew this. Nonetheless, the invasive sentiment remained. He had elected not to share his past for unpretentious reasons, motives that did not need a genius to deduce. Simply put, he did not care for his past. In fact he rather despised it. Daring or impossible as the feats may have been, as courageous and heroic as some might call it, he held no love for his previous years. It had been a war for the very survival of his race, one he had endured, suffered, since childhood.
How could one find any foundation for amusement in retelling former hard-won victories and crushing defeats? The scale of war and loss of life was monumental in comparison to this relatively minor brushfire conflict with these Remnants.
Entire worlds had burned to cinders; their populations immolated and destroyed. Cremation on a planetary scale. Billions died, innocents and soldiers alike caught in the galactic, genocidal crossfire. To surrender was to be slaughtered and to fight was to die. Yet what choice did they have? What choice did he have?
Bluntly, he had none. Six had fought, through endless warzones on countless worlds, killing thousands in an effort to stem the inexhaustible tide of mass murdering aliens, seemingly as endless as the stars themselves. He was never good enough, wasn't fast enough, or strong enough to save anyone, not even with his augmentations. He had watched as the good died, just as often as the bad, guilty and innocent, young and decrepit, courageous and cowardly, the weak and the strong. The enemy cared little for which you were as long as you were dead.
Race and creed mattered not. For once in countless millennia, the heart and soul of humanity had unified under a single, universal goal.
Survival.
And as the gory, laborious years of warfare dragged on, that possibility had begun to wither and died alongside their race.
So what 'blockbuster' did Falco wish to hear? The massacres at Actium, Ariel, Troy, Fumirole, the loss of Arcadia or the fall of Reach? Did he wish to hear the screams of civilians that ravaged the coppery air, contaminated with the scent of blood, fighting for the right to supersede the guttural howls of monstrous aliens and the ceaseless rattle of ballistic weapons fire warring with the harsh whine of Covenant plasma? Would a televised rendition of the glassing of Alexandria be enough to sate his curiosity? Did he wish to watch the slaughter that was Reach?
If so, Six had more than enough material to shove down his throat. Falco would choke on the sheer volume of death. Perhaps then he would not ask Six again for a 'good story'.
The spartan was no storyteller, no weaver of fanciful and uplifting tales. His past was not filled with heroes, only the dead. He did not wish to delve back there, to that darkness. He did not wish to speak of war unless it was present and immediate or in the preparation for it. Six had his fill of death long ago, yet he would continue to fight, for that was all he knew how to do. As long as there were orders and enemies to kill, he would endure, for the opposite scared him just as much.
Krystal sought to change this in him, to show him another path. And he hoped, for his own sake, that she would be successful, for he could not find it on his own, could not see it alone.
But perhaps, if it would end their unwanted questions forevermore, he would show them the hell he had been born into. They would see just what real demons were.
He had hoped not to revisit his past, even in memory it was... unpleasant, to put it moderately. He most assuredly had never wanted anyone else to see it, especially those he held in high regard. It was one thing to watch it all over again from an apathetic perspective of a researcher, and a whole nother to see it played out like some cinematographic piece to vulgarly entertain an audience. Even so, if their curiosity would not abate, then he had little choice than to put an end to it in such a way that would destroy the desire to press for further questions.
He could never tell the story of Reach's collapse, but he could show it to them.
And so it was with great reluctance that he removed his TACPAD. If they so desired to see what place he came from, then they would have their fill.
By now, after having been under the spartan's crimson scrutiny for several tense minutes, a feeling of unease built up in Falco's gut like a rock, comprised with sediments of disquiet and agitation. Although unreadable, that gaze spoke volumes in itself. It told him of a man he had thought he had had been beginning to understand, and how he knew nothing.
It was an expression he had seen many times, years ago, before he had joined up with Fox. In the days of the Hot Rodders, his old gang. That had been the face worn by some of the more savage cutthroats they had dealt with, the kind of individual that would kill you just for looking their way. It was the type he had judiciously avoided like the plague. He may have been arrogant, but Falco knew the group of people who were best left alone.
Unable to hold the executioneresque gaze for long, Falco turned away, noticing how tense the others were. Fox and Krystal knew Six the best, which is why their apprehension was of little comfort to him. Fay appeared ready to bolt at a moment's notice and Miyu, surprisingly enough, seemed rather nonchalant in regards to the possibility of his imminent vivisection. Not that he suspected the feline would care.
He caught movement on the edge of his peripherals and winced, expecting something to strike, for the spartan to dole out his swift judgement. When finally, after several moments passed and no blow landed, Falco looked to the man, watching uncertainly as the human deposited his unlatched arm device onto the center of the table with deliberate, nearly reverential care. Popping open the casing, he tapped on the interface, activating the miniature computer's projector.
Now curious, Falco and the others gazed on with rapt attention as the holographic screen now displayed, coalesced into a blurry image that soon took the semi-solid shape of an aerial vehicle's troop bay, focused on a pair of very familiar, dark blue boots.
Falco immediately turned to Six, realizing at that point that he and the others were getting more than just a story. They were all catching a first hand account of the spartan's past. Yet the soldier's expression was as inexpressive as a block of solid granite and twice as impenetrable. He seemingly disinterested as he returned to his meal with his previous stoicism.
Before he could linger on why Six appeared not to care, the video began to play. And in that moment, not one of them could look away.
The cacophonous roar of the hornet's thundering blades was muted by his armor's audio dampener, Six hardly paying attention to the incessant noise as he methodically performed yet another magazine check for his marksman rifle. A glance out of the VTOL told him that they were nearing Sword Base, the monumental cliffs and spires of stone similar to those he had seen on the map. He had paid little attention to Cater's in-flight briefing, even as the man spoke now. He only need know one thing, where the enemy was.
And that he already knew.
A minute shift in movement to his left was Jorge, the older Spartan-II eyeing him with what was no doubt disappointment behind that reflective gold visor. Six did not question how his elder knew what he thought. The old bastard had proved to be a perceptive individual, and when they spoke with each other it was cause for more than a few arguments.
For a spartan, especially a II, he had an odd view on the world.
Six scoffed.
Odd was putting it lightly. How the senior hungarian could even assume that they would survive this was a mystery, even more so then his eccentric beliefs. As if they had any other life to live but war. Not that it mattered. In the end they were all dead anyways.
Everyone knew, down to the last man, woman, and child, that once the Covenant found a world, the populace was doomed to die, as was anyone who defended it. Right now they were just staving off the inevitable with that good ol human trait that had carried them so far in this dangerous galaxy, determination. Though Six liked to believe it was more stubbornness. As a whole, humanity was just too tenacious to die. They wouldn't let a little thing like a genocidal alien armada get in the way of their headstrong ways.
Carter's voice intruded upon his sulking inner monologue.
"Cat, Six, you're out here. Jorge, Emile, you're next. Get prepped."
The spartan-III was given a good view of the forward base's courtyard as the Hornet pulled in rapidly on its approach vector, the glow of multicolored jackal shields easily discerned from dull grey alloy of the exterior compound. Bright flashes of light, dull orange and vibrant rainbows, signaled the clash between human and Covenant forces. From his aerial position he spied a few marines still fighting, a high percentage of their brethren lying unmoving on the ground.
That was unfortunate, less men meant less control. And the situation had already deteriorated rapidly. This would have to be handled quickly before it completely collapsed.
"Let's move Lieutenant!"
Six glanced up to his fellow blue armored spartan and gave a curt nod, sighing internally as he shouldered his rifle.
Once more into the breach as the saying went.
The hornet swooped in low and he swiftly disembarked, Katt hot on his heels as they hit the ground running. Wasting no time, he sprinted to the nearest supply crate, stacking up behind the large olive drab container and reached to his bandolier to extract a fragmentation grenade. Since most Covenant infantry used shields of some form, the purpose of handheld explosives had been reduced to little more then a means to soften them up.
Signaling his advance with a green flash sent to Katt's HUD, he rounded the crate and pressed forwards. Frag in one hand and rifle in the other, he encountered his first target, and second most despised Covenant footsoldier.
The jackal squawked angrily at him from behind its circular energy shield, the plasma pistol in its clawed fist glowing brightly with impending violence.
He loathed the race of scavengers with what some might call an unusual abhorrence for a spartan. The squat and scaly bird-like aliens were only just below the brutes in his detestation of the Covenant species'. Vultures would have been a better word for them, these despicable creatures had been recorded to eat the few prisoners of war taken, children, even other lower races within their ranks. They subsisted off whatever flesh they could get their talons on and were cowardly as a whole. What was worse, their corpses smelled particularly unpleasant.
He would feel no particular guilt in ending its miserable existence.
With disdain, Six fired a round into its three toed foot, the bullet impacted right at the joint, between clawed appendage and ankle, the resulting loss of limb control dropping the alien gracelessly to the floor as it barked in pain. He quickly silenced it with a second shot into its now unguarded cranium, a puff of redish purple mist venting out the back of its angular skull.
Beside him, Katt gunned down a squealing grunt, the hump backed creature detonating as its methane tank ignited, reducing the poor fodder into scraps of scorched flesh and metal.
At their arrival, the scattered marines rallied and retaliated with new gained ferocity, fighting tooth and nail to regain control of the ransacked courtyard.
A concise tilt of his helmet and Katt went left, intending to press the Covenant flank and cover his solitary advance.
The spartan-III's lone wolf tendencies had been cause for reprimand with Carter, but the results he achieved with his efforts in the short amount of time he was with Noble had already turned his leader's dismissal to reluctant acceptance. In an elite team trained extensively to function as a whole unit, he was a pariah. But none could doubt his efficiency.
Six was a lone wolf, and a damned good one.
Once he heard the thunder of her rifle and that of the marines following her, he darted forwards, DMR kicking in his grip at each terse, calculated shot. Not a single round was wasted, grunt methane packs, jackal skull, each shot was lethal and accurate.
He knew and anticipated that such an assault would soon catch the eye of the Covenant's main line warrior.
And as another grunt fell to a cranial excavation with a 7.62x51mm, he heard the telltale warbling howl of his real foe.
Six threw himself forwards, rolling across the ground to avoid the volley of concussive rounds that shelled his previous position, liquefying the asphalt. Regaining his feet in moments, Six turned to the sangheili, its gold gilded combat harness marking it as a major. Its mandibles flared in challenge, a growl of rage resonating in the conflict polluted air. The hulking saurian, like the rest of its race, was packed with inhuman muscle and power, strong enough to send even the toughest ODST flying with a single strike and shields only a volley of disciplined fire could bring down.
There was a reason the sangheili were the leaders of the Covenant military.
Yet Six was undeterred to face against one of their finest warriors, in fact he smiled.
This was the one leading the unit, the one he had been looking for.
Three hits to its chest from his high powered rifle sent it to a dive as well as it sought cover before its shields failed. The frag Six had been holding onto finally found its use as he pulled the pin and tossed it towards the forklift the alien had dropped behind. The resulting explosion briefly won-out over the general noise of combat and he watched as a golden figure stumbled blindly out of the inferno, armor blackened and cracked. Behind it, a great billowing cloud of smoke rose into the sky from the wreckage.
This was what he lived for.
Six hurriedly slung the DMR onto his MJOLNIR's spinal magnetic strip, unsheathing a combat knife in its place as he stormed forward with silent rage. The impact of UNSC fabricated titanium clashing with durable alien alloy filled the air with a echoing thunderclap as an unstoppable force collided with an immovable object.
Dazed as it was and hit by half a ton of armored killing potential, the sangheili managed to keep itself upright and halt his rapid advance in an impressive feat of strength, delivering a doublefisted hammerblow onto his back with sufficient force to nearly knock the wind out of the spartan's chest, collapsing his shields. Nonetheless, however hard the sangheili warrior might fight, this was a battle of sheer will and savagery, a category where Six remained unrivaled.
To retaliate, the spartan-III rammed a gauntlet into its side, a dull echo of battered metal following his armored boot as he lashied out to simultaneously shatter its reverse kneecap with extreme force. The elite's armor held, but its flesh did not. With a sickening crunch and roar of pain the alien sagged as its leg gave out underneath it, still holding tight to the spartan as he augmented his attack with a pseudo-diamond edged blade thrust into its stomach, lethal edge piercing its unshielded form with ease. Lips pulled into a snarling rictus of unfettered hatred under his helmet, Six growled, ruthlessly stabbing the knife into his adversary, sawing at its internals and viciously tearing it out. At last the hulking alien collapsed, sliding off his shoulders with a weak moan as it sagged away.
The spartan stepped aside, letting the corpse flop to the ground. Drawing his sidearm, he deposited a single round into its skull. Not out of mercy, but of spite. These aliens would kill every human on this planet, what else could they hope to expect.
The ensuing cries of outrage informed him that the other sangheili warriors in this group had witnessed the cruel and dishonorable execution of their leader and intended to pay him full in return.
Good, all was going to plan.
As the half dozen elites rushed to kill him, Katt and the marines, who had finished with the lower tier Covenant infantry, were free to gun down the aliens that had so foolishly charged out of cover. Six watched apathetically as they were gunned down with reliable human efficiency. There was no quarter given to the enemy, no pity felt as they were slain. Just as humanity had a penchant for stubbornness, so did they for malice. The only emotion felt by those present was hate. If they so could they would see this happen for the rest of their kin, a response justly demanded for every world lost, every life taken. This had once been a war for survival alone, now it would be of extinction, no matter the end. Only one faction would be left standing, and if Six had his way, he knew who would be left to lord over the ashes.
The last elite dropping lifeless to the asphalt, Six rallied with Katt and the surviving marines, heading down the ramp leading to the gate and their next objective. Always pressing forwards, never backwards. The solace of peace only found in death.
This was the world he grew up in.
Kill or be killed.
This was the only world he knew.
Silence, complete and utter silence reigned in the mess hall as the brief snippet of video suddenly shut off. The action was accompanied by the spartan as he finished his meal, reequipped the device, and stood up to leave, all with delicate precision. Not a word passed from his lips as he moved on the mess hall doors, the only acknowledgment he handed out was a fleeting, apologetic tilt of his head towards Krystal. He knew she had wished to spend more time with him, yet a remembrance like that...
He needed some time alone. His duties would help alleviate his unwanted recollections. Besides, he did not want to see their faces as they realized just what kind of creature they had accepted into their ranks, the looks she no doubt showed to his turned back. That... creature, was the man he had once been, A Six who might not have been so welcoming of his place here. The bitter hatred he carried had been all consuming, a fire that refused to die, fueled by the great bellows of his wrath. He had wanted worlds to burn in his retribution, and he would have taken as many souls with him as he could before the end.
Yet Jorge had changed him, the older spartan-II smothering the flames of his hate with wisdom and patience. The hungarian had worked hard to get him to accept that there was another way to look at this life he lived. Why he had bothered wasting his time on a lost cause like him was a question Six wished he could have asked his fellow spartan. Sadly enough, Jorge had been perhaps the closest resemblance to a father figure Six ever had. At least he suspected so since he didn't really know what a father was. But he liked to envision it was someone like Jorge, kind, strong, and above all, patient.
Outside the hall, he turned left down the passageway, a goal already in mind to burden his thoughts with. His MJOLNIR needed a checkup after that last mission and he had been putting it off until the data had been cracked.
But now that they had a goal and a destination, he had that much time to prepare for whatever might be needed of him. It brought comfort to him, the knowledge that some things didn't change. He was a spartan, a warrior. As long as he did not lose sight of that, he would have something to cling to, however desperate his grip might be.
As long as he held onto his past, he could keep her safe. That was the one true thing he could be grateful for in regards to his old life.
It had made him strong. Strong enough he hoped, to protect the one he held close.
That was his greatest desire, a duty he regarded above all others. He would sacrifice everything, his life, his future, his soul, whatever it took he would forfeit to see that she remained happy and alive.
However his life ended here, he would ensure that she still breathed afterwards.
Krystal snapped on Falco, fangs bared as she snarled at him. Never before had she felt like sinking her teeth into the bird as much as she did at that moment. "Happy now? Was that enough to sate your curiosity?" She demanded, her tone ferocious and spiteful as she shouted at him. Though her thoughts ran wild on what she had just seen, those were not as much her concern at the moment as what doing that had done to her spartan.
He may not have shown any visible sign, but she had not needed to see what she felt. Dredging up the past had caused Six pain, a deep ache unlike she had ever felt before. For that she was not in a very forgiving mood. She cared not how harmless the question might have seemed, Falco should have known better that things he supposed to be harmless were not so to others.
Arrayed against such heavy animosity, Falco could only duck into his seat, having never seen Krystal so enraged. His usual antics had never triggered such an emotional response from her before, so he wondered briefly why this had been the tipping point. It did not help that he too was trying to process what he had witnessed, a video as utterly alien as the war it depicted, brutality on a scale unlike any battle he had ever fought.
So much open hatred that would not be bothered to hide, death so callous and unadorned as if it was simply the way of life. It was an existence where fight or die was not just a euphemism, but fact. There was no middle ground, nor common ground. In order to fight monsters, they had become monsters.
Which is what Krystal looked like at that moment as she glared daggers at him, viridian eyes ablaze with unchecked ire, claws unsheathed and twitching with deadly intent. Falco knew that one wrong word and he might be signing himself up for a one way trip to the infirmary. And he had no desire to see just how sharp she kept those obsidian blades.
He glanced over to Fox for help, the vulpine studiously observing the far wall. He wouldn't be of much use, having no inclination to end up on her bad side either, especially with such a fevered display. Miyu did not look all that happy with him either and Fay... well she was already halfway to the door, the canine moving with impressive stealth as she made a beeline for the exit.
Looks like he was on his own for this one.
Yet as he returned his gaze to the visibly seething vixen, he doubted his chances of coming away intact.
"I'm sorry Krys, it was just a harmless question. I didn't know he would get up in arms about it." The avian raised his feathered arms defensively, preparing for the possibility of the vixen's furious assault.
His words seemed to only inflame her anger and the vixen reeled her arm back to strike him and the bird recoiled in his seat, Fox shifting to the side... when she suddenly stopped, her wrathful expression softening as claws were reluctantly sheathed.
And in a move that made Falco even more uncomfortable then if she had hit him, she suddenly burst into tears and leaned across the table to envelop him in a bone crushing hug. Eyes bulging with disbelief and the force of her embrace, the bird looked to Fox, who only shrugged in uncomprehending confusion, the vulpine having no idea what occurred to inspire this startling metamorphosis.
"I'm Sorry Falco, I shouldn't have snapped on you like that." The vixen apologized tearfully, patting his back in consolation.
The bewildered bird was slow to response. "Uh... yeah sure... It's alright. No harm no foul." He returned the back patting awkwardly.
What the fuck? Falco mouthed to Fox over her shoulder, the vulpine once more shrugging unhelpfully.
I don't know. He mouthed back.
The women who had just readied to tear his throat out was now crying on his shoulder, making Falco a very confused and embarrassed bird indeed. He didn't do well with emotional stuff and had no idea how to handle this. So he just kept patting her back until she finally let him go.
And with one last tearful apology she jumped away from her seat dashed out of the room in a great gust of wind.
And as the trio sat there in awkward silence, Miyu voiced their thoughts quite eloquently.
"Well that was fucking weird."
Fay exhaled in relief as she escaped that confrontation between Krystal and Falco, the young canine quickly making a path down the hall. Such situations were hard for her to deal with as she suffered from severe social anxiety, a problem that had developed in high school and Miyu had tried to fix to little success.
She just couldn't cope when things got serious, she always ran before she could get too involved. The girl could blame this on her mother, who hadn't really been a good one. After her dad left, Miss Fera Spaniel had not handled his departure with grace and with such social ineptitude it was needless to say her teenage years had not been the best days of her life as promised.
She owed Miyu a lot for getting her through it, one of the reasons she had followed the lynx through their days in the CDF and later on, Starfox. It was hard for her to consider going without her. Sure, Miyu was boisterous, loud, and unruly, but that was belied her inner self, who was a surprisingly caring person. Unfortunately, this only ever really came out when the cat was stone drunk, leading to more then a few uncomfortable moments as she dragged the inebriated feline back to the ship after a rather rowdy night on the town.
Still, she wouldn't trade this life for anything, she was lucky to have a family of friends, even if they sometimes butted heads or threatened to gut each other. Fay had learned long ago that friendship and family both came with quite a few quirks.
And Six was the biggest one of them all.
She wasn't sure how to act when the hulking warrior was around. He was just so intense all the time. Everything was a serious matter with him. Hell, he had treated Digcraft like some sort of combat simulator. And that was a building game!
She had thought that he was his most intimidating when in that colossal suit of cerulean plate, but that impassive silver visor was nothing compared to his eyes. There was no escaping that piercing crimson gaze, the burning gravitas in that unrelenting stare. It was as if he could break down your very being and see just who you were with a passing glimpse. You could hide nothing from eyes like that.
Which was why she was filled with guilt. No doubt he was aware of her feelings on him, how she was frightened to merely stand in the same room as him. Yet he had done nothing to vindicate her concerns about him, in fact he had proven himself time and time again that he was nothing like she feared. Yet when faced with those eyes, such sentiments persisted.
At least that had been until she saw that video, which had only confirmed what she previously thought about him. He was everything she thought he was, everything that had screamed danger back then had only found evidence to support her.
But despite this, Fay felt her opinion changing. He was not nearly as scary as she thought he was, not after seeing how broken he truly was. Now, she only pitied him. No one should have to live through what he did, to confront such monsters he had turned into a monster himself.
And after what she heard, what she saw, could she really fault him for that?
Could anyone?
Fay didn't think so.
Nothing's ever simple anymore is it? She sighed, tugging on her pink bow as the door in front of her hissed open. Well, at least she could find some peace and quiet in the workshop. Slippy had approached her the other day asking for help, something about power transfer for some project of his. She couldn't really keep up with all the toad's activities anyways. For a little guy he sure had a lot going on. Which reminded her. She'd have to ask him again how Amanda was doing. Slippy rarely if ever talked about her and Fay was always curious about these things.
But for the moment she figured she'd just pop in and take a quick peek at his work before consulting with him. By then everyone should have calmed down, maybe she could even get a chance to hear it all from Miyu next time she saw her.
Spotting the worktable Slip had told her about, the canine quickly went to get a look. Whatever it was, the toad had thrown a tarp over it. Was he trying to hide something? And if so, why? Whatever, wasn't any of her business.
With a shrug, the canine grabbed the lip of the canvas and moved to flick it aside when an unexpected voice interrupted her.
"Fay?"
Startled, the snowy dog jumped in place and glanced over her shoulder, patting down her ruffled fur.
"Six?" She replied, just as surprised.
She had failed to notice the spartan on her first inspection of the room, an easy mistake as he was in the far back, partially concealed behind the stand supporting his armor. She could only assume that he had come down here with similar aims, apparent by the strangely designed tool clasped in his sizeable furless hand.
"You gave me a start there." The canine confessed with a weak giggle, anxious paws teasing with the pink bowtie on top of her head. A very familiar sense of dread had resurfaced despite her best efforts to quash it. The sooner she accepted him the better.
In response the spartan merely shrugged, lips faintly pursed in an unknown emotion. Six returned to his work, dismissing the canine with his usual apathy as he fiddled with an open section of his suit's spinal plating.
Grateful that he had ended any semblance of conversation, Fay returned her focus to the oilcloth on the worktable, pulling it aside to reveal an odd device. She could not place what it was from the construction, but her experienced eye could tell that it was intended to be a weapon of some kind, but to what end?
Curious, she picked up the large cylindrical tube, noticing that it felt just too large for her paw. She studied it for some time, trying to decide what its purpose was, yet she had no luck. It was an enigma, too unfamiliar for her to understand what the toad was trying to make. Setting the strange creation on the table, she instead leafed through the sheef of notes that had resided beside it.
But that in itself proved to be a challenge as well since it was written in Slippy's near indecipherable scrawl. A few minutes were needed to decipher his handwriting, the amphibian suffering from the same problem as most doctors.
As she scanned the first page of scribbles, her eyes found themselves unconsciously wandering back to the other occupant of the room, studying the spartan as he toiled away with his single minded dedication. Admittedly, she was interested in getting an examination of his armor, the researcher inside her wondering what discoveries she might find within that scientific marvel. Yet the awkward teenage girl from high school still lingered, so even the thought of asking him to look at it filled her with anxiety.
For now she would admire it from a distance.
In her unfocused observation, the canine noticed that her subtle glanced were in fact not so much, the spartan's blood red irises returning her analytical stare. The sight of his eyes on hers sent a jolt of shock through her body and she visibly bristled, fur standing on end at that dispassionate gaze.
"S-Sorry." She mumbled a quick apology and redoubled her examination of Slippy's notes, intently studying each individual line of prose in an effort to steer her vision away from that unmatchable look.
Yet all the same, her naturally sharp hearing picked up on the feather light shift of air as the spartan let out a careworn sigh, the sound allowing Fay to muster the courage necessary to tear away from the notes and look back at him.
With his own gaze back at his work, she was able to closely examine his expression, a tired, and from the looks of it, discouraged grimace tugging at his battle-damaged visage. And Fay realized that perhaps her fear of him was something that he had to be acutely aware of.
Seeing this brought fresh feelings of guilt. This was a member of her team, someone she should be able to trust with her life.
And she was afraid of him.
"Am I really that scary?"
Fay was taken back when the spartan spoke, the human seemingly wholly focused on his project as he delved into a topic he had been musing on for many weeks. He was genuinely interested in what her response might be in that time. But it had taken the events in the mess hall to catalyze his curiosity.
"Am I such a contemptible thing? A monster whose presence you cannot abide?" He truly wished to know for it was her opinion on him he would set as his basis of understanding in the times to come, what he could expect to receive from those he had yet to meet.
Fay was uncertain how to respond. It could not be expressed enough that she was no good in these kinds of conversations, yet she could not just walk away.
Meanwhile the spartan carried on with his developing monologue, eyes still centered on his MJOLNIR. It was easier to look at something so routine as he did something utterly opposite of that. Yet he felt as if this needed to be said, if for no other reason then to get it off his chest.
"If you feel this way I understand. You are not the first and you shall not be the last. However, just know. I did not ask to become what I am, did not understand what was asked of me, what I condemned myself to by making the choice that I had. Nevertheless, I promise you this, I will do all in my power to protect Starfox. I would never do anything to endanger this team, would willingly give my life in defense of this unit. You have my word."
There, his piece had been said, and the spartan was surprised to feel better after doing so. He was unused to unburdening his thoughts on others, found it incredibly strange and uncomfortable, an experience he had never before pondered. Spartans did not lament their existence, they accepted it for what it was, the only option afforded to them. Yet, this need to vent was a habitat he had unwittingly picked up from Krystal, deciding to try it for himself to see how it worked.
Judging from how he felt after saying what he felt needed to be said, it just might not be as foolish as he had once considered. At the moment he was willing to try anything to relieve this pressure he felt. Whatever changes it would take to become the closest embodiment of Krystal's needs, he would undergo.
Which reminded him, he would have to speak with her to apologize for his abrupt departure. As that was more important to him then his armor, Six closed up his suit, intending to talk with the vixen.
But in an action that surprised Six, Fay suddenly bursting into movement as he reached the doors. The canine came up from behind him and gave the spartan what was perhaps the most uncomfortable hug she had ever given and he had ever received.
"You're not a monster, Six." She told him, furred arms wrapped under his furless ones and around his broad chest as she spoke. "You are a good person. If anyone is a monster. I am for not seeing that."
Frozen in place, Six was uncertain how to response, having not expected such an action from the long to be considered fearful canine. Eventually, he did find the correct response.
"Thank you." He did not know why, but those words had an unexpectedly reassuring effect on his mood. One could almost call it... good.
Fay released him and smiled, watching as the spartan gave her a curt bow before ducking out of the workshop. The young canine had never been so glad to be wrong in her entire life. What he had said was more then enough to prove that her first instinct was not always the right one.
Later, she would talk with Six more. She had a lot of friendly conversation to catch up on. But for now, it was time to see just what the heck Slip was working on down here.
This was not good, not good at all.
Krystal paced back and forth inside her room, the vixen muttering to herself as she tracked a path from wall to wall.
By rights she should still have a few months to go before this happened. So why now? Why did her body betray her like this? Questions she desperately wished she had the answer for.
The timing itself could not be worse. She was not ready, neither of them were ready for it. She had wanted to broach this in due time, not to be rushed like she now was.
Maybe I can hide it? She paused, considered the option, and then rejected it as she resumed her pacing. Krystal was wholly uncertain whether it would work. She doubted she could compose herself until it passed, not with him so close. For once, the fact they shared a room together was an issue.
Do I even want to? Perhaps she shouldn't, maybe her body just knew what her heart wanted, to connect with Six on a deeper, more personal level.
But is he ready? Am I ready? She didn't know if she could take that step, and if she was not, then he most assuredly was not either. Yet, the thought of trying did fill her with an unusual anticipation. Admittedly, she had thought about it often in the past few days and was definitely not opposed to trying.
There wasn't anyone else she wanted, nor would that ever change. Six was her one and only, and she couldn't be happier.
So why did such thoughts make her so nervous?
Krystal knew he would do anything for her, perhaps even something this intimate. The whole situation would not be that much of an issue if he was not so... restrained, withdrawn from his emotions. Did he even feel passions and desires in the way like she did?
He had shown no signs to point towards this. But she hoped he did, perchance more selfishly for her sake then his.
As deep in her musing as she was, she still heard the low echo of footsteps approaching outside, her ears swiveling to follow them as they neared the door. Stopping herself in the center of the room, she watched as her spartan entered, greeting him with a welcoming, slightly anxious smile, something reflected in his own expression.
The human advanced on her, the man never one for straying from the point, one of the very things she loved about him. "I am sorry for leaving." An apology filled with that innocent, childlike sincerity that had swayed her previous opinions on him and so easily took her heart by storm.
"It's okay Six, I know that was not easy for you. I'm sorry that Falco can be so insensitive at times." She crossed the short gap between them, embracing the towering spartan. And the vixen lost her gaze in his bright crimson eyes, eyes filled with uncertainty and pain, the latter for her.
She chuckled softly.
Of course he was worried more for her then himself.
"You didn't have to do that." She told him.
"I did." His reply was gentle, yet firm. "That is who I was, who I used to be." He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against hers, pale skin brushing against cerulean fur.
"That was before I met you." Six whispered softly, drawing a hand across her cheek as the vixen leaned into his caress. She was the most important thing in his life. She was his life. He had already changed so much of himself for her, and he would continue to do so until he was whatever she wanted him to be.
Jorge may have told him there was another path to take.
But Krystal had shown him the way out.
The vixen smiled.
Whatever he had been before he met her was not the man he was now. The man in front of her was no monster, he had simply been lost before she found him. And now that she had him.
She would never let him go.
No matter what came from this, she would stand at his side.
Perhaps they were not ready yet for what came next, but they would be in time, whether such an event occurred sooner or later mattered not. She was patient.
Krystal could wait.