"They'r-" Garcia spit out a mouthful of coffee, dropping the datapad he'd been holding. "They're billing us?!"

"Fuel, warheads and titanium don't come cheap sir."

"Still-" He scanned once more to make sure he'd read it right. "5 million?!"

"Aye, sir."

"Bullshit!" He slammed the datapad to the table, pulled out his phone and dialed the complaint number on the bottom. "Come on, come on, connect, connect!" A chime and a buzz signaled a secure channel. "Hello? Is this the accounting department?"

He waited a bit, then continued. "Yes, this is Rear Admiral Garcia. I'm calling about the bill you sent us?" Pause, nod. "Yes, I'm submitting a complaint! That bill's bullshit! We don't have 5 million credits in our entire budget!"

He stopped to let whoever was on the other end respond. "What do you mean, you don't care?! You realize what you're doing, right?! Call us a longshot, call us a waste of money, we're getting results! Can't exactly do that if we're bankrupt! An- what, hey, don't hang up on me! Hey! Come back here! Hey!"

Berlin winced on behalf of the phone. Laumer opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought twice and snapped his jaws shut. Garcia stood over the desk, hands gripping the edge, bracing himself with his arms. The only sound in the room was his heavy breathing.

After a bit, he looked up at the two Intel Division members. "Get our people working on any ways to find more funds. I want five million credits in our account by this time yesterday!"

"Yes sir!"

As the two officers ran as fast as their legs could carry them, Garcia picked up the phone once more. Noting the cracked screen in his personal expense log, he dialed a number.

"Admiral Lasky? It's Garcia. Couldja do me a favor?"

"Country of Mine, you are cleared for docking approach. Your station is Bay A2, over."

"Apex Control, Country of Mine copies all. Thank you kindly, over."

"Country of Mine, it's our pleasure. Welcome home guys, damn good job out there, over."

"Apex, we'll send you the tapes. Country of Mine, out."

Maneuvering thrusters throwing out tiny puffs of exhaust, the cruiser brought its side up close to the station. Tractor field projectors captured the multi-million ton vessel, bleeding its excess momentum off in the form of heat, partially captured and converted by the station's power capacitors, mostly bled off through a series of massive radiators.

"Country of Mine, this is Docking Control. Requesting permission to deploy locks, over."

"Permission granted, over."

Enormous sheets of metal detached from the station and swung forward on thick arms. They made contact with specialized lockpoints, electricity surging through the powerful electromagnets contained within. With a clunk, the tractor fields turned off, the magnetic locks taking their place and physically securing the cruiser.

"Docking procedures complete, airlocks engaging."

A tube of thick, radiation and impact resistant cloth, threaded through with metakevlar and braced by internal struts, extended outwards, guided by miniature gravity impellers towards the cruiser's airlocks. The impellers switched off for the last few dozen meters, small magnets taking over for them. With a click, the rigid connecting ring on the end of the cloth tube locked into the airlock's receiver, joining the two and creating an airtight seal. Solid deckin plates unfolded a moment later, creating a solid floor inside the newly made bridge. The cloth swelled as atmosphere filled the interior.

"Airlocks secured! All procedures complete, ship is secured fo debarkation. On your word, Cap'n."

"Very well. All personnel may begin debarkation." The chief nodded and picked up the PA mic.

"Now hear this, now hear this! All personnel not required for shipboard duties may proceed to debarkation! Up and forward on the starboard side, down and aft on the port. Assemble by colors and make orderly!"

Immediately, the sound of whoops and cheers echoed up from the bowels of the ship. The deck vibrated from the force of over a thousand sailors headed for the airlocks and shore leave. The bridge crew chattered excitedly, securing the ship's data and mainframes before they left.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow."

"You okay?"

"I just realized how much that hurts. It hurts alot. Ow. Ow. Ow."

"Well, I spy our favorite Japanese medic down there, so let's get you a painkiller and bed rest, 'kay?"

Holding her shoulder, Amber limped down the debarkation ramp. Dawn followed close behind, rubbing her leg with a grimace. Stepping off the metal ramp onto the deck of the receiving bay, their senses were assaulted with a barrage of sounds and sights.

"Make way!"

"Ordnance carts on Path Alpha, repeat, live ordnance on Path Alpha."

"Hand me the caster!"

"Aerospace craft in motion, clear the launch tubes."

"What's that doing there?! Get that trash out of there, shit-for-brains! You're fouling up the rails!"

"Hope Springs Eternal debarking at Bay B8, logistics teams 9 through 17 please report to Bay B8."

"Hey, look! Hey, you two! Hey!"

"Huh?"

A voice from behind halted them in their tracks. As one, they turned, quizzical expressions on their faces. A sailor ran at them, waving excitedly.

"Um, can we help you?"

"You're Dawn, right? And you're Amber?"

"...yeah?"

"Holy shit! Guys, I told you! Get over here, you ungrateful bastards!" He turned towards them, beaming. "We can't thank you enough!"

"Huh? What's this about?"

"We're all from Earth! We saw that battle, guys saved it from being glassed!"

"Yeah, you saved my entire family!"

"My boyfriend lives in Chicago!"

"I've got kids living in Tokyo, they'd have died without you."

The kanmusu stared wide-eyed at the crowd around them, uncertain of how to respond. This kind of gratitude was completely foreign to them. After all, they were warships. People didn't exactly come up to them and thank them.

Luckily, a certain corpsman noticed their predicament. "Well, as much as I hate to break up the congratulatory circle-wank, these two need to get to the medbay. So, come along, come along." Hikowa herded the kanmusu towards the medbay, shooing the sailors back to their tasks. Dawn touched her hand where the sailor had shook it, a small smile growing on her face.

"So we are making a difference."

"This hearing is concluded. All rise for the anthem!"

Three hundred chairs scraped across the floor as the entire chamber rose to its feet. The tinny sound of the prerecorded UEG anthem sang out from the speakers. The servicemen and women present snapped to salute, civilians putting their hands over their hearts. As the chords of the music swelled, so did the nearly imperceptible tension between the two factions. Nominally, the room might be united behind a single cause, but in reality they were as two brothers, fighting over mom's cookies.

Representative Harry Duncan, Chairman of the Parliament Armed Services Procurement Committee, waited a couple seconds after the anthem finished, then picked up his briefcase and headed for the exit. As he did, he could sense the venomous gazes of several soldiers burning into his back, along with a few civilians as well. No matter. If he was doing his job, the entire fucking galaxy could hate him, as far as he was concerned. Fuck those asshats and their budget priorities. Someone had to stick up for the democratic process and civilian government.

The marines guarding the entrance to the committee chamber didn't salute him, not that he expected them to. Saluting civilians was against regs, after all, but there was also something personal in the way they stiffened their arms and twisted their noses away, miniscule gestures the average person wouldn't notice but a seasoned politician would.

"Gentlemen."

"Representative."

He walked on, towards his own office where more work awaited him. The administration, like the puppets that they were, was trying to ram through a new budget that stripped even more funds from the Ministries of Education and Justice and funneled to the military. Duncan was pulling in all his favors to get the budget blocked in Parliament, denied passage or at least drowned in debate and procedure. President Ramsey would hate him, but what could that figurehead do? All he did was rubber-stamp everything the military put on his desk, dancing on the end of their puppet strings like half of Parliament also did. It was the other half that Duncan had to convince.

Arriving at his office door, he nodded to the two marines standing at the entrance. "Marines."

"Representative."

"I'll be in here a while. Don't let anyone in unless I tell you to."

"Yes, representative."

"Thank you." The average marines, the enlisted, hell, even some of the NCOs and junior officers were decent people. It was too bad that the brass' hatred for all things democratic and civilian had infected them as well. The matte grey barrels of their MA5Es, procured with money diverted from various civilian projects, stood silent guard.

The door clicked behind him. He sat down at his desk, opened up his briefcase, and dialed the first number on his list, already engrossed in his work.

Outside, the marines stood stock still, heavily padded armor and machine guns intimidating anyone who thought about intruding on Duncan's work. They only had to incline their blue one-way visors, shift their fingers just a little closer to the triggers, and the interlopers suddenly realized they had urgent appointments on the other side of the parliament building.

So it came as a surprise when one such intruder, shady-as-fuck hood drawn up over their head, refused to back down even after given the patented marine stink-eye. The guards exchanged sideways glances, unsure of what to make of this person.

One of the marines stepped forward, hand held up. "Sir, I'm afraid I can't let you go in there. Orders."

"Come now, I just wish to talk to monsieur Duncan, non? Surely that is reasonable."

The soldier hesitated, torn between his professionalism and his loathing of the budget-cutting representative. Duty won out. "Sir, orders are orders. I can't let y-"

A palm strike under the chin snapped his head back. His partner yelled in surprise, stumbling back and bringing his assault rifle halfway up before it was yanked from his hands. The butt of the gun slammed into the marine's chest, throwing him into the wall. A hand wrapped itself around the back of the first marine's head, another around his waist. A quick push and a pull, and the man's was out cold, a dent in the ground where his head had experienced a rude, forceful introduction.

A quick look down the hallway confirmed that no one had noticed. Heads lolling, the two marines were tied, gagged and stuffed into a supply closet. Two small doses of aspernoctocide ensured they'd have no memory of their recent one-sided brawl. They'd wake up soon enough, but he only needed five minutes.

A knock came from his door. "What?"

"Representative Duncan, someone to see you."

"I've got no time for them."

"They refuse to go without seeing you. It's… Representative Hartman."

"Hartman?" Duncan pushed back from his desk. "Very well. I'll open the door." With a small turn, the lock clicked open, the door sliding to the side. "Hartman, what can I-"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Duncan."

"Huh?" Duncan blinked at the strange face that greeted him. "Who are you - where are the guards?"

"Oh, they're… reevaluating their career options. Would you mind if I came in?"

"Hell yes! Who the hell are you?! You know what, I don't care. Get out!"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid that just won't do." Duncan blinked, and the man was gone. He whirled around to find him sitting on the window ledge, admiring an apple he'd taken from the bowl on the desk.

"A marvelous specimen. Grown on Prospera, if the color and texture are of any indication." He bit into it, crunching through the skin and crisp flesh. "Oh, yes, definitely Prospera."

"How did you- get down here!"

"Course." He slid off the ledge with the ease of a cat, leisurely stretching out his back. His hoodie still hid most of his face.

"What are you here for?"

"I'm here because you have something I want."

Duncan smirked. "If it's money, you picked the wrong guy to rob. I don't carry any on me." As he talked, his finger inched towards the alarm button on the bottom of his desk.

"Money? Yes. Yours? No."

"What?"

"You know that new program that's been floating about? Project Danbooru or whatever?"

"Project KANMUSU? Yeah, I've heard about that money sink. Why?"

The man held out a hand and made a gimme motion. "Funds, plox."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Am I?"

"I-you-bu-" Duncan spluttered in disbelief that anyone could be this brazen and nonchalant about such a ridiculous request. This was wrong on so many levels.

"Problem, rep?"

"Yes!"

"Very well. Let me be clear." The man flipped off his hood, revealing - Duncan recoiled - a bright red cybernetic eye and a dead serious expression. "You are denying funds to the one weapons program in the entire galaxy that has a snowball's chance in hell of winning us this war. Despite your many speeches to the contrary, you know as well as I do that conventional weapons aren't doing the trick. Unfortunately for you, me, and everyone we care about, KANMUSU is so deep in the red they're almost in infrared. This keeps up for much longer, they'll get shut down, no matter what anyone does."

"And I care because?"

"Zonya. 2560."

The color left Duncan's face. "You can't. You wouldn't."

"A man once took my order at a restaurant. I turned his family, his friends against him, got him fired, put him out of a house, made him the pariah of the community, drove him to suicide. I am a petty, infantile, vindictive, irredeemable son of a bitch. Do not make his mistake, representative."

"Alright, alright! How much do you need?"

"There! I knew we could be reasonable! 750 million, please."

"Okay…" Duncan wrote out the order and handed it over. The man took it, looked it over and pocketed it, apparently satisfied.

"Merci, monsieur." His goal achieved, he headed for the door.

"Wait!" At Duncan's voice, he turned, eyebrow raised. "What's your name?"

A smirk passed over his face. "My name? I have no name. I was never here. In fact, I don't exist. But I'll be watching you. Understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Good meeting with you, representative." He gave a mocking little bow. "See you around."

Birds chirped in the trees lining the wide boulevard. Civilians made their way through the city, chatting, laughing, shopping, eating, going about their daily lives. Children laughed and played in the park while their parents watched, bright light of the local star soaking into and warming their bodies. A hot dog stand did brisk business, selling its wares to hungry customers, and slipping the occasional extra frankfurter to a child whose mother would not allow it. VTOLs criss-crossed the skies, public and private transports mixing and mingling, bringing people to and from their workplaces and homes. Several kilometers away, skyscrapers towered over the skyline, spearing kilometers into the air, the heart of the business districts buzzing with the activities of small companies and gargantuan corporations alike. Just another day in New Seoul.

"Right. I see. Send the families my condolences and their hazard bonuses."

On the 500th floor of a seven kilometer skyscraper, the employees of Xingzhou Resource Industries Ltd. moved with a purpose, performing the tasks necessary to keep the 10th largest corporation - and largest military resources contractor - in UNSC space running. Invoices, contracts, bills, letters, order sheets, confidential documents and secure information of all kinds flew back and forth in a flurry of dead trees and ink. Though the sheer amount of moving paper would have impressed even the bulk carrier pilots of the Galactica Postal Service, it was only a small fraction of the information that passed between the various branches of XRI. Petabytes of information flowed through XRI's proprietary secure networks, conveying all manner of information not considered sensitive enough to waste hard copy on.

"I want our contract with Coyote Black terminated. They're nothing but a waste of money. Blacklist them."

The order went out through a quantum data link, one of the few of its kind that not even the UNSC had more than a handful of, from a sound-proofed, Faraday-caged office located in the exact center of the floor. Unlike other offices, there were no windows or decorations of any kind, only a single, armored door equipped with a top-of-the-line gravlock, unlockable through a DNA, iris, and fingerprint scan, and permission from the inside. Within, the issuer tapped a few icons, changing the channel to which they were connected.

"How soon can Mitsubishi-Haito replace it? In three weeks? Unacceptable. I want it done in two."

A note was made on a ledger. The comm went back into its dock, left to await the next call. With a sigh, the chair was pushed back from the table, its occupant standing up and striding to a viewscreen. With a swipe, the blank screen changed to display a view of the New Seoul skyline. It almost made for a pleasant view, fluffy white clouds gliding across a bright blue sky, if one could ignore the combat air patrols and UCAVs swooping among them. If one looked down one could see a vibrant scene of city streets filled with businesses and shoppers, if one could ignore the main battle tanks, checkpoints, sniper and machine gun nests, rocket and gausshogs on every other street corner, and the omnipresent four-man patrols, heavy body armor and machine guns standing out amongst the casual t-shirts of the civilians. Looking left, cargo ships filled the harbor, bringing good to and from the space elevator, sharing space with ship-buster equipped interdiction corvettes, VTOL carriers and guided missile destroyers.

"Goddamn… that's the sixth this week, eighteenth this month." The words were mumbled quietly, escaping the lips almost involuntarily. A heavy sigh tore itself from the throat. No matter what they tried, each day just brought with it news of more cargoes lost, crews killed, vessels destroyed, earnings cut and the red deepening. The only reason they were still afloat was the amount of money the UNSC was dumping into them to keep their operations going. The UNSC couldn't afford to lose their supplier, and they couldn't afford to lose their backer. Two drowning men, clinging to each other to stay alive, all the while a shark circled around them.

A row of photos on the wall, the only decorations, caught the eyes. The stern visages of men and women looked down at the desk from across the room, as if judging whoever sat there with their static eyes. Past CEOs of XRI, gazing down at the current to forever remind them of the responsibility and history behind them. The current CEO found some humor in that. The way things were going, their portrait might never take its place up there.

Odd. The comm was buzzing. No more calls were supposed to come until three o'clock. What was this then - and a priority at that? Intrigued, temporary existential crisis left behind, the CEO moved to pick the device up. The click of a secure channel establishing itself, and the CEO moved to initiate the conversation.

"Hello?" A moment passed and an eyebrow raised. "Admiral Lasky. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Another beat, and the other eyebrow. "Is that so?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, the mouth twisted itself into a smile. "An offer I can't refuse, huh? Take it or leave it? Very well." Fingers moved, unconsciously listing off figures, performing the calculations of cost and profit. They balled into a fist and relaxed, a conclusion reached. "I'll start from five hundred thousand."

With a groan, Garcia slouched the two meters from the cot he'd had set up in the office next to his desk. He plopped unceremoniously into the chair, pulling up the latest briefings.

"Fuckin'... another collapse… goddamn marines need to get their shit together… 5th and 19th MEUs in full rout… 31st Army as well…"

Shaky helmet cam footage played out across the screen, showing various scenes of soldiers fleeing in panic from overwhelming attackers. One or two tried to stand and fight, only to be overtaken and disappear under a black wave of enemies. Tanks burned and aircraft plunged to the ground, trailing fire and smoke. The streets were littered with dead. Some corpses, freshly deceased, remained intact, eyes still open and mouths twisted in screams of horror, lying in quickly drying pools of blood. Others, having been dead for more than an hour, had decayed to nothing but the black ash left over from the touch of an Abyssal weapon.

"What're the joint chiefs doing… tryna plug the gap? What're they throwing in there… Seventh Penal? Poor sonsabitches. They're gonna die."

An alert reminded him of the work he had to do. "Let's see… our accounts are still in the red… huh?"

Berlin and Laumer chomped down on whatever breakfast they could get as they ran through the corridors, pulling on shirts and holding up pants. Bagel crumbs spilling onto the floor and coffee staining their clothes, they piled into the office, hastily saluting, swallowing and catching their breaths at the same time.

"Sir!"

"Commander Laumer. How did 750 million show up in our books out of nowhere?"

He blinked. "Sir?"

"You heard me. I said I wanted more funds, but cooking the books is going a little too far! If you did something illegal, we're gonna have JAGs up our asses so far we'll taste them!"

"Sir, it wasn't us."

"And besid- huh?" Garcia paused mid-rant. "What do you mean?"

"Wasn't us. Do I look like I have a few hundred million just lying around? I don't want to get court-martialled any more than you do, sir."

"Well, then, who was it? Admiral Lasky's arrangement isn't supposed to come through un-" He clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening as his brain caught up with his tongue. "You heard nothing."

"I did not, sir. The funds came out of nowhere. If it was one of us, they did it without tripping any of the firewalls or locks."

"Well… huh." He sat back in his chair, contemplating the screen and the sudden plethora of money he had to work with. "Recommendations for what to do with it?"

"Uh…that's more of the S&T Division's forte. You want me to go get them?"

"Sure." He waved them off, still staring at the seven zeros on his screen.

As the door to the office sealed behind them, the pair walked down the corridor to the Strategy and Tactics Division. Berlin tapped buttons on her datapad while Laumer looked downwards, seemingly deep in thought. They continued on in that fashion for a bit.

"Lieutenant Eichel?" Out of nowhere, Laumer spoke up, causing Berlin to jump a little and nealry drop her datapad.

"Sir?"

"Do you really know nothing about the accounts?"

"Nothing at all, sir."

He stopped and turned to her, eyes dead serious. "I don't like being in the dark, lieutenant. You were the only one in that soundproof room with me. Either you told someone, or the admiral did. Knowledge is power, and if you have it, I want it." He put a hand on her shoulder. "My door's open anytime."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Could you… stop touching my shoulder?"

"Huh?" He looked at his hand, almost surprised to find it on her arm. "Oh, my bad."

As he walked on ahead, Berlin wiped a drop of sweat from her brow. "Too close…"

"What was, that, Lieutenant?"

"Huh? Nothing, sir!"

"Aw yeah, that's the stuff."

Amber groaned as she sank into the medbay's bathtub. The warm water surrounded her, therapeutic water jets gently massaging her sore muscles. Before handing her a towel, Hikowa had commented this was supposed to be good for strain injuries, as well as a general post-op relaxant. Amber didn't really understand any of it, but the thing felt good, and as she sank deeper into the bathtub, blowing bubbles out her nose, that was all she needed to know.

"Aaaaaah…" She'd have to get out in a few minutes, but for now, as long as nobody interrupted her, she could forget about everything for a little bit.

"Amber?"

"KYAAAAAA!"

"Uwaa!" Dawn stumbled back, hands clamped over her ears. "Wh-what the hell?!"

"What the hell?! I should ask you that! Haven't you ever heard of knocking?!" Face flushed red, crossing her hands over her chest, Amber pulled the curtain shut once more, tying it to the pole. "Why the hell are you in here, anyways?!"

"W-well, the Admiral just got his hands on a bunch of resources, and he wants to try boosting our numbers for the next operation. He wants us on hand to advise in Compartment 20D. Can I look now?" Dawn replied, hiding her equally red face behind her hands.

"Get out!" Once the click of the door lock reached her ears, she pulled aside the curtain and drained the tub, muttering invective under her breath. She took some comfort in the warm fluffy towel, burying her face in it and pretending for a few seconds she was still in that tub. Briefly, she considered pulling on the robe, but opted instead for her BDUs, laid out on a nearby stool. Pulling on her cap, she slid open the door and headed for compartment 20D.

Dawn waited out in the corridor, shuffling awkwardly. As she passed, Amber did not acknowledge the incident, but just motioned curtly for her to come along. A brief blush spread across the Charon class' face before she complied, head hanging low.

"So what's Garcia aiming for?"

"I… don't actually know."

"He's doing another blind?" Dawn nodded, engendering a groan in response. "Greeeeaat. We got lucky the first time with Autumn, but he realizes it's a crapshoot, right?"

"Uh, I guess. Well, no, not really. We're all new to this, remember? Maybe he thinks his luck'll hold." She put a contemplative finger to her chin. "Although he seems to be hedging his bets. I saw a lot of titanium being brought in. More the better, right?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"I know. You know. He might know, but what're you gonna do? People do what feels right."

"True that."

"Materials?"

"Check."

"Power?"

"Check."

"Medical?"

"Ready."

"Alright, start the music!"

Every single man and woman who could play a note was on hand for this. Garcia wanted this to be loud and bombastic as possible, the better to convince any shipgirls to come back. Hikowa stood next to him with a team of corpsmen, ready to rush in with nanojectors and bandages. Major Armandez stood by with a squad of marines, heavy weapons at the ready for security. Everest and Autumn, his two heavy hitters, also readied themselves to subdue anything that might come through.

-Tip of the Spear Reach OST-

The strings did their thing, marines and sailors taking pleasure in the simple act of making music. The brass boomed beneath them, trombones and tubas laying down the accompaniment along with the drummer, beating out a rhythm on his personal set. Everything seemed to be set up right.

Garcia just hoped it would be enough.

"So, tell me more about this 'feeling' you had."

"Well, it was like a feeling of… warmth, you know? Safety?"

"Could you elaborate?"

"Well almost like… you know the feeling when your mom puts her arms around you? And you feel like nothing in the universe could possibly go wrong?"

"I guess."

"Well, it was like that. And also-"

"Hold up." Steiner cut Li off mid-sentence, staring intently at something behind the Spartan. Li turned to follow her gaze to the small canister she'd brought back. Was it… shaking?

Pride of the fleet, they'd called her. Humanity's finest, they'd said.

/SYSTEMS BOOT/

"Anytime now…"

Garcia couldn't stop his foot from tapping nervously, watching the massive pile of metal and fuel in the center of the room. Logically, he knew it would take some time, but he couldn't help being anxious.

Safe as long as she was in the skies above, they'd said. She'd hold'em off, they said.

/OS 2… BOOT COMPLETE/

"Has this happened before?"

"No, ma'am."

Of course, all for naught, wasn't it? The vaunted pride of the Navy, blown up by a single shot.

/REACTOR… FUNCTIONAL/

All that strength, all that pride, and in the end, she was just a target.

/WEAPONS… FUNCTIONAL/

"Everest, should something have happened by now?"

"Probably. I dunno… something's off."

A pale life, a disgraceful death. She'd died in shame, shame that she couldn't do more.

/PROPULSION… FUNCTIONAL/

But… what was this? They wanted her back? Why? A failure like her?

/SLIPSPACE… FUNCTIONAL/

"Marden, come with me."

"D-doctor?"

"I'm going to get a closer look."

This new enemy… could it be? Did she have a purpose once more?

/LAUNCH… FUNCTIONAL/

How could they trust her to fight, after she'd failed so badly?

/RECOVERY… FUNCTIONAL/

"Something's not right."

"Eeyup."

"Shit. Major, standby for orders."

Well, this was an opportunity to redeem herself, and damned be if she didn't take it.

/ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONAL/

She wouldn't fail. Not this bloody time.

/ALL CHECKS COMPLETE/

"Uh, doctor, it's starting to move faster…"

"Intriguing… and without visible energy inputs…"

Something tickled at the back of Li's neck. Something was about to happen.

"Doctor! Look out!"

Humanity needed their pride once more.

/UNSC CVG-1 TRAFALGAR… BOOT COMPLETE/

"And you'll bloody get it."

Doctor Steiner had only perhaps half a second of warning. In that span of time, the humming increased to the point where Li had to activate her helmet's audio dampers to save her eardrums. The sound and the shaking of the container combined were enough to make the floor shake, knocking Steiner onto her ass.

"Doctor! What's happening?!"

"Stay back, I don-"

A gleam of light, brighter than anything Li had ever seen - and she'd stared straight into a nuclear blast - blazed out from the sides and ends of the capsule. The light filled the room, blacking out her helmet optics and forcing the techs in the observation room to clutch their eyes, driving them to their knees in an attempt to escape the glare.

As quickly as it came, the light disappeared, leaving behind a single point of dark, inky blackness. As it went, it seemed to suck the air out of the room, leaving all present mute and immobile, capable only of staring dumbly at the point.

A splintering noise, a rending shriek, and the darkness expanded in a rippling, uneven wave. It grew in two dimensions, having area but no volume; if a tech had been brave enough to get near enough to measure it, they would have pronounced it a plane, with no depth of any kind, an idealized two dimensional surface, right before being obliterated so hard the very concept of their being would cease to exist.

From the dark surface came a series of dull thumps, as if something was pounding at the other side. Steadily, they increased in frequency and force, until it sounded like a tank gunner was having a bad day and then some. Several technicians, still blinking away the spots from their eyes, had to grasp their ears to keep eardrums from rupturing. The impacts transmitted themselves through the air, vibrating the walls, the glass, the floor, everything in fact. At this point, Steiner, still taking notes, had found cover behind a blast shield. Li crouched behind another shield, pistol in her hands, mag boots locked to the floor.

A final thump, sounding more like a shotgun blast in intensity than anything, and the darkness - to use an inadequate term to describe what could not be properly described - shattered, allowing a brilliant orange light to pour through. Between ministering to their comrades, blinded by the initial flare of light, the techs squinted at the breach, trying to discern any features they could on the uniform plane.

Spots of darkness began to break through the light, small, scattered dots slowly coalescing into a coherent form from the ground up. One of the techs, still struggling to get up from the floor, chanced a look up.

From the portal stepped a pair of tightly laced grey utility boots, digital camo fatigues tucked into their tops. Webgear wrapped itself around the upper legs, packed with pouches filled to the brim with magazines, grenades, and other tacticool gear. His gaze travelled upward, over the ballistic padding around the figure's stomach. Around that, too, was a utility belt with all manner of strange items. Poking out between the magazines were what looked like missiles, railgun rounds, canisters and crates of various shapes and sizes and… were those model planes?

Even higher, two hands covered in the rugged gloves of an ordnance technician clenched and relaxed, flexing fingers seemingly unfamiliar. Both forearms covered in some sort of vambrace type armor, festooned with screens and small antennae. A bulky armored pad covered the figure's - the tech still couldn't make out features, silhouetted against that brilliant light - right bicep and shoulder. A golden glimmer reflected off the aiguillette looped around the left shoulder, the emblem of an officer juxtaposed against a pilot's plain padded flight suit. Above that, a pressure collar rested around the figure's neck, light shimmering off the visor of the flight helmet sealed tight into the ring.

With a sound like a draining bathtub the portal snapped shut, abruptly cutting off the light. The figure jolted and looked up from its hands, as if startled by the sudden darkening of its surroundings. Every single person, from Doctor Steiner to the techs to the marines to Li stared at the figure, who managed to meet all of their gazes at once.

Suddenly, the figure reached upwards towards its helmet. The marines reacted swiftly, drawing shotguns and assault rifles, suddenly feeling woefully underequipped. The few techs who were armed drew their weapons as well, pistols held in shaky grips. Li slipped off her chair quietly, power armored footsteps surprisingly soft as she tip toed her way around the figure.

The fingers undid some unseen latch, as with a hiss of pressurized atmosphere, the helmet popped free. A small magnetic pad stuck it to the side of the figure's left leg. Short brown hair that just barely fell past the - the tech started - the girl's neck framed dark grey eyes.

"Identify yourself!" barked a marine, approaching carefully with assault rifle sighted. His courage nearly failed as those eyes locked onto him, but he steeled himself, shoving the barrel of his weapon forward. "Identify or we shoot!"

As quickly as it had come, her impenetrable gaze fell away, replaced by a wide grin. She struck a pose, shooting the marine a thumbs up and a wink. The soldier, confused, lowered his gun.

"Huh?" He jumped again as she began to talk, bright and cheerful tones contrasting with her initial impressions.

"My, quite the pickle you all are in, eh?" She held out an open hand, as if reaching for something nobody else could see. A quick snap, and her fingers curled around a handle that materialized from nowhere. Piece by piece, a M41 SPNKR assembled itself in her grasp. She popped open the top, pulled out a set of rockets from god-knows-where, slapped them in and locked the lid. A spin of the barrels, and a grin set in on her face.

"Well, rest easy now! Trafalgar's here! Time to let God sort those wankers out!"