Trent could feel it.
This was a big one. This was important. A game changer. He wasn't sure how or even why, only that the knowledge was intrinsically burned into his psyche. Cann, Jared and Enzo sat alongside him in the back of the Pelican as it buzzed through the atmosphere of Omega Halo, making for the Black Ops HQ. They were coming in low and fast, doing everything they could to stay off the radar. Trent was looking forward to this.
He'd been in contact with the Yellowjacket squadrons, specifically their leaders. Each team, simply called Alpha, Bravo and Charlie, consisted of eight men, all of the ex-Helljumpers, locked, loaded and ready for action. Working off of recon photos of the compound, which looked like it was mostly Forerunner in nature, he'd put together a quick and dirty plan. Alpha and Bravo would make a direct attack on the compound, making a big, loud show of themselves. Charlie would infiltrate the compound via a secondary point that was hidden but obvious and run interference. Trent and his squad would infiltrate via a tertiary, underground entrance.
Trent was hoping the Yellowjacket squads would hold Black Ops' attention while he, the real threat, did the dirty work behind the scenes. He would have liked to pick up some stealth units, but none were available and the mission needed to he launched right then. Childs had been very insistent that they get to it immediately.
The Pelican began to give off the telltale signs of descent. They were almost there. Trent began doing a final weapons check.
The island was dark and rainy. The Pelicans landed near the edge, in a clearing not far from the beach, nestled like great metal birds that bore their namesake among the thick foliage. Trent made his way down the ramp, staring at the solemn trees that surrounded like silent sentinels. The Yellowjacket teams assembled, did one more gear and suit check, double-checked the plan with the others, then disappeared into the wilderness.
"Let's get going," Trent said, watching the yellow armored soldiers slip into the night. He turned and led the others away from the clearing. Their primary entrance was what appeared to be a service tunnel that stretched from the coast to the facility itself. There was only one real problem...it was underwater. Trent wasn't sure of its functionality, he only knew that it was a solid way into the facility that they hopefully wouldn't see coming.
They hoofed it silently across dense foliage and underbrush. Trent could feel the pressure of the timeline weighing on him. They hit their target without incident and ahead of schedule, checked their map and then plunged into the water. After a few moments spent submerged in grim, watery darkness, they found the entrance: a square tunnel that extended away from them into the island. Trent activated his nightvision and began.
They progressed in bleak silence, maintaining radio silence. Trent listened in on the Yellowjacket's frequency and was pleased to see that everything was underway. They were making the assault, shouting commands amidst a sea of gunfire and explosions. He kept going, seeing the reassuring dots on his motion tracker behind him. Three of them, three Survivors. As they neared the end of the tunnel, they found an airlock style room with a ladder going up to it above them. Trent went first, clearing the area. There was nothing on his motion tracker. He mounted the ladder and hurried up it to the light-pad at the top.
As Trent activated the airlock, the sense that impending doom was waiting for him abruptly enveloped him. It was so startling he nearly lost his grip on the ladder. The others hadn't noticed, so when the airlock finished opening, he climbed up. The ladder continued up the side of the airlock wall. There was only enough room for two of them at a time. Enzo joined him and Trent went to hit the corresponding light-pad.
He hesitated, that pervasive feeling of dread refusing to abate, settling like a rotting shipwreck in the pit of his stomach. He hit the button and began the cycle. It was quick and the corresponding door opened before he had much time to think. Trent kept climbing, the way above narrowing into slender tube carve out of metal. He moved fast, eager to get this part over with and just see what might be waiting for them at the top.
He hit a service hatch, hit the light-pad and crawled out, coming into a small, empty room. There was nothing there. Trent expected the tension to break, but it didn't, instead opting to continue mounting. The others joined them in the room, did a quick gear/suit check and then headed out of the only door.
Beyond was a corridor bathed in ambient amber light and silence broken occasionally by the distant sounds of conflict. They moved swiftly down the corridor, finding a terminal and jacking in to the local network. Trent worked quickly, doing his best not to let memories of Eric surface and distract him. After a moment, he had a map of the area downloaded. He shared it with the others and studied it. As soon as they memorized the route, the quartet took off again. Trent couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.
He had no idea what the problem was. The plan was proceeding accordingly. This was all familiar territory. He had everything on his side from actual luck to his advance suit of armor to his years of intense combat experience.
So what was the problem?
The base was ominously empty. Everyone seemed preoccupied with the Yellowjacket intrusion. Good. Trent hated putting all the heat on them, but he knew they could handle it. They hurried through barren corridors, their footsteps echoing bleakly. Trent kept focused, his barrel peeking around corners, his eyes constantly scanning everything. His shotgun was a leaden weight in his hands. They reached the control room without seeing a soul. If not for the reports from the Yellowjackets and the occasional sound of conflict, Trent would have thought the place dead.
When they hit the control room, Trent knew suddenly what final fatality was waiting for them, lurking in the deep shadows of the near future and springing from them as it became the present. When the attack came, it was fast, and Trent was almost as fast.
He swung the barrel of his shotgun and squeezed the trigger even as he heard the rapid-fire of silenced bullets and a bit of blood sprayed across his visor, marring his vision. The assassin, the one who had lain in wait for them aboard the derelict Black Ops ship, the one who had murdered Eric, was here, now.
And took a glancing blow from a shotgun blast. Trent heard the grunt of pain from the assassin, who now stood in the center of the room, machine-pistol in hand, covered head-to-toe in black armor like a malignant machine insect. The shotgun blast had took him in the left side, near his guts, and he was bleeding.
But he wasn't out. Trent and the others moved quickly, trying to get out of his line of sight and away from that deadly pistol. He couldn't even tell who'd been hit. He knew that the shotgun blast had been lucky and let it drop to the floor, opting to rush forward instead. The sudden blitz seemed to throw the assassin off for just a second, but it was enough. Trent smashed into him and the pair went sprawling.
The gunfire ceased immediately, as the others could no longer get a clean shot. Trent immediately grabbed the man's wrists to keep him from grabbing anything, but found the assassin's strength more than his own. He switched his tactics and began punching the man's obsidian opaque visor as hard as he could. It began to crack under the blows and Trent could hear the man's head bouncing around inside his helmet.
When a small burst of blue light came, Trent knew it was time to go. He rolled away, narrowly avoiding the knife of pure energy. The assassin stabbed at him, cutting into the floor and burning a groove into the solid metal. Trent grabbed his pistol and brought it to bear, only to have it cut in half. He rolled away again and heard more gunfire. Twisting, he saw Cann bearing down on the assassin, gun barrel leveled.
The assassin threw the knife at him. Cann shifted, but didn't entirely get out of the way. The blade grazed his shoulder. He screamed in agony and fell back. Enzo was there suddenly, his Covenant carbine firing even before he had it into position. Several shots cut into the assassins as he scrambled to get up. There were several sprays of blood and a stifled cry of sharp pain. Trent managed to get to his feet and dove into the black-armored killer once more, this time sending them both smashing through a large piece of equipment.
Sparks flew through the air as the two smashed to the floor once more. This time the assassin was on his stomach and Trent landed on his back.
"Enzo!" he cried, holding the man in place. The Elite knew what to do. He ran up and fired off the rest of his magazine into the struggling assassin's head before he could break Trent's grasp. The body went slack in Trent's grasp. He noticed Enzo shifting and slowly got up. Enzo disappeared from his view and came back a moment later, wielding the knife. He knelt and cut off the assassin's head, then tossed it aside.
"Just to be sure," he murmured. Trent nodded wearily. The knife abruptly flickered and died. It wouldn't come back on. Enzo tossed it aside.
"How are you?" Trent asked, finding Cann leaning against a wall, dealing with his wound with a can of biofoam.
"I'll live," he growled. Trent nodded and turned once more, this time his gaze coming to rest on the unmoving form of Jared. His visor was shattered, his pale face inside ruined. Those deadly bullets had put an end to him. Trent felt a kind of dark fear settle over him as he stared at Jared's corpse. Two of them were dead now...something seemed wrong. He made himself remember the mission and went over to the primary computer.
"Enzo, can you get Jared's body?" he asked as he tied into the main computer and began downloading everything there. The big Elite nodded and moved to complete the task. Trent got updates from the Yellowjackets as he waited for the database to download. Alpha team was gone, Bravo was down to quarter strength and Charlie had only suffered a few losses. He ordered them to pull out and regroup at the landing site. After downloading the data, he set the reactor to blow and began leading the others out of the base.
It was time for the next step.
The Pelican's interior was beset by a grim, silent atmosphere. Trent, Enzo and Cann sat staring at Jared's body. Another one of them dead. Another. Trent felt an awkward absence of emotion. Was it because he was still so close to Eric's death? Or was it something a bit bleaker? That he simply didn't know Jared that well? He hadn't had much time to hang out with the man and had gotten the impression that he was a bit of a loner.
"How you holding up?" he asked Cann. He remembered that Cann and Jared had become close friends.
"I'll live," Cann replied quietly, whether he was referring to his physical or mental state, Trent couldn't guess. Maybe it was both. Trent's radio abruptly came to life.
"Sir, there's something wrong. I can't get into contact with anyone at HQ." It was the pilot. Trent stood and moved to the cockpit.
"What's going on? Jamming signal?" he replied, staring out the cockpit windows. It was still raining and he could just make out the outline of HQ.
"I'm not sure. All I know is that there's currently nothing on the waves but dead air," the pilot replied. Trent frowned and maintained his silence as they made their final approach on the base. From what he could see, there was nothing wrong. No giant bugs. No Black Ops troops. No Undead. So what was the problem?
Trent's eyes widened in surprise as he saw a blossom of red and yellow from the ground. A missile shrieked up towards them. It slammed directly into the Pelican holding the remainder of the Yellowjackets, which immediately began to lose altitude. A second bloom of flame and a second missile came directly for them.
"Take evasive-"
The missile hit, sending the Pelican lurching. Trent had just enough time to stumble back into the cargo hold before they hit the ground and he was knocked out.
When Trent woke up, he was being dragged from the wreckage. He felt groggy with pain and misery. He ached everywhere. He tried to look around, but his neck hurt and doing so sent lances of agony down his spine and up to his brain. All he saw was the ground, first wet grasslands, then glistening, fresh instacrete. Finally, he saw someone's shoes. They dropped him there, at the feet of...whoever it was.
"Trent...I've been looking forward to this for some time."
Trent felt a bolt of pure black fear shoot through him, nearly stopping his heart. He heard a grunt to his left, then his right. Enzo and Cann. Slowly, painfully, he got to his hands and knees, then straightened up so that he was on his knees.
He looked up into the face of Childs, who was grinning down at him.
"Where's the fourth one?" he asked.
"Dead," a cold, almost mechanical voice replied.
"On impact?"
"No, he was shot."
Childs laughed softly. "Seems like Razor got the best of one of you at least. Well...two, now," he said, then looked down at Trent. Childs was holding a sleek black pistol. "Take off their helmets," he said. Rough hands grabbed him again. Their helmets were removed. Trent breathed in the fresh, rain-scented air. He felt that he was going to die now.
"Why?" he asked, staring up at Childs.
The man grinned grimly. "Ah yes, the proverbial, omnipresent why? Trent, do you know how long I tried to get my Survivors program together? It took decades of work. Do you fully comprehend that word? Decades? I'm forty three, Trent. I've spent at least half of my existence in this wretched, miserable universe trying to save humanity. And they fought me on it. They fought me...trying to save them. Do you have any idea how infuriating that is?
"But I finally got it through ONI's thick skull that my idea was a good idea. And the Survivor's program was finally initiated. And even then there were restrictions and mandatory meetings and report after report after report. Constantly scrutinizing my work, my choices, my decisions...they treated me like an idiot child! And then what did they do!? They took my Survivors away from me and forced us all to fight their little war with Black Ops. And then they told me that the Survivors program would be fully inducted into ONI with direct ONI supervision after the end of the war with Black Ops. And that I was to be relieved at that point...
"They finally gave me lease to make my life's work a reality...and then they wanted to take it away from me! So what do you think I'd do!? Of course I went over to Black Ops! You know they were preparing to run their own Survivors program? Razor was the first. Only they were going to be better!...And now...I'm afraid I have to kill you. It's obvious you'd never join me. You all have hard-ons for the UNSC, so..."
At this point, Childs shrugged, pointed the barrel at Cann's head and squeezed the trigger.
"NO!" Trent heard himself scream. Enzo roared and began to struggle against his captors. Childs turned the barrel on Trent and suddenly he found himself staring down that bleak barrel of frozen blackness that had all the appeal of a black hole.
Who knew where it might have gone if there wasn't abruptly an explosion nearby and the base was suddenly plunged into chaos as a wave of Undead hit from all sides. Childs let his attention slip and Trent smashed the gun aside while he leaped forward, breaking the hold his captors had on him. Enzo threw himself up and back, crushing one of the men beneath his great weight. Childs let out a startled sound as Trent grabbed his arm firmly in one hand, grabbed his wrist with the other and forced it back until he heard a snap.
Childs began screaming, his own weapon now pointed back at his head, his arm broken in many places. Trent wished he could send the bastard off with a nastier death, but there just wasn't time. He squeezed the trigger, then freed the pistol from Childs' grip as his brains escaped his skull in a plume of gore. He turned the pistol on the nearest troops, who he realized now were Black Ops, and shot them all in the head.
He finished the magazine off by murdering Enzo's captors and helped the big Elite to his feet.
"It's just the two of us now..." Enzo said quietly.
"No. I know that Blake is still in the base. Jennifer probably is, too. And maybe some others. Come on!" They grabbed their helmets, reattached them and set off.
Chaos boiled around them. The Undead were everywhere. The Black Ops troops were doing everything they could to hold them off, but the creatures had sheer numbers and ferocity on their side. Trent found that while long-range communications were still down, short-range still worked fine. He tapped into a channel he'd given specifically to the Survivors and his crew and called out to them. Blake, Jennifer and Nauls responded.
"Okay, okay...Blake, how are you doing?" Trent asked as he and Enzo dodged humans and undead alike, mostly leaving them to duke it out among themselves.
"I'm in the infirmary and I'm able to kill. What the hell is going on? A pair of Black Ops assholes just broke in and tried to kill me. They got a faceful of scalpel for their troubles but my gut still hurts like hell."
"Childs has betrayed us. He just killed Cann. Jared is dead, too, killed by that assassin asshole, who's now also dead. I killed Childs. Black Ops has taken over the base, but it's under attack by Undead," Trent replied as quickly as he could, making for the infirmary.
"Holy shit!" Nauls cried.
"Whoa, seriously?!" Blake replied.
"Yes. Jennifer, Nauls, where are you?"
"I'm in my quarters. I was sleeping," Jennifer replied.
"In my office, on the north side of the base," Nauls said.
"Shit, okay. Blake, stay where you are. Nauls, can you get to the hangar and secure a Pelican for us?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Do it. Jennifer, stay where you are, too-"
"Oh no, I'm not doing this whole damsel in distress thing, Trent. You know me better than that! I'll make my way to the hangar," Jennifer replied.
Trent sighed. "All right, fine, whatever. Just be careful, please. I don't need to lose more friends at this point."
"I will."
"Good. Blake, we gonna have problems? You gonna go all Rambo on me?"
"I'd love to, but I think I popped some of my stitches. I need a minute to wrap myself back up."
"Okay, good. Enzo and I will be there soon. Everyone get to it."
There were a trio of affirmative replies. Trent and Enzo hurried through the bloody corridors of the former UNSC HQ. They liberated shotguns from corpses and fought their way through the madness and chaos. By the time they found Blake, he'd patched himself up and was mostly into his armor, which apparently he'd kept in the infirmary with him.
"You sure you're okay?" Trent asked.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Modern medical marvels. Death's doorstep today, back on the killing floor day after tomorrow..." Blake replied. He secured his helmet. They grabbed some more ammo from Black Ops corpses and began shooting their way through the corridors, cutting a bloody path through the creatures and the Black Ops towards the hangar. Trent worked on pure adrenaline as he fired shell after shell until his arms started to go numb. Enzo and Blake were in top form, murdering everything they came across as quickly as they could.
By the time they reached the hangar, they were soaked in blood. Trent spied Nauls standing at the base of a ramp, shooting anyone who came too close. The trio sprinted across the hangar and everyone boarded the Pelican.
"Go!" Trent cried. Jennifer hardly waited for them to get inside before she took off, closing the ramp as the ship exited the hangar.
"Now what?" Enzo asked.
"We get into contact with the others and...find someone we can trust. We need to find a UNSC outpost," Trent replied. The four of them continually tried to get into contact with the other Survivors as Jennifer headed away from the base.
"There's a secondary base for the UNSC," Jennifer called back. "Want me to head there?"
Trent sighed. "No, not yet. We need to get to that second site that Childs sent the others. Anyone got anyone yet?" Trent asked.
"I've got Kiza!" Enzo announced. He paused, listening, then spoke rapidly, then headed for the cockpit. "They're still alive and fighting Black Ops troops. I've got the coordinates."
"All right. Jennifer, punch them in," Trent said.
The Pelican shifted and headed towards the bleak horizon.