Crew moved about the hangar, completing checks and inspections, calling instructions and instrumentation readings back and forth over the various comm channels set aside for such purposes in the noisy environment. Infinity would be emerging from the Slipstream in approximately five minutes and as such, offensive crafts and dropships were being prepped for deployment pending assessment of the situation on Genesis. It'd been decided the Gateway to the Domain would be their intended target. It was how Cortana had called the Guardians to her to start with and needed to be secured, especially since they couldn't be certain Genesis's Monitor hadn't repaired it in the months since they'd taken a stand against her there. Whether or not the Banished, as their newest adversaries evidently referred to themselves, were aware of its existence remained unknown.

John was standing by as the G79H-TC which would carry Blue team down to the surface if necessary was given a final once over. Fred, Kelly, and Linda gathered behind him, checking their gear with calm familiarity. They all looked when two sets of lift doors slid open, depositing not one, but two Spartan-IV Fireteams into the bay. Commander Palmer strode towards them as the others headed for neighbouring pelicans.

"The Captain wants us on standby to deploy as needed," she explained. "We should be coming out of slipspace any second now."

"Understood," John replied.

Palmer hesitated. "I've been informed this Op is yours to run as you see fit, Sir. We'll await your orders." She turned to rejoin her teammates, but he spoke up before he could think better of it. The problem was that he'd had too long to ponder already. He wanted answers.

"What do you know about B312's involvement in this, Commander?" The Spartan-IV's weren't close enough to overhear, but Blue team was, and he saw Kelly's helmet turn slightly from the corner of his eye. It was unlike him to request information which hadn't been provided by his superiors willingly, but it was relevant to the mission and he felt justified in asking. It seemed Briar was responsible for the Guardians return to the Forerunner Builder world, and he didn't see how such a feat would have been possible for her without aid - whether official or otherwise.

"What do I know? Nothing more than you."

The qualifying statement had his brows drawing down. "Off the record."

Palmer shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly making a judgement call. She waved a hand. "She showed up and Lasky gave her the prototype Gen 3 MJOLNIR we were assigned to field test and sent her on her way. They never spoke."

"Did you?"

"Briefly. I thought… she might be blackmailing the Captain somehow, but in light of all this, I'd say it's a safer bet someone was pulling strings from higher up the food chain. It's to our benefit the Banished didn't get ahold of that Guardian. Our techs have been trying to figure out a way to hack into them for months now, unsuccessfully. She brought that Forerunner AI and managed it in fifteen minutes."

He needed time to digest this, but Roland's voice came over the comms to inform them they were exiting slipspace and to be prepared to deploy.

Palmer went to the pelican her Fireteam was riding down in.

John did the same.

"What do you make of it?" Kelly inquired inside the relative quiet of the dropship as she, Fred, and Linda all took seats.

He shook his head. "I don't know. She said she was done with all this." That had been his interpretation of matters, at least. He understood why, even if he couldn't relate entirely. He'd seen and been tarnished by the corruption she'd been warning him of all along, now exposed to the bright light of day for all to criticize. He knew what had been done to him and to all Spartan-IIs had been wrong. But that did not negate the successes, the triumphs, the lives which had been saved - which could still be saved, as evidenced by their current predicament. He didn't know what had caused Briar to become entangled with the Guardians, but he intended to find out if Palmer's assumptions held any merit.

The others were sharing looks. It was Fred who spoke up. "Does it change anything for us?"

"No." He rested his MA5K across his lap as he sat down. "I owe you an apology." It wasn't one of his finer moments, waiting until now to bring it up, but his mind had been preoccupied with preparations and with puzzling out what Briar's MO might be.

Kelly and Linda remained respectfully silent.

For his part, Fred merely gave a slow nod of acceptance.

Exchanges of such a nature were not commonplace. Calls were made during missions, some better than others. Mistakes happened. No one ever apologized. But this was different, and all four knew it. John had needed to acknowledge he'd been in the wrong. Even if it would have changed nothing about the group dynamic in battle, he'd treated his teammate unfairly and Fred had deserved to have that addressed.

"Spartans, the situation planetside as far as initial scans can tell us is as follows," Roland cut in over the comm channel once more. "The battlecruiser which destroyed our frigate and tried to tamper with the Guardian has taken damage and does not appear to be sound. Contending with it shouldn't prove much trouble for us. That's the good news. Bad news is it looks to have deployed numerous ground forces already as well as exospheric and atmospheric support craft. Genesis is crawling with enemies."

"The Captain wants us down there?" Palmer questioned.

"Fireteams Majestic and Crimson are to accompany Blue team to pro- Woah!"

"Not very confidence inspiring," one of the Spartan-IV's remarked at the unexpected exclamation.

"We've got company up here - a CAS-class assault carrier is exiting slipspace. All hands brace for impact!"

"Roland! What's our mission status?" Palmer shouted over the channel.

"Green light! Go, go, go!"

The pelican lurched up from the deck abruptly, jostling John and the others as it banked towards the launch doors.

"Hold tight back there," one of the pilots warned as they swung down sharply.

Planting his feet, John reached back to grip the straps lining the interior for securing cargo. The dropship rolled hard onto its side, the deck humming as the thrusters were throttled fully open. "Infinity, this is Sierra-117 requesting a sitrep."

"Don't hold your breath on an update, Chief," the same Spartan-IV from before responded. "They just got smoked. Gonna be a while shaking that one off."

"That's our ride home, asshat," someone else chimed in.

"Shut your mouths," Palmer's tense reply cut short the exchange. "Safe to assume we're on our own for the moment, Master Chief. I'll keep trying Infinity."

"Copy that."

"Prepare for atmospheric entry, I'm counting four enemy craft closing in on us," the pilot advised. "Make that five. Damn, it's hairy down there."

A shudder coursed through the pelican as the gunner opened fire and they were simultaneously buffeted by the gaseous layers of Genesis's atmosphere. The metal bulkheads groaned as they twisted while rocketing downwards and the hissing of the plating protecting the fuselage being rapidly heated filled the hold.

"We're coming in hot, ETA to infil- shit!"

"Report," John prompted automatically at the expletive.

"Tango-two was hit, Sir. They're going down."

"Fireteam Majestic," Palmer supplied. "We need to follow them down and provide cover fire. At this altitude, they have a good chance of walking away from it."

The dropship jerked into another roll and no one bothered to specify that while those in MJOLNIR stood a chance, the crew likely didn't. "Understood. Regroup and comm with a headcount when you're clear. Blue team will continue to the target coordinates."

"That's not what I- we should stick together."

"Negative. Handle your wounded and comm for rendezvous coordinates. Sierra-117 out." They didn't have time to take unnecessary delays. Fireteam Crimson would have to bail out their own while Blue team secured the Gateway. Only the slim chance the enemy was oblivious to its existence and function seemed to be in their favour, since numbers certainly weren't. And with Infinity tied up with an opposing vessel of equal or greater might, that wasn't likely to change soon.

"How are we looking?"

"We remain vastly outnumbered," Exuberant responded as it swept along over her right shoulder as Briar slogged through dense foliage, keeping the Brutes pursuing her close enough behind that they didn't lose interest. "And I fear there are now too few Constructors left to adequately maintain the planet's integrity."

"I'm not sure there's going to be much left to maintain when all's said and done here." Breaking left, she circled back around to catch her opponents unawares. "But on a brighter note, you've been kicking ass." The Monitor had proven itself a better combat ally than she'd expected.

"Genesis is my responsibility. I will do what is necessary, even if violence is not one of my base directives." Exuberant's photoreceptor swivelled as it flew on towards the Gateway as they'd agreed, continuing over the comms channel. "I hope this does not indicate I am suffering from the beginning stages of rampancy… Oh dear."

"One crisis at a time," Briar muttered. She lobbed a spike grenade she'd lifted from a fallen adversary into the midst of the three closest Jiralhanae and swung up her purloined T-25 C, firing on their trailing compatriots as the blast kicked up dirt and the thwack of the grenade's projectiles embedding themselves in anything and everything in the vicinity filled the air. Pivoting, she ran on without waiting to confirm how many she'd downed.

It didn't matter. There were more. There were many, many more. And she had to somehow hold them off long enough for Exuberant to reach the Gateway and discover a way to terminate the Guardians harbored within Genesis. The Monitor hadn't seemed confident elimination protocols would have been installed in the enforcer-constructs.

Not for the first time she questioned the wisdom of having instrumented this entire ordeal. Would it be worth it if she never made it off the damn planet? Hood's assurance of a clean slate, of having her identity, her name restored to her seemed paltry promises when weighed against the potential cost. What good was a name if she was dead? Would they add her callsign to the tribute to Noble team then? Was acknowledgement - was recognition something to give her life for?

A formation of banshees scream past overhead, ominously heading in the direction of the Gateway, and Briar redoubled her pace despite having already covered in excess of twenty-five klicks. The descent had been a shit show, her drag chute having quickly become riddled with holes when she'd come within range of enemy ground fire and her shields entirely depleted. She'd fought tooth and nail to make it into the cover of the forest, the matte black Gen 3 now sporting an impressive variety of dings and scrapes which would have placed it in competition with John's battered Mark VI.

He wasn't going to know what had happened to her unless Hood made good on his word - but why would he, who would there be to hold him to account once she was gone? Lasky still possessed the full account of her black-ops, but he'd already expressed reservations about sharing it. If she didn't survive, John was going to believe she'd left and that was the end of it. It wasn't any different than what she'd originally intended. He would continue to serve, to be what they all expected him to be - a Spartan. He didn't know how to be anything else, how to want to be anything else. Was it just hubris that she'd ever hoped to change things for him when it'd never been her place to do so? Was she any different for wanting more for him, for him to be more than what he was?

The banshees were coming back around. They'd picked up on her despite the canopy.

She ducked her head and pushed her legs to pump faster, weaving through the alien flora, gunning for the structure she knew was dead ahead at the edge of the forest. It was where the first of the switches required to engage the Gateway was located and should provide protection from the inbound crafts if she could reach it in time.

Two Grunts stumbled into her path twenty metres on, startled and scrambling to train their weapons on their swiftly closing target. Plasma blasts ricocheted off her scarcely replenished shields and she returned fire blindly with the spiker, never slowing her pace. The first Unggoy was blown from its feet by the tungsten alloy projectile it was struck with, and the second she charged mercilessly.

Thirty five metres to the clearing.

The lead banshees opened up with their fuel rod cannons, shells slamming down with enough force to jolt the ground beneath her pounding feet and engulfing the way ahead in a sickly green haze as they obliterated everything they contacted.

Briar veered sharply as the subsequent crafts laid down further ordnance, her saving grace that the heavy vapours from those same explosions provided extra cover. She plowed through the active bombardment, pelted by the shrapnel thrown up by the impacts as her HUD registered warning after warning. Bursting clear of the fire, she dove into the shelter of the Forerunner structure and sucked oxygen into her burning lungs.

The banshees would continue strafing passes, hoping to pin her down long enough for ground forces to hem her in. She had to get to the Gateway, but she couldn't lead them there, not while Exuberant was still working on a solution. She checked the spiker's magazine. Nine rounds remaining. Her combat knife and sidearm. That was surely enough to take on the better part of a CCS-class battlecruiser's full complement, right?

Taking a few more measured breaths, she sprinted back into the open. Approximately three klicks to the next structure, no real cover in sight, and she was alone again on a planet swarming with enemies.

Should've kissed John that one last time.