Greg sank into his chair aboard the Pelican the second the back ramp had finished closing, effectively sealing them off from the rest of the world and ensuring their safety. Or, at least, doing so as much as could be done on this godforsaken ball of rock and ice. They hadn't run into anything else on their way back from the lift to the Pelican, and Breaker told them that he hadn't seen anything lurking around out there while they'd been gone.

"Now what?" Ellis asked.

"Gimme a minute," Greg replied. He took a deep breath, let it out, then activated his radio. "Gibson, this is Walker. We got the data."

The reply was immediate. "Thank Christ. Send it to me right now." Greg nodded to Izzy, who began the process of uploading to the secure link.

"On its way."

"Good. I'm forwarding your pilot some new coordinates. Get there as fast as you can."

"Understood. Breaker?" he asked.

The man was already dialed into the team net. "On it," he replied from the cockpit, and Greg heard the engines surge to life.

"Where are we going? What are we doing?" Greg asked.

"With this data, we can track the Proto-Gravemind. I hope. Did it look legit?"

"It seemed to be legitimate, but I'm not expert in that field and I didn't have a lot of time," Turner said.

"Good enough, I guess. We have contingencies in place in case this falls through, already in effect, but honestly this needs to work or we'll mostly all die. But anyway, enough doom and gloom. The good news is that we've managed to track down three power scanning arrays that should be sufficient for what we need. In short: we bring them online and reconfigure them based on both the weather data and the Flood-tracking data, and they should point us to the Proto-Gravemind. After that, we blow it to hell. Problem solved. The location I'm giving you is the nearest array. I've got two other teams already scrambling to secure the other pair of arrays. Once you get on the ground, secure it, and ensure it's brought online, let me know. I've got techs here customizing the specific scanning parameters and it should be ready by the time you get done."

"Understood. Breaker, how long?"

They were now taking off, leaving the desolate rig behind.

"Flight time looks like thirty minutes."

Greg glanced at the countdown clock in his HUD. They were now down to just around nineteen hours. Great.

"By the way, did anyone from the first team make it? Or from the rig itself?" Gibson asked.

"One man survived from the team. Lance Corporal Baranov. He's alive and well and willing to join the fight. And...while we confirmed that no one was alive on the surface of the rig or in the waters around it, we didn't have time to confirm whether or not there were any survivors of the original staff at the rig. Although I severely doubt anyone made it."

"Understood. Well...good luck out there."

"You too."

The link was cut and Greg settled back into his chair, hoping to catch a nap.

Before he knew it, he'd drifted off.

"Five minutes out."

Greg came awake with a start. He straightened up and looked around, taking in the interior of the Pelican with a quick sweep of his gaze, prepared to open his eyes to a world of flames, of screaming, bloody people and gunfire.

But nothing bad had happened while he was out.

The Pelican hadn't crashed. The Flood hadn't somehow gotten in. No one had had a brain aneurysm and died like someone had just flipped a switch.

They were all right.

"You okay?" Izzy asked.

He looked over at her. "Yeah. Just tired."

"Me too."

Greg quickly checked over his weapons again, a partially reflexive act, partially intentional one. It would be pretty crappy if his gun malfunctioned at a crucial moment and he died from some shoddy maintenance after surviving and enduring so much. By the time he was finished, Breaker gave them the sixty second warning.

"We got anything on scanners yet?" he asked.

"Nothing. Nothing on the radio, either. Far as I can tell, we're the only ones out here. We're pretty far out," Breaker replied.

"How's the Pelican holding up?"

"Good so far."

"Good. Tell me what you see when you get a visual."

"Roger."

He waited, trying to calm himself, to prepare himself for the probable battle that awaited him. But when Breaker gave his report, he saw nothing out there but snow and the structure.

"Where actually are we?" Greg asked as the landing gear clanged into place and they began settling down.

"On the side of a mountain. Really high up. Mind the edge," Breaker replied.

"Great," Izzy muttered.

"We're down," Breaker said.

"Turner," he said, getting her attention. "Stay with the ship."

"Gladly," she replied dryly.

Greg unstrapped and stood up, walking to the back and waiting by the ramp. As soon as everyone was up and in position, he opened the ramp and aimed his battle rifle. Prepared for anything, all he got was a few snowflakes drifting in through the widening gap. It opened to reveal a snow-swept plateau sporting a tall, narrow tower next to a squat metal brick of a building. Greg led the way down with Izzy at his side, each covering half the area while the others came down and checked the rear and beneath the Pelican, just in case.

Nothing was waiting for them.

The place was deceptively calm.

It was also absolutely beautiful. Up ahead was the side of the mountain they were perched atop, and behind them was a stunning view of the snowbound wilderness of Wintermute. Greg walked a few paces alongside the Pelican, staring for several seconds into the far distance. They were probably ten thousand feet in the air, but still just beneath the cloud cover from which the thin snow fell. He could see for hundreds of miles.

He saw snow-capped forests, frozen lakes and rivers, vast fields and plains, rolling hillocks and another few mountains scraping the clouds in the distance.

"Holy crap," Izzy muttered, looking out with him. "I think this view alone was worth coming up here."

"Yeah…" Greg roused himself. "Come on, we've got a job to do." He turned away from the view and marched back over to the others, having Breaker close the ramp for safety's sake. "Laney," he said as he began leading them towards the structure, "I want you to take Ellis and Coretti and work your way clockwise around the exterior of the buildings. Make sure we're secure out here, then meet us at the entryway. We'll be getting it open and securing the immediate room beyond."

"Understood," Laney replied, and broke away from the group with his squad.

Greg and Izzy led them up to the front door. While Izzy got to work getting the door open, Greg tried again to reach out to someone over the radio.

But no one answered him. He switched to his shotgun.

"Breaker? Still nothing on the scanners?"

"No, nothing. Just us."

"Got it."

Izzy got the door open and the second she did, Greg found himself facing down a screaming Combat Form. He squeezed the trigger of his shotgun and blew its bundled cluster of wavering tentacles and a good portion of its chest off as the thing stumbled towards him and it was practically touching his barrel when he fired. Behind it, more roared and shrieked and came at them. Gunfire spat from inside. Greg worked the shotgun and fired, backing up to give the others room. Izzy scrambled to get into position and they made quick work of the dozen or so Combat Forms that paraded out of the front entrance.

By the time Laney and the others completed their recon, the Flood in the entrance lobby had all been put down.

"Anything?" Greg asked.

"Just some dead Marines and some dead Flood," Laney replied. "Nothing alive. But we saw activity through some of the windows. A lot of them, actually. I think this place might be a hotbed of Flood."

"Great," Greg muttered. "Well, let's sweep and clear!"

They entered the facility, coming into a broad corridor that ran the length of the whole structure. At the far end was another door that led to, presumably, the tower he had seen outside. Various doors lined the walls to either side of them.

He sighed softly. "Coretti, Laney, with me, we'll take the right side. Izzy, Rydell, Baranov, take the left. Ellis, stay here in the main corridor and kill anything you see. Let us know if you need backup. Got it, everyone?"

They all responded affirmatively and got to work. He led Coretti and Laney over to the nearest door and opened it up. He led the way into the room beyond, finding himself in a large warehouse-style area that probably took up a quarter of the building. A network of shelving and crate walls crisscrossed the room.

Flood growled and moved among the maze.

Greg sighed. "Let's get to work!"

The three of them set to it, breaking right and working their way down an impromptu pathway established between the wall and a twelve foot high shelf packed full of smaller crates and other gear of obscure usage. He had his shotgun in hand and had to put it to use immediately as he heard a wet sound from somewhere overhead and glanced up.

A Combat Form was dropping down from atop the shelves directly in front of him.

Greg grit his teeth as he aimed and fired the second the thing hit the floor. It didn't even get a chance to react as the shotgun blast picked it up and threw it back several feet, where it landed with a meaty thud on its back and its innards splattered across the environment. He heard several somethings growl from behind him and glanced back.

"Aw crap," Coretti said as he spun around and opened fire on the trio of Combat Forms that wandered in behind them.

Greg heard more growling coming from ahead and returned his attention to the fore. Another pair of shells were doled out as more Combat Forms presented themselves and their chests were promptly pulped. He pumped the shotgun and then grunted as a few spines rained down from above and pelted him, two of them becoming embedded in his white camo armor.

"Son of a bitch!" he snapped, aiming up and spying one of the new spine-throwers clinging to the side of the wall about eight feet directly above him.

Greg aimed and fired right as it began to try and curl in on itself. The shell tore directly through it, splitting it into parts that rained down in a torrent of green gore. He saw movement coming up over the top of the shelf again and shifted aim, firing as another Combat Form came up over the edge and hurled itself towards him. Stepping back as he blasted it in half, both halves landed in front of him. The legs became inert, but the torso continued functioning, reaching for him with flailing tentacles. Grimacing, Greg blew it apart with another blast.

Behind him, Coretti and Laney covered his back, firing away at whatever was showing up. Greg quickly fed more shells into his shotgun as they worked their way down the alcove, killing anything that showed up. They reached a turn and moved down a second alcove, blasting away and repainting the area with liberal amounts of greenish goo as they put down Combat Forms, Infection Forms, and a few more spine-throwers.

As they reached the end of this alcove and finally put the last of them down, they found an opening that led into an open space among the shelves and crates. A single spine-thrower remained, perched high on a shelf, clinging to it somehow. Greg cursed, switched to his battle rifle, and fired. He winged it, and that caused it to lose its grip and fall to the floor. He took aim, preparing to put it down, but hesitated as it started to shift and shake, as though undergoing a seizure. Coretti and Laney took aim as well.

"Hold fire!" Greg called.

He knew what it was doing: changing back into a Stalker. But why? What possible purpose could that serve?

"What's happening?" Laney asked.

"It's changing…" Coretti muttered.

Greg wanted to see where this was going, because he had the impression that he was missing something. It finished its transformation and became a Stalker Form. He half-expected it to just scuttle off, fleeing, but then it immediately started to transform again.

What, was it changing back into a spine-thrower?

Why? What possible purpose could that serve?

Was it just panicking or something?

But within seconds, Greg quickly realized that he had made a mistake. It was getting bigger. A lot bigger. Much bigger than a spine-thrower.

"What the shit?!" Coretti cried.

"Put it down!" Greg snapped, switching weapons, the shotgun booming as he squeezed the trigger. They began pouring fire into it as the thing grew and grew in size, twisting and morphing and thrashing. Within another few seconds, it began to take on a terrifyingly familiar shape.

It was a Tank.

How?! How could something that tiny possibly transform into something that huge?! And so quickly!? It didn't matter. All that mattered in this moment was that suddenly they were sharing a relatively confined space with something huge, strong, and lethal.

"Split up! Kill it!" Greg snapped, leaping to the right as he put the last shell into it. Holes had opened up on the thing's hardened hide, but there just wasn't enough damage being done quickly enough. Laney fell back and Coretti went left.

The Tank finished its transformation and then made its first move.

Greg watched in horror as the huge, bulky thing began barreling directly towards Coretti. He had one instant of a perfectly clear view of the kid's face, his expression changing from tired determination to pure, naked fear as the immense thing bore down on him.

And then the thing plunged its appendage right into his torso and impaled him, armor and all. It burst out the back of Coretti's body in a huge spray of blood. He tried to scream as he was raised up by the natural progress of the thing's thrusting arm, but only an awful gush of blood came out of his mouth. Greg heard himself screaming as he emptied the shotgun into the creature. Once it was dry, he switched to the battle rifle and kept firing. Only some semblance of sanity kept him from rushing the thing and trying to beat it with his fists.

It turned around, flinging Coretti off its arm and sending his body sailing over Greg's head as he kept firing. He heard Coretti crash into a shelf behind him as he kept firing with Laney, and before it managed to do anymore damage, they put the Tank creature down as they hit something sensitive enough times to kill it.

"Greg!" Izzy came onto the radio. "What's happening?!"

"Coretti's down!" he snapped as he spun around, staring at the man.

"I'm coming!" Ellis shouted.

"Don't!...he's gone. He's already gone," he said, walking over to the corpse. He was clearly dead. There was a massive hole the size of a dinner plate through the middle of his torso. Guts and blood fell out of it. He wasn't moving at all and his eyes were flat and glazed over, empty of life.

"Shit!" Izzy shouted.

"Stay focused," Greg said numbly as he dropped to his knees and quickly began relieving the man of his spare ammo, feeling a cold, but tired, fury settle over him. After everything he'd been through so far...it was all beginning to feel like just one more miserable thing to throw onto the pile. He tired not to ask himself how many more were going to die before this was over. "Be advised: the Stalkers can turn into Tanks."

"What!?" Izzy snapped.

"How?" Ellis demanded.

"I don't know, but they can do it. And the spine-throwers, the new ones, can turn into Stalkers, meaning they can also turn into Tanks, but I think they have to turn back into Stalkers first. That's what just happened."

Greg tried not to think about how he had let this happen, he'd allowed the Tank to enter the field of combat. But how could he have known!?

He attempted to comfort himself with the fact that they now had a crucial new piece of knowledge. It was, at best, a very cold and distant comfort, like a faraway star viewed through the port of a dying life pod somewhere in deep space.

After that, it was a routine sweep and clear.

He and Laney made methodical, almost mechanical progress through the warehouse, killing everything they came in contact with, while specifically targeting any and all Stalkers and spine-throwers, giving them priority and ensuring the others did the same. Once the warehouse was clear, they excised two shared dormitories, a bathroom, and an office of any lingering Flood. From there, it was a relatively simple process to reunite with the others and clear out the scanning tower. Greg was concerned it might be especially difficult, because the tower would no doubt be full of sensitive equipment, and it was, but there were hardly any Flood in it.

Izzy made quick work of two damaged pieces of equipment and a broken power relay, and they had the scanning equipment online within half an hour.

Greg got in touch with Gibson as they regrouped in the control room of the scanning relay.

"What happened?" Gibson responded. "I can hear it in your voice, tell me the place isn't broken beyond repair."

"No, it isn't," Greg replied. "We've secured and reactivated the relay. We just...lost someone. Also, I need to report on a new ability by the Flood." He quickly filled Gibson in on the situation with the Tank and Stalker.

"Good lord...this is getting out of hand," Gibson muttered, clearly disquieted by the notion. "Regardless...good work. I'm sorry about the loss. But we've just finished the updated software patch that should help us find the Proto-Gravemind. And I've received confirmation that the other two relays are ready to go. The only bad news is that it's going to take time."

"How much time?"

"Fifteen minutes to send over the whole package, and then a full two hours for the software to actually install, update, and adapt the equipment."

"Two hours?"

"It's a rather complex algorithm. And then, beyond that, we don't know how long it will take to actually track down the creature. So, get some rest if you can. Because once we do find the thing, if it calls for it, we might need you and your squad to go in guns blazing."

"Understood."

Gibson killed the link as soon as the upload of the new program had been confirmed by Izzy, and he quickly updated everyone on the situation. When he had, he sat down on the floor in one corner of the room, his back to a wall, saying nothing.

"You okay?" Izzy asked, walking over and joining him.

"Not really, but that's normal," he replied. "I'm upset about Coretti but I'll...you know, I'll process that in time. He isn't the first. He won't be the last." Greg sighed and shook his head. "No, I guess I'm just….paranoid."

"What about?"

"This felt too easy."

"That was not easy."

"I mean, comparatively. I don't know, everything's going according to plan. I keep feeling like something big and bad is waiting for us. I guess I'm not going to stop feeling like this until we resolve this mess."

"Maybe we'll get lucky," Izzy said. "Maybe they'll find the damned thing, nuke it to hell, and we can all go home."

"Maybe," he muttered. After another few seconds, he heaved another sigh and settled in a bit more. "I guess we'll find out soon enough, one way or the other."