Sierra 203, Tracker sat at the controls of his downed pelican, the plasma wound on his right shoulder stinging as he gripped it with his hand. Reaching towards the closest first aid kit that, while normally hung on the wall within reach, is now lying on the ground with the rest of the equipment that had at one point been secured to their positions; as Tracker got up onto his feet he clutched it harder but made no response to the pain. As he grabbed the health pack he pressed a finger to his helmet and looked at the sealed door. "This is Sierra 203, 754 do you copy?"

A little static followed before he got a response. "Fine, good to hear your voice Tracker, Cobra is right here beside me."

"Numbers on open comns 754, I have to tend to an error before I can join you." Fox responded, prying out of the slouch in the pack a canister of bio-foam and raising it up to his shoulder and placing his finger at the button. Spraying the temporarily liquid medical care over the hole, as it solidified and filled in the gap and eased the internal pain from the burns; as Fox rose up to full height he limped for a second as the foam slowly set in… grabbing his customized assault rifle and magnetizing it to over his shoulders. Picking up the magnum that was on the floor next to the first aid, after clipping the weapon to his upper thigh he made the easy climb up to the door that kept the two sections sealed off.

The dome helmet of Sierra 754, Neon, lifted from where it sat on the soldier's shoulders. Standing up to attention the robotic arm raised in a salute of his commanding officer, as the three other Spartans also rose and held position before the team leader. 234, Cobra, a naturally tall individual was sharpening his knife. 403, Snyde, held his gun with the barrel pointed down at the floor with the safety on. 233, Wires, held his wrist up to his visor, before lowering it to unsheathe his weapon.

Fox rested his hand on one of the marines slumped over in his seat, shaking slightly he retreated in silence before looking towards the closed pelican door. Slamming his hand against the panel and the doors opened to blinding light, the light reflecting off of the golden visor of Fox. Smoke bellowing through the engines made no difference as all five of them dropped to the ground below, weapons drawn and arms raised as they searched the crash site.

The hole in the warehouse letting light down onto the group, as Tracker crouched down and scooped up some of the dust from the ground. Running his fingers through the handful as what escaped fell back to the ground, before tossing back down and straightening up at the loud sound of the door being forced open. Weapons raised tracker aimed his barrel at the door as two marines stumble out, easing his shoulders and lowering his weapon.

"Spartans, oh how good it is to see all of you."

"Where is your platoon leader?" Tracker demanded as he turned his helmet to the side to point his rifle at the shadow that moved out of sight behind them.

A marine stepped forward with a blood splatter on the side of his body armor and helmet; otherwise it was quite spotless as he stared wide eyed at the large faceless creatures. "Dead sir slumped over in his seat when we came to."

Tracker lowered his gun before picking it up and firing a couple of rounds, all the marines turned to see the elite as it charged towards them. It barely flinched at the bullets as it prepared to swing, as the alien raised its arm a sharp bang rang as the shields were broken and purple blood was splattered against the ground. Snyde straightened up as he lifted his rifle up at the air before dropping it back down into the other hand.

"Looks like you all are coming with us." Neon said as he readied his DMR, looking over his shoulder at the crashed warthog. "Did your vehicle survive?"

"No sir."

Cobra cracked his knuckles as he rolled his head. "Looks like we're going to need to get one of our own!" he grumbled as he pulled his shotgun from over his shoulder, before charging straight towards the door with an armored clunk of his feet. Before he exited though he pressed against the corner of the doorway looking out with his helmet, Tracker raced to the opposite side of the den as he raised his rifle up to beside his helmet.

The sound of the grunts outside the building reached their ears, Tracker took out his knife and spun it in his hand before settling it flat in his hand. The loud clanking of the elite's boots echoing for a moment as Cobra sheathed his weapon, clutching his hands into fists as he nodded at the squad leader in acknowledgement. The elite pushed his head inside and was met by the sharp blade of Tracker's knife which pierced the shields, as it stumbled backwards Cobra raised his fists and slammed down hard. Crumbling under the pressure the elite fell to the floor, and the shrieks of the grunts rang through the helmets as Tracker emerged first.

The five foot tall creature pulled out two stickers and ran at him; a quick bullet through the head from the barrel of Snyde alerted the other to his position. Resting up on the roof of the building with his rifle as he held up two fingers, waving them down at Cobra as he went back to sharp shooting.

Tracker kept to short bursts of his assault rifle, as he held it up close to his visor taking a few quick bursts before leaping to the side. The carbine shot missing him by a couple of centimeters, as he took cover behind the debris from the upper floors of the building behind him. As he poked his head around the corner he could see the pearl white armor of the elite who stood up high, the carbine held tightly in his hand as he took another fire.

The fire grazed Tracker's shields as he spotted a needler loose from the grunt's hand, as the alien laid sprawled on the floor with its blue blood still trickling from its head. He picked it up in his hand and checked its intake, spotting additional ammo clipped to the waist of the purple alien. He grabbed what extra ammo it had and turned to look up at the elite that now were aiming for his teammates; he jumped out from his hiding spot and held the trigger for as long as he could.

Caught off guard the elite tried to quickly dodge out of the way, before it exploded into a cloud of pink and flied backwards dead. As he straightened up he tossed the weapon of a group of jackals trying to sneak up on them, pulling out his pistol and aiming straight for the spikes. It exploded in midair as tracker stood there in the midst of all the damage, stopping for a second to examine the ground and picked up some debris before running his hand through it. He noticed a small divert in the dust not too far away, he could feel the hot breath on the back of his helmet.

Quick thinking he turned around, piercing the invisible elite's armor and jamming it into its neck. As it collapsed under its own weight the Spartan rose up to full height, knife still in his hand as he pulled it out of the alien. The blood dripping from the blade as he turned and tossed it into the space between the eyes of another elite coming up, it collapsed as it pierced the shields before the elite could react.

The rest of the covenant patrol were lying on the ground as cobra stood tall, Neon sat on top of another spec ops just watching him before straightening up and getting his weapon drawn. Tech emerged from behind them with his wrist up to look over his scanner, and putting it down. "There's a couple of ghosts and a Revenant not too far away, if we can get the marines to safety we should be golden." The Spartan commented as he pointed with two fingers down the street.

The four marines poked their heads around the corner as the Spartans held their positions, before signaling with two fingers for the group to move forward. The group of Spartans leading the way with their weapons drawn, Tracker keeping his eyes up to the ruined building all around them; his golden visor gleaming in the sunlight as he lead the way down the street. The marines in one big huddle as they kept their guns pointed out, Tracker raised his fist and the group came to a screeching halt. The vehicles were in clear sight, abandoned by first look.

Tracker pressed two fingers to the ground as he turned his head left and right, a tickling feeling sent shivers up to his brain as he straightened up. A glimmer to the left let him know, and he turned to Snyde who was readying his rifle with a nod. As he ducked to the side the rifleman shot his weapon, striking the elite in the head as it stumbled back. Before Tracker could press forward a three finger hand grabbed his shoulder, the four Marines behind him lying there dead as the elite was prepared to stab. With one quick slash, the elite's blade was freed from its hand and he used it to impale him with.

The other four Spartans turned around with their weapons drawn, before Tracker dropped his shoulders and lead them out towards the vehicles. Tracker threw his rifle onto the side of his seas as he climbed aboard, his hands hovering over the controls before he eased his shoulders and set the vehicle into motion. His hands gripped tight the two handles as the ghost took off the ground, as he looked into the projection of a basic layout of the terrain ahead of them.

Neon slapped his but on the hind of the ghost, as he armed his own rifle he gripped the back of the seat. "Mind if I hitch this ride?"

"Don't drag." Tracker answered as he looked down at his feet; there were no pedals for the armored soldier to use as he tried to figure it out.

His hands tilted as he tried to get a better look, the speeder backed up a few inches. When he slammed his hands down and brought down the handles, as the machine shot a few inches forward. Slamming his hand against the side of his helmet, he looked over his shoulder as the rest of his team sped towards him. Getting his own ride back up to speed, Neon raised his hand into the air and let out a woo hoo as the ghost shot forward once more.

After roads of nothing of ruins only he spotted a flash of purple on the screener, the creature could be easily discerned as an elite for sure and so he sped up to ramming speed. The elite turned towards them before letting out a roar that burst through the helmet of the Spartan, right before it was sent flying over the Spartans' heads limp and dead for sure. As it spun in midair and the clank of its armor sounded without a visual for the focused Spartan, Neon's DMR firing off in his ears as the sounds of the elite's companions' outrage roared from the dark areas around the group.

Grabbing his weapon, Tracker pushed his handles forward. Slamming on the brakes and jumping from his seat, as he flew across the air he reloaded his rifle and shot a couple of rounds into the first covenant. As the jackal fell to the ground, Tracker reloaded and fired off at the grunt attempting a flank attack.

…

The loud buzzing jolted Tracker awake, immediately reaching for his rifle before steadying himself. As he set his feet on the ground he winced a little from the shift of weight, his bionic leg twisting to the left as he slipped down to the ground. Supporting himself on one hand as he fixed the gears and steadied himself, his hands tingling as he turns to look at the rifle that still sat on the side of the bed. As he sighed and pulled at the cloth covering the entrance, one of the marines saluted him as he exited with the clank of his foot against the red stones that still burned.

Tracker acknowledged the marine with a wave of dismissal, as he headed towards the mess tent with the galley set on the side. As tracker entered the den the first thing he was greeted with was a group of Hell Jumpers pushing past him without any acknowledgement, as tracker turned to watch them leave for a moment the one of them looked back before disappearing.

"Next…"

Tracker was snapped out of his thoughts as he grabbed a tray, his eyes looking down at the plate in his hands.

Two years… two years since the war had ended, but it was only just a few months since Tracker and his team was rescued back on Verent after their long since drifting Covenant corvette crashed into what might have been a farmer's fields. The five Spartans encountered a group of brute scavengers; naturally for a bunch of war veterans… as ONI puts it they "Had a small disagreement". These half-starved Spartans were brought off the world and put back into service, and dispatched in a matter of a few weeks. The team has now been spread out to different colonies, and Tracker was lucky…

He was trapped on the home world of the Elites, with nothing but marines and ODSTs.

Fresh ones at that, all with very little discipline and very little battle experience except for the occasional raid from over the ridge. There were many close calls with the Elites or as they wish to be called the Sanghelli. They do not know of Tracker's presence as of yet, but the Office of Naval Intelligence officer had said that it "would however come to life… eventually" and that he should "Be careful around the representatives when they find out".

Reach had fallen not too long after their time was disconnected from the war, and they had found the multiple cases of MIA of all the Spartans who had most likely died in the downfall. Many of whom the Spartan had recognized from days of old before the war had begun in the first place.

But now Reach and the rest of human colonies are now being rebuilt, very slowly thanks to the issues of funds and workers that were left standing after the war and destruction of their homes.

"Next."

Tracker's arms shot up, almost nearly decapitating the server as they stumbled back, before grabbing a scoop of fresh beans and plopped in on the tray, doing the same with the rice, something similar to pork made from a local creature with permission from the locals, and it was all dawned with a small bowl of cheese soup.

Tracker slowed down a little to lower his tray down to his stomach, before stepping away from the food cart and heading towards the tables. Some of the marines watched him walk upright across the tent before settling down at the closest empty table, setting down his tray before climbing over the seat and sitting with his legs arced to let him sit comfortably. His gloved hands trembling slightly as his senses went off, as he reached for his fork he snatched it up too quickly and it nearly slipped out of his hands.

Ghosts were arriving in the camp, the weekly meeting with the camp leader most likely. The two toed feet of the elites clanking across the pebble roads inside the camp, a large shadow of the lead elite gliding across the mess tent's wall. The marines inside were silent as they all watched the shadow until it disappeared and things went back to normal. As the fork was raised up to Tracker's mouth a small skinny man entered the tent with a clipboard in his hand, turning and smiling at the Spartan who groaned inside.

"Good morning Commander."

"Fred…" Tracker acknowledged, waving his fork at the consoler as he took a seat across from the Spartan. As he set down his clipboard he rose his pen up to his mouth as he watched the 7 foot Spartan eat in content, his eyes narrow as he began to speak.

"Did you have sweet dreams last night?"

"Sweet as they come." Tracker answered.

"Any dreams of… say, harmony by any chance?"

"Maybe." Tracker said before biting into his meal, and going in for more with his fork.

Fred set down his pen and tangled his fingers as he stared directly at the dark haired titan. "Care to… share any with me by chance?"

Tracker swallowed another bite before setting down his fork and looking the smaller man in the eye. "Just the same one as always Fred, the exact same one." He answered.

"Interesting… anything else?"

"If I did I surely had remembered it since it had passed."

Tracker looked over his shoulder as the elites returned and headed back to their ghosts, the heavy breathing and aggressive growls had Tracker reaching for where his pistol would normally be if he was in his armor. But he was defenseless as he watched the shadows disappeared before the sound of those beasts powering up filled his senses, and they took off in a hurry without another sound as Tracker kept his senses on them.

Fred was waving his hand trying to draw his attention back to him, as Tracker sighed and picked his fork back up and resumed eating. "Frost has been trying to access your neural link for hours, may I suggest that you do not turn it off before you sleep." Fred twitched his pen in his hand.

"I do not like invasive AIs Fred, the neural link is automatically sent into stats for cryo." Tracker answered.

"Cryo is not an option here Commander, we want to make sure you are doing fine mentally now."

Tracker did not answer as he finished his plate, and picked it up before carrying it to the tray collect. Fred got up and followed him all the way before Tracker headed straight towards the tent entrance, as he pulled the tent entrance and back out into the gathering spot outside of the tent as he crossed silently towards the armory.