Prologue

1120 Hours Beleise - West Standard Time

4 May 2547 (Military Calendar)/

Faeris System, planet Beliese

Westerngate Mountain Range, The Frostcoast

-Crunnchh, in a repeating loop, in sequence with the steps of a beast the size of a motorcycle. The thing - a lithe creature with fur that blended with the snow surrounding it - prowled in careful consideration. Six red eyes that could see minute details, and razor-sharp claws that could tear through even kevlar. A feline comportment, but far deadlier than anything originating on the lands of Earth. It ignored the cold, the snow, the wind breeze and the insects. Instead, it marched at a consistent and quiet pace. This was a fine predator. To the untrained observer, it would appear as though the animal were in the process of hunting something.

In reality, it was the one being hunted.

And when it emerged from the shadow of a massive oak tree, it managed to take a single step. But it never saw the arrow coming; indeed, very few beings would've spotted the shooter. The arrow carved through air silently, and the shot was perfect. The beast couldn't even let out a startled cry before it collapsed to the ground, the gellarsteel arrow lodged through its neck and protruding on both sides. Ink-colored blood pooled around its corpse.

Zhaojun let herself exhale and relaxed her arms. She'd been holding the shot long enough to the point where her arms had almost started shaking.

"It's not the only one," her father said. He still didn't move, though, and if Zhaojun hadn't seen him take up position off to her right, she would never have really known he was there.

She shrugged. "That was their leader," she whispered.

"It was not," he replied, a hint of disappointment in his voice. Her father finally moved then. He was a ghostly revenant, and even as he stepped from his spot, Zhaojun could barely discern his form. He paused and looked up at her. "And you yet have much to learn of patience. Follow me. Quickly, Zha."

Zhaojun frowned and her hand balled into a fist, but she resisted the urge to punch something. Barely. She'd landed her killshot, but on the wrong neln. Too eager. And nelns were clever animals. The one she'd killed was likely just bait. The rest of the pack was likely crawling into their own hiding spots, waiting for Zhaojun and her father to reveal themselves.

Zhaojun hated to screw up. She'd been hasty and stupid.

"Move, Zha," she barely heard her father's voice, but had lost sight of him completely in the tundra.

Quickly Zhaojun slipped from her tree branch and landed in packed snow, her eyes scanning for her father. He'd disappeared into obscurity somewhere up ahead, so she had to follow his footsteps. She slipped her hood on and moved as quietly as she could, keeping low and scanning her surroundings each step of the way. Just like she'd been taught to.

Zhaojun had come to the Frostcoast numerous times in her 18 years. To the point where it was like a second home. The weather was always icy and bitter, there was virtually no civilization, and the most savage of animals roamed the wilds. Her father had been bringing her up here since she was a little girl. Practice and training is poor substitute for experience, her father always said, and this was where he 'tested' Zhaojun.

She used to despise it. But now, it'd grown on her. And maybe her chances of surviving the War would be better when she shipped off later this year.

"Can't hide from me, old man," Zhaojun whispered to herself. Her father's footsteps had all but vanished, but she had other methods of tracking him. She followed broken leaves, depressions in the snow, bushes that were slightly bent, and other small signs. It seemed as though he was heading back toward the east, which was away from where the nelnpack was supposed to be. East would take them back in the direction they'd came. Maybe it was time to head back to the village. Zhaojun hoped so. Against her father's wishes, she'd brought one of her sketchbooks with her to the Frostcoast this time, and wanted nothing more than to be indoors and at work. It'd have to wait, though.

For a second, Zhaojun thought she had caught up to her old man; there was a brief flicker of movement directly ahead of her. A change in the shadow, just beyond a snow-covered bush.

"Gotcha," Zhaojun said. She quickened her pace and rushed after it, practically jogging as she rounded the tree where she'd seen the movement.

When she slipped through the brush and emerged on the other side, there was nobody to be seen. Just a bunch of snowflakes falling and trees swaying from the wind.

Zhaojun frowned. Where is he? I know I saw something.

Then she heard a creak; like wood splitting off from a tree branch. It came from above, and it was then that Zhaojun realized her mistake.

She made to reach for another arrow but didn't have time. The massive form of another neln leaped from one of the taller trees, sailing toward her like a diver. Reacting off instinct, Zhaojun dived to the side and hit the ground on her belly. Snow kicked up all around her, and she scrambled to reach for her knife in time. There was a loud growl from behind her - the neln was calling the rest of its pack. She flipped onto her bottom and scooted backward, getting as much distance as she could, her knife held in front of her. It wasn't a large blade, but it was made of gellarsteel; there weren't many things that were durable against it, and neln hide wasn't one of them.

The neln turned toward her as Zhaojun got to her feet, then it bared its fangs and charged.

In one swift motion, Zhaojun flipped the blade in her left hand threw it with a practiced flick. A split second later, the blade was lodged into the neln's skull, the hilt protruding from a spot just above its eyes. It crashed mid-stride and slid to just a few feet in front of her.

She made her way to the neln as fast as she could and retrieved her knife, shook it free of blood, then slid it back into her belt. Then she rearmed her bow and did the only thing she could think of - run.

Nelns could track, and they could smell. And they wouldn't let her get away with killing another member of their pack. Getting high ground wouldn't help because they could climb better than she could. Zhaojun considered trying to leave a fake trail, but her father had never really taught her how to do anything like that. And she had no idea where he'd made off to.

There was another howl from somewhere nearby, off to her left. And then again, but from her right this time. Though she couldn't see the animals, Zhaojun knew the nelns were trying to box her in. Even still, she refused to panic. Instead, she grew frustrated, and quickened her pace, trying to figure out what to do. Then her mind settled on a decision: go on the offense.

"You little bastards," Zhaojun growled out.

She upped her pace even more, running as fast as she could given the terrain. With a practiced hand, she nocked another arrow and veered toward the left. Shrubs brushed past her as she dipped around and between them. The forest vegetation had lightened in density, which made things better for her. Nelns could make themselves incredibly silent when they wanted to, and this was a situation where they'd use that to their advantage. So Zhaojun had to rely on her eyesight, and the less vegetation there was, the less cover the nelns could use.

Zhaojun slowed.

There had to be some of them nearby at this point. They'd either howl and alert the rest of the pack that'd gone to the far right, or they'd try to take her down on their own.

Zhaojun betted on the latter. And she was right.

Off in the distance by about 40 yards, she just barely spotted movement beyond a pair of twin trees behind a grey boulder. A moment later, a massive neln leaped up onto the boulder silently, its 6 red eyes staring directly at her. There was a noticeable streak of hair that ran down the center of its forehead and along its back, like a long mohawk that stood several inches high. It was the mark of the pack leader, and the neln bared its fangs the moment Zhaojun realized that fact. Seconds later, two more nelns emerged from hiding spots on either side of their leader. Even with all three standing in the open, they were difficult to see. As if light bent around them unnaturally.

Time was against Zhaojun. It wouldn't be long before the other nelns closed in on her from behind. She aimed and fired off a shot at the pack leader, hoping to catch it by surprise, but the animal was far too quick. It tucked low beneath the arrow, then dived off the boulder and practically vanished from sight. Zhaojun gritted her teeth and rapid-fired more arrows at the other two nelns. One of them was slower, and she managed to score a hit on one of its hind legs. The neln howled in pain and limped out of sight.

"Come here!" Zhaojun shouted as she reached for another arrow.

Before she could fire it, a flash of movement lurched from just a few feet in front of her. Zhaojun barely registered it was the neln pack leader. It'd leaped out of cover, diving through the air along her righthand side. Faster than she could even process. There was an audible tear as it flew past, its claws searing through the fabric of her jeans. Then it slipped into the shadows again and out of sight at her rear. Zhaojun shrieked in pain and nearly fell, her right leg feeling as if someone had took a set of blades to it. Dizzying pain. Blood welled along her shin immediately.

"Fuck!" she cursed.

The pain was excruciating, but not more so than her will to survive. Zhaojun ignored it and grabbed her knife again, then resisted the urge to look toward where the pack leader had ran. It was a gamble with her life, but Zhaojun knew how nelns worked and was betting on her experience. So instead of turning around, she faced forward. Forced herself to maintain discipline. A moment later, another neln emerged from the same spot the leader had come out of.

Like she'd expected. And this time, Zhaojun was ready and waiting.

It leaped through the air, claws extended forward to carve Zhaojun's face. She timed herself and fell backward just as the neln reached her. At the same time, she stabbed upward with her knife, holding it steady with both her hands. The blade pierced through the top of its ribcage, and ran along it as the neln soared over Zhaojun. Hot blood spurted out and Zhaojun closed her eyes as it fell on her face. The beast let out a weak yelp and died as it hit the ground.

Zhaojun's leg became a big issue then; even though the pack leader had caught her on the shin, her entire leg was in blistering pain. And Zhaojun couldn't fight through it like she'd thought. She scooted herself back to a nearby tree and burrowed herself between its massive roots. And waited, clutching onto her knife and daring the neln leader to come for her. Zhaojun was afraid, of course, but she was mostly angry. At herself, and at her situation. That wasn't a good thing. Zhaojun was irascible, and it interfered with her decision-making all too often.

Still, she waited. Waited until she decided to risk setting her knife down and using one of her spare bandages. It was antiseptic, which caused it to sting sharply when she wrapped her wound up. She'd have preferred biofoam. But the bandage would be fine. When Zhaojun finished dressing the wound, she grabbed her knife again and waited some more.

This time, she waited until her eyelids grew heavy. Unwittingly, Zhaojun fell asleep right there in the forest.

The snap of a twig drew her awake again, and Zhaojun reached for her blade and held it at the ready.

"Hm. About time," Zhaojun heard her father say. She heard him, but she didn't see him anywhere. That is, until he took a step forward and no longer blended with the environment. He crouched down just in front of her. She could see the worry in his eyes.

"I...," Zhaojun started, but just shrugged in the end.

"Zha," he said, his eyes meeting hers. He gently put his hand on her wounded leg. "Listen." He lifted his hand and put a finger to his temple. "The mind is not a weapon. It's a tool. The greatest tool, and the key to life is mastery of that tool."

"I know, dad," she said, a frown playing across her face. "You already told me."

"Then let me tell you something about this," he said. He nodded with his head toward his missing left arm.

Zhaojun perked up, sending a flare of pain through her leg that she ignored. "You never talk about it, though." Which was true. Her father almost never spoke of his time in the UNSC military, and had never talked about how he'd lost his arm.

"Yeah, well, legally I can't," he said with a half-smile as he shrugged his shoulders. "NAVSPECWEP is keen on those things. And they're not known for respecting borders. But I can tell you this: I could have made more prudent decisions. In the heat of the moment, I let myself rely on baseless heuristics. But only rarely is such a thing necessary."

He held up his hand and paused for a moment, as if he was lost in thought. "For every situation, there is always a best possible move. Always. Like chess. Mastery over your mind is the ability to discover that move when the need arises." His features relaxed. "It's not an easy skill to learn. I've been practicing it for many years."

Zhaojun nodded. She understood. But she preferred a simpler approach. "If something's threatening me," she said, holding her knife to her chest and staring at it. There was no mystery or vagueness in her mind. "Then the move is obvious: kill it."

Several months later, Zhaojun was back in her true home of Easterngate, and back at work.

"Fifth line, moving," Zhaojun said into her headset. A green light flashed on overhead. "Finally," she added with a note of irritation in her voice. Zhaojun shifted the transport warthog into reverse, and eased off the clutch as she fed it gas. A pair of silver cages containing some of Beliese's smaller wildlife were strapped onto the back of the warthog; some toothless Rain-Dwarka squirrels, Geeterhide jeels, Bully exthropods, and others. They chittered as though they were carrying on a conversation with one another. Maybe they were. She looked past the cages as she backed up out of the loading zone. Around her were auto-mechanicals - 'dumb' machines that had enough cognition to perform some of the basic functions inside the facility. Like loading up the warthogs with Beliese native life, so that Zhaojun could transport them across the massive facility to a waiting freighter.

Zhaojun mashed the clutch and then shifted into first, then ran her way up into third gear and held steady at 35 KPM. She steered around more auto-mechanicals; some of them were over 8 feet tall, and others were under 4 feet tall. Among the auto-mechanicals were other Izepeda Transmigratory Services workers. She drove within the yellow 'lanes' running along the colossal facility, making sure to steer clear of the other workers and auto-Ms walking about. And there were also other warthogs driving about carrying similar loads, all of them stamped with the ITS logo on the side. Everything in the fucking place was stamped with an ITS logo, even Zhaojun's uniform.

She looked over her shoulder at one of the rain-dwarka squirrels. The furry little blue ball rolled up to the edge of the cage and then unfurled, peeking at her with its beady eyes. "You're lucky. You're getting out of this shithole."

The little dwarka squawked.

Had Zhaojun not gotten herself injured a few months back, she'd have long since been on her way to ITCI. The Initial Training and Conditioning Installation of the Faeris Stellar Defense Corps.

Her headset buzzed. "Where ya at?"

"Literally right here," Zhaojun said in reply as she pulled around the corner to the loading bay.

The loading bay was, practically speaking, a massive hangar that contained a number of VTOL and other aerial vehicles, the largest of which being albatross dropships. Hundreds of workers and auto-Ms crewed this area, working to load and unload dropships as needed. The actual freighters were too big - and generated too much power - to land anywhere near the facility, so they docked at the refit/refuel station up in geosynchronous orbit.

One thing that stood out about the loading bay was the fact that it was a bombardment on the senses. All of the workers and auto-Ms, combined with all the animals, made for a crescendo of sounds vying for supremacy. And the smell was worse. Zhaojun had never gotten used to it. The animals were one thing, but Zhaojun knew for certain some of her co-workers simply didn't understand the concept of bathing or showering.

She steered the warthog to a specially marked parking zone near a waiting pelican. Several auto-Ms waited patiently for her. The auto-Ms, as well as another worker who was busy typing something up on a small datapad. As Zhaojun hopped out the warthog, the auto-Ms went to work offloading the cages.

"At least one of us gets the easy job," Zhaojun said as she approached Jahid.

He smiled, still thumbing away at the datapad. "You wanna try coordinating all this? Be my guest."

"How much time?" she asked, heading toward a nearby crate to take a seat.

"Two over. Sixteen before the boat takes off. So you got here just in time."

"It's my last day," she said as she reached into her pocket. She pulled out a Mellow Meltdown candybar and took a bite. "I'm not supposed to be working hard."

Jahid looked up from his datapad. "And you're really not... Scared?"

Zhaojun shrugged. "Why would I be?"

An auto-M walked by, carrying the cage that contained the little blue dwarka squirrel she'd talked to in the warthog. The furry animal watched her as it passed by, and it squawked again. She waved goodbye at it.

"It's ITCI. You do know the recruit dropout rate is over fifty percent, right?" Jahid asked. He took a seat next to her on the crate.

"Yes. The Defense Corps only takes the best; I intend to be one of them."

The Defense Corps was the military arm of the Faeris Stellar Protectorate. Although the military structure and organization closely resembled that of the UNSC's, the DC had a notably harsher and more extensive training regimen for all recruits. It had to be. Despite the 'protectorate' status, the FSP had to rely on itself when it came to military matters. Covenant hadn't yet attacked the system... But the militant factions and mercenary guilds were another matter. Not to mention the URF.

"Everybody says we're going to win the War someday. Beat the Covenant."

"We will," Zhaojun told him.

"You know I'd sign up too," Jahid told her. "It's just... Can't leave my mom."

"I know, Jahid." Zhaojun reached into another pocket on her overalls, and this time pulled out two books. "That's why I brought these," she said, handing them to Jahid.

"What's this?"

"The black one is a little sketchbook I've had since I was maybe 12. So the first half of it is kind of bad, and goofy. The other book is an animation," she said. "Hold it sideways, and use your thumb to flip through the pages fast as you can."

It took Jahid a few tries, but he finally figured out how to work it. The animation was of two characters battling each other. Halfway through, both of them got ambushed by the famous supervillain character Overlord Ziborg. As long as the animation was, it ended on a cliffhanger.

"That's fucking... How did you make this?"

"Ingenuity and time. Ever heard the saying, 'patience is a virtue'?"

"I can't take these, Zha."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "They're yours. And don't worry. The War'll be over in no time. I'll be back on this rock by the end of the year."

Several Years Later

1200 Hours - UNSC Military Standard Time

23 October 2550 (Military Calendar)/

Epsilon Eridani II system. Planet Reach

Deep Highland Mountains, HIGHCOM outskirts.

Mago Rictus had been on a journey for well over a day trying to reach HIGHCOM. It'd started out back in Quezon, where he'd ordered a private shuttle from his temporary house-hab. The cheapest had been a 150 kilometer carrier trip that barely moved Mago, as far as relative distance on the map went. And it'd ran Mago's pockets, which were decisively shallow due to various factors - including the rent on his house-hab that the UNSC had refused to cover. Stinging him for 400 credits. That'd burnt out most of the pocket money Mago had, and it didn't help that Reach was a naturally expensive world to live on. So when he got off that shuttle, he'd spent an hour in a small town called Leyte Way, where he'd found a working ATM and a small diner. He cleaned out the rest of his account, which got him back up to 300 credits in the pocket. Spent 20 of those on a breakfast in that diner.

The rest of his journey had gone down virtually the same. Public transportation was much more expensive on Reach than it was on New Carthage. And because of that, Mago had been forced to take small 'jumps' rather than making big ticket trips straight up to the Highlands. The last stretch was the bullet train that he was on now. Luckily, the train was official UNSC service personnel requisitioned. So Mago had gotten this ride for free. But that meant little, because he now had only about a few dozen credits left. It was enough to buy him maybe a steak and some chewing gum, with the way Reach's prices were. The planet's cities were far more expensive than anything Mago was used to.

A brief chime sounded overhead as the train slowed to a halt just beyond a massive security gate.

"HIGHCOM South-West Block entrance," a robotic voice alerted.

There wasn't anyone else on the train currently. Even still, Mago gave a quick look around. When he stood, he slid Admiral Shepard's folder into a spot within his uniform suit jacket before making his way off. Admiral Shepard had been clear to not let anyone know about the folder's contents. And Mago didn't quite fully understand. Over the past day, he'd sifted through it a little. But it was all highlo-pages - special sheets of synthetic crystalline 'paper' that allowed for neat security locks that blocked segments to unauthorized personnel. And a lot of the stuff in the folder was locked like that, the paragraphs containing enough black ink that Mago couldn't pick up much of any meaningful information. He'd picked up on fragments, however; and he'd used his deductive skills to piece together at least some of the puzzle.

The first half of pages had vaguely something to do with the upcoming Operation HELLZONE II; or so, he assumed. Several UNSC battle-groups had been redirected from... Somewhere, by someone very high up on the Security Council. There was a thick section on a lot of technical procedures and mishaps related to 'Administrative processes'. And then, there'd been a further redirection of at least three of those groups, this time to Reach itself at the behest of someone in FLEETCOM. Admiral Shepard's name had popped up at this point. A further order to redeploy at least some of those battle-groups had subsequently been blocked by another high-ranking officer.

Incredibly, it seemed as if there was some sort of fleet jockeying going on between different segments of UNSC command. Someone - or, some people - were using whole flotillas like pieces on a chessboard. Political plays. And those battle-groups were caught up in the middle of it. For what purpose, though? It seemed insanely stupid and inefficient to Mago.

The second half had been far more interesting to him, however. He'd picked up on enough to know that it involved Jane Shepard. The Admiral's daughter - and Mago's CO - herself.

It was possible that someone in the UNSC was going after Jane. Or something.

Mago didn't like that. Even now, he felt his ire rising. But he couldn't do anything about it. Other than getting this job done for Admiral Shepard, at least.

So he made his way to the outer security checkpoint, his eyes scanning along HIGHCOM's defensive perimeter. The security gate was around 30 feet high, with a wall of ceramic-titanium alloy running further along either side. Thick razor wire covered the wall at the top and along it's sides. Guard towers stood on high within the wall, with powered-off spotlights posted to them. Each guard tower was manned, and there were automated machine-gun cannons straddling HIGHCOM's walls. Mago could spot at least two falcons patrolling around way in the sky, circling the base like vultures on the hunt.

A lot of security. And that made sense. High Command, otherwise known as HIGHCOM, was essentially the top of the UNSC. There were many different levels to the UNSC, but the food chain had to stop at some point. And that point was HIGHCOM. They were the alpha and omega of the armed forces. And although HIGHCOM was the overall governing command of the entirety of the UNSCAF, there were only about a 15 or so actual members. All of them were from the highest ranking positions among the UNSC's various departments and branches; as such, HIGHCOM planned and carried out the War, on behalf of the UEG. And because of that, it necessarily demanded such an obscene level of security. There was no shortage of terrorists, criminals, insurrectionists and other threats gunning for HIGHCOM. If HIGHCOM and its members were to fall, it would likely break the back of the UNSC and cause it to collapse. Such an event was near zero in probability, but if it were to happen, that would essentially end the UNSC's military cohesion. End the War. It would subsequently bring about the demise of the UEG.

Mago made his way to the guardhouse, which was a fairly sizable building that was surrounded with sandbags and Army Troopers. One of them gave Mago a gesture to go on inside. So he went in, and was met by stale air, detectors and computer screens.

"Empty ya pockets," the guardhouse officer told him when he stepped inside. "Put ya stuff in the bin right there. Then step through this door."

Should be fine, Mago figured as he withdrew the folder and placed it inside a small bin. He put the rest of his belongings in it: his toothbrush, his wallet, his chronometer and his datapad. Then he walked through some detection door-frame that let out a nice little chirp after he passed through. The bin rolled along a short conveyor belt, where it passed through a series of detector equipment.

The guard officer then patted Mago down. "State ya business, Staff Sergeant Rictus."

"Delivery. Vice-Admiral Michael Stanforth."

The officer looked at Mago closely for a moment, then went behind his desk and entered something on a keyboard. Then the officer walked to the bin and pulled out the folder. "This?"

"Yes."

"Hm," he said, running a hand along it. "I can have it sent up to him."

"No," Mago told him quickly, taking a step forward. The officer turned to face Mago.

"'Scuse me?"

"I'll handle it. That's what I came here to do."

"You don't give out orders here, sergeant." The officer was challenging him. Mago wouldn't be backed down.

"I might not, but Admiral Shepard does. His seal's on the back."

The officer flipped the folder over and stared at Shepard's seal. Then he glanced at Mago with a frown on his face before taking the folder to his desk. He pulled out some handheld device that looked like a flashlight. Ran it over the seal. A green checkmark flashed underneath the seal.

"Now, hand it over," Mago told him.

Second Lieutenant Branz Vickerson stared at the trooper in silence as the man headed toward the HIGHCOM main hub. Branz cursed out loud and reached for his COM. He keyed in a specific sequence as he watched the trooper. The COM beeped on as the other end picked up. There was silence, waiting for Branz to speak.

"This is Lieutenant Vickerson checking in, Colonel," he spoke quietly, still watching the ODST.

"Go ahead," a hardened voice shot back immediately.

"There's a guy here for Stanforth. Just like you said."

"Who is it?"

"An ODST. A Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus. Whole bunch of decorations. You know him?"

There was a brief pause. Then the Colonel grunted. "Where is he now?"

"Heading in through S-Dub 1, and he's a hardheaded bastard."

"Ohkay. I'll deal with it."

The line cut off then, and Vickerson looked down at his COM. He didn't exactly understand what was happening, but this was what the Colonel had told him to lookout for. It'll be a runner, he'd said. Likely an NCO, and likely a combat-veteran. Someone familiar with UNSC protocol, and who isn't afraid of anyone. Branz had been expecting someone maybe a little older, but that ODST must be it. He wondered what the Colonel would do.

This was the first time Mago had been to HIGHCOM. He hoped that it would be his last. Mago found the interior of HIGHCOM to be a cold place, both literally and figuratively. The air conditioning was set to chilling, which wasn't really a problem for Mago. And everyone who worked in the building seemed to be short and curt. All of them were officers. They worked from behind large office spaces and bulletproof windows. On every floor, too - of which, there seemed to be over 2 dozen easily. Each floor had a different layout; the only thing that remained the same was the security detail. Guards patrolled in teams of two, supported by small drones that hovered just above head-height. Cameras hung from corners and observed HIGHCOM's interior in silence. Mago had no doubt that he was being watched closely; if not from those cameras, then from the guards who eyed him suspiciously as he maneuvered his way around.

It took a lot of legwork and second-guessing, but Mago eventually found out where Stanforth was. Which was the top floor, in an office located at the end of a hallway that ran the length of the building.

So he found an elevator to ride to the top floor. It was a long way, and thankfully, he made it in silence.

When it opened, he was caught off-guard.

Beyond the elevator stood a pair of guards, standing on either side of the hall sporting stun batons. Standing in the middle of the hall was a very high-ranking officer Mago had never seen before.

Mago was on the right floor. But he considered whether he should step off, or let the doors shut and ride the elevator out some more. He didn't have much time to think. Relied on a quick decision. So he stepped out the elevator slowly, unsure of what was happening. He snapped off a salute anyway.

"Hold it," the Colonel said when Mago moved to go past. "Staff Sergeant Mago T. Rictus."

"What's going on here?"

"You're in possession of classified materiel."

Mago read the nametag on the Colonel's uniform. Then he realized who the guy was - someone who Mago hadn't ever actually seen before, but had heard all about. "I'm under strict orders, Colonel Ackerson."

"Consider this an instantiation of UNSC Regulation 7F-440. You're to hand over any and all official secured UNSC materiel to the requesting ranking officer. That ranking officer is me."

So this was why he'd brought the two guards. He knew that Mago wasn't about to hand over the document. Not without pressure. If it'd just been Ackerson, then Mago probably could have just ignored the man and finessed his way out of any legal consequences without much difficulty. But the guards were a decisive factor. They were direct witnesses... And Military Policemen. If Mago refused to follow protocol, Ackerson had the ability to order Mago's arrest. And there was nothing Mago would be able to do about that. Other than outright fighting. If it came to that, Mago was certain he would destroy the two guards - and Ackerson - with ease. But that would not only get Mago tossed into prison for at least a year; it'd strip his citizen status. And after the last few months Mago'd had, he was done with prison for the rest of his life.

Mago shifted on his feet. Thinking hard. Calculating. He thought on the edge of his ability, running through possible choices like a finely-programmed algorithm.

Unfortunately, he was out of options. The elevator was gone. That window of opportunity, gone. Mago should have seized it. Stepped back into it, shut the door and took off.

He reached into his suit coat and grabbed the file, handing it over with a death glare boring into the Colonel.

"Smart choice," Ackerson said. He handed the file to one of the guards and signaled for them to leave, then turned back to Mago. Leaned in close. "Word of advice, Staff Sergeant? Stay in the field, and stay out of brass matters. And don't get in bed with Shepard."

Ackerson stepped past Mago then. And Mago had an urge to jump into action when the man passed; drive a sharp elbow into his adam's apple, and snap his neck.

Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. He shook his head. Stood with a hand on his side for a while. This was a loss, and it was going to have consequences.

Mago sighed. He'd gone through too much shit and came too far to come up short.

Without much else to do though, he decided to head to where Stanforth was located. It was through room 49F, so it was a long way down the hall, and to the right. After a long stretch of walking in silence, he headed through a set of double-doors that were labeled '49F'. On the other side was an empty waiting room, and a front desk with a young officer seated at it. He could barely see the top of her head behind the counter.

"Hello!" she said excitedly. Probably didn't get much activity. She sat up a tad to where her eyes met Mago's.

Mago didn't salute, but he did put an elbow on the counter and leaned in.

"I need to see Admiral Stanforth."

"Sounds serious."

"Is he... Uh, back there?"

"He's actually in a meeting right now but they should be wrapping it up."

"Ohkay," Mago said, looking off to the side and tapping his thumb on the counter. He was about to go have a seat.

"So, you're an ODST?"

He looked back at her. "What gave it away?" He'd meant it as a smartass rhetorical question but she answered anyway.

"Your uniform, silly. Well, that and the badge on your sleeve. You don't get one of those unless you're a Bullfrog."

"They teach you a lot in OCS, huh?"

"Yep! But I learned that because my brother is one. A Bullfrog, I mean."

"Mh. He as knowledgeable as you?" Mago asked, itching for Stanforth to hurry the hell up.

"Oh, he knows more rules and regulations than I do. Very by-the-book."

Mago glanced at her then. "What unit is he with?"

"Oh, man. I can't remember. I think he said 30-something. The 34th maybe?"

"Well isn't that something," Mago whispered.

Pall. The son of a bitch never mentioned a sister. Mago'd had no idea.

"You know him!?"

Before Mago answered, a group of high-ranking UNSC brass emerged from a large sliding door near the back of the room. Mago stood to salute and stared straight ahead. From the corner of his eye, he watched as each one of the officers marched by, talking quietly among themselves. One of them veered off to get in Mago's line of sight. It was Admiral Stanforth.

He waited until the room was clear, then signaled for Mago to follow him with a slight nod of his head. Mago ended his salute and followed Stanforth through the sliding door.

It led into a large room with a big circular table, and a holoterminal straddled the center of it. Stanforth put his hands in his pockets and walked off to one side of the table, sitting on the edge of it.

Mago took a spot in front of the admiral.

"Admiral. I -"

"Lost it. I already know. Ackerson was never going to let that slip by him."

Mago deserved at least some answers, either way. "I read it. What I could, at least."

Stanforth pulled a hand out a pocket and scratched an eyebrow. "Fleet orders. Shepard is going to be Force-commander for HELLZONE II. Problem is, certain elements have a... Disagreement, with the operation, and by extension, Shepard. Especially because the Protectorate's gonna be involved. Those certain elements keep battlegroups away from Reach, they keep 'em away from Shepard. Keep 'em away from Shepard, they keep 'em away from HELLZONE II. That happens, and Shepard is forced to cancel the operation. There's a lot of reasons why people don't want this op to happen, and not all of them are strategical in nature.

Regardless, Shepard is going to go through with HELLZONE II. He's stubborn like that. It's just going to be a lot harder now. On him and you."

"I don't get it."

He stood then. "Let me tell you something you will get: people have personal ambitions and they're willing to go after them, no matter the cost. That something you're familiar with?"

It was.

"What about Jane Shepard?"

"That's not really our business, son."

Fair enough. "So what now?"

"Nothing," he said, walking around the table as he talked. "Just preparation for what may be either our biggest success, or biggest failure of this War. We don't strike offensive that much, so we need to make it count."

He stopped at a console and keyed in a command. A second later, a holographic world popped up on the holoterminal.

"When the rest of the ODSTs get here, you make sure to spread the word: we're offering 300-thousand credit life insurance plans for this mission. Everyone needs to sign up. Nobody's family should miss out."

A continent on the surface of the moon Magma V flashed red.

"A lot of good men and women are going to die there. Right on that continent. Some of them, it's going to be psychological death rather than physical."

Mago leaned in on the table, watching the planet as closely as he could. He didn't have self-doubt too often. But this was different. This was going to threaten to break him, like the Slam almost did. This was going to cost him his life. "Can we win?"

Stanforth hesitated before answering. "We have to. Losing isn't an option."

A few weeks later, the rest of the ODSTs did, in fact, get to reach. That meant the entirety of the 34th Jump-Jet Legion. The entirety of 2nd Battalion. The 41st Elite Brigade, 23rd Space Assault Battalion, 7 SSEAL Trooper Cohort, and various others. As well as several units of Special-Tasks ODST Scout Snipers: the famed sharpshooters of the ODSTs, rumored to be able to end whole battles with one shot.

Several whole brigades of Marines arrived as well. On that note, rumors suggested an undetermined number of Spec-Ops Marine Chevaliers were present. These were the oft-whispered about 'Ghosts'; nobody knew how many there were, or what missions they did, and there were never any confirmed incidences, skirmishes, conflicts or anything with their involvement. At all. Never confirmed. They were called Ghosts for a reason. Elements from several mechanized battalions were in the mix. Multiple teams from ENGCORP as well. There were also units from the Air Force: several detachments from Air Combat Command, and a specialized unit from Air Mobility Express. The rarely seen Medical Corps had also showed up in strength, their units all separated under local commands of two Close-Support Surgeon Generals.

To top it off, a number of Spartans had arrived - albeit secretly - throughout the week prior. There were at least half a dozen of them that people referred to as 'Spartan-IIIs', and at least one team of 'Spartan-IIs'. Of all the forces that were being brought to bear, the Spartans were the key force multiplier. They were the difference.

Of particular note, Force-commander Admiral Shepard had successfully secured a small 'oddball' to participate in the battle: the reclusive Faeris Stellar Protectorate had promised to send a fighting force to aid in HELLZONE II. Such a thing was unexpected, uncommon, and, to some in the UNSC, unwelcome.

Officially, the FSP was a separate but 'protectorate' government body occupying the Faeris system located beyond the fringe of UNSC borders. The FSP inhabited a collection of several dozen moons around a binary planet; although that territory seemed minuscule compared to the UEG, the FSP had only steadily been growing in relative power over the past century, and even more so over the course of the War. By law, they were required to support the UNSC whenever called upon. But the War had informally shredded virtually all of those ties simply due to the fact that the UNSC couldn't spare resources to enforce the treaty meaningfully.

The Covenant invasion routes were nowhere near FSP territory, and so the Protectorate mostly stayed isolated in their own bubble. For them to dedicate troops to HELLZONE II signaled a change to a more active role in the future. And to some in the UNSC, it signaled that Admiral Shepard was involved in high-level conspiracies and had ties to Faeris. Unbeknownst to the HELLZONE II Battlegroup, certain elements within the UNSC launched a preliminary investigative probe into Shepard's foreign connections.

The logistics involved in moving the battle group was fairly simple. The overwhelming bulk of them had been carried in on the Ninth Fleet, alongside the troop-barges of Air Mobility Express. A Faeris fleet - the 3rd Galactic Fleet under command of System Admiral Julias Vaeto - also arrived and ferried their own Tactical Strike Commandos to Reach's surface. In the subsequent days leading up to deployment, the Ninth Fleet and 3rd Galactic Fleet became known colloquially as the Combined Fleet.

Most of the ships were a part of the Ninth Fleet, which sported a sizable number even after surviving numerous engagements with hostile fleets since it's inception. That was primarily due to what some considered to be the 2nd force multiplier of the Battleforce: Admiral Bren J. Shepard. Although he'd been separated from the fleet for a while, careful maneuvering on his part had seen him retake control of the fleet several weeks prior. Since then, he'd been sitting tightly on Reach, waiting while his fleet carried out orders on his behalf - most of those orders to ferry elements of the battle group to Reach.

It was a very rare display of the UNSC - and indeed, Humanity's - might, in all it's seriousness and focused. Very rarely did the UNSC get a chance to display it's true power. To display what the UNSC was truly about when at maximum strength. It was all about strength, and the UNSC was bringing a significant bulk of it down on the Covenant. Some said the UNSC was in a 'bloodthirsty state'. That HELLZONE II marked the first conflict of the UNSC being in a desperate state.

Even still, it likely would not be enough. Admiral Shepard had asked for more - a lot more, specifically in terms of fleet power. Unfortunately, he would not be getting it. Battle Group Zeta Echo was decent-sized, but it needed to be something even bigger for the task at hand.

They were going to war against a fortified Covenant supercomplex. A giga-structural shipyard located on a moon somewhere. There was a respectable Covenant fleet that guarded it, and a number of small flotillas that patrolled throughout the system and its edges. And on the surface of Magma V, there were two Covenant armies numbering in the tens of thousands, and they were dug-in well. A defense force, stationed there for the purpose of repelling a surprise UNSC attack.

There were no certainties about who the Covenant supreme commander might be. Likely an Elite General. Whoever it was, they would be going head-to-head against Admiral Shepard on better terms.

On Reach's surface, the atmosphere spoke a different story. While word of HELLZONE II had yet to spread across the UEG, the people of Reach were well-informed. They were excited. They expected the UNSC to crush the Covenant. That sentiment extended across all the bars, clubs, restaurants and other dive spots on the planet. Everywhere UNSC personnel went, they were treated like heroes who'd already won the War. Even those who weren't participating in the conflict. Spirits were high, and that was always a good thing. Even if mistaken.

Many of those who'd be going off for HELLZONE II would never see Reach - or any place else - ever again. Even generous estimates suggested that significant portions of the battlegroup would be destroyed in the first day. The losses were going to be staggering.