"How did you let this happen Admiral?!" a strong voice called out. It was a man with a deep tone, and the small TV screen showed on the wall. He was definitely a serviceman of high importance. He was bald, completely, and was in a white officer uniform, and clearly upset, "HIGHCOM is already wanting to shut this whole thing before all of this, and now The Swords are involved!"
"Lord Admiral," Lasky shook his head, "sir ONI suspects these 'Separatists' have been in trading and communication with the Banished for well over a year now."
"I am aware, we don't have the resources to support a full scale invasion, let alone a war. The Scales have the outer territories scared, and now a Field Marshall is involved."
Lasky titled to the side, running his hand through his short red hair, "this… is not any Field Marshal… he is an 'Okamee."
Now the other serviceman hesitated, glaring Admiral Lasky dead in the eyes, "are you sure?"
"Yes sir… and not just an 'Okamee, but the Kaidon. The one that was presumably dead and assumed to be killed in the Slipspace bomb on Reach."
"Well Admiral," he sighed, "Godspeed."
Noble Five sat down amongst a huge stack of metallic crates. The hangar around him was doing their own activities. Shipments moving, being organized, equipment and other stations worked on by engineers. But, in the midst, Jorge was there with his head low. His glorious armor shined in its awe and newity. But, this does not reflect his inner purpose. The dark gold visor would be a bright red if in the light. But, there he was, pondering.
He had been there for a while among the busy, in his deep thinking. His new AI William, even considered prompting him. But, the tone he could feel that Jorge was radiating was that one of missing so.
But finally after some time, Jorge leaned up slightly, eyes squinted through his helmet, "Tell me… what happened at Reach."
It took a moment to respond, and then did with a slight concern to his tone, "I don't know if I am cleared to do so."
"Tell me, I need to know."
Long Night of Solace - Halo: Reach
Pixelated sparks began to move inside his visor, forming a picture. And not just that, but a video tape. With this, they formed a pattern in shapes. As they did, one could tell this was a POV camera, from the visor of a Spartan. But not just any Spartan, Jorge immediately was familiarized. The setting was off, and definitely something he did not expect. The camera view shows the Spartan blocking his face from incoming fire, from a plasma weapon of some kind. Luckily most missed, but the cover of his hand was convenient.
The angle turned and up on top a huge metal structure and railing, looking to be a MAC cannon, stood a red elite. But this was not any elite, but a Zealot. It struck downwards to pierce the windshield, but was met with resistance. A sharp war-like scream, followed by shattered glass, the Sangheili lost his footing from where he stood.
It grunted falling onto his back. Coming out, Jorge's eyes went wide seeing him. This was Emile, Noble Four. His dark armor seemed worn and a little faded. The red especially, which has turned from a bright crimson, to now a faint burgundy. He aimed a shotgun to the elite's dazed face, and with one pull of the trigger, a loud boom and smoke cloud followed. It's face was torn asunder. Blood splattered, and the elite fell off and tumbled into the railing below lifeless.
Emile stood proud in his stance, and lowered his guard turning to face the fallen warrior, he taunted,
"Who's next?!"
But almost like an answer, a disgruntled reptilian growl came from behind. Another Zealot led a holy bright blade straight into the SIII's back, cutting through and out to the other side. Bright red blood splat forward as this blade literally piked him.
He groaned once, but enough to barely be heard. Jorge gasped, seeing his squad mate in such a state. But, Emile yanked the long curved Bowie Knife from his shoulder. Letting out a call to vengeance like Jorge had never heard, Spartan A239 wailed,
"I'm ready! How 'bout you?!"
With blood still leaking from his freshly seared wound, he held back most of the vocal pain. Stabbing his long knife directly into the beast's neck, he hung off of its shoulder. This blade made dead contact piercing through the shields and into his fleshy skin. Now this Sangheili welped in agony, and Emile made it worse. He pulled to the side, using his body weight, they both tumbled to the floor below out of view, as he clearly let out his last breath.
Quickly, the camera view changed to the left, to a pelican. On it, was a deck officer in his silver uniform holding a glowing blue metallic cylinder. It was beautiful at first glance, and would have been bewildered by most. Around him, a few marines in their side positions clearly wearing space veering gear.
Jorge could tell for a faint moment even through the recording, of something he had never seen before in his leader, doubt and fear. There may be no expression told through any visor or helm, when all you wear is one. Yet emotions slowly play out for others of the same kind to recognize.
"Come on luitenant, we need to get out of here!" cried out one of the marines.
This moment of fear and rush was quickly replaced by recognition and trust. It was something that he had not seen before in any Spartan, even in any sense of danger. They really were raised to be killing machines, and never knowing when to retreat. But now, Reach, this was not just a retreat, but a flee from the dreadful peril. Even then, the look on his emotionless face was simple. He did not seek glory or fame, or to be noted for any sense of honor. Or even vengeance for his fallen brethren. But it was through the will of his duty. The cost was expected, no, mandated if needed.
As the user shook his head in defiance, turning to the side nodding to Carter, he said, "Negative, I have the gun… good luck sir."
The officer neglected his honor, his true loyalty to his squad for a moment. Even though his mind was screaming to stop this Spartan, he dared not to.
the officer turned away, taking one look at his teammate, his newly made friend, for the very last time.
"Good luck to you Spartan."
With this, the pixels faded, and the camera view ceased its recording.
Jorge let out a single awkward sigh. One, single tear ran down out of his eye. He sniffled once, and glanced up slightly, "did they…"
William did not waste a second, "Jun A266 was the only member of Noble Team to have survived the Reach Invasion… Noble One, Two, Four, and Six are still registered as MIA. Further information is classified tier two."
He layed back up against the crate behind him a bit, "I… don't want to see anymore."
It was continuous, the mental torture. A hundred mixed feelings unfelt before by this SII. For the first time in all of his existence he was in total shut- down. Holding back his emotion, he tried to bury it like all the others. But this time, he could not. The death of Tom was hard enough. And now his entire team, no, his family?
He sat back, and contemplated. Time began to slow as he did this, or speed up. One really cannot tell the track of time when locked and diving deep into thoughts. As such, Jorge talked to himself within his head, anything to distract himself from what he had discovered. But, his mind and resolve came back to him as he did this, forcing him to ponder even harder on the topic.
Finally, he gave in after some time. And as Jorge did this, he mourned for them, one by one. Each image of each of his comrades went through his mind, and penetrated deep into his numb and tainted soul. Each Spartan and each memory he grieved he shed a single tear for. The most emotion he had felt in… decades.
No one dared to disturb the Spartan sitting in the hangar. Even amongst his noise that apparently he was making. Slight grunts turned to groans of agony of loss. Then to loud wails which he tried to hold back, but to no avail. This only made things worse, as he continued. Carter, Kat, Emile, and Six all went through memory after another through his slow and old mind. So many lost to this slaughter of a war. These men and women gave to the wind of God in hopes of finding penance. Noble Five looked up and into the ceiling, and stared at its detailed designs.
Each of these designs and indents within the metal formed faces, but not just any. In his head they slowly morphed beautifully into the faces of Noble Team and their users. Like clouds forming shapes and creatures, seemingly the metallic ceiling did the same. This added and began to build, and his eyes began to drift, as he closed them, for the first time in days, his mind and heart was still grieving with such ferocity. But his soul was at peace.
Remembrance - Halo 2
As he awoke, after an untold amount of time, Jorge glared around to his surroundings. The scene within the busy hangar had not even changed, and to Jorge's interest, he was surprised that he fell asleep. Let alone not to be dsiturbed by the others in the hangar. This area was strange to say the least. The more he looked at the men around, the more he felt like a ghost. Not like he was not seen at all (although ironically he was ignored anyway), but that his spirit felt misplaced, misjudged. 'He was human too', he would think to himself.
But this would only be a lie told even by his own very mind. He knew he was nothing like a human, at all. The only thing that we humans have in common with the legendary Spartans is one, single thing, family.
Jorge held onto his family so dear it was the only thing he cared for. So much so that even the loss of one would wreck the whole figurehead. The Spartan already felt distant from his own kind, but at least the others were like him. They were beyond just mere friends. Or even family for that matter, they were something far greater than anything else… home.
The Spartan willed himself after some time to stand up, and move out from the little shelter of a crate area which he inadvertently formed. As he walked slowly and void, he spoke with a soft tone, that a sad brother would during a funeral.
"Where is Jun?"
Yet, the AI took a moment with this one. Pausing, one could hear William through the register in the helm take a deep breath.
"Jun A266 is currently onboard this vessel, under the current care of Eva Dashew, the most prestigious bone care-therapist from Earth itself."
Be hesitated, as another recollection came to him. It was that of Jun, a day like any other. Although he could see clearly sitting on a bench groaning before trying to stretch his back. Then again, this was a long time ago, and Jorge himself had not thought much about it, until now.
"A bone-therapist? What is the point of that?"
"Under the current state of Jun A266…" William paused synthetically, then returned to the conversation, "he is dying. Bone cancer has overtaken most of his body. And although some forms of cancer are curable, a Spartan like Jun A266 would not be on this short list due to the nature of his condition."
Jorge shook his head, not believing what he was hearing, "show me… now."
"The medical wing is off-limits to uncleared military personnel."
"I am going there, whether I am cleared to or not."
Face tilted downward, Jorge began to walk. Heavy metallic step after another, the new armor which he wore did radiated as light reflected off. But not in a beautiful pattern for all to see. But it was almost hot, pure, brilliant and perfect in all its ways. The reflection in his visor was not that of excitement or hope for others when they looked, but of vengeance, of agony, of loss. People often say that the 'eyes are the window to the soul'. Remember, Spartans are not ordinary people either, and instead they have developed another way, a less human way.
The visor, for all servicemen and other Spartans, could tell this. It was not just the window, but the spirit reflection itself. In a sense, it's Who He Is.
As such, all made way as the giant Hungarian moved down the corridors. Light grey lights and walls illuminated the path, and he followed signs and markers, until he finally found the one with the giant red cross.
When he continued, the light grey corridor turned to an even brighter grey. With this in mind, Jorge knew he at least was in the right area.
William knew he could not stop this SII, but nevertheless, he at least would help, "he is in room 29."
"Thank you," Jorge mumbled.
For this area being 'restricted', none of the nurses in their white gowns and attires would question him. Despite the huge metallic being making quite a ruckus as he ambled. Even the doctors in their white hospital coats and light blue shirts would hesitate as he came by. Over all, in spite of the staring and surprised gazes, no one dared to stop Jorge.
Maybe they were scared to? Maybe he was cleared and he just was not notified? Or, they knew what he was here for…
Either or, he felt more like a ghost, no, a spirit as he walked among them.
Jorge would see the numbers of each room as he passed the strange medical wing. 'Room 21, 22, 23, 24, 25,'
One after another in their bold purple letters as he passed. Anxiety and impatience only grew with each sign. The area was thin, in the air at least for the SII.
But finally, the sign 29 appeared. This shot a bullet to his soul, and he felt butterflies in his stomach, but not the good kind.
Jorge reached for the door handle slowly, but to his surprise, it had opened in front of him. The white door on the silver metallic knob turned and came the holder. A woman stood in a doctoral suit and held a clipboard. She looked up to him, the light being blocked by such a huge body frame.
She took a deep breath and stuck up her hand gesturing for him to go inside. There was nothing to be said further from her.
As Jorge ducked a bit low to enter the room, the scene was dark. A normal hospital area, or at least a room. A small circular table in the left end with a lamp stand that was on, with one single chair next to it. Blinds covered the windows giving it an ominous shady look. But this was not an evil type of shady, but like a mournful, sorrowful one.
Paintings on the wall, and the lights off (expect the faint yellow lamp). In the center of the scene, was a bed, a hospital bed. A white blanket took its contents, and only a faded out head remained at the far end. Jorge ambled as quiet as he could, and bent down at the side of the bed.
The Unforgiven - Metallica
He had to bed over a bit, due to his huge size against a small frame. The man lying on this bed Jorge could barely make out any features in the dark.
He clearly was bald, that of any cancer patient. As he turned his head to face Noble Five, he spoke with an elderly, dying voice, "who are you?"
The Spartan slowly lifted his hands to his helm, and took it off. A whiff of the pressurized air was released, and Jorge placed it on the ground next to him. Noble Five took another inward pause, and spoke with most endearment, "it's me, Jun."
Like a voice of any tone a comrade could remember, Jun himself was stuttered. Immediately knowing this old lost friend, the old sick man got closer to Noble Five, and as he did, he could see his face clearly. His accent was most noticeable,
"Jorge…"
The soft old SII reached downward and held onto his hand, "Yes, it's me."
He would stay there for hours. They could hardly speak to each other. Jun found it hard due to cancer. And Jorge felt that he did not need to. This was too quiet, but a happy one. Jun was just glad to see his teammate here, like the Noble Team reunited for one last time.
Jorge would be kneeled there, and would hold onto Jun, for one last time. His friend, and companion here. Even still, this was enough for the both of them.
No one from the outside would disturb them, as if they knew what was going on. They did not need to, and Jorge needed this moment.
This was the first true emotion he had felt in years. Sure, recently he had felt some, but they were a mud-puddle and mesh of them all. But this time, he had one single feeling. Not grief, pain or loss, but that of clarity.
He knew there was nothing he could do. Nothing any doctor could ever do. By the 27th century cancer was still an issue unsolved. Jorge had a sense of mournful clarity… to say goodbye for a rude awakening. They were Spartans, but were not invincible. Jorge stayed there, kneeling beside his friend. Jun would hold as tightly as he could. It was still tighter than most men, but even then was obviously weaker. He struggled, and groaned more.
Jorge looked up, and to his surprise, Jun held something in his other hand, concealed in the dark. It was a book, a little worn along the brims. It was a dark brown, and had a symbol on it, most likely from the company that made it. He gave it to Noble Five, and as the book made contact with his wrist, Jun began to lose grip.
He let go, his hand falling back onto the bed. Jun breathed heavily, also letting go of the grip on Jorge's palm.
They would stay there, for a still untold amount of time. But finally, the hour had come. Jorge could hear as Jun's breath began to decrease, as this cancer overtook him. Noble Five could not say anything, he did not have enough willpower. But, as the moment faded, so did Jun.
The breathing turned to a whisper, and then to none. The ECG machine to the left went from a slight beep, to a long, soul piercing noise. Time slowed for Jorge here, never before to such a halt. He held the book tightly in his left hand, and still held onto Jun.
As this once mighty headhunter took his final breath, and for a moment, so did Noble Five. The clairity that Jorge had quickly dissipated, and the confusing emotions immediately came back. They swarmed his mind, his soul, and his very being. Tears began to flow down his face, and this felt odd, but in a good way. For decades he has been a government killing machine null and void of all emotions. Even still, experiencing this was right… in a sense. Like a crack in his icy heart, Jorge finally experienced something of true value, loss.
Family again was the most dearest. He put it above, his friends beyond anything else. With this in mind, he would not hesitate, would not question laying his life down for one of his Spartan brethren. But, now this cannot be possible, and it hits him to the core.
Jorge was helpless, and he felt even more so.
He stayed there, crying and alone for a while, in his dim Spartan armor, it dared not to reflect any color in the shadows. Head low and into the palm of his fallen comrade, he felt that his friend was lost to the wind.
The Song of Friendship and Family played in his head, and slowly turned to a faint whisper as the moment faded. It echoed away his soul, his very Geas. Casted into the Wind of Sorrows, Jorge felt the cold feeling around him.
This man was alone, for the good of himself, clarity and all other feelings there, and righteous ones at that. There was loss in his family today, and he was not prepared for it.
Yea… chapter fifteen is finished, and let it be a sombering one at that. I give mad respect to Jorge just for being able to withstand such a blow, as he was always known as the 'family guy'.
Anyway, No huge announcements for this chapter atm, other than that Ryloth is obviously coming up next, I am SO READY for this haha.
I know y'all want some comments done already, I won't waste any more time.
The first comment shout out for this chapter goes to none other than, the legendary… *drum roll*… Dragon Lord Syed 101 !
Oh yea man, thanks again for the first comment, bro like not even a half hour the chapter dropped lol. Ye WE ALL ARE READY!
Guest - oh yea man, I have much planned for this, all things stirring in the depths of my nerdy mind lol.
Thanks for the comments guys! You always know how much they mean to me!
With all of this, wow chapter 15 hah. Here we go now right? Twenty coming up fast. I feel like after Ryloth it might speed up, but idk just me.
But anywho, I hope y'all liked the chapter! If not, idk what to say hah.
Stay safe, stay healthy, and get ready to jump,
~NoXXiMillioN