Teaching Feeling

by A Salty Archer

They were both machines, killers created by higher causes, brought together for a singular purpose. But war has a way of changing things, and they will have to realize that there is more to life than the battlefield. The only question is, if they will be able to come to that realization before it's too late. (AU Delayed Human/Covvie War)

3. Chapter 3

Teaching Feeling

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Chapter 2: The Girl Soldier and Her First Mission (2/2)

February 20, 2530

Sylca Providence

26 Draconis System, Levosia

"Gold Lead, this is Overwatch, over."

Joshua went back into cover, Cal rising up from her position next to him to open fire at the Insurrectionist sniper team a few blocks from their position. "This is Gold Lead. Send it."

"Our scans show that the Senator's private residence is nearby the route to the SAM battery. We need you to go there and download the data off his personal computer. Do you have a TACPAD that can transmit the data?"

Puzzled, Joshua glanced at his team to see that Daisy, their infiltration specialist, indeed did have one attached to her forearm."That's an affirmative, Overwatch. Is this really mission-critical, though?"

"It's coming from people way above us. We can't question it, Petty Officer. Just do as your told. Out."

Underneath his helmet, Joshua scowled in annoyance. "Jerk. I dunno how John does it…"

"How John does what?" Cal asked as she finally got a headshot off the final sniper, looking down at Joshua questionably as she reloaded her rifle.

"Nothing," He sighed as he opened his TEAMCOM. "Listen up, guys, change of plans…"

---

"Leg it!" Kelly snapped as the Wolverine faced from the demolished building, turning toward her and Will's position.

They jumped from their cover, barely dodging the stream of napalm shot their way from the Hellbringers. The dirt around them popped as the remaining Insurrectionist and CG soldiers shot at them from their vantage points.

Kelly made it behind cover first, turning and releasing a long burst from her rifle, taking out a few of the shooters. She ducked down as Will jumped after her, barely dodging another stream of napalm sent his way.

"Damn," He grunted as he kept his head down, trying his best not to let any stray fire land on him. "These guys are making it a bit tough for us."

"Oh, I'm sure they're having a proper good time trying to kill us." Kelly snarked. "Can't get a good shot on those zippers on our tail."

Will gave a small gesture with his M247 General Purpose Machine Gun he had collected from the last battle. "Distract them for me, and I'll ping 'em with this."

She arched a brow under her helmet. "And the Wolverine?"

Will paused before shrugging. "…We'll get there, eventually."

Kelly rolled her eyes but still moved to maglock her shotgun against her back, pulling out her sidearm. "Don't miss."

"Don't get hit then."

"I won't."

The powerful muscles in Kelly's legs tightened before she burst out of her cover, the MJOLNIR enhancing her movements as she outran the napalm, bullets, and grenades that were immediately sent her way. Each time, she could feel each barely skim her heels as she made a beeline toward the anti-air tank.

Will took a moment to pop out of cover and let out a long burst from the GPMG. The 7.62mm caliber rounds smacked the fuel tank of one of the Hellbringers before penetrating, causing the trooper to burst into flames. Will didn't stop there, knowing their suits were flame-retardant but not bullet resistant and kept firing as the burning trooper jerked with each round penetrating their body.

The other Hellbringer noticed their partner hit the ground and immediately brought up their flamethrower to bear at Will. The GPMG clicked empty, causing the Spartan to grimace under his helmet as he chucked it at the enemy.

The weapon smacked the Hellbringers bulbous helmet dead center, shattering it and causing them to flinch and scream from the impact as the glass pierced her now exposed face.

Will jumped out of his cover and ran directly at the trooper, who noticed his advance and brought her back weapon back up.

The under-barrel launcher puffed out a grenade that hit Will directly in the chest before going off, the flashbang disorienting the Spartan. As his vision hurried to right itself, Will instinctively jumped to the left just as the flamethrower whistled and shot napalm where he was last standing. The stream followed him as he charged the figure he could barely make out.

Will grabbed the flamethrower just before the trooper could finish swinging it around his way. His free hand came down in a back hand smack on the Hellbringers neck, severing her spine and causing blood to gush out her nose and ears from the trauma. He could even see the blood vessels in her eyes burst as her body twitched sporadically.

Dropping the corpse, Will brought the flamethrower to bear at the remaining Insurrectionist soldiers firing from their overhead positions at Kelly. He fired all the remaining flashbangs in the weapon.

As soon as he heard their cries as they were stunned, he made his way up the adjacent stairs to their position. When he arrived, he doused them all in napalm, their piercing screams replacing their gunfire as he burned them all. Cooked flesh wafted in the air.

Kelly took advantage of the lull in bullets coming her way as well, boarding the Wolverine and peeling off the hatch with a single hand. The now exposed operator looked at her with wide eyes before he went to draw his sidearm. She put several rounds into him with her sidearm before he could, dropping several grenades inside and hopping off as they detonated, destroying the remaining anti-air tank.

"Blue-1, this is Blue-3." She called out on the TEAMCOM, watching as some of the burning Insurrection fell off the rail to a much faster death. "SAM battery is neutralized. What's your status?"

"This is Blue-2," Fred answered her instead. "Blue-1 is alive, but he's trapped under the rubble of the building the Wolverine destroyed. Need assistance."

What?

Kelly's breath hitched slightly, a ball of ice dropping into her stomach. She saw Will's head spin to her in alarm at the answer as well. "Roger that, Blue-3. We're on our way."

---

John forced back the feeling to panic as he stared at the debris surrounding him. While he was left relatively uninjured thanks to his armor, his limbs were pinned down by too much rubble, with a rather large piece crushing his chest.

There also felt like there was a chance he broke a rib, or at least, it felt like he did.

He squirmed, only to stop when a large amount of pain erupted by his diaphragm.

Well, that answers that.

With the lack of space and the massive weight, he wouldn't be able to dig himself out of this situation. All he could do at this point was lament his position as he heard the fighting outside.

It was getting really, really hard for him to breathe there.

It was a relief to John when light began to peak through the gaps of the debris as his team dug their way to him. The weights holding his limbs down were quickly removed as the rest of the rubble was swiftly thrown to the side.

"We've got him!"

"Easy, easy."

"Chief! Chief!"

He had to do his best to push away the guilt in his mind when he heard the slight panic in their voices as they continued digging him out of his predicament.

"Push up as we pull, got that?"

"Yeah…" John grunted as he finally got to place his now free hands on the large pillar of rubble pinning him down amongst the rest of the wreckage. "Waiting on you, guys."

"Alright, on three. One. Two—!"

John had to barely push as the weight was removed from his body almost effortlessly, the strength of four Spartans being more than enough for something that should have taken two at most.

An armored hand was thrust in front of him, and John took it with a grunt as he was pulled onto his feet, the remaining debris falling from his form.

He immediately noticed the pair of Hellbringer corpses on the ground, their slit throats and pierced visors showing him of Fred's handiwork.

"The Chief—is, okay?"

A hand was placed onto his thigh armor, and John looked down.

He paused, his eyes widening slightly.

The stoic, doll-like face of the weapon he had grown used to seeing the last few months was gone. Instead, he could only see that of a small girl who stared at him through her golden bangs with her huge blue eyes, a look of fear and anxiety in them as they wandered his form for further injuries.

All because he got caught under some rubble.

It caught him unprepared, and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

No words escaped him, no matter how much he tried.

Another hand fell on his shoulder.

Kelly stared at him, concern radiating from her body language. "John?"

He swallowed before nodding, his hand falling on top of Violet's. "…I'm fine. Was the SAM battery taken care of?"

Kelly's hand slid off his shoulder, her helmet moving up and down. "Yeah, Fred got with Joshua and confirmed that the east site was just destroyed as well. The SPD Pelican is already closing in on Lieutenant Dubbo's platoon."

"Good. What's the situation with the Colonial Guard Pelican from the other providence?"

"En route. It's making its way to Gold team first, then us."

"Good, what's our status?"

"Green. Nothing that'll be worse than a bruise. What about you? I heard you got nicked in the back?"

John ignored the lingering burns he could feel down his spine with every breath he took. As their leader, he couldn't allow his Spartans to detect any weakness. "Nothing some rest won't heal."

Don't let them see you bleed.

Sam's words would forever stick themselves to John's psyche.

The small digits of the hand he held squeezed his fingers, Violet's face melting into a relaxed look that betrayed her relief. "Thank—goodness."

He then noticed the burns on her hands, flipping them over to better look at the palms. "How did this happen?"

"Your Violet—tried to save—Chief from the fire."

He vaguely remembered the attempt but still shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that. My armor would've protected me from the worst of it."

"But—"

"No. I told you to think before you act. Think of it as a standing order from now on. Can someone bring me some bandages?"

Will moved, rummaging an IFAK from one of the corpses nearby while Fred moved to pull security around the area.

All the while, Kelly watched John. Observing how he removed the bandages from the pack before carefully wrapping Violet's small hands with rapt care. He even went as far as to make sure they wouldn't get in the way of her fighting as he did.

And how the girl stared at him as he did so.

Kelly couldn't help but comment on it.

"Seems like you two got close during our little trip, yeah?"

John didn't glance up at her, too engrossed in his work.

"She's my subordinate, Kelly. I'd do the same for any of you."

Kelly shook her head, about-facing and walking off to assist Fred and Will in securing the perimeter.

"I know. That's what makes it odd, innit?"

He didn't hear her mutter as he finished tying the bandages. He gave her a once over to make sure there were no lingering injuries he had missed.

"Your Violet will make herself stronger—so do not get hurt—again."

Violet's face was back to its normal stoic appearance when he glanced at her, though there was a slight shine in her eyes that told him she was being completely serious.

Well, more than usual, at least.

His finger went under and gripped the chinstrap of her helmet, giving it a slight tug and letting it smack her face. Her brows scrunched up in confusion, her nose reddening from the hit.

"Worry about yourself first. I don't need you to look after me. I can take care of myself." He got up onto his feet, checking his ammunition as he made his way to his team. "Besides, what did I say about talking about yourself in third person. Use 'me' or 'I' when—"

"I shall never—leave your side. I will become strong—and fight."

He paused for a millisecond at her resolved tone but kept moving forward.

The image of the anxious and desperate girl he saw a few minutes ago almost seemed like an illusion compared to the almost machine-like weapon at his side now.

Still, it gave him a sort of hope, strangely enough. That there was more to Violet than he could possibly understand right now.

"Blue Lead, this is Overwatch, over."

Then Lieutenant Matthews called him, and any good feelings were quickly dashed away as he was informed of the situation with the Hammer Team.

---

First Lieutenant Charlotte Dubbo has seen her fair share of shit growing up in Australia. Aside from having to play the guessing game of what wildlife would crawl up her toilet to bite her in the ass, she also had to deal with the drama of having a piece of shit mother who tried to royally fuck her hardworking father at the tender age of six.

Of course, when the divorce papers came down and the court asked her who she wanted to stay with, Charlotte immediately pointed to the man who was a staple of her life. The look on the cheating slut's face as she did so would never cease to bring her vindication.

But less could be said about her two younger brothers that were taken instead. They were never to be seen again by her and her father.

The whole experience, while ending in a less than ideal way, left her with a solid moral compass when it came down to loyalty.

A trait that later got her implicated in a case of attempted identity theft that led her staring down the eyes of Detective Mark Scholtz after her last high school rugby game. All because she trusted the wrong person who ended up using her laptop for their own gains while leaving her as the scapegoat.

Scholtz was quick to figure out what exactly had happened and eventually convinced a stubborn Charlotte of the truth, who had a hard time believing that someone who she considered a 'close friend' would do such a thing to her.

So, like any good lass, she later found the two-faced cunt and stomped a proper hole in her gapper.

Eventually, he was able to take her under his wing, get her off some serious charges, and offhandedly suggest to her the UNSC Marine Corps during a casual conversation. One that ended up piquing her interest.

Scholtz had a brother who also was in the Marine Corps, who sat her down and explained to her that the military wasn't just for people who couldn't hack it in society as Charlotte had thought.

When he brought up the fact that the Corps was always looking for people loyal and stubborn as she was, she made the decision that had her on a transport to Parris Island straight out of her high school graduation.

Charlotte wouldn't lie and say that the Marine Corps didn't have its fair share of dummies and criminals, even having the honor of meeting a few of those exceptional individuals during boot camp. Though, her time in boot camp had been life-altering. Her Drill Instructor, Riley 'Mama' Street, had taken a liking to a good cunt like her, and after driving her to an inch of death, practically ordered her to apply for Orbital Drop Shock Trooper school.

Long story short, she was accepted, and she served three planetary tours while earning a Purple Heart and a Silver Star—all while working on a college degree.

After seven years enlisted, she got picked up to go to Officer Candidate School, which would've made her crack a fat had she the right parts stuffed in her knickers.

Then she passed, and some fuckheads in Administration got the bright idea to offer her a desk job.

Damn crooks. They'd advertise it like a promotion, even hinted that a 'little 'ol thang' like her wasn't meant to stay on the battlefield. She wasn't that small; she was only five-three, for Christ's sake. Her German Shepard, Sledge, was more of a killer than these jackoffs.

Charlotte had tried to be polite, saying what an honor it was to be offered a desk job after engaging in some of the most exciting, adrenaline-pumping operations known to mankind. Yeah, what an honor it would be to squint at application files and replace office supplies instead of thwarting the efforts of those who wished to terrorize and control others.

Then she finished it by telling them to suck a dick.

Alright, so she wasn't being that polite. To be fair, she was already having a cunt of a day dealing with her time of the month when they called her in. Not to mention that years living on the field and contending with the ironies of life left her somewhat unfiltered when dealing with the leery remarks of pussyfooted fucksticks who looked down on those who kept their nose in the dirt while they enjoyed AC office units and freshly brewed coffee.

The naive high school introvert had finally grown up.

But nothing in her seven-year career had prepared her to fight a whole city gunning for her life with a single platoon as support.

All for some dumb cunt who couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"They just keep coming!" Hammer Team's machine gunner, Corporal Marco Sanchez, snapped as he continued to fire burst after burst of his M739 SAW.

"Just keep firing! Those fancy armor-wearing cunts just reported that they just took out the last SAM site! Our rides on the way, kiddos!" Dubbo barked as she slapped in a fresh magazine, ducking her head as a light anti-aircraft round pierced through the concrete she was taking cover behind of. "Ramirez! I thought I told you to take care of that Warthog!"

"R-Right! I—" The ODST cursed as the concrete in front of him burst into a cloud of dust, causing him to wobble a bit. "Fuck this guy! Anyone got a 40 mike-mike?!"

A shell was rolled to him, to which the Lance Corporal quickly grabbed and stuffed into his M301 grenade launcher. As soon as there was a lull in the gunfire, he popped out of his cover, and hip fired the shell directly into the Warthog, blowing it and its occupants into pieces.

"Goddamn!" Private First-Class Sigurd Gonzalez, one of the artillery crewmembers, cried out at seeing the impressive hit. "Nice one, amigo!"

"Suck it, Innies!"

"Who's your daddy!?"

"Ay! Leave some for me!"

"Contacts! Coming out of the side alley!"

It's just one thing after another, ain't it?

"Focus on your sectors of fire!" Dubbo barked, a single pull from her rifle hitting an Innie soldier straight in the head, causing him to point his rocket launcher down and pull the trigger, killing the three others with him. "How many illuminations do we have left?!"

"Two more, ma'am!" Salo replied, panic edging his tone. "After that, we'll be blind!"

"I'M HIT!"

Dubbo's response died in her throat when she heard the one cry all leaders dreaded to hear. She quickly whipped her helmet to the side just as Staff Sergeant William Moore hit the ground, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

"MEDIC!"

At the same time, voices exploded through her radio.

"Hammer Actual, this is Hammer 2-1! The enemy is coming through our flank in the south!" Called first squad's team leader, Sergeant Aaron Baker. "Can't get a shot from here! Need orders!"

"Hammer Actual, this is Red Cross-1! Got two men down," Reported Lance Gustav, the platoon's senior medic. "We need to medevac these guys, now!"

"Hammer Actual, I'm out of ammo! Oh God—one of them is aiming a rocket—!"

The last voice belonged to Raul Hernandez, one of the engineers in the platoon, who was cut off as second squad's portion of the rooftop lit up adjacent to Dubbo's position. The ground shook, and a powerful explosion boomed as showers of shrapnel and debris needled the ODST's.

They really want to kill this guy.

The terrorists had sent their people like fodder, be it rioters or soldiers.

When one cunt fell, another would grab their dropped equipment and continue their work. They didn't care how many were taken out by her team, so long as they killed them and the Senator.

Willing herself not to panic, she reminded herself of who she was and all the battles and training she had been through. 1st Lieutenant Charlotte Dubbo took command of the ODST platoon. "This is Hammer Actual, listen up! Baker, you and the rest of first squad get second's wounded and get them off the roof. Third squad, keep providing cover! Ramirez, Mitchel, and Hernandez, on me! Move out!"

One platoon, four squads, one of them acting as an artillery, leaving her with a good twenty-one guns under her command minus those who became casualties. If she could pull this off correctly, then Dubbo could lead her newly made squad to find a way to get the pressure off the rest of the platoon. The police station would not hold for much longer.

Another rocket howled, barely missing her head when she stood, leaving her ears ringing as a result.

"Hammer Actual, this is Red Cross-2." Radioed in the platoon's assistant medical sergeant, Rick Myers. "Domingo and Munoz are good to go, but Hernandez, Brown, and McCormick are gone, ma'am. Hit by the last rocket. No pulse!"

No time to tally the dead, much less morn. All that Dubbo knew was that she needed support—air, ground, anything—and she needed it now. She acknowledged Myers's call and switched frequencies, calling up the Chief Petty Officer's 'Blue Team.' They would be much closer than the 'Gold Team' that went to the east about a good twenty klicks away. "Blue Lead, this is Hammer Actual, over."

She waited, the sound of her own breathing becoming too loud for her ears as the withering gunfire continued to hit their position. The shrill shriek of another rocket sounded, barely missing her cover and flying off into another building behind them.

"Hammer Actual, this is Blue Lead. I've heard of what's happening. Gold and Blue team are moving to your location, but we've encountered heavy enemy resistance. ETA about ten minutes."

BOOM! Another rocket was fired against the police station. If they kept increasing in frequency, all the Insurrectionists had to do was just collapse the building from under them and kill them while they were incapacitated.

It was a sobering thought.

"Roger that, Blue Lead. I've got a lot of ODST's down. Need you and an evac ASAP." She made sure to drop a waypoint his way. "Don't be late, mate."

"We're running, ma'am."

"Good on ya! Hammer Actual, out!"

Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117—real identity covered in as much black ink as humanely possible.

This was Dubbo's first time working with the rumored 'freaks' of the UNSC. She had been more than well acquainted with the story of one of them killing three Shock Troopers and paralyzing another, all supposedly because they got in the way of their gym time.

Well, that was one version of the story that went around, at least.

Word had spread that they were ONI's personal psychotic hitmen, that they ate babies, chewed glass, kicked old people to the ground, and were the sort that didn't put down the toilet seat after they were done.

Oh, the horror…

While not one for rumors, Dubbo was less than enthused to be attached to a military outfit with so much shit slandering them. Still, she decided that she would form her own unbiased opinion, fully aware of how full of shit people in her outfit can be when they get put in their place.

So far, aside from her wishing that they would hurry the hell up before they all got killed, she believed that they were a reasonably competent bunch. At least, as competent one could be with fancy-schmancy armor helping them out.

Dubbo wondered what she had to do to get one and if there was a height limit of some type, given the huge statures of each Spartans that wore the armor.

Short stacks need love too.

Which then brought her thoughts to the lovely little murder machine that seemed to be determined to all but attach herself to 117's side.

For that, she just hoped that there was a proper explanation for. Dubbo would hate to start having doubts about the system she and many others fought and paid the ultimate sacrifice for.

Ramirez and Mitchel hustled and took a knee next to Dubbo.

Joseph Mitchell was a friendly-faced Martian who generally kept his upbringing to himself. Truth be told, his appearance, jovial attitude, and skills helped hide the many insecurities he had with the idea of leading others in the future.

Angel Antonio Ramirez came to her as a bright-eyed, baby-faced Venezian farm boy who supposedly got into trouble when he was fresh out of Shock Trooper school when he insulted some grizzled NCO's AC/DC collection. Had him running laps till the sun set, and he all but passed out from dehydration.

Guy's name, Staff Sergeant something—Johnson, she couldn't remember it right now.

Unfortunately for Ramirez, he was also cursed with being too competent in whatever he was told to do. She would make sure to wring him for what he was worth until he was made into an exemplary leader.

Dubbo eyed the both of them, drenched in sweat like she was, their depolarized visors showing their bugged-out eyes, breath ragged.

"We'll be going down to the rear entrance to cut off the bastards hitting our flank and buy them Spartan's some time to get to us. If worse comes to worst, we make a hole that our guys and the Senator's people can move through once we run out of illumination rounds."

"Just us?" Ramirez breathed, puzzled. "Innies almost wiped out second squad with how hard they hit them."

"Only saw muzzle flashes on the way here, ma'am." Mitchell intoned. "No telling how many there were yet, damn."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Dubbo replied, putting more confidence in her tone. "We'll come around and tag their asses. That simple. You ready?"

"Ma'am, you sure about this?" Asked Mitchell.

"Of course, she's sure!" Replied Ramirez. "Shut up, foo!"

"Now, I'm just saying—"

"Mitchell, I'm sure." Dubbo cut off, putting some real steel in her voice. "Now, move!"

Visors polarized, and they raced down out the building to the back entrance facing the south, keeping themselves low as they placed themselves behind cars and barricades.

Darkness grew as the current illumination round in the air dimmed and fizzled to nothingness. With the lack of light, their armor helped them blend in with the shadows.

Dubbo peeked over her cover, aiming her rifle at the silhouettes running toward their position in between buildings.

Ramirez and Mitchell did the same, the former already having a finger prepped to fire his M302.

"Got a dozen in my sight," Ramirez said.

"Me too," Mitchell added.

The silhouettes got closer, twenty meters.

Then ten.

No doubt these asshats think they're in the clear.

The mortar released a dull thump, and there was a whistle as the round launched high into the air.

"FIRE!" Dubbo cried out, breaking the silence as their MA5C's echoed and flashed, their bullets hungrily chewing the air until they caught flesh, Ramirez's 40mm shell whistling into the air before detonating. The illumination round exploded, exposing the area.

The enemy was caught off guard, at least seven of them dying in a hail of bullets and a 40mm before the rest dashed to cover. Dubbo barely got to blink twice before incoming fire slammed against her cover, causing her to hunker down.

"Cover me!" Ramirez's voice crackled through the comm. "I'm moving up!"

"I've got you covered!" Mitchell replied. "Move!"

Mitchell's SAW roared as Ramirez burst out of his cover, and Dubbo's stomach flipped as a quadruplet of gunfire cracked too close for comfort to the young ODST. He barely made it, sliding across the dirt on a knee as he hip-fired and killed two Innies like he was in some type of movie.

"SET!" Ramirez barked as he slammed into cover, barely evading the hail of bullets sent his way.

It was a smooth move, Dubbo had to admit, but that didn't change the fact that she was going to wring him by the goddamn neck when they got back.

Who the hell did he think he was, pulling stupid shit like that?!

He's gonna be in tears once I'm done with him.

"I'm moving up!"

"I've got you covered!" Dubbo replied to Mitchell's call. "Move—!"

Tink, tink…

Her eyes went wide when a horrifyingly familiar sound hit her ears. Her eyes landing on the shape of an M9 HE-DP rolling to a stop two meters away from her.

BOOM! It went off just as she got three steps away from it, sweeping her off her feet and sending her tumbling onto her face. As she struggled to sit back up, pain flared in her leg, causing her to hunch over as she sucked in a breath.

"Gh!" Dubbo looked down, only to see a large part of shrapnel from the fragmentation grenade sticking out of her thigh. "Shit! Motherfu—Arggh! Bugger!"

Luckily for her, despite the pain, it didn't seem like it nicked any arteries. It didn't mean that she wasn't out of the frying pan just yet, though, even as more adrenaline surged through her body.

"I've got ya, ma'am!" Mitchell's voice reached her ears as she looked up, seeing him make his way over to her while crouched low.

"I'm fine! Get back into the fight—!" Her voice died out as the car he passed was hit with gunfire. The ODST gasped and shook as the bullets tore through the vehicle and into his chest for a second. He collapsed a few feet away from her.

"Joseph!" Ramirez cried out in the radio before he dumped a whole magazine in a futile attempt to provide them with covering fire.

Just then, another voice rattled off into her ear. "Hammer Actual, this is Red Cross-1! We have to fall back! Say again; we have to fall back! We're getting pinned down here, and they just brought more technicals. Sounds like they've got plenty of rounds for their machine guns, too. We won't last long here. We need support, now!"

"C'mon, Joseph. Get up, hermano!" Ramirez gasped.

Dubbo rolled onto her hip, took one look at Mitchell, and knew. The dark puddle of liquid growing around his body was Mitchell's blood.

She could hear Ramirez dump another magazine, no doubt desiring payback.

"Ramirez! Hold your fire and get your ass back here, you git!" Dubbo snapped as she got on her radio. "Blue Lead, this is Hammer Actual, over!"

No response this time. She waited before she tried again. She cursed and tried one more time just as Ramirez got himself ready to make a mad dash toward her position.

Nothing.

"Move!" She ordered Ramirez, holding the trigger of her MA5C, pointing toward the enemy as he ran, rounds tearing into concrete and grass around them.

"Hammer Actual, this is Red Cross-1. Too late, ma'am. We just lost another two, and I've been hit. Red Cross-2 is assisting, but I'm bleeding pretty bad, Lieutenant. I can't stop it. You need—"

The transmission broke off as a loud explosion came from the police station rooftop, followed by several screams as another went off. Dubbo and Ramirez had to hug their cover as debris showered them from above, plopping against their feet.

"Mortars!" Someone screamed into the TEAMCOM.

For the first time in her life, Charlotte Dubbo doubted that her courage, skill, and audacity would be enough to carry her through. Her eyes burned something fierce as the senior medic's voice broke one last time through the radio. "Lieutenant, I'm dying, man. Please…"

We're getting slaughtered out here.

To her future shame, when Dubbo opened the radio one more time, her voice cracked with a desperation she hadn't felt since her first mission as a Private First Class. "Damn it, Chief!? Where are you!?"

A roar of Pelican's engines suddenly sounded as it flew in between the building surrounding them, its nose cannons burping out rounds against the enemy as it swooped down low. Four green figures jumped out of the cargo bay and hit the ground, firing their weapons the entire time.

For a moment, Dubbo's breath hitched as the four Spartans landed on their feet, butchering all the enemies in front of them. They almost looked like the warriors of their namesake as they took on the enemy's gunfire, but instead of spears and swords, these wielded rifles.

"We're here."

---

The Chief fired the Jackhammer he had relinquished off the rocket team his team had sneaked behind and killed. It hit one of the Warthogs laying heavy fire on the police station, destroying it and killing the nearby soldiers with the explosion.

A Falcon swooped overhead, joining the Colonial Guard Pelican in laying down heavy fire against the insurgents, a crack of a sniper rifle firing nonstop as heads exploded and blood burst with every shot fired.

Above them, the SPD Pelican circled, making sure to stay out of the distance of any air artillery.

"Kill them."

A now helmetless and worn Violet ran forward at the Chief's mutter as Will tore off the AIE-486 machine gun from its emplacement and laid heavy fire on the enemy. The rioters noticed Violet run at them and turn their weapons on her, but most were killed as she fired at them with the last bullets of her MA57, their blood bursting in the air as she dropped the now empty weapon and drew her knife.

The gunner on the up-armored Warthog noticed Violet a second too late as her knife sliced through his Achilles heel before finding itself lodged in his throat and torn out when he fell.

Violet dropped a grenade and moved on, leaving the Warthog as it exploded, jumping higher than her stature should've allowed, planting her knee onto another Insurrectionist's face, caving it in.

While still in the air, her knife stabbed underneath his jaw as he fell. Blood bubbled and spurted as she removed it with a twist, grabbing the dropped DMR and dropping to her side as a bullet whizzed by her head.

She shot out the knees of the two soldiers trying to flank her, putting a bullet in their skulls when they collapsed screaming. Violet rolled out the way as her position was pelted with bullets, the dust and pieces of concrete pelting her skin as she rolled under another Warthog.

Stopping, Violet pointed her DMR under what she believed to be the gunner's position and fired round after round, a gasp sounding above her before a body fell off the back of the Warthog, twitching.

She pulled him close by the leg and stabbed his throat five times with her knife for good measure.

All around her, the once confident Insurrectionists and rebels were now frantically screaming and shouting. Their vehicles and mortar positions destroyed one after the other. The Chief's team pushed their way through the Northside of the complex, while the 'Gold Team' pushed through the Southside.

Raising her arm, Violet quickly wiped off the blood and hydraulic fluid that the Warthog had spilled when her bullets penetrated the bottom, dragging herself from underneath while sheathing her knife and pulling a grenade from the dead gunner's vest.

Getting onto her feet, she jogged to the nearest mortar team's position, who was far too distracted with returning fire at the Chief's advancing team to notice her almost casual approach.

For that, she primed the grenade and dropped it by their artillery shells before going on her way. A single scream sounded before an explosion erupted from behind her, an arm hitting the ground next to her.

Violet grabbed the limb and flipped it as she charged another group of enemies, swinging the severed arm at one of them. The splintered radius and ulna bones were stabbed into the throat of a gawking soldier before she threw it at another, causing them to scream in fright.

That scream was quickly caught off as her last round of 7.62 blew their brains out.

She held the now empty weapon by the buttstock and launched it at the other soldier, smacking him across the face as she ran at the remaining one with her knife drawn.

The female soldier released a gasp and a scream as Violet's knife sank upwards into her groin, dropping her weapon as the child-soldier jerked the blade upwards to her stomach before tearing it out and stabbing her several more times.

Noticing the other soldier she had launched her weapon to begin to recover, Violet removed the knife and primed a grenade on the female soldier's vest before pushing off her, throwing her blade at the last soldier.

It sank into his jugular, and Violet tackled him over to the other side of his cover as the female Insurrectionist exploded into a bloody mess of gore and limbs.

Bits of internal organs and flesh hit them as they hit the ground, and Violet attempted to remove her knife, only for the enemy to apprehend her wrist and roll her over. His hands found their way around her throat as he pressed his entire weight into strangling her, a frenzied look in his eye as blood spilled from his throat as she struggled and gasped.

Unable to reach the knife lodged in his throat from her position, she quickly locked her wrists around one of his elbows and pulled. The arm went straight before bending awkwardly with a snap, causing him to release a strangled scream as his hold loosened.

Violet quickly ducked from under his body and swung herself with her legs onto his back, drawing his strangely curved knife from his waist and stabbing it into the back of his skull. The Innie released a few convulsions as she twisted the blade, snapping his spine, before removing it.

With the enemy now dead, Violet quickly wiped away the various body fluids and bits of meat from her face as she ducked behind cover.

That was when the Chief slid into cover next to her, barely glancing at her handiwork. "The SPD Pelican just touched down. They're extracting Hammer Team and the Senator. Gold Team will be joining them, too, so we'll have to fight our way to our secondary extraction at the gas station for the Colonial Guard Pelican when they're good to go. Understood?"

Violet absentmindedly nodded, as she wasn't given orders—just an explanation, picking up a discarded magnum on the ground. "Yes. I will —fight."

The Chief stared for a moment before turning around with a nod, but not before telling her. "Stay close."

A pair of lips twitched. A heart thudded.

His sheer presence brought a sense of comfort, even with all the violence around her.

His words, her lifeline.

"Yes."

---

"Blue Leader, this is Overwatch. Hurry it up. The UNSC has officially mobilized a battlegroup to deal with the situation in Sylca in response to confirmed Insurrectionist presence. You have less than twenty minutes to disappear before conventional forces touch ground."

"Copy that, Overwatch. Blue Lead, out." John replied as he fired a 40mm from his newly acquired M139 grenade launcher, destroying the last Warthog. As he broke open the weapon to breach load a fresh shell, Violet finished stabbing an Insurrectionist soldier nearby, finishing him off with a round to the head.

He idly took note of how much she seemed to prefer CQC when she had the opportunity. Her ability to work with a much smaller frame certainly going in her favor.

Maybe Fred could help out with some lessons?

John dismissed such idle thoughts for the moment, maglocking the M139 to his back as he brought his assault rifle to bear, his bullets tearing through the survivors of the explosion.

He watched as the SPD Pelican finally broke away from the Colonial Guard one, moving to the Southside of the police station.

John opened his comm. "Hammer Actual, this is Blue Lead. Status?"

"We're almost done bugging out!" Dubbo answered, voice faint as gunfire boomed in the background. "VIP is on the Pelican, but we just need to transport the last of our casualties onboard!"

His grip on his weapon tightened at hearing that. They now had men down in the field because his team took too long to arrive.

Unacceptable.

"Roger that, we'll be on standby and continue to provide support until then."

"Give us a minute! I'll send the signal when we're ready to RTB, over!"

"Copy that, Hammer Actual. Out."

John noticed how Violet suddenly tensed up before Fred jumped over his cover into a crouch next to him.

"What's the word?" Fred asked, his head bobbing forward a bit as a stray round pinged off his cover.

"A UNSC battlegroup just entered the system, so we've got to hurry this up before conventional forces arrive. Hammer Team just needs to bring up the last of their casualties into the Pelican, and we can disengage and move to the rally point for extract."

Fred looked over his cover, two Scorpion tanks entering the field flanked by several Mastodon APCs filled with rebel CG soldiers. "They might want to hurry up on that. They're bringing their heavy-hitting friends."

If they're bringing the big toys, enemy air support's not gonna be far behind.

"It'll be fine." John masked his own worries by dismissing Fred's. "We have plenty of ordinance to work with here."

Another crack of a sniper rifle also reminded John of Linda above them in the SPD Falcon, providing sniper support. He could already see Kelly and Will move with seized M41 SPNKR launchers over their shoulders, engaging the tanks headed their way.

Missiles streaked as they fired, both of them hitting one of the Scorpions and reducing it to scrap metal. The remaining Scorpion was already moving backward evasively as the Spartans fired the SPNKR's second barrel.

One missile hit the Scorpion dead on, while the second barely missed. It instead skimmed against the canopy and hit the Mastodon coming in from behind it, the subsequent explosion engulfing the vehicle, killing all who were inside it.

John cursed under his breath as the tank's main cannon was pointed in their direction. "Move!"

The two Spartans and child soldier jumped from their cover as it was obliterated by a 90mm shell, the explosion sweeping them off their feet into a tumble. Fred quickly shifted his center of balance to roll back to his feet, looking a bit unsteady as he did so; the following shrapnel bounced off his armor.

John and Violet, however, weren't so lucky. A small piece of shrapnel stabbing itself into the breached part of John's burnt back while Violet's exposed forearms were pricked and needled by several small pieces of concrete and scrap metal. They both slammed against the floor rather harshly but were quick to get on their feet as the pain settled in.

"Ngh," John grunted as he reached behind, feeling the piece of metal wriggle and move inside of him as he pulled it out. He let out a small gasp as he tossed it to the side, pressing a bloodied hand against the wound as he removed an IFAK off a dead rebel CG soldier nearby. He quickly slapped the trauma bandage onto his wound as soon as he found it, his helmet hiding his wince as he hissed out a breath.

Damn flamethrowers.

He saw the wounds littering Violet's arms and felt his chest flip uncomfortably. He addressed Fred as he apprehended her arms when she tried to dislodge the shrapnel with her teeth. "Get with the team and deal with that tank!"

Fred's HUD light winked in acknowledgment as he took off, firing his DMR as he engaged the enemy.

With no time to waste, John tried his best to wriggle out the pieces of metal and concrete obtrusions in Violet's flesh as gently as he could. Luckily for her, it didn't seem like they struck deep enough to pierce bones or arteries.

He didn't miss the winces on her face as her arm reflexively tried to jerk itself from his grasp. "I know, I know. It hurts, but we'll have to deal with it now until we get back on the Atlas. Okay?"

"Y-Yes," Violet replied, even as she bit her lip hard enough to bleed as he pulled out another piece, ceasing her struggling. She allowed him to do what he had to, having complete trust in her Chief. "I understand."

John forced himself to work through his guilt, his tactical mind soundly pushing away any distracting thoughts from forming. He grabbed the roll of bandages from the IFAK once her arms were relatively free of shrapnel.

He quickly wrapped them, her blood quickly soaking through the bandages as he tied them off. "You able to keep fighting?"

She flexed her fingers and made a fist with both her hands, only the slightest hitches in her movements revealing the extent of her injuries in her forearms. "I am—there are no issues."

They rearmed themselves and pushed to cover just as John's mike flared on. "Blue Lead, this is Hammer Actual. We're up in the air! Your boys are headed your way! See you on the Atlas!"

John's head snapped to the SPD Pelican rising from the police station, a yell on the tip of his tongue as the Scorpion tank turned its cannon. It quickly died when it imploded as Kelly's SPNKR rocket struck it, a sigh of relief escaping his lips instead.

From the main entrance of the police station, Gold Team emerged, engaging the enemy alongside Blue Team.

"Roger that, Hammer Actual. See you on—" He trailed off as the SPD Pelican flew away, spotting two AV-19 Skyhawks pass by several buildings toward the fleeing Pelican, the Sycla Colonial Guard symbol crossed off and replaced by a giant red fist. "Hammer Actual! Enemy aircraft on the way to engage! Tell the pilots to fly low and conduct evasive maneuvers!"

Of all things!

Of course, he was right about the air support! It could never be simple!

"Wha— Oh shit! Incoming!"

John's heart leaped to his throat as the Skyhawks opened fire on the lone Pelican, one even firing a Scorpion-guided missile that stuck the engine. It exploded, causing the Pelican to spin out of control as it was fired upon, vanishing behind the buildings as it descended. A boom sounded, signaling the crash.

Not another one.

"Hammer Actual!" John opened the comm, the Spartan Team's firing at the Insurrectionist as another wave came to engage them. "Hammer Actual, respond! Lieutenant!"

After a few tense seconds of exchanging fire with the enemy, the mike keyed to Dubbo wheezing into it. "We're alive, Chief. Barely. Pilots are dead, poor wankers, and we've got too many wounded to carry on from the crash." A pause. "…Two of the Senator's staff died, the injured lady and a young lad. The VIP is good, just took a smack on the nose."

"Roger that, we're belaying our extraction and moving to your location." John looked up as the friendly Colonial Guard Pelican lit his form with its spotlight.

With the zone too hot for an extract and lacking proper communications with the pilots, he made a circular gesture with a flat hand before extending his arm toward the direction of the crash site. The light turned off as the Pelican turned and flew in that direction, staying low in-between the buildings.

"Air support is on the way, Lieutenant. Keep the Senator safe till we arrive. "

A choked laugh. "Appreciate it, mate. We'll try our hardest to die a little slower, but there's a large wave of Innies heading in our direction, wanting to change that. So, put a little pep in your swagger, yeah?"

"Just hang on, ma'am." John looked up when he saw the Skyhawks fly high and turn, facing their position as they descended. "Look sharp, Spartans. Skyhawks are coming back to strafe us."

"I see 'em," Grace replied through the TEAMCOM, Will handing her reloaded SPNKR launcher as she hefted it toward the incoming enemy. "Hey, let me get a shot at this. If Linda's got the one on the left, I got the one on the right. You can help if you want, though, Kelly."

John let Grace do what she wished for the moment, fully aware that denying the Spartan's explosive enthusiast would end badly for him.

He still remembered the modified cherry bomb she left on the toilet seat of a particularly holier-than-thou Officer after they had mocked her explosive expertise, calling it 'useless.'

John also remembered how they had been taken into the infirmary after the cherry bomb had gone off. The Officer had lost one of their glutes while the remaining one needed a skin graft from their thigh.

And no matter who investigated, they were never able to find the perpetrator.

It was only because he saw the slight smirk playing on Grace's face as they wheeled in the Officer that he knew the truth.

"Charmed." Was Kelly's flat reply.

Linda's HUD light winked green in acknowledgment.

Typically, when only dealing with fast-moving hostile aircraft with small arms, the best idea was to hunker down and let air defense artillery deal with the issue. If there was none around, then to pray that the enemy wouldn't spot you and bomb the living hell out of your unit for laughs.

Of course, unless you had the M41 SPNKR missile launcher in your outfit. If that was the case, then simply don't get killed, let them come into range, and let loose with the homing anti-vehicle missiles. When engaging at that distance, flares could only do so much.

The SPD Falcon hovered above John's position, the aircraft rotating slightly to allow the barrel of Linda's sniper to peek out. It stayed there as the Skyhawks approached.

The thought of the pilots either being brave enough to go along with Linda's request or more terrified of her than the enemy aircraft to disobey made John snort a bit.

The SPNKR's tubes fired, sending two missiles streaking toward the first Skyhawk as it released its flares in response. That only redirected one of the missiles, forcing it to spin to dodge the second as it tried to disengage; the second volley of M19 102mm surface-to-surface missiles made short work of it.

Unable to reload its flares in time, it exploded into a flaming fireball above their heads, landing a few blocks down the main road in a charred heap.

And to think, they call it 'obsolete' now.

The M41 would always hold a special place in the Spartan's heart.

A sniper boomed as the remaining one began to gain altitude, causing it to sway as it passed by. John could barely see the canopy covered in crimson splotches before it flew directly into a building, exploding upon contact.

John let out a low whistle at that, a little impressed.

Linda had been improving at her sniping.

Though, we'll make do.

Any remaining rebels, having witnessed the event, quickly retreated from the battlefield. The ones who were too slow got picked off by the Spartan's bullets.

John looked down at Violet, who stared at the flames quietly, her bloody and bandaged arms hugging the MA57 to her chest. Before he could think about it, his hand came up and landed on the top of her blond locks, stroking them.

She looked up at him questionably with her blue eyes. The helmet hid the soft look on John's face as his free hand came up to give her a thumbs up. "Good job."

Everything that had happened since things went to hell, and how Violet kept up with it all, even with her lesser augmentations. It felt like it was something he needed to acknowledge. Especially with all the worry he secretly hid and bottled up in preparation for her first mission.

With the everyday teachings, she struggled. Not that John could fault her, as he wasn't the greatest teacher for that type of subject. Still, he tried his best.

When it came to the battlefield, she far exceeded any expectations he had, and that deserved praise.

A little rough around the edges, but nothing he couldn't fix.

Violet's eyes widened as they flickered between his gesture and his faceplate. After a few moments, she looked down and replicated the same motion with her bandaged hands, sticking up her thumb while curling her fingers. She looked back at him while extending her hand. "'Good—job?'"

He watched as her face scrunched up in confusion and knew he had to explain to her. "It means that you were doing well at something. Following my orders, in this case."

Her lips twitched as she stared at her extended thumb with what seemed like newfound appreciation. Violet looked back at him, gesturing once more with it toward him. "'Good—job.'"

A small smile played on John's lips at how pleased she looked, her stoic face relaxing as she gestured once more. His hand stroked her hair again. "Yeah. Good job, Violet."

"'Good job.'"

He gave her head one last rub before he flicked his HUD status lights green three times to signal an 'all clear' to his teams. Jogging up to them, Violet right behind him, John informed them of the situation. "We're on the clock. Hammer Team has suffered too many casualties and is now Non-Mission Capable. We're gonna go and get them and the VIP out of their situation."

"Huh, and here I thought that we were done being on babysitting duty," Joshua remarked before pausing, seeing Violet stand next to John. "Oh wow, she's still alive?"

Grace gave an appreciative hum at her worn and bloody appearance. "She's a tough one. I'll give her that much."

"Can she still fight?" Even though there was a tint of worry in her voice, Cal still sounded somewhat distant. Her attitude on the battlefield was always different than the one she usually carried. "Any more damage, and it looks like those arms could come falling off."

"Quit being a cold bitch," Daisy snapped, jerking her head toward the young girl. "If she's not done, then she's not done. Ain't much left to say about it. Let her keep fighting."

"Sounds like you're starting to warm up to her." Will jeered.

"Oh, shut the fuck up—"

"Focus," John admonished, jogging toward the objective, the others following suit. "We don't have much time."

"Speaking of which," Joshua added, running next to him. "If you've got a moment, I think there's something you need to know."

"What is it?" They slowed down, Fred and Cal taking the lead as they strayed in the middle.

Joshua gestured for Daisy to come up as she tapped away at her TACPAD. "We were on the way to the SAM site when the spook that's in charge of us told us to go to the Senator's private residence. Said that there was some info we had to get out of the guy's computer and send it up to them. Well, we did, but not before Daisy made a copy of the info off the hard drive."

"Look at this shit," Daisy muttered as she transferred the data to John's neural interface, the data forming on his HUD.

His eyes went back and forth as he read the information, his brows furrowing and his mouth twisting into a frown. "This is…"

"Turns out the city isn't trying to lynch our Senator for simply badmouthing terrorists. The guy has ties to organized crime within the state, has a slush fund, and deals with on and off-world smuggling: drugs, weapons, contraband, and illicit goods, that sort of stuff. He even has a few fingerprints in human trafficking. Pretty messed up stuff. Probably was the spark that caused this whole uprising."

"Geez, this guy is bad news. Why aren't we putting a bullet in his brain? Save us the whole trouble?" Will asked.

"My guess is that someone up high was wondering the same thing about the whole situation. Senator probably called in some favors with some friends in higher-up positions to get us to extract him. This whole op smelled fishy from the get-go."

Kelly hummed at Fred's deduction. "Still, that doesn't explain why the whole city is after him. Did the info get leaked out?"

"We looked through the news outlets on Waypoint. Nothing talks about the Senator's corruption except for some local station in this providence." Joshua added.

"ONI censoring the info from going global?"

"Probably, otherwise I think that the whole planet would be up at arms already. No clue on how it got leaked though, locally or otherwise."

"Could be some insider shit. Get rid of the competition or something." Daisy said.

"To the point of threatening planetary civil war? No way, there have to be limits."

"I think we can rule out limits. We were made because of how badly shit can get out of hand when a bunch of retards follow the wrong shithead."

"Uh, say, does this place have nukes?" Will suddenly asked, an uncomfortable silence falling on the group.

"No, it shouldn't, last time I checked. Being the world that sparked the Insurrection and all. Our government is barely enough to keep it stable. Giving this world nukes would be like asking to commit planetary suicide." Joshua retorted.

"Hey, I was just wondering."

"Well, in case you do again, then no, I doubt these suits are rated against nuclear weapons. Maybe the radiation, though?"

"Let's just hope we never have to find out."

"Damn right."

Everyone paused when John raised a fist. "Eyes up, pay attention. We're nearly to the crash site. Hammer Actual, this is Blue Lead. Status."

"Chief," Dubbo's voice was barely audible over the gunfire as it began to crack. "It's freaking horrible. I've got only three more men left standing, and the Pelican had to bail from all the fire it was taking. The rest are dead or too wounded to fight back. I've been hit pretty bad too. The Innies are moving in on us, but we can't start moving our wounded out, not with all this incoming."

"I hear you, Lieutenant. Just—"

"The Senator ran."

"What?"

"The fucking cunt ran when he saw the mob. Just fucking took off before the rest of my men and I could get our bearings together to stop him. Damn crook."

"Damn," Probably figured he was better off on his own than a near-dead platoon of ODST's. Still, that didn't mean he would leave them behind. "Roger that, we're almost to your position. We'll do it like last time: we'll provide support as you extract your men, over—"

"Belay that, Blue Lead." Matthews cut in.

"Sir?"

"You're out of time, Spartan. UNSC ground forces have just engaged the Sylca rebels. Your outfit's anonymity means that conventional forces IFF's will not label you as friendlies. You're going to be swarmed by several Marine and Army Armor Divisions in minutes if you don't extract now. Disengage. There is already a company of Marines headed to exfil Hammer Team to the UNSC Ranger. November-010 has already been re-dispatched for extract—"

"Sir, how far is Hammer Team's extract."

"Blue Lead, that is not your concern. Focus on the mission. We have our satellite's scanning for the Senator's location—"

"Sir. How far?"

"…They're about ten minutes out."

John looked around the corner, witnessing the crash site. The three ODST's returned fire into the mob of what looked to almost be one-hundred-plus hostiles. Many of the teams wounded or dead were laid by the Pelican taking shelter, a single wounded medic going back and forth between them.

Insurrectionist soldiers were mingled in with the rioters. Utilizing his HUD's zoom function, he identified some carrying large machetes and other bladed weapons at their side.

His mind flashed for a moment, remembering the many Insurrectionist execution videos he had been forced to watch during briefs. Of the torturous last moments of many captured UNSC personnel. Even the non-combat-oriented personnel were never exempt.

'Messages,' they were often called.

He then imagined the same thing possibly happening to these troopers—under his watch.

John gripped his weapon a little tighter, the material creaking under his strength.

I can't let that happen.

"Sir, they won't make it. My team and I have a clear shot to support them. We'll retreat once the Marine Company arrives—"

"Negative, Blue Lead! Listen, I know it looks bad, but you have to follow orders! It's not up to you or me! Your unit's anonymity is too important to those in the Brass!"

John's temper flared, indignation filling him. His voice came out terser than he wanted. "They're right in front of us, sir. We can help them, now."

Joshua, the only one on the same frequency, gave him a look. While he shared John's sentiments, to see him so agitated yet talk so calmly, it might as well have been him shouting. It left Joshua uneasy.

Judging by the looks of the others, even Violet, they also noticed the change in John's body language.

"Spartan-117, you have your orders."

Lives spent, or lives wasted.

Even though he felt conflicted between following orders or doing what he felt was right, one glance at Violet made him strengthen his resolve.

'Don't be just my 'tool.'' That is what he told her.

What type of example would he be by showing her by abandoning his allies? Even when being told to?

"I can't follow those orders, sir."

No, he had to be better. To be someone worthy enough for Violet to follow…

…And possibly die, for.

"…."

"…."

A tense moment of radio silence left John with a dry throat. If it wasn't already burnt, he could imagine a bead of sweat crawling down his back too.

He had made his bed. Now he had to lie in it.

"…Are you aware of what you're saying, Spartan? First the pilots, now this? Your mission is the Senator. Anything else is irrelevant."

"Sir, there's no point in rescuing one and leaving the other."

"…You're not even supposed to be here, Chief. You won't get any medals for this. You understand that, right?"

At Matthews' soft reply, John allowed some of the tension to bleed from his body. "Medals won't bring people back from the dead, sir."

"…You can't stay here to defend Hammer Team, Chief."

"Sir—"

"But you can leave a strike team of two to provide support. No more than that. They need to be able to disappear at a moment's notice, and I need the bulk of you to arrive at the Senator's location immediately."

John's let his shoulders sag in relief. Two Spartans would be more than enough. "Understood, sir… and thank you."

"Don't thank me, 117. This is the second time you've disobeyed an order. You're on thin ice for the rest of the duration of this mission. Any order from here on out WILL be followed. WITHOUT question. Understood?"

He stared at the sky before he exhaled and closed his eyes. "…Yes, sir."

"Dropping a waypoint for your extraction, Blue Lead. Choose your two to stay behind and head over there."

"Yes, sir. Moving, sir."

"Overwatch, out."

---

Will and Linda had volunteered to stay behind when asked. John had informed them to start heading west toward their destination when Hammer Team's extraction showed and that he would drop a waypoint for their rally point.

The most significant point John had stressed was not to be seen en route.

They had given him an affirmative of acknowledgment to these terms, and the remainder of Blue and Gold Team headed to the extraction point a few blocks from their position. The Pelican had been full of supplies to restock their ammunition; they even had some goodies such as suppressers and flashbangs that they graciously accepted.

John had made sure to replace Violet's bloodied bandages with fresh ones with the extra medical supplies. He held off from giving her a combat stim, as she still seemed to be combat-capable, even with her current wounds.

Once in the air, the weather had changed, rain falling onto the providence of Sylca. It was enough to put John and a few others in a somber mood when it mixed with the burning buildings and sounds of gunshots and explosions in the distance as they watched UNSC forces descend. For others, it relaxed them.

It wasn't long before Lieutenant Matthews contacted them on the Spartan's TEAMCOM. His status as an ONI agent superseded any desire for privacy had for their personal communication channel.

"Listen up, Spartans. ONI Intelligence had intercepted urgent information regarding Senator Marcus Franco following his attempted escape from rebel forces. We have been advised that a detachment of Insurrectionist soldiers masquerading as UNSC Marines have captured the Senator after ground forces have engaged them. It seems like they plan to either smuggle the Senator off-world or to another providence in Levosia using the current chaos in Sylca. We cannot let this happen, Spartans."

"They are currently holding him at an apartment block by the residential area. This is believed to be one of the Insurrectionist's safehouses. These Insurrectionist soldiers are believed to be ex-Marines and Army Special Forces and are highly lethal. Lethal force is authorized when contact is made. Once you have the Senator secured, you will extract him."

"Roger that, Overwatch," John replied. "We'll get him, over."

"Copy that, Chief. See that it happens. Remember, all those in the building in uniform are Insurrectionists, not Marines. Overwatch, out."

"Well, that's not ominous." Kelly deadpanned, placing several shotgun shells into her ammunition holders.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't change that the location is gonna make it real hard to be fucking discreet," Daisy growled, resting her elbows against her knees.

"No doubt things will get hot when we move in," Fred muttered, flipping and twirling one of his knives in between his fingers.

"That's why I keep this bloke handy," Kelly said as she pumped her shotgun before she maglocked it on her back. "Useful in close encounters."

John shook his head at their antics, glancing at Violet as she watched the rain fall on the burning city from the bay doors.

"Either way, we'll make it work. We always have."

---

Once they had touched down, they moved out, with Daisy replacing Will's open position on Blue Team. They moved quickly, keeping themselves out of the line of sight of passing UNSC patrols and checkpoints the best they could. They vaulted over buildings, trudged through the sewers, and kept to the alleys until they reached their destination.

"Bird just touched down on the roof. That makes five, minus the pilots." Joshua said over TEAMCOM.

The plan was to have Blue Team engage the enemy forces inside the safehouse while Gold Team would provide security overwatch from the rooftops of nearby buildings.

"Do you have a clear shot of the pilots?" John asked while crouching low behind cover. Daisy and Fred had gone around through the right flank while he, Kelly, and Violet went through the left. In front of them was a convoy of at least three parked Warthogs and two Mastodon's.

"Negative. I don't."

"I do Blue Lead. I just don't have a clear sight of the other tangos on the roof from my position." Cal added.

"That's fine. Hold your position, Gold-2."

Several disguised rebels wore ponchos on the outside pulling security, and a few that weren't wearing their wet-weather gear were taking shelter underneath verandas by the safehouse. Those were smoking and chatting while another rebel dressed as a Marine radioman was on communications.

It was a bizarre sight for the Spartans, as this didn't look like how specially trained operators typically acted while in a battle zone. Not to mention that their numbers would be enough to fill up at least an entire company, which didn't match how most conventional SF defectors worked.

They were a rarity in the Insurrection, after all. Even then, most were never placed in actual field operations and would instead serve as instructors for rebel militia forces.

"Is this really an Innie safehouse? It looks like a typical UNSC checkpoint to me. If not one that was made in a hurry." Fred wondered from his prone position, looking out the scope of his suppressed DMR.

"Guess they're just really fucking committed to their role or some shit," Daisy muttered as she kept low as well. "We gonna smoke these dumbass' or what, Blue Lead?"

"Hold one, Blue-4. Not everyone is in position yet." John zoomed his HUD, taking note that they were still practicing light discipline despite their outward appearance. The only lights he could see were the streetlamps and one on the third floor of the safehouse—likely where the Senator was being kept.

Despite being outnumbered three to one, John found that he felt rather indifferent to those odds.

Next to John's position by a thicket of bushes, Violet sniffed, tensed, and waited.

"Blue Lead, this is Gold-3," Called Grace. "In position. Have eyes on the rooftop as well."

"Blue Lead, this is Blue-3. I'm moving up, almost there." Kelly's voice slightly hitched as she vaulted over a wall under the cover of night, John's enhanced eyesight spotting her from the other side of the road as she skulked around. She had kept her shotgun on her back, not having found a suitable suppressor for it, and now had her suppressed sidearm drawn.

John took a deep breath, activating his helmet's voicemitter to let Violet in on the plan. "This is Blue Lead. Check your HUDs. I've marked a waypoint at what looks to be the Senator's position on the third floor. We've got at least fifteen rebels posted outside the perimeter. Note their positions. We'll be sighting the ones closest to the vehicles before going for the group. Talk to me, Gold Team."

Three green acknowledgment lights winked once.

"Blue?"

Another set of green lights.

"Ready," Violet murmured to him, aiming down the sights of her suppressed MA57.

"Fire when ready, Gold Team."

"Firing… Pilots down."

"…They're down."

"Rooftop clear."

"Negative, one's still bleeding out."

A pause.

"…Now it's clear."

John brought his weapon to bear at one of the rebels, sighting him.

"Blue Team, open fire."

He and his team were at a far enough distance that when their weapons coughed out their shots, only one or two heads went up, a confused look on their faces. Eight heads burst in a puff of red mist by the vehicles before the bodies hit the floor in quick succession.

Moving his targeting reticule over one of the confused faces, John muttered another 'fire' under his breath on the comm as he steadily squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession. He moved on from the exploding red mist and did the same to two more bewildered faces before they could yell. All around them, their remaining compatriots shared a similar fate.

In less than six seconds, all twenty-two rebels outside the building were all dispatched. Blue Team quickly moved up, not wanting a possible radio check to alert the ones inside the building.

John, Violet, and Kelly stacked up by the west entrance of the building, while the rest took the south entrance.

"Ready." At Fred's call, John prepared to signal, only to pause, puzzled.

What the…?

On his motion tracker, instead of red blips, there was nothing but yellow ones.

That shouldn't be possible, though. Even if the rebels wore the proper uniform, they should lack the appropriate neural implants needed to come up as friendlies.

"Chief?"

John shook himself from his thoughts at Kelly's whisper. He placed away the sinking feeling he could feel in his chest.

Who knows? Maybe Daisy was on to something when she commented on them being dedicated to their role?

Yeah, that's what he decided he would tell himself for now.

He rapidly blinked his HUD green status light.

Go hot.

A quick burst of action brought him back as Kelly kicked the metal door off its hinges, following up by priming and tossing a flash grenade inside.

"What the fu—?!"

Multiple loud bangs caught off the cry before Blue Team forced their way in, their suppressed weapons releasing muted thumps and puffs of smoke. The first floor was quickly cleared, but their entrance didn't go unnoticed, judging by the stomps and murmurs on the floors above them.

John flashed his amber light twice, causing the team to pause. He pointed at Cal and Grace with two fingers before pointing three downward.

Hold this position.

Pointing two fingers at Kelly and Fred's eyes, John then pointed toward the staircase and slowly made a fist.

Scout out the stairway.

As they moved up, he held up two fingers to Daisy and made a sideways cut to the lift.

Move into the lift.

He and Violet followed behind Daisy to the lift as she pressed the button to bring it down. The lift dinged before its doors opened, revealing the interior to be empty.

John moved in and looked up, finding the emergency hatch there. He reached up and opened it with a hiss and a pop before flinging it open. Jumping up through the hatch, he landed in a crouch on top of the lift, Daisy following him.

John had to help lift up Violet when he noticed her missing, forgetting her current height wouldn't allow her to reach the hatch.

The three had climbed the lift cable to the third floor when Fred and Kelly winked their lights amber twice.

Enemy detected.

He sent back a single wink in acknowledgment, using one of the gaps in the shaft as handholds as he climbed to one side of the closed lift door. He glanced at his motion tracker.

No movement.

When Daisy made it to the other side of the door, he pointed two fingers to her eyes and pointed at the door, slowly making a fist.

Scout it out.

Daisy paused for a moment before nodding when she realized what he wanted. She shimmed to the door before reaching into her pouch and pulling out a borescope, and attaching one end of it to her helmet. She and John then reached out and forced their fingers between the doors enough to make a tiny gap, where she then fed the other end of the borescope through.

She moved it up and down, left and right, for a few moments before retracting it with a slight shake of her head. Daisy held up two fingers before gesturing to the right and did so again before gesturing to the left.

Trouble ahead. Two on the right. Two on the left.

John nodded in acknowledgment before pumping his fist twice, signaling her to prepare. He pulled out a flash grenade from his belt, and she followed his movements.

Next to him, little Violet was clenching a small gap of the shaft's bars with her fingertips for dear life, her small frame beginning to shake from exertion.

John rapidly flashed his lights green.

He and Daisy pulled open the doors, tossing in their last flash grenades. They pulled out their sidearms and leaned toward the opening, following the loud bangs, popping four of the dazed rebels in the head that had been waiting for them in the hallway.

They quickly climbed out of the lift onto the third floor, switching back to their primary's. He could see two yellow blips move on his motion tracker as several yellow ones would flash once before disappearing. Muffled puffs came from the floor below them.

Violet pulled herself out of the elevator, her face flushed with sweat as she panted softly. She tensed when John stepped forward, her head whipping to the nearby door on his left before she pulled out her assault rifle and put four bullets through it.

The sudden action alarmed John and Daisy, causing them to point their weapons at the door just as it opened wide, the bleeding body of a hiding rebel falling onto the floor.

John gave Violet a thumbs up in thanks but paused when Daisy reached up with two fingers and swiped her faceplate in her direction in a show of appreciation. Violet just cocked her head in confusion at the gesture, her eyes widening before landing on John, inquisitive.

A 'Spartan Smile,' a closely guarded secret that all Spartan-II's kept close to their heart. It was often used in moments of controlled bursts of emotion. While the meanings can vary, it was a very, very intimate gesture they used for one another.

So, for Daisy, of all people, to use that… to Violet, for watching their backs…

'The Spartans will become your home. We will become your family.'

A horrible, crushing sense of guilt struck John. He had said those words to her but had made little to no effort in having her know what she needed about the Spartan-II's. He had been too focused on her abilities to read, speak, and fight all these months.

I've been too complacent with her teachings.

Fred's acknowledgment light flashed green twice before he and Kelly appeared out of the staircase onto the hallway.

John blinked and thickly swallowed as they closed the gap, nodding toward them as he refocused himself.

Just another thing I have to work on.

They moved up to the waypoint, clearing the rooms they passed of any rebels, stacking up near the door before it. John signaled for Kelly to prep a flash grenade but paused when she raised a finger before he could open the door to breach.

BANG! BANG!

Holes were blown through the other end of the door not a moment later, causing the team to rear back from it a bit.

Waiting for a lull in the gunfire, Kelly quickly tossed the flash grenade in one of the holes, earning a shout before a loud pop went off.

Kelly back kicked the door open, John and the rest of the team going in after. The two stunned rebels inside were quickly dispatched, leaving the terrified Senator cowering behind his desk.

John flashed his green status lights three times once he made sure the room was clear. He quickly moved to the Senator's side, ignoring the man's flinch as he did. "Sir, are you okay?"

The man stammered, sweat pouring off his face. "Y-You? I-I… W-Why d-did you…?"

A muted thump came from the room over, the Spartans sharing a glance as Violet tensed.

John raised a fist with his thumb sticking upward before crooking it.

Check it out.

Daisy and Fred nodded before shuffling out the room. The sound of a door being kicked down before a loud scream and a flashbang going off sent the Senator to his feet, his eyes wide in horror.

"Wait!" He screamed as John held him back from leaving the room. "Don't hurt them! They're not armed! Please!"

The remaining Spartans shared another look as the sound of whimpering and crying of young children met their ears, John deciding to break the comm silence. "What was in there, you two?"

"It's a… family, Chief. A woman and two children." Fred answered, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

"Please!" The Senator whimpered, running out of energy to try and escape John's iron-clad grasp. "Don't hurt them!"

He was spared a glance. "Make sure they're not armed and bring them in. We'll take them with us."

"Copy."

"Sir, relax." John cursed his deadpanned tone as he attempted to settle the clearly distraught man, knowing that it wouldn't be as effective. "They're fine. You're safe now, Senator. We'll take you and your family to safety."

The older man sniffed, looking at John warily. "R-Really?"

"Coming in."

"M-Marcus!" A woman cried, two children at her side, hugging her, as Daisy pushed her into the room. "W-Who are these people? I thought you said we were going to be saved!?"

"D-Daddy?" The boy on her side sniffed, looking no older than eight years old.

John let the Senator go, allowing him to approach his family. "I'm… just as confused as you are, Beth. These people… they're the ones that saved me from the city hall…."

"Blue Leader, this is Overwatch. Acknowledge, over."

"This is Blue Leader. I hear you, Lima Charlie. The Senator is secured, but it turns out his family had also been captured by the Insurrectionist's—"

"New orders from up top, Blue Leader. You are to clean the scene."

John paused, a weight settling into his stomach, but he continued on. "Roger that, we'll keep our extraction of the Senator and his family discreet—"

"You know what I mean, Spartan. This is to be an Insurrectionist attack. No survivors."

Joshua's head slowly turned toward John, who was sure his body was just as stiff as his.

John swallowed, but his hand still fell to his sidearm, more than mentally prepared to accomplish the task given. He had already chosen to accept this part of the job long ago and would willingly bear the weight of any immoral acts he would have to do to accomplish his mission.

For Earth and all her Colonies—

"The girl will be the one to accomplish this task. This is a direct order, 117. Execute."

The breath escaped his lungs as his jaw slackened, his eyes darting to the bloody and bandaged blond girl who stared at the family interaction with a vague sense of curiosity. Feeling John's stare, she looked up at him, meeting his gaze.

…Those big blue eyes of hers, so calm—so full of trust.

…For him.

The Senator approached John, a more relaxed look on his face now that he knew he wasn't in danger. He smiled unsurely at him. "Well… we're ready to go when you—"

He was caught off as John's arm came up, pointing a finger at him.

'I just told you, John. That thing isn't a girl.'

The MJOLNIR system's functionality was unprecedented. Rather than being a suit of armor, it worked on a more biomechanical level. All military personnel was issued a neural interface connected to the brain's nervous system, with all Spartan-II's receiving an extensively modified version that connects directly to their suits systems.

It is made so that the neural lace reads the electrochemical signals sent from the brain, translating them into digital code. These are then sent to the armors on-board sensors, sending an electrical pulse through the rest of the suit, the motor neuron hitting the suits 'muscle fibers.' They respond to the impulses, twitching as a result, accelerated through force-multiplying circuits. The positive feedback loop amplifies this 'muscular twitch.'

The end result is a fully neurally linked bond between the user and the armor. To simply put, the users' thoughts move the suit, and the suit moves the user. The synthesis of man and machine being so fast, it's still impossible to chart reaction time.

Which was when John realized his arm coming up with subconscious thought. All he had to do left was blank out his mind as a single word found itself blurting itself from his lips.

"Kill."

'It's a weapon….'

The Senator blinked, not fully processing what was said. "Wha—?"

A single bullet entering his forehead cut him off as he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Another was shot into his dome afterward for good measure.

The rest of the Spartans froze while Joshua looked away.

'It only looks human, after all.'

John's finger landed on the now screaming woman protectively holding her children to her body. Violet's smoking muzzle followed.

"Kill."

Blood, brain matter, and bits of bone splashed against the wall with another squeeze of the trigger. The woman's lifeless body thudded against the wall before another bullet struck her head, leaving a blood trail as it slid down.

"M-Mommy? Daddy?" The youngest child, who couldn't be a day over six, looked confused as she anxiously shook the body. Her youthful mind was untainted by the realizations of death and its meaning. "Why did you go to sleep? W-Wake up!"

The older child just looked a bit stricken as he looked up at Violet with unshed tears in his eyes.

John heard Kelly intake a sharp breath, and Daisy cursed underneath hers as they looked away.

'Once you figure out how to use it, it can be the best tool to have.'

The older child's eyes widened as John's finger landed on him.

In some ways, he was glad for the suit's precise, controlled movements, as he figured his body would slightly be shaking by then.

'You'll take it, won't you?

"Kill."

John forcibly had to work his mouth as the order escaped him.

This time, Violet hesitated, staring at the child for a moment.

Right before she fired twice once more.

The youngest child stared at John in confusion as he pointed at her.

"Kill," He choked out.

Violet just stared down her sights, her face blank. She didn't move, didn't twitch, didn't blink.

Why do you have to do this?

Self-loathing struck John like a freight train before he gritted his teeth and steeled himself.

'The road in front of us will be hard…'

He had made his choice when he decided to take her in. Now he had to accept the consequences that came with that decision.

"Kill!"

'But I believe you can make it.'

Violet's finger squeezed.

---

February 20, 2530

UNSC Athens

26 Draconis System, Orbiting Levosia

"What the fuck was that about? I thought we were supposed to save the Senator, not off him and his fucking family." Daisy snarled, now out of her armor and in a set of black fatigues. She stabbed through her steak, tearing off a chunk with her fork and stuffing it into her mouth.

Violet just sat there at the dining facility table, staring at her plate full of food. She was fresh out of the medical bay and in her sailor uniform once more, her arms having been given medical treatment.

Next to her, Joshua sighed, picking at his food. "I don't know why Lieutenant Matthews made that call, but he said that it came from higher. There was nothing that John could've done."

"That's bollocks, Josh," Kelly grumbled, chewing on her mashed potatoes, powering through the action as she did. "That prick was just upset that John stood up to him twice. Made the wanker look bad to his masters in the Brass."

"I dunno," Cal muttered, her chin resting on her hands, her tray of food wiped clean. Out of everyone, she looked the least affected by what happened at the safe house. "The guy was a criminal. Maybe the Brass got those files and decided to cut him loose right then and there?"

"You taking a piss, Cal? You really gonna defend the bloke?"

"I doubt anyone is defending anybody." Fred cut in, albeit nervously, nudging his tray Grace's way. She gratefully took it, placing it over her own empty one, before digging into his leftovers. "It could've been a matter of making a hard call in a bad situation. We can't always choose what we want to do."

"Fred, we fucking offed kids for fucksake." Daisy hissed at him, pointing at Violet. "And that fucker forced John to use her of all things. She's what? Ten? Twelve? Most of us didn't have our first kill until after our augmentations. We were fucking fourteen, Fred."

Violet puckered her lips a bit and blew a strand of blond hair that was tickling her nose, closing her right eye as it landed there instead.

The Chief and her had gone to the medical bay to get their wounds checked. He had been called to the conference room on board the ship afterward. Before he had left, all he had told her to do was get cleaned, dressed, and get some food.

Out of their armor, by the time they got to the cafeteria, the rest of the Spartans quickly got their food and settled on sitting at the same table Violet was at. Not that she cared much, staying quiet as they talked around her.

Despite the way her mouth filled with saliva as she stared at the steak and steamed vegetables on her plate, she made no move to eat.

A hand suddenly grabbed her cheeks, causing her to look up at Daisy's upset face. Violet's brows slightly furrowed in response.

Daisy's blue eyes—not like the Chief's—stared her down. "How about you, huh? Got a fucking opinion instead of looking like a goddamn mute? You can't tell me that you were fine with what John ordered you to do, regardless of if he was under orders or not."

All she received was a blank stare.

"Let her go," Cal scoffed, a look of amusement on her face. "She's gonna bite your hand again if you don't."

"Fuck off. That was back when she was a stupid little retard who couldn't speak. If she wants me to let go, she could use her own words." Her fingers tightened, squishing Violet's cheeks to the point of puckering her lips like a fish. "Like what she should've done when John gave her those shitty orders."

Violet scowled, when combined with her squished face, gave her the look of a mad and adorable pup.

"You gotta lay off, John," Kelly raised her voice, accent thickening as she slapped down her spoon against the table. Her blue eyes—not like the Chief's—stared angrily at Daisy. "You know he does right by us when he can. It's just as Fred said. He was forced to make a call in a bad situation."

"What are you gonna do? Get Sam to try and beat the shit out of me?" Daisy jeered.

"I won't bloody have to, you prat. I'll fix that tone myself if you think it's fine to keep cracking on like this."

"How about you use some propa' English instead. If you ain't gonna call it how it is, then I will. John pussied out when it mattered—"

Violet finally worked her face out of Daisy's grasp and widened her mouth before sinking her teeth into flesh.

"Ow! Let go! You bitch!"

Cal let out a cough before a wheeze of laughter escaped her as Violet bit harder instead. "Told you!"

"Get her off of me before I bust her fucking skull open!"

Grace just kept eating but did release a small chuckle at her expense.

Fred and Joshua sighed before moving to help her out. Kelly just looked satisfied as she dug back into her food with some gusto.

Violet just ground her molars as deep as she could until she could taste blood on her tongue.

No one would insult her chosen one.

---

"You showed cases of disobedience before, 117, but never did you actually disobey a direct order from a CO in charge of your operation. Not only did you do it once, but twice during this mission. Care to tell me why this is?"

John could feel the bead of cold sweat crawl down his neck as he and Lieutenant Matthews stood at attention in front of the large screen. The AC of the room wafted on his bare face; his helmet held to his side.

The screen was predominantly black, the silhouette of a man sitting by a desk, the only things displayed on his subdued grey and black uniform being the two silver stars on each of the lapels. His face was unreadable, blackened, most likely the work of a censoring program used by ONI to keep the identity of the higher-ups in the Brass.

It also told John that he got the attention of possibly the worst type of ONI spook by doing what he did during the mission. He swallowed the heavy lump in his throat as he answered, keeping his voice as measured as he could.

"Sir, I meant no disrespect toward Lieutenant Matthews command when I made those decisions. I had felt, with how capable my team and I were, that we could keep casualties from needlessly occurring by intervening when we can."

The screen flickered.

"I see. That is an admirable thought process to have, 117. Your trainers have taught you well about the value of life and to resist needlessly throwing it away. For that, you have my respect. I'm sure Lieutenant Dubbo and the survivors of her team would agree with me."

John didn't budge an inch. "Thank you, sir."

"That is not your primary function, though, is it?"

"…Negative, sir."

"So why did you do it then?"

John opened his mouth, but it took a moment for him to speak. "I have no excuse, sir."

"…Hmm. I see." The silhouette leaned back, crossing his arms. "Was it because of the girl? The one you registered as your weapon?"

If John wasn't already so still, he would've frozen up. The only thing that did give out his tenseness was a slight twitch in his eyes and a flexing of his neck muscles.

"Negative, sir. My… weapon didn't have any relevance to the decisions that I made in the field. The fault in my decisions was mine and mine alone."

He almost said 'Violet,' but caught himself before he could say it. To give out a name to what was all but registered as an armament would mean some sort of attachment. One that those in the Brass would likely wish to exploit, should they get wind of the feeling.

Whatever it would take to keep their 'investments' under control.

Not that John could fault them for the logic. He would likely do the same were he in their position.

And he was glad he wasn't. So he held his tongue and kept her name safe.

"So, you say. Either way, don't make the mistake again, 117. Consider that your first and only warning. In respect for all the work you have done for Earth and all her Colonies. I'm fair, but there will be severe consequences, should this behavior begin to follow a pattern."

The man's hidden features then turned toward the Lieutenant, who stood even straighter in response.

"Now, on to you, Lieutenant Matthews. You were chosen as the Spartans advisor due to several letters of recommendation from your superiors. There were high expectations for you to pull this mission off without a hitch. Of course, no one is upset with how quickly things fell apart on the ground. We understand how unpredictable the insurrectionists are, and our intelligence teams are still working around the clock to figure which cell spearheaded this rebellion in Sylca."

"Still, your lack of ability to control the Spartan-II fireteams under your direct command has been noted. It is your job as their CO to keep them under check. You do understand their value to the Naval Special Warfare Command, do you not?"

"Yes, sir. I am aware."

"You have also been made aware of their purpose, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And of their origins?"

Even John's eyes flickered slightly at that. The Lieutenant just looked confused for a moment.

"…Yes, sir? I was only told they were volunteers from other UNSC branches. Nothing else, sir."

"That so? Hmph. Nonetheless, despite your incompetency shown during your command, there has been talk of pardoning you and giving you another chance. You understand what this means, Lieutenant?"

Matthews's stoic façade broke for a fraction of a second in his relief, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. It was quickly reformed, but it was apparent that the man was quick to catch it, given the slight noise of amusement he made.

"Y-Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"Good. You must understand that the operations involving the Spartan-II's are those of utmost secrecy. Their anonymity must not be jeopardized again. We in the Brass would hate to replace an ONI Agent who shows so much promise, after all."

"Overall, congratulations on a work well done, you two. 117, Dr. Halsey has requested your presence on Reach to inform you of a new development to your 'weapon.' Go and do what you must to maintain the girl's combat capabilities. There are no new developments on the Insurrectionist's plans yet, but stay vigilant, for we will expect you and your Blue Team to be ready when we call."

"Understood, sir. I'll take care of my business right away."

"Good, you're both dismissed."

"Sir!" They crisply saluted as the screen turned off, the projector moving back into place.

"I've got to say," Matthews commented as they dropped their salute, facing John with a wry grin. "I didn't expect my first mission with you lot to end with my ass hanging over a fire. In some ways, I'm not sure if I should be pissed at you for putting me in that position in the first place or be thankful for making sure I wouldn't fry in it."

"I mean no offense, sir, but is that the only reason why you made that call in the safehouse?" John asked, staring intensely at the man, just shy of glaring. "To save your own ass?"

The grin vanished from his face, a calculated look befitting of an ONI Officer replacing it. "If I said yes, what would you do? Attack me right here, Chief?"

Even with his face stoic, John flexed his right hand, the suit's material creaking from the pressure. "I would never dream of doing that, sir. Not while we're still wearing rank, at least."

"Hmm. Fair enough. Funny thing is, I feel like the only reason why you say that is because you might kill me by accident. Trust me. I've ruffled enough NCO feathers to the point that most of them began talking to me with their fists instead of words. I'm used to it. You, though," He gave John a once over. "I think I'll be better off trying to take on a newborn Gύta with a knife than take you on in a fistfight."

"That… would be a fair assessment."

"Still not satisfied, are you?"

"…Was that call really necessary, sir?"

Matthews folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the conference table to make himself comfortable. "Necessary? No, but it really did come from the Brass on top to make that call after they retrieved Gold Teams files on the Senator. It was either in there, or we'd cut some throats when they arrived here."

John's jaw tightened a bit at that. The children would've died, no matter what had been done, wouldn't they?

"So why didn't we wait, sir? Why force me to do that to one of my subordinates? At the least, I could've done it myself."

"Honestly? If we're speaking off the record here, for quality assurance."

"I don't follow." After a pause, John added. "Sir."

The ONI Officer exhaled noisily, closing his eyes for a moment as he craned his neck back and forth. "You already disobeyed two orders, and that made some of the people in the Brass a little antsy. And before you ask, no, I didn't tell them. I'm not gonna snitch myself out and fuck myself like that."

"Then how?"

Matthews gave him a deadpan look before throwing his hands up in exasperation. "C'mon, Chief. It's ONI. They have eyes and ears everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if they kept tabs on how many babies you killed after a date with Rosy Palmer and her five sisters."

John's brows furrowed. "Huh?"

Why would I…?

"Er, never mind. Point is, we were in some shit, and the only way I figured we can help ourselves out was by dealing with the problem as soon as I got the call."

"You still involved Vi—my subordinate with your tricks, though."

"Yes, Chief. I did. And that was because she was just in much shit as you and I were." He sighed in frustration at the puzzled look John wore. "Think about it, just as this was my evaluation for my command of you and your outfit, this was just as much of a test for you and that girl."

'There are those up top that are still doubtful of her use.'

John remembered Captain Connor's words to him when he reported to the bridge, the pieces coming together in his head.

"Then…" He mumbled, anger deflating as he came to the realization that…

"Yeah, I made that call to keep the Brass from burning all three of us. I only know what they let me about you, but I've read some of the reports about her. How Section Three wants to get their hands on her to open her up and see how she ticks. It might not have been the best call, but it was the one that I could think of that could save us."

Matthews, while looking out for himself, made the call to give Violet the image of a soldier who followed orders without question. All while making John seem like a cold but efficient leader of the Spartan-II's. While morally questionable, it would give the Brass ease of mind that their investments remained loyal.

John lowered his eyes. "I… My apologies, sir. I shouldn't have assumed."

The agent sighed. "No need to do that, Chief. What we've did in that room, I have a feeling that's gonna haunt us enough already. Listen, we're both in need of some rest after that type of op. It leaves a nasty feeling inside of you, sure, but it reminds you that your still human inside. When you stop feeling that way, well…"

Matthews pushed himself off the table, a worn look on his face. "Finish getting your back patched up, Chief. Then, get some rest. If you need me, I'll be either in my office, or guzzling my alcohol rations at the rec room."

"Sir," He paused at the doorway when John called out to him. "Those… Insurrectionist's at the safehouse… Were they really…?"

The Spartan trailed off as the ONI Agent stared at him with eyes full of guilt before looking away, hanging his head. "Yeah… they were… I'm sorry for making you and your team do that, Chief."

John clenched his fist as Matthews left the conference room, his downcast gaze pointed at his helmets faceplate as he came to terms with what he did.

The yellow blips on the motion tracker…

"God damnit…" He hoarsely whispered.

Lives spent or lives wasted?

He wasn't sure if he could answer that question in good faith.

The golden gaze of his helmet held no answers for him.

---

Linda and Will looked up from their food as John walked into the cafeteria, freshly showered and wearing black fatigues. They waved him in as he made his way to them.

Their squad leader raised an eyebrow when he saw Violet quietly sitting next to them, a plate of food in front of her.

"She was still here when we came in. Wouldn't budge or eat, even when the others tried to get her to," Will explained over a mouthful of bread and meat.

Linda shrugged as when she noticed the questioning gaze too, playing with the corn on her plate. "She's not really the talkative type."

She purposefully ignored the looks she received from John and Will, taking a sip from her cup of juice instead.

John opened his mouth, likely to question Violet before it snapped shut. A look of exasperated realization flittered across his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering an 'of course' under his breath.

"Thanks for looking after her." They waved off his appreciation as he left to get his own food, coming back with two to-go boxes, one filled with food and the other empty.

"Not gonna eat here?" Will asked as John took Violet's plate and poured its contents into the empty box.

"I forgot something in my room. Rather just make one trip to get it then to come back and forth." They shrugged in acceptance at his excuse, Violet jumping out of her seat and quietly following John as he walked out of the cafeteria with their food.

"Wonder what that was about?" Will glanced at Linda as she slurped a forkful of noodles, remembering how she and Violet had stared at each other blankly for a few moments before nodding at each other when they first sat down.

It had been a strange exchange, that's for sure.

Will shrugged before digging back into his meal.

"Alright, check it… so one's layin' suppressive fire, right. Just unloading, keeping their heads down. But then this Innie Pelican pops up over from in between the buildings." They heard some Private tell his friend loudly as they made their way through the line at the front of the cafeteria.

"The sniper keeping them pinned?"

"No, no, the other one, the machine gunner." The Private shook his head, continuing the story. "The Sniper sees the Pelican, and she just lines up the shot, all cool and shit, then takes the shot—BAM, nails the pilot."

His friend looked skeptical as they took their seat a table away from Will and Linda's. "Bullshit, first shot?"

"No shit, first shot! I swear to God, right through the fucking canopy—POW!" The Private cried, slamming a hand against the table for emphasis.

"…That's so badass." The friend gaped.

"Right!? And the best part—the bird just rolls over and drops—BOOM! Right on top of the enemy position! I mean, this shit clears out everything!"

Will looked amused, nudging Linda with his foot as he listened to their story. "You know, if I remember correctly, that 'one shot'—that was with an SPNKR because someone ran out of ammo."

Linda chewed on some corn, looking a bit thoughtful. "Yeah."

When she didn't say anything else after a few moments, Will fidgeted a bit. "…You gonna… you gonna tell them how it really went down?"

She glanced at the Privates before looking back at him with a smirk on her lips. "Nah. Their version's better."

They shared a snicker as they tapped their cups of juice together.

---

When the microwave beeped, John removed the heated box of food from it. Placing it on the counter, he reached up and opened the overhead cabinet, pulling out an assortment of pill bottles and nutritional powders.

They all contained protein, cartilage, bone, muscle, and multivitamin supplements—Violet's prescribed medication, courtesy of Halsey. From the looks of it, he still had a supply of at least two months' worth.

While Violet took the powdered substances well enough, when he first gave the pills to her, she had a hard time swallowing them and keeping them down. So, he was forced to look for other alternatives in having her take them.

Still, she had shown remarkable growth from her recovery from her malnutrition, having gained several inches in height. It made her look older, but nothing past the age of what could be thirteen.

It was a bit remarkable what a proper diet could do to a person.

John immediately went to work, mixing a supplement-rich shake for Violet to sip on as he prepped the food. He pulled apart the pills, sprinkling the medicinals inside on top of the food. He then spread and mixed it as best he could, dipping a pinkie into the mashed potatoes and grimacing from the odd taste.

Once it was done, John placed the food in front of Violet, causing her to look up from the datapad, where she was using a stencil to practice her writing on.

"Eat." He told her before he went to get his food.

"Thank you—very much."

Despite her words, she instead picked up her food and followed him to the couch, sitting on the floor across from him as he plopped onto it.

John stared at her for a few moments, bemused. "What are you doing there?"

Violet just looked up at him with her large eyes, patiently waiting.

Even with her ability to speak, she sometimes chose to stay quiet, even when it was just the two of them. John wondered if the fact that being a quiet person himself might have affected her decision to speak in some way. How to be silent when he had nothing to add was one of the painful first lessons amongst many that were drilled into his head.

He hoped she wouldn't pick up any odd habits that he had, knowingly or not.

In the end, he simply sighed and began eating.

He paused when he noticed that she did the same right afterward, clumsily grabbing her utensils to cut through her steak and shove potatoes and corn into her mouth.

Had she been waiting on him?

John's chewing slowed, noticing the pained twitches on her face as she moved her bandaged arms back and forth on the plate the more time passed.

"Stop." She immediately did so, looking up at him. "Bring me your plate."

He took it from her when she offered it to him, using his own utensils to cut the meat into bite-sized pieces, scolding her under his breath. "If you're having trouble, just say so. I can't help you if you don't say anything."

The idea of feeding her popped into his head for a moment but was quickly discarded.

Her arms were injured, not missing.

Violet cocked her head but didn't say anything else as he handed her back her plate when he was finished. She sat back down immediately and dug in, eating piece after piece of food with no further issues, only pausing when John would come to wipe her face of excess grease or sauce that appeared on her chin and mouth.

After their dinner, John resumed her reading and writing lessons, having her practice the English alphabet seven times before making her read a children's book aloud. As she did this, he went to his desk and began working on his After-Action Report, all while lending a keen ear for any erroneous mistakes in her verbiage.

Still, as time passed, John found himself taking increasingly long breaks in between typing, staring blankly at the screen.

His eyes ached with fatigue, but the desire to sleep eluded him, his mind working a mile a minute.

Remembering. Reminding.

"'Then those things—ran about. With big bumps, jumps, and—kicks. And with hops and big thumps, and all kinds of bad—tricks. And I said, 'I do not like the way they play. If mother could see this, oh, what—would she say.''" He listened as Violet continued to read the book aloud, occasionally stumbling through some of the words but having clarity in her voice that she lacked when she first started speaking.

"'Then our—fish said, 'Look. Look.' And our fish shook—with fear. 'Your mother is on her way—home. Do you hear? Oh, what will she do to us? What will she say? Oh, she will not like it, to find us this way.''"

She had grown by leaps and bounds.

It's still not enough, is it?

Eventually, he stopped typing altogether, looking at Violet as she flipped the page, nearly to the end.

"Do you… Do you hate me?"

No matter how many times he tried to push through it, his mind would keep flashing to the safehouse. To the screaming wife. To the crying children.

She stared at him from the corner of her eyes, looking nonplussed as she faced him.

"I do not—understand the question."

To Violet's blank face as she squeezed the trigger with every damning order that escaped his lips.

"Have I—failed you—in some way?"

John watched as the weapon unraveled, the girl coming out once more, anxiously.

"If there is something I'm—doing wrong, I'll fix it! Please—tell me!"

At the sight of those normally placid blue eyes becoming earnest, John averted his.

"No. That's not it. It's my fault. I said, you're not a tool. But I still…."

His fingers interlaced before tightening, the pain in them becoming a welcomed feeling compared to the weight he felt in his chest.

"I still… used you like one."

"Of course, you can—use me! I'm your weapon!"

The blood continued to drain from John's knuckles, leaving them a pasty white. His throat tightened to a painful level.

'It sticks to whoever gives it orders.'

Fundamentally, John was a leader. A leader who would never give an order he himself could never follow. The type that took his responsibilities very seriously and knew those under his command, sometimes even better than himself.

As such, his failures never ceased to haunt him, especially those that ended him losing those he was close to.

The main one was the augmentation process that left his unit divided by half with the losses. Even though he was fully aware that there was nothing to do, that it was all chance, it was an event that still tormented him to this day. To watch the coffins of those he was raised alongside with to be sent into space. To see those he fought their many instructors with so twisted and mangled that they barely could be considered human.

John never fully moved on, never truly forgave himself. No matter what was said to him, he knew, deep down, that there was something he could've done to prevent them from ending up dead or crippled.

That, he believed that with all this heart.

He also knew that by giving Violet the order to execute that family, he scarred her in a way he could never understand. Never atone for.

And he could never forgive himself for that.

Even if she didn't understand the weight of her actions, he did, and he dreaded the moment that realization would dawn upon her as well.

…Since that weight would be something that she would carry for the rest of her life.

"You are… aren't you."

Still, John had been conditioned to be a soldier for the past thirteen years, and while he still lacked the experience, he was not as sensitive and emotional as he once was.

I can't… say anything right now. I don't have the right to.

Not outwardly, at least.

"Yes. Please—do not forget. I have no meaning. If—you do not use me."

Like him, the girl did not understand her own feelings. While John had suppressed his, Violet was still developing, and him wishing her to be different would only serve to confuse her right now.

This was not something John could force, a realization that filled him with apprehension.

"But why? Why do you want to be used like that?"

Even now, he could see the girl revert back into the weapon, seemingly relieved of his growing understanding of her nature.

"There is no—meaning to me unless—I am being used. I am a tool. I exist—to be used."

The girl had no genuine emotions to call her own.

"Sam once called me—a wild beast. Beasts nestle up—to where their owners go."

All she wanted, at this time, was validation of her existence.

"I'm sure I—was made this way—ever since I was born."

Anything else would make no sense to her.

"And you have been—registered as my master—inside me."

She was simply a lonely beast, who yearned for someone to be her master. From what she made it sound like, it did not have to be John.

Even so, John would do his part.

"You bring me along—and use me."

And guide her the best he could—be it the battlefield or life.

"Please do not—leave me behind, and stand by me, Chief."

For when the day that weight would come at full force to crush her.

They would face it together.

That was the least he could do.

…For both of their sakes.

"…Always…"

For when he made a promise…

---

A/N:

Had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Probably why it came out so fast.

The reviews are also pretty motivating, so thanks for the support as well.

Chain of command is a real thing, and this Chief isn't the humanity-saving BAMF that we all know and love yet. He's what he originally was meant to be: a secretive, super-soldier meant to assassinate space farmers who resist 'UNSC tyranny.'

Yeah, not really black and white.

I love the lore about the human conflict in Halo. I just wish there was more on it.

Violet is still learning plenty right now, so she doesn't have much to say in terms if she doesn't feel the need to. Just wanted to give a reason why she's quiet for the majority of the chapter. It'll change soon, though. Also, not too many scenes of her being a badass as she was in the anime/LN. It's kinda hard to stick out when the people around you are all a tier higher than you in badassery.

Ganbare, Violet-chan.

John ain't no Major Gilbert; combat is his bread and butter, the way he wants to live his life. He's also too distanced from his own emotions to know what he wants. I always got the feeling that he was the sort of type to struggle emotionally on the inside, while outwardly seeming apathetic.

Tried to accentuate the fact that, while John and Violet are on the same wavelength on the battlefield, he still struggles to understand her outside of it.

Poor Violet, she's gonna eventually learn that she's burning.

Hope ya'll are enjoying my interpretation of the other Spartans and how they interact with one another.

Also, yes, Charlotte Dubbo is related to the one and only legendary Chips Dubbo, but I won't say how just yet. Can any of you guess?

I appreciate everyone's input on what I could add to the story, really gets the creative juices flowing, so some were taken into serious consideration. Just need to figure out how it would work.

So, I've decided that the Insurrectionist storyline is going to last for a while in this story, but it will change soon. I'm sorry, but with how Violet is, even she's not ready to face the Covenant anytime soon.

Don't worry; we'll get our healthy dose of genocidal wars to end Humanity as a species after some time.

Shoutout to the Chad who told me of my mess up of Sam's number, it should be fixed now.

Till next time.