Installation 04

by rekindledYearning

Halo with OCs. Not much more to say

9. The Maw

The flight out to the wreckage of the Pillar of Autumn passed in silence, none of the Spartans inclined to make conversation. Marknos and Kurioto had always tended towards quiet, but the others following suit had Roaven concerned. He didn't need his AI to tell him that, for all their enhancements and super-human abilities, fatigue was catching up to the Spartan team. Max and Ariel in particular seemed to have less patience for one another now. For that matter, he could tell that he was flagging, too. Roaven feared that he would slip-up at a crucial moment, hesitate a fraction of a second too long, make the wrong call. Fear was the mind-killer, but he could hardly pretend that everything was alright.

The truth was they'd been out in the field for too long, with too little rest and just enough food to go around. They were so close, now, to an end to all of this. If they could use the Pillar of Autumn's reactor to crack the ring, make sure that no one (Covenant or otherwise) could fire it, it'd be over. Perhaps not the war, but at least they could finish this fight. Even then, they'd have to get themselves offworld. Get back home. Roaven could face those challenges, just not right now. For now, he had a ring to blow up.

The formation of Banshees flew low to minimize the signature they presented (a necessity given the Covenant's aversion to drab coloration on their vehicles). It ensured quite a striking view as they crested a hill in formation, and the wreckage of the cruiser was bared to them. Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking a coast-side, the Pillar of Autumn looked less of a wreck and more of a ruin. The structure was largely intact, save some scorch marks and locations where antennas had been shorn away. The metal was dull and looked almost rusted, a match to the barren cliffs it rested on, in a trench its descent had carved out.

The sight of what was left of it cast a profound sadness over Roaven, for reasons he couldn't quite describe. When it came down to it, it was only a ship, neither the first, nor the last that would be lost to the Covenant. Yet seeing it resting, abandoned by its crew, on a planet that would become its grave was somehow more striking than seeing it adrift in space. "Form up on me." He ordered, not willing to let the ponderous sorrow of the wreckage stop him from doing what he came here to do. What they came here to do. "We'll make entry in the empty pod bays on the close side."

"No." Marknos responded immediately, a hard edge in his voice. "Me and Kurioto will make entry elsewhere. Not enough bays here. On me." Waiting for neither approval nor consent, Marknos broke out of formation, Kurioto's Banshee wavering slightly before he followed.

Briefly, Roaven debated countering the order. It wasn't without merit, but Marknos had taken it upon himself to make the decision. The idea of starting this operation with an argument didn't appeal, but nor did letting the Spartan most inclined towards excess off the metaphorical leash. Instead Roaven watched the two Banshees angle away, then turned his attention to his own vector of approach. At least, until his HUD notified him of a someone pinging him for a private channel. Ariel.

"You just going to let them go?" She asked.

"You want to try to stop them?" He retorted, frowning beneath his helmet. That had come out harsher than he'd intended. Max had always had a way of delivering such lines jovially, but Roaven…didn't. "I'll keep an eye on them. For now, Marknos has a point." Instead of affirming his decision, Ariel simply cut the line, which wasn't the most reassuring response she could have provided.

For what he hoped was the final time, Roaven shunted off the doubts he had about their current situation off to some corner of his mind where he could ignore them until later. Max and Ariel were still on his flanks, closed in tight. It'd give them less of a profile, and there were only three bays on this particular section of the ship anyway.

On Roaven's left, Max's banshee floundered, losing a few feet of altitude and drifting backwards slightly, trailing the rest of the formation. "You took a lot of fire back there." Takeshi noted him, the image of a wolf appearing in the corner of Max's HUD as an indication that his AI was speaking to him.

"It's holding." Max replied calmly, risking a glance downward. Long way down, but even if the engine cut out, he was pretty sure he could go into a glide. He just wasn't sure how he'd get back into the ship from ground level. As if on cue, the engine stalled for a long moment, Max's stomach sinking as he was faced with the very real possibility of losing control of his vehicle, but it recovered.

"We are not going to make it." Takeshi growled, as he was so fond of doing. It was clear to Max that his AI didn't share the easy confidence he had about this mission. He worked his hand over the controls, testing their responsiveness. He was falling behind somewhat, but they were close, now. They'd be fine.

"Adjust course. Up, now!" His AI commanded. He was vaguely aware of a voice in his ear, not his AI this time. One of the other Spartans was yelling at him, but all of his attention was on fighting the suddenly non-responsive controls of his Banshee, desperately trying to coax it to obey, even as the escape pod bay disappeared from his view-screen, and the hull of the ship below it seemed to reach out to meet him.

As soon as he disembarked from his Banshee (and checked the hallway beyond for hostiles), Roaven had jogged over to the pod bay that Max had intended to land in. He wasn't sure, after the fireball he'd caught out of the corner of his eye, that there'd be anything left of Max. He had to check, though, and Ariel wasn't far behind. He was convinced that the Spartan hadn't died with the banshee, if only because it'd be a horribly anti-climactic way to go out. Then again, some Spartans never made it through the augmentation process that had made them Spartans to begin with. Compared to that, Max had done pretty well.

As he peered out through the open airlock and into the empty pod bay, he saw a few pieces of purple shrapnel, scrap from the banshee, and then nothing else, out into the distant horizon. At least, until a green, armored gauntlet reached up to grab at the edge of the bay, Max hauling himself up and rolling out into the hallway. As he came to rest on the floor, he looked up to the other two Spartans and offered an exhausted wave.

"You did that on purpose." Ariel accused him, arms crossed.

As Ariel stalked away to check the hallway, Roaven offered Max a hand up, an offer the other Spartan graciously accepted. In the meantime, it seemed prudent to check up on the 'Bravo team', Marknos and Kurioto. Opening a comm channel between all the Spartans, he was relieved to hear an acknowledgement signal from them both. It wasn't a proper response, and Roaven was still somewhat unhappy with their insistence on going their own way, but they had bigger problems at the moment.

"Who says you can't go home?" Max asked, turning his head to fix his gaze on Roaven, having taken a long, sweeping look about the area first. It was a flippant comment, the kind that he had come to expect from his fellow Spartan, but it was laced with the same sorrow he had felt when looking over the crashed ship. "That middle pod. Where you landed. Barely cleared the lock before the Covenant blew it out of the sky."

Roaven remembered that well enough. Plasma lancing out to embrace the Bumblebee escape pod. It had likely been mercifully quick, for what little that was worth. They had passed through here on their way to evacuate the Pillar of Autumn, initially. Which meant that their next step would be- "Maintenance tunnels. Around the bend. We need to get to the bridge." Shiro chimed in. It was a pointed, if unnecessary reminder about the task at hand. Reminiscing could wait.

"Were it we had a shotgun among us." Dresden added dryly, on a channel directed at only the three of them. They'd have one, very briefly, among them, but Marknos had taken it with him. Ariel had rejoined the two during the dragon AI's comment, and both her and Max were staring at Roaven. For a moment, he thought they were expecting orders, but after following their gaze to the blade he carried, he nodded.

"Fine, I'll take point." He walked with a lighter step than the other two, admittedly. Plus, he'd proven himself handy with the blade. Rarely did anyone want to be pointman (save Marknos), but he could see the sense in it. "On me." Max took up the middle position, bereft of a primary weapon. As such, Ariel would watch their back, though the cramped confines of the maintenance tunnels were an environment poorly suited to her marksmanship.

There was still emergency power to the ship, and thus the cramped maintenance hallways, while dimly lit, were not entirely shrouded in darkness. He elected not to add additional illumination with his flashlight, not wanting to alert any hostiles of his approach, and crept forward, the other two Spartans trailing him at a safe distance.

"There should be a ladder down…here. That'll be your best option." On cue, a nav marker appeared on Roaven's heads up display, directing him down the small hallway and around the corner. Given how much damage the Autumn must have sustained on impact, he appreciated that Shiro had any route information to provide. The stretch of hallway was initially quiet, but as soon as he rounded the corner, he found himself face to face with a flood combat form, clutching the all-too-familiar bulk of a pump action M90 shotgun.

At this range, that thing would tear through shield and armor, so neutralizing it was the first objective. Reaching out to bat the barrel of the weapon aside, Roaven drew his blade and, in one swift motion, lunged at the wrist of the combat form, the one that clutched the weapon. The knife met resistance, but not enough to stop the enhanced strength of the Spartan from pinning the thing's arm to the wall and wrenching the shotgun from its grasp. There wasn't nearly enough room to turn the weapon on the creature, so he let it clatter to the ground.

It lashed out with its free arm, the twisted claws at the end of it missing the Spartan's helmet by inches as he ducked low. Suddenly, the tunnel was filled with a bright, green glow, the distinct sound of an overcharged plasma pistol firing echoing through the hallway. Green sparks arced from the charred point of impact, but the creature was still on its feet. Pulling the knife from its wrist, Roaven lunged forward once more, attacking it with a flurry of blows. It tried (and failed) to ward them off, his knife parting flesh wherever it struck. The chief problem was that he didn't know where to strike to put the thing down, but eventually he felt something give way before the blade, and the life left the combat form, which slumped back and collapsed to the ground.

Max wasted little time in retrieving the shotgun, checking the chamber and stooping to retrieve whatever spare ammunition the twisted, transformed marine had been carrying. "You were saying, Dresden? Swap with me." The second portion was directed at Roaven. Seeing as he was on point, it made sense for him to have the short-range weapon. Obligingly, the lead Spartan passed his rifle back and accepted the weapon, mirroring Max's action and ensuring it was loaded. It wasn't that he didn't trust the other Spartan, but he'd rather be overcautious than not cautious enough.

The ladder down wasn't far past the fallen combat form (who Ariel kicked as they walked over for good measure). As they approached, all three of their motion trackers read hostiles, a cluster of tentacled flood infection forms spilling up into the maintenance tunnel. Roaven fired first, catching most of them in a hail of buckshot before they could spread out, and then flattening himself against the side of the hallway so the others could fire. Max sensibly dropped to a knee, putting a burst of fire out, while Ariel held her fire, waiting to see if the hail of fire would successfully stem the tide.

It did, at least for the time being, though Roaven waited several heartbeats before he moved, expecting another wave of them at any time. Here, at least, they didn't seem to be quite as common as their trek through the library, but that they were present at all on this human ship troubled him enough. He didn't say anything, but a glance over his shoulder left him under the impression that the other two felt the same. Then again, their helmets were, in theory, unreadable (though the Spartans could usually pick apart body language of one other well). Maybe he was just projecting.

He had to hold the shotgun close to himself to fit down the passage, which was more intended to accommodate an unarmored and unarmed human than the walking tanks that were the Spartans. At the bottom, his HUD flashed a warning immediately as a bright red-orange beam of energy lanced into his armor. They hadn't registered on his motion tracker, but a trio of sentinels was laying in wait, and evidently had just finished cleaning up some of the Flood down here. "Contact!" He shouted to the other two, diving behind a nearby pillar to put some cover between him and them.

Ariel was the next to drop down, despite having been trailing the group, drilling the first forerunner drone with a burst of plasma fire. It wavered, tilting to the side as if whatever device kept it afloat had been damaged, but returned fire. Max was close behind, a glowing green orb at the end of his plasma pistol, which he held in his offhand, his rifle close at his side, but the barrel pointed at the ground. As soon as he acquired his target, he let the glowing green orb arc across the intervening space, scorching the sentinel's components irreparably. As it clattered to the ground, he was already firing off uncharged shots at the other two, covering himself to join Roaven and Ariel behind the column they crouched behind.

"Looks like we brought all kinds of guests to this party." Ariel noted, cradling her rifle while waiting for the heat she'd generated with her fire to dissipate, so she could peek back out and repeat the process. Max, on the other hand, was attempting to overcharge his plasma pistol again, only for the orb to fizzle out every time he did. With neither the knowledge nor the capability to recharge it, he could do little but discard the now useless weapon and risk peering out to let off a burst from his human rifle. While the bullets struck true, they didn't do as much damage as the plasma would have, and the sentinel had no problem striking Max on the face-plate with a beam. While his shields caught the attack, it was enough to drive him back into cover.

"They are cleaning the ship up for us." He pointed out.

"And they'll clean it of us, too, given the chance." Roaven reminded him, shaking his head. What 343 Guilty Spark was after was hard to say, but it couldn't be anything good.

"One problem at a time. Draw their fire." Ariel instructed the other two. Max and Roaven glanced at each other, a stare-down that ended with Max grumbling and stepping out into the open, loosing a burst of assault rifle fire in the direction of the two remaining sentinels.

Ariel stepped out on the other side as soon as the floating forerunner constructs engaged Max, bracing her rifle against her body and unleashing a torrent of plasma fire, not relenting until first one, and then the other fell, smoldering, to the ground. The heat generated had not been kind to her rifle, which was currently angrily venting heat from the side. Ariel held it well away from her body for good measure, though she never stopped scanning for additional threats. None presented themselves.

"Let's keep moving." She suggested. There was no telling how the sentinels communicated with each other. For all they knew, more were already on their way here.

"They've a whole ring to cover. Let's hope they're stretched thin." Max hadn't forgotten the middling effectiveness of the sentinels at containing the Flood, particularly once the creatures armed themselves. There could only be so many tasked to sweep the Pillar of Autumn, only so fast they could get there. Or so he hoped.

The way behind the Spartan team was a dead end, and the nav beacon that Shiro helpfully provided for them was onwards anyway, past the fallen sentinel trio. They'd scarcely rounded the corner the sentinels had been guarding when they were beset by weapons fire, human and Covenant alike. "Contact!" Their motion trackers were lit up, and the incoming fire made such a fact all but self-evident, but it was an instinctive cry from Roaven above all else.

The closest flood combat form ran into a wall of buckshot, Roaven backpedaling as he chambered another round. The other two Spartans fanned out to either side to lend their firepower as well. Max's automatic fire was well suited to keeping the skittering infection forms at bay, as they tried to dart in between the legs of their larger brethren. Max didn't intend to let them get close enough to pounce. The Spartans' shields would likely break them upon it, but with weapons fire incoming, there was no sense in taking chances on that sort of thing.

It only took a few moments of sustained weapons fire to clear the hallway, but it felt like an eternity, and the Spartans were left to scrounge through the dead to try to recover whatever supplies they could. Ariel traded her plasma rifle in for a needler, while Max and Roaven both scrounged up a little bit more ammunition for their respective weapons. "Maybe we should make a detour for the armory." Max sighed, retrieving a grenade from a fallen combat form.

"How much do you think will be left, by now?" Ariel shook her head. "Counting on it not being picked over or inaccessible from the crash." More to the point, she believed their objective took priority. Every enemy they fought that wasn't a sentinel could be looted for weapons to keep them going.

"We keep going to the bridge for now. We'll see if opportunity allows." Roaven wasn't convinced that it was a bad idea, but for now it wasn't something they could afford to stand around and argue about. Having finished picking through the dead, he stepped over a fallen combat form and examined the lifeboat airlock on the left side of the hallway. It had been one of the locations the Covenant had boarded, taking advantage of the escape pod leaving to make another entry point. Clever bastards. Now, it was empty, the connection clearly unable to stand up to orbital re-entry and a crash landing. The empty boarding craft was presumably somewhere on Halo, perhaps at the bottom of the ocean nearby.

"On me." Time to keep moving. Wordlessly, Ariel and Max took up positions behind him as he strode down the hallway, rounding the corner to the right at the end of it. Nothing. Yet his motion tracker was reading hostiles, on the other side of a locked door on the left side of the room. He glanced over his shoulder to the other two, ready to suggest that they try breaching it. It was between them and the bridge, after all. Before the words could leave his mouth, there was a loud, metallic bang. Then another. Immediately, his gaze snapped forward and he brought his weapon up, seeing the locked door begin the buckle.

It was eerily reminiscent of the first encounter they had with the Flood. No mystery what was behind the door, then. A hand on his shoulder urged him aside, and he obliged, as Max stepped forward, a grenade in hand (presumably retrieved from the fallen combat forms). Ariel and Roaven kept their weapons trained on the door, though both of them took several steps back, lest they be within the blast radius of the explosive.

Bang! Bang! Finally, with a final crash, the doors opened, and a horde of Flood poured through. Max was ready, rolling the grenade in low rather than risk it bouncing back, and then sweeping low with his rifle. It saved him the time of bringing it to his shoulder, and dealt with at least a handful of the skittering infection forms. With a loud thump, the grenade detonated, scattering the Flood. The closest combat forms were able to avoid the worst of it, but that luck did little to save them from the blast of Roaven's shotgun, and the barrage of pink needle-like projectiles that buried themselves in the other.

"Clear!" Ariel barked, loading another fresh…magazine(?) crystal into her weapon. Nudging the combat form she had felled with a boot, stepped around it and into the hallway the Flood had poured from. Seeing no reason to not let her take point, Roaven fell in behind her, proceeding down the winding but largely empty hallway. At the end, a closed door with a green light, indicating that, somehow, it was functioning and unlocked. A small fire burned next to it, presumably a recent development if it hadn't managed to burn itself out yet.

The door parted before the lead Spartan, revealing a cluster of infection forms, which Max immediately engaged. While the needler Ariel carried was good for combat forms, the small, bulbous creatures were difficult for the weapon to track, and the explosive abilities of it were all but wasted on them. Fortunately, they were few, and a sustained burst of rifle fire scattered the few it didn't destroy. The doorway opened into another long corridor, which stretched in either direction, necessitating that the Spartans check both sides at once. It was hardly the first room they'd cleared.

Ariel and Max loitered in the entry, while Roaven strode through, passing straight through to engage any enemies that were close to the doorway. His eyes immediately snapped to a combat form nearby, that had its back to him, firing at some unknown hostile (perhaps more sentinels?). His hand strayed instinctively to the handle of his knife, but he elected not to take the risk, instead putting a eight-gauge shotgun shell into its back, working the slide and searching for any other targets.

The other two Spartans were close on his heels, Max checking the right side and Ariel doing the same with the left. More combat forms, though interestingly enough, they all seemed otherwise engaged. Neither Spartan was particularly inclined to steal away their attention, so instead they merely reported their respective contacts and sought out the nearest cover. Some barricades from when the ship was initially boarded still stood, and provided convenient cover for them. Max sighed in on the combat form on his side, waiting to see if it would notice the Spartans arrival.

It didn't, but it did provide an answer for what, exactly, it was shooting at. The hulking, armored form of a Hunter charged into view, its oversized metal shield knocking the combat form aside as easily as if it was swatting a fly. Despite whatever superhuman strength the Flood form possessed, when it crumbled into a heap against the wall it was slammed against, it did not rise again. Three more combat forms followed it out, attempting to pour fire into its unarmed back, but it was quick to turn to face them, the cannon on its other arm glowing green and then spitting a fuel-rod blast into their midst. They, too, did not rise once more after falling.

With the foes before it fallen, it could safely turn its attention to the Spartans down the hallway, crouching low so it could bring its shield up to cover its front while the cannon on its arm cycled. His hopes of avoiding its attention thwarted, Max opened fire, rounds ricocheting or impacting dully on the metal shield, to little effect. The only way that he was going to do any damage to the thing was to get around behind it, an approach the corridor they were in didn't particularly facilitate.

"Cover me!" He heard Ariel bark from behind him, a burst of plasma bolts flying over him, dissipating on the Hunter's shield as ineffectively as his bullets had. Seconds later, Ariel ran past, careful to hug the left wall to stay clear of his line of fire. The hallway was scattered with cover, as well as a single spot where an alcove provided some measure of cover, but the powerful cannon on the Hunter carried was significantly harder to avoid than direct weapon fire. Max's covering fire, for that matter, did little to keep the Hunter from firing, attempting to stop Ariel from closing the distance.

At distance, Roaven could do little to assist, but it seemed ill-advised to throw himself down the same corridor as Ariel and make a hit more likely to be struck by the Covenant behemoth. Instead, he watched the other direction warily. Hunters traveled in pairs, they always fought in teams of two. So where was the other one? He regretted asking just about as soon as the question came to mind. Mirroring the scene that Max had witnessed, another Hunter came charging into the fray down the corridor, laying waste to a small group of Flood. This one, however, wasn't alone. Hot on his tail were two more figures, clad in green armor.

"Nice entrance, Kurioto. Marknos. Need some help?" It seemed they were having the same problem that Max and Ariel were, in that the Hunter could readily keep them from striking at its vulnerable rear in the tight confines of the Pillar of Autumns corridors. At least they already had the thing facing the other way, which would make his sneaking up on it a little bit easier. Hunters were basically walking tanks, but even they couldn't stand up to an eight-gauge magnum round to the back. Maybe two, if they were stubborn.

He barely registered the click of acknowledgement offered in response from Kurioto's radio, already working his way down the hallway as fast as he dared go. With all the noise echoing down the corridor, it wasn't likely the Hunter would be able to hear him, but he couldn't rule it out. All the while, he kept his weapon at the ready, but he hesitated, wanting to get as close as possible before he opened fire. If he could put every pellet of buckshot from his shot on target, he liked his odds of dropping the Hunter.

Finally, he was close enough, lined up, finger on the trigger. Roaven gently squeezed the trigger, only for his aim to jerk slightly to the side as he heard Max cry in his ear. "Roaven! We need help!" Afterwards, he could think back and make all the excuses he wanted to. Max had distracted him. He'd been tired, on edge, not at his best. Regardless, he fucked up the shot. At least half the buckshot pellets deflected off of the armor on the Hunter's back and side, and it was immediately alerted to the existence of a threat behind it. It raised its shield high over its head, turning and bringing it down in one smooth motion.

He was lucky not to be crushed beneath it, but the weight of the strike sent his shotgun sliding across the smooth metal floor of the corridor, and he was sent sprawling backwards. Staying down would mean dying, so he rolled with the impact, coming up in a crouch and ending up face-to-face with the charging arm-cannon of his foe. Alone, that might have been the end of him. With two other Spartans backing him up, he could watch as they both assaulted the creature, throwing its aim to the side under a hail of fire, not unlike how he had fouled the shotgun shot.

The splash of green energy on the bulkhead beside him still drained about half of his shields and bathed him in warmth, but it didn't kill him, and it left him an opportunity to get to his feet. He looked for his weapon and found it underneath one of the heavy feet of the Hunter, which was an open and shut case of it being lost to him, for the time being. Fuck it. He still had his knife. Marknos might have been tempted to let loose a war cry (hell, even Max probably would have been tempted). Roaven opted to skip the scream and cut to the heart of the matter. Difficult, given that Hunters were just oversized, alien worm colonies encased in armor and weapons, but he managed to find a target nonetheless, sinking his knife into the back of the behemoth.

It roared where he hadn't, staggering forward and then attempting to shake Roaven loose, still very much alive and very much angry. He withdrew the blade and plunged it forward again, and again, and again, acutely aware that there was a reason he had opted for the shotgun in the first place, rather than going straight for his blade. Even in hindsight, Roaven was uncertain if the Hunter was smart or just angry, but in the heat of the moment, all he felt was the impact as he was slammed back against the wall, the impact numbing the arm holding the blade even through the armor he wore. Instead, he swapped hands, pulling the knife free with his left hand and plunging it in the orange flesh of the Hunter several more times. He could feel it weakening. He just had to hold on.

Once more he was slammed against the wall, gritting his teeth beneath his helmet and continuing to rain down a flurry of blows, until he felt the Hunter sway, then give out, the life draining out of it along with the blood from the multitude of wounds inflicted upon it. It would have been a larger consolation had it not fallen atop Roaven, leaving him pinned on the floor and disinclined to try to worm free until he had caught his breath.

At least, until he remembered that Ariel and Max were still engaged with the other one. He hadn't heard anything in a while, and panic struck him as he wondered if the silence was a bad sign. Had they fallen? Had he been so focused on his own fight that he'd tuned them out?

With the help of the other two Spartans, he rolled the Hunter's body off him, taking to his feet and retrieving his fallen weapon. He hadn't used much ammo in the fight, so he surrendered a handful of shells to Marknos, for his shotgun, while the other Spartan complained that they needed bigger guns. This time, Roaven didn't have it in him to argue. Maybe a side-trip to the armory was going to be necessary sooner or later anyway, if there were more fights like this on the horizon.

He found Ariel bent over Max, poking and prodding at his leg as he sat against a wall. He saw blood, fresh blood on the ground, and followed the trail over to the corpse of the other Hunter of the pair. As best as he could tell, both Spartans were still kicking, though neither of them looked like they were doing wonderfully. "Sitrep?" He prompted them, looking between the two of them. Ariel seemed more likely to respond, so he let his gaze settle there.

Ariel turned, pausing in her work to stare into his eyes, or at least at his visor, though she was silent for several, long moments. "Could have used another gun." She finally noted, before turning back to securing Max's armor back in place, mostly about his leg, which seemed to bear the brunt of whatever injuries he had. "Can you put weight on it?" That was clearly directed at Max, and Roaven had to step to give room as she retreated, allowing Max space to test his leg.

It turned out he could, though he was slightly unsteady as he took to his feet, nodding. "I'll live. Maybe. Guess the day's young. Done bleeding all over me?" When Ariel wasn't looking, he flashed Roaven a thumbs up. Guess it was good that one of the entire Spartan team was still with him. For now. "We made a lot of noise, boss. Think there's some hostiles setting the table for us in the mess hall." Their motion tracker was empty, but all that meant was that no one within twenty-five meters was moving enough to register. Laying in wait usually didn't require that much movement.

"Covenant. Black armor." That meant Special Operations Covenant forces. Roaven struggled to recall a moment they had engaged them and could think only on the disabled cruiser when retrieving the Captain's neural implants. The Truth and Reconciliation was devoid of them, as had every other installation. If he had to guess, the Flood had probably kept them busy, but that well of good fortune had gone and run dry on them. Poor timing. All the furniture was secured in there, at least, which meant none of the tables could be upended to serve as barricades. There was nothing to be done for it now, at any rate, but to regroup with Marknos and prepare to assault the mess hall.

"Don't suppose you've anything, Shiro?" Roaven ventured, checking over his equipment as Marknos and Kurioto discussed their plan for making assault. They'd be the first in, moving quickly and drawing fire to let the other Spartans enter and set up a base of fire.

"Negative. Cameras are all offline, they're radio-silent on the Covenant net, and your motion tracker is empty. You'll have to run this one blind." It wouldn't be the first time, of course. The Spartans hadn't always had AI on hand. They hadn't even always had their armor, which was a force-multiplier that could not be overstated. He informed the others: the current working plan was the best they had. A few grenades were scavenged from the fallen Flood, but firepower wouldn't be what carried the day. Not this time.

In the end, the plan went about as well as they could have hoped. Kurioto and Marknos made entry first, sprinting through the opening and past the initial burst of plasma fire. Kurioto laid down some covering fire, but for the most part they were interested only in getting out of the doorway as quickly as possible. Good thing, too, as the bright green splash of a fuel rod shot detonating indicated the Covenant team had heavy weapons. As the defenders moved to track the two targets, the other three Spartans made entry. Ariel finally had a chance to make good use of her marksmanship, perforating the armor of the one fuel rod cannon wielding Grunt. The failsafe detonated the weapon among the group of Covenant, damaging their shields and scattering them.

Max dropped against a table, using it as both cover and to help stabilize his rifle, Ariel joining him to help cover the rest of the Spartans. Roaven opted to advance along the right wall, trying to get close enough to bring his shotgun into effective range, and ideally without getting shot. Most of the surviving Covenant were seeking cover or engaging Kurioto and Marknos, who were advancing on the opposite side of the room from him and it wasn't until a short burst of plasma fire scorched his shields that Roaven had to stop.

Sure enough, an Elite, clad in black, was roaring a challenge at him, his shields flickering but holding, trying to recharge after the fuel-rod cannon detonated. Roaven didn't plan to give them the opportunity, putting a shell into the Covenant warrior and chambering another round. Trying, to, anyway. His weapon indicator flashed red, and a quick glance indicated that his weapon was indeed jammed. As if that wasn't bad enough, the Elite was advancing, tossing aside his rifle now that his shields were down and drawing a plasma blade, which ignited in his hand.

Dropping the shotgun, Roaven reached for his knife, pulling it from its sheath and immediately regretting it. He'd have to get close enough to be within the energy blade's reach, else it'd slice clean through his shields and him. Flipping the blade in his hand, he threw it, more an act of desperation than a reasoned one, though it did strike true, landing blade first in the chest of the Elite. His augmented strength bestowed enough strength on the weapon to punch through the Elite's armor, though he worried he had just made it angrier, even as it stumbled somewhat.

A burst of weapons fire from his left finished the job, striking the Elite a half-dozen times in the chest and leaving it falling to the ground, lifeless. "A knife, really?" Max laughed, even as Roaven swept his gaze across the rest of the room, to see the Kurioto picking through the fallen, ensuring that none of the Covenant had survived. Opting to not dignify that with a response, Roaven retrieved his weapon and cleared the jam, pulling his knife clean of the fallen Elite and regrouping with Max and Ariel.

"It was a pretty good throw, to be fair." Dresden chuckled, equally amused by the choice of weapon, but willing to concede that it had almost proven effective. "Aim higher, next time." He advised. A burst of weapons fire indicated Kurioto having found a not-quite-dead Covenant soldier, but after the echo of the shots faded, a deceptively calm quiet fell over the room. With how well sound-proofed the Autumn was, one could be forgiven for thinking it wasn't the sight of an extensive, multi-way battle.

"Shotguns up front. Marknos, on me." They were close, now, to the bridge, to the end of this whole affair. Roaven shuddered to think of how many had lost their lives on the ring already. How many more would after they destroyed it. This time, at least, Marknos obliged him, and Roaven took point, crossing the corridor between the mess hall and the bridge, weapon raised, and beginning to sweep the command center.

It was occupied by Covenant, but they seemed largely scavengers or sentries, Grunts and Jackals that fell easily before the might of the Spartan fireteam. The few Jackals who managed to react in time to activate their shields found them destroyed by the plasma rifle Ariel scavenged in the mess hall. Each Spartan, in turn, sent a green 'all-clear' symbol to Roaven's heads-up-display. It was only a few steps to stand where he had before, the last time he'd been on the ship. It was a sharp reminder of Captain Keyes' absence. He moved to pull Shiro's crystal from his helmet but stopped short as Shiro spoke up.

"Wait. Takeshi. Dresden. Either of you want to do this?" Shiro inquired, over the radio.

"No. I'd prefer to content myself destroying Covenant ships." Dresden replied. "There'll be another time for me to destroy a planet-sized ring, I'm sure. I'll keep watch." Quickly, he amended the statement. "We'll keep watch."

"You have always had a way with machines, Shiro. Just don't linger overlong. We're not out of the woods yet." Takeshi noted.

That taken care of, Shiro made no further objection as Roaven withdrew him from his helmet and slotted him in the bridge console. His form appeared shortly after, flickering briefly before clarifying into a somewhat-solid figure, seemingly floating above the projector he had been connected to. Slowly, the AI turned his head, surveying the bridge. Scorch marks on the metal, damaged consoles and Covenant bodies betrayed the sad state of the ship, that it would never fly again. "We leave home for a few days and this happens." He sighed, gesturing to the large command display beside him.

On cue, a timer appeared on the screen, counting down from twenty minutes. "That should give us enough time to find a Pelican or hop a lifeboat. Get clear of the ring before it detonates." Hearing a heavy footstep at his side, Roaven glanced over to see Max limping up to join him at the console, looking between Shiro and the countdown, then fixing his gaze on Roaven. Though he was silent, Roaven could hear the question he was asking quite clearly.

Then what? If they got out of the ring, would they just drift in space and hope someone came to find them? Could they even get a distress signal out that anyone would find? He was looking for reassurance, and Roaven had none to offer. After waiting several long moments in vain for an answer to his unspoken question, Max simply turned and began walking away. Roaven paused for one moment, searching for something he could say that would make this right, but he had nothing to offer. Instead, he reached for the projector, intent on securing Shiro back in his helmet so they could get going.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question." Roaven froze, recognizing that voice well enough. It was the metallic, arrogant voice of one 343 Guilty Spark. The Monitor. "Reckless, isn't it, imbuing your AI with such a wealth of knowledge. What if it were to be captured? Or destroyed?" While the tone was the same, almost sing-song tone that the Monitor always employed, it was hard not to read threat from that statement. He looked to Shiro, not missing the irony of seeking answers when he himself had only just failed to provide them.

"Local tap. He's in my data arrays. I'll see what I can-" Shiro began, though the Monitor immediately resumed his monologue, and the AI fell silent once more.

"To think that you would see all of this destroyed. Unbelievable! I will enjoy catching up on everything that I missed. Human history, is it?" Great, so he was plumbing the logs of the Autumn. Too much to hope for that those had been destroyed in the crash. Hearing more footsteps at his back, Roaven turned to find the rest of the Spartans gathering around him. They couldn't have missed the Monitor's monologue, and they wanted to know what was happening.

Perfect timing, too, as the countdown timer on the screen froze in place, displaying an alert that the self-destruct had been disabled. All crew could return to their stations. "Why do you continue to fight us, Reclaimers? You cannot win. If you surrender your constructs, then I will endeavor to make your death-"

"Still have control of the comm channels, at least." Shiro murmured, gazing thoughtfully at the display before turning to face the assembled Spartan team, shoulders slumped. "We're out of options. He's at engineering, I believe. Taking the reactor offline. Without that…"

"The engine's shields. They're not that strong. Could crack them with, what, a well-placed grenade?" Dresden chimed in, perhaps sounding a little too pleased at the idea of crippling a cruiser with an infantry weapon.

"Hm. Yes, that's about what specs would indicate, but I don't see how-" Shiro began, though as he turned his gaze back to the group, it having wandered away as he thought things through, he found Kurioto holding a belt of grenades, likely liberated from a fallen marine or Flood form. "Right. Well, I'm coming with you."

"We should split up." Roaven suggested, as he pulled Shiro's AI data-crystal and slotted it back into his helmet. "Rather have more firepower than we need. Like you said, maybe it's time for a shot at the armory."

"Max and I can go." Ariel volunteered immediately. "We're both injured, but not helpless. You three make a direct assault, draw attention. We'll meet you at engineering with grenades, AT rockets, whatever we can find."

"Why is it we always run the distraction?" Marknos asked, turning to look directly at Kurioto and checking the chamber on his shotgun. "Yeah, well, your actions speak louder than words." He added a moment later. It was hard to tell if he was putting words in the other Spartan's mouth, or they had a private comm channel. No one seemed inclined to ask. "Just don't hog all the damned rockets. Love to add a cruiser to my kill count."

"Keep me posted, you two. Shiro's got comms, so we shouldn't have anyone listening in." Picking their way through bodies and debris, the Spartans made their way back to the entry of the bridge, which, for the moment, was still quiet.

"Doubt I could keep Max off comms if I wanted." Ariel snorted, turning and striding off, towards the mess hall they had fought through. Max offered Roaven what he imagined was a sheepish grin underneath his helmet and then followed.

"Alright, Marknos. You know how to do loud and messy. Take point." Roaven gestured forward, down the hallway beyond the entry to the mess hall. If they retracted their path the last time they were on the ship, they could get to cryo, and they would be able to cut through to engineering from there, and hopefully regroup with Ariel and Max.

An unlocked door at the end of the hallway (on the right) lead into an armory that, during their last trip through the Autumn, had been full of wounded marines. Now it was brimming with Flood forms, human weapons and olive drab attire betraying their origins. Roaven wondered if they had been left behind during the crash, or if salvage teams had succumbed to the infection afterwards. Perhaps these were infected elsewhere, then made their way here. He had no time to ponder the matter, his reverie of thought broken by the thunderous sound of a shotgun firing. It was Marknos greeting the first of their opponents, but certainly not the last.

They lived up to their name, the Flood, pouring through the entryway faster than Marknos could empty his weapon into them, forcing him to backpedal. This granted Kurioto and Roaven a clear line of fire, and neither Spartan hesitated before lending their own firepower to the attempt to stem the tide. Drab green blood splattered the floor as each one fell, but just as quickly it was replaced by another. They scarcely had time to bring their weapons to bear but seemed content to lunge forward and be cut down, all in service of gaining enough of a foothold to properly engage the Spartans.

The situation necessitated additional firepower, and Kurioto provided it, breaking the onslaught with a well-placed plasma grenade. Used recklessly, the device would adhere to one of the charging combat forms, who would happily deliver it back to its thrower still attached but settling the glowing blue orb in the doorway rendered such a fate unlikely. After the bright blue flash of its detonation subsided, for the first time the Spartans could see past the mountain of flesh that had thrown itself at them.

The room beyond had been picked clean before they had been woken from Cryo and had not managed to be miraculously resupplied since. The fallen Flood forms were armed, though, and hastily stripped of ammunition before the team pressed on. The hallway beyond was engulfed in combat, plasma and bullets traded back and forth between Flood and Covenant. Fortunately for the Spartan team, their objective was immediately across the hallway, and the area directly around the door they were entering through was relatively clear of hostiles. All they had to do was run through the weapons fire, and with their shields up, it wasn't like to be a problem.

For once, it actually wasn't, their shields holding up well enough against the weapons fire. Beyond was a comparatively narrow hallway that opened into another corridor. The sentinels currently occupying it were just finishing up with Flood stragglers, infection forms darting for cover. More than one was crushed underfoot as the Spartans stormed out, cutting down the Sentinels before they could process the new threat. Destroying them did mean that the Flood needed to also be dealt with, but with Roaven (who had taken the brunt of the sentinel fire) in the middle of the group, the few Flood who made it close enough to strike simply dashed themselves on their shields.

The half-closed bulkhead door the Spartans had ducked on their way out of cryo had not come loose in the intervening period, but it provided as little an obstacle now as it had then. Finally, they were in the cryo hallway, though this was the one adjacent to the room they had slept in. Halfway down, a door stubbornly blocked their progress (although only until Marknos put a boot to it). A quick glance showed their cryo room was sealed and locked. At any rate, it was in the wrong direction, and they could not afford a trip down memory line.

Inside, more Sentinels and Flood forms duked it out, energy weapons and bullets flying. Already, several burning wrecks and unmoving bodies littered the room, and indication that the battle had been raging for a while. Roaven believed they should let the two sides cut each other down to size before they moved in, but Marknos raised the point that they were supposed to garner attention, not shirk from it. It was difficult to say if the Flood could communicate the presence of the Spartans, but it was a safe bet that the Sentinels could, and the more of the machines that came after them, the fewer Max and Ariel would run into. It was sound enough logic, so Roaven offered no further objection when Marknos and Kurioto stormed the room.

Roaven knew that he didn't know everything about combat, and he found quickly that the other two had gotten good at fighting these new threats. Sentinels were targeted first, though their beam weapons were of limited strength compared to the wide variety of weapons the Flood employed. The more salient point was that every time their machinery gave out, they came crashing to the ground, with frequently explosive results. Since they were usually found floating above the Flood they were attempting to take care of, it was an opportunity to kill two metaphorical birds with one stone.

After the Sentinels were taken care of, the remaining Flood (usually wounded and scattered) could be dealt with, and a brief sweep could be carried out to strip them of any useful equipment. Human and Covenant weapons both evidently could withstand explosions, shrapnel, and fire and remain serviceable, conveniently enough. They ascended to the second flood catwalk, then cut into the control room overlooking the cryo bay. Best Roaven could tell, all the pods were empty, and he tried not to think about any who were still frozen when the Pillar of Autumn had struck the planet. Even if they had survived impact, between power failure and scavengers…

The trip to engineering required cutting through another set of maintenance tunnels, but there were more Flood forms to fight through before they reached even those. Likely the Sentinels they had cut down would have moved to fighting them eventually, but time wasn't on their side. Maybe the Monitor would take his time poring through the archives in the Autumn, but it was just as possible he'd get through it in a matter of hours. After that? Well, none of the Spartans wanted to find out what he'd do. That was assuming they survived long enough to find out, of course. So far, they had been doing well, but the Flood, true to their name, seemed unending. If they had any idea what was going on within the Autumn, or the Spartans' goal, they'd be sending everything they had.

Within the confines of the tunnels, only one of the Spartans could reliably engage a target at a time, but Kurioto proved himself plenty capable of taking up that burden. The larger test for the group waited beyond the tunnels, anyway. Another full-scale battle had erupted beyond, and this time the Covenant were involved. The teams on the Autumn seemed particularly well trained and well-armed, and though the Spartans were concealed in the darkness of the tunnels for the time being, they would have to leave their safety sooner or later.

Once more, the point that they needed to make noise and draw attention won out over the sense of staying hidden, to Roaven's chagrin.

"Three Spartans can handle themselves." Marknos insisted, checking his shotgun. Of course, that was overlooking the too-close call they'd had with the Hunters earlier, who were once more in attendance (if the distinct sound of their cannons was any indication). This time, they'd have shock and awe on their side, but Roaven, for one, was skeptical that Hunters could be shocked or awed.

Marknos lead by example, stepping through the threshold with his shotgun ready, searching for the first target to present itself. Off to his left, a pair of jackals disappeared beneath a swarm of infection forms, so he pivoted right, instead, bringing the weapon to bear on a Sangheili who had the misfortune to have its back turned. From the other side, a sentinel's beam flashed against the shield of the Sangheili, though it barely seemed to make a dent. Even the impact of a shotgun blast from behind didn't fell it, though it did leave the Covenant warrior staggering, turning in surprise to face its assailant.

The corridor was a target rich environment, which left neither Kurioto nor Roaven able to stop and lend aid as they followed him out. They'd have to trust that he could handle himself. The ring's guardians seemed largely preoccupied with the Flood, so Roaven set his sights on a nearby infection form. He was grateful the armor he wore could keep him on target even as he moved, as he hardly wanted to cluster in the doorway with the other two Spartans, begging for a plasma grenade. The first fell, but just as quickly, another took its place, joined by two more, who all began returning fire with an assortment of weaponry. He managed to find some cover, but he had no opportunity to check on either of the others.

The occasional, distinct report of a shotgun blast indicated that Marknos was likely still fighting, though one or two of the combat forms clutched such weapons as well. Nor had he been left with enough time to conclude his ongoing firefight before Kurioto's icon flashed on his HUD. Little as he could afford to split his attention, he ducked back and turned to check his six. The same Hunters he had been concerned about had joined the fray, dispatching with whatever enemies they had previously been fighting and turning their attention to Kurioto.

Intent on not repeating the mistake of the previous fight, Roaven paused only long enough to hurl a plasma grenade at the combat forms he'd been fighting before moving to assist the other Spartan. With little cover available, the cannons the Hunters used were deadly in this space, and the longer they delayed dealing with them, the more time the lumbering creatures would have to use them. Attacks from the front weren't going to be of any use, but it gave the Hunters something to think about, as did another (and his last) plasma grenade.

The two Hunters were fighting side-by-side (as he understood it, they were mates, or blood-brothers or something, and always fought in pairs). In the confines of the corridor, wide as it might be compared to a traditional hallway, it left the Spartans with precious little opportunity to flank. With all three of them committed to the fight, they did have the numbers advantage, however, and the Hunters could only hunker down so much. Marknos was already advancing along the right wall, so Roaven mirrored him on the left. The big problem with sticking so close to the wall was the weaponry the Hunters employed. Even a near miss would splash against the wall and was liable to catch them in the blast, rather than soaring past harmlessly. They didn't have much option, though.

He couldn't explain why, but Roaven was fortunate in having neither of the Hunters targeting him, one focusing on Marknos, the other Kurioto. The steady supply of dead Flood had been good for ammunition, but he still didn't want to spend what he had too frivolously. He contented himself with a few short bursts (though none seemed effective) as he advanced, attempting to get a better angle on the creatures.

He quickly found out the difference between them being focused on the other Spartans and entirely committed to attacking them. The closer of the two turned to face him, the cannon on its arm glowing green as a shot charged. While not as adept at combat advice as the other AI, Shiro offered assistance, throwing a timer in the corner of Roaven's HUD. Three seconds…two…one…he dove forward, dropping into a low roll, green light flashing at the corner of his vision and heat washing over him, even through the suit. His shields flickered, dropping about a quarter, but they held, and just as quickly, he was back on his feet.

The sensible thing to do would be to try to bleed them out, get a better angle on them. With how much he had been overthinking the larger situation, however, wringing his hands over what might happen (or had already), Roaven was more than willing to try something different. It was a relief, in a way, letting the adrenaline take him, his training guide his hands, his feet. He closed the distance, emptying the rest of his magazine and then springing up, even as the Hunter swung out its shield to meet his charge. He felt the impact, which took another chunk of his shields away, but it wasn't a direct hit, and he road the momentum up and over, brushing uncomfortably close to the spines of the creature before landing behind it.

If he gave them the opportunity, he knew both of the Hunters would squish him into paste, but now they were flanked, and any attempt to turn to face a threat would bare their unarmored backs to another. Now all he had to do was shoot it in the back and then he could deal with the other one.

Click.

Right, ammo counter at zero. Change mags? No, too slow. Instead he went for his knife, a weapon which seemed to be increasingly invaluable to the Spartan since his kidnapping by 343 Guilty Spark. With speed and strength that would have been beyond reach for a normal human, he sank the metal into the exposed flesh of the Hunter he had vaulted – once, twice, then three more times in quick succession. He didn't stop until it slumped, the life draining out of it alongside its blood.

Its death only made the other Hunter angrier, however, and it was willing to accept being shot in the back if it meant avenging its mate. Roaven barely had time to pull his blade free before the bulky shield carried by the Hunter was crashing down on him, leaving him sprawled out on his back and fumbling for a spare mag for his rifle, albeit too slowly. It raised its shield once more, intent on squishing the Spartan below it like a bug, when it, too, stumbled, weapons fire ringing out from behind it.

Kurioto and Marknos were standing close behind it, alternating their gunfire to batter the vulnerable rear of the beast. Past the point where it seemed to have died, they both continued unloading into it, until both of their weapons had run dry. Mercifully, it did not fall atop Roaven, instead crashing at his side. Kurioto silently offered him a hand up, which he took, sliding another magazine into place in his rifle and nodding to each of them in turn, conveying the gratitude he could not currently find the words to express.

"Ariel? Max? Sitrep?" Despite commanding them to stay in touch, he hadn't heard from either of the other Spartans in a while. He also hadn't had time to check in, thanks to the almost constant running battle that he'd be involved in.

"Green!" Max replied a moment later. "Few stragglers, but you guys are really pissing the Covenant off. Sentinels seem more worried about the Flood." There was a long pause, the line going dead for a moment before reconnecting. "Just arriving at the armory now, it's still loaded. Get here quick."

"We're not far." Shiro chimed in reassuringly. "Although…you should tend to your wounds before we move out." He added. His tone wasn't unkind, but it wasn't particularly warm either, more matter-of-fact than anything else.

"My shields held, I'm fine." Roaven countered. As the adrenaline from battle faded, he was forced to reconsider that notion, feeling blood run against his skin. Another glance at his vitals revealed that he had, in fact, taken more damage than he'd initially thought. Several punctures and bruises where the Hunter's spines had broken through his armor, and where his armor's gel layer had been insufficient for padding the blunt force damage.

"A couple inches to the left, and you'd have a popped lung." Shiro sighed. "Kurioto, medkit." Roaven hadn't even realized the silent Spartan had been carrying one, but sure enough, he procured one, sweeping the hallway with his weapon before turning to tend to the darkly armored team leader.

"Maybe don't jump any more Hunters." Marknos suggested, taking up position to cover them while they tended to their injuries. Roaven's injuries, at least. "Though you are getting pretty good at stabbing stuff in the back." That was reminder enough for Roaven to retrieve his blade, wiping it clean and cursing his absent-mindedness. He knew the fatigue was largely responsible, but the cause wouldn't matter much if the end result was him getting himself killed.

"Yeah, keep that in mind, Marknos." While this was neither the time nor place to address it, Roaven had not forgotten the other Spartan's habits of insubordination and disdain for orders. Neither his weariness nor his injuries were doing him any favors as far as offering forgiveness went. He double checked the magazine on his rifle as Kurioto finished applying bio-foam to his injuries, accepting the tap on the shoulder as a signal that it was time to move out. The armory wasn't far, and with Shiro there to guide them, there wasn't much chance of getting lost.

A quick spot check as they moved out revealed to Roaven that he had gotten the worst of it out of that fight. He preferred it that way. When he got injured, it was between him and himself as to what the cause was. Bad decision? Too slow, too hasty, bad reflex? As soon as his team started getting injured, the questions got more complicated. Had he made a bad call, or had they? Was he pushing them too hard, were they neglecting themselves out of pride or dedication or some other reason? Did one of the other team members let them down? The decline of the Spartan population (whatever the records might say about them being WIA or MIA, he knew they were dying out) was an odd blessing in that regard. They became too valuable to put together and were usually scattered on different ops.

Roaven had been working alone before this expedition. Which had only been the result of the hasty evacuation of Reach, barely outrunning the Covenant fleets as they scorched the surface to ash. Now, everything was different. They had a new enemy, two new enemies to fight. Hell, this had probably been what his old instructors had meant when they worried that he would 'out-think himself'. Same thing that made AIs got rampant. He just hoped Shiro was a long way off yet.

"Alright, Roaven. Take point, since you're so fond of that knife of yours." Marknos urged him, once the steely gray door leading to the armory was in front of them. (The armory closest to engineering, anyway)). Point wasn't an enviable position, but he wasn't going to back down from the implicit challenge. No leader worth his salt would send his men to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. The door slid open as he stepped towards it, and he had just cleared the threshold when something came flying at his head.

Not blue, so not a grenade. Flood? He moved to bat it away, but it was heavy, and he ended up catching it, instead. It took a moment to register that he was holding a rocket launcher, the UNSC's premiere anti-everything shoulder fired weapon of choice. Managing to look pleased with herself from beneath her helmet, Ariel was standing before him, arms crossed. She tilted her head to the side as Max appeared from behind a rack, holding a small crate of fragmentation grenades and another launcher. Even with his armor and augmented strength, Roaven could feel the weight of the launcher, and didn't particularly want to carry it around. He held it out towards Ariel, but she shook her head. 'Your problem now' was what he got out of that.

"Now we're talking." Marknos chuckled, grabbing the launcher from Roaven's grasp as he walked by and checking to make sure that it had two rockets loaded. "Too bad we didn't have this for the Hunters." Now that was a point that Roaven could agree with. He'd be down a few punctures and up some ammo if they'd had a few rockets. "Shiro, where should I deliver these? Unless you'd care to chime in, Dresden?"

"We all have the schematics." Dresden assured Marknos. "Shiro is otherwise occupied. You'll need to hit the fusion reactors. There are four of them."

"Teams of two." Roaven interrupted, plucking a few more knives from one of the weapon racks, as well as refilling his ammunition supply. All the grenades had already been shoved into the bag, and he didn't plan on needing them, anyway. "Max, with…Marknos. Kurioto, Ariel." It was time to change things up a bit. Marknos and Kurioto got on well enough, but Max and Ariel were starting to get at each other, and they couldn't afford that right now. "Four fusion drives. Do the math."

"What Roaven means to say…" Takeshi chose that moment to join the conversation, hoping to avoid any further tension. "Is that each of you will be responsible for two fusion cores. Retract the exhaust manifolds, add explosives, move on."

"While you, do what, supervise?" Ariel asked, leaning against one of the weapon racks and staring Roaven down.

"Figure out our exit strategy. Once that core goes…." Roaven trailed off.

"It goes." Takeshi agreed. "He's the quietest of us. Well, barring Kurioto." He amended, though he brushed past the point too fast to tell if it was intentional levity or not. "The control panels are all on the third level."

"Alright, Max, on me." Marknos was predictably eager to get to the destruction, though given the stakes, none of the others cared much to try to stop him. They knew their mission, they had comms with one another, why delay? After the two of them shuffled out, Kurioto turned expectedly to Ariel, awaiting the command to move out. Her gaze remained firmly fixed on Roaven, however, and if she noticed the attention, she made no show of it.

"You're not going to do anything stupid, right?"

"Hardly. I have Shiro to keep me out of trouble."

"Just keep your head in the game. You're so worried about us you're not paying yourself enough mind."

"You four will be making more than enough noise to cover for me. I trust you to get the job done. Return the favor."

"Fine. I'll see you on the other side." Turning to depart, Ariel made it into the threshold of the exit before stopping. The same noise that grabbed her attention alerted the other two Spartans as well, and all three turned their attention to the opposite entrance to the armory, which had just slid open. No contacts appeared on any of their motion trackers, and they could see nothing. Ariel immediately brought her weapon to bear, gesturing for the others to move forward and investigate.

It was difficult to say which of the three saw the movement first, as all of them reacted at more or less the same time. Roaven let fly with one of the knives he'd taken, which was still in his grasp, while Ariel pulled the sidearm from her hip and snapped off a shot. Kurioto pulled a shotgun from the rack next to him and chambered a shell, dropping into a crouch to avoid obstructing anyone's field of fire. The knife and the oversized pistol bullet both struck true, though neither immediately resulted in a kill. The blade stuck fast in its target, betraying the position of the cloaked enemy, which gave Kurioto a convenient target for his shotgun.

Ariel was able to use the splash of her own round to place several follow-up shots, and between her fire and Kurioto's, two flood combat forms flickered into view and collapsed. This was, as best Roaven could tell, the first time they'd seen the Flood making use of Covenant cloaking technology, but it was clear that the fallen were Sangheili (or had been, anyway), so it was not entirely surprising. More followed behind, but this time they knew what to look for. Strangely, none of the Flood seemed armed, and now that they'd lost the element of surprise, the choke point funneled them into being easy pickings for the Spartans.

Not until the door swung shut and locked (courtesy of Shiro) did any of the three allow themselves to breathe, and it was short-lived. They still had their respective missions to tend to, and now the other team had a head start. Ariel had already said her piece, so she didn't waste time, grabbing a new magazine from the armory and sliding it into place in her sidearm before departing, Kurioto in tow carrying the satchel of fragmentation grenades.

Roaven gave them a head start of 60 seconds (helpfully counted down with a timer on his HUD, again courtesy of Shiro) before setting off as well, aiming to let the other four take as much attention off of him as possible. It also gave him a chance to retrieve his knife and wipe the green ichor from it. Shame they had yet to be able to replicate the cloaking technology the Covenant used. Maybe one day.

Max had spent most of his time on the ring world either with the larger group of Spartans, or working alongside Ariel and Roaven. He wasn't used to having Marknos as a partner, but so far all it was involving was keeping pace with the eager Spartan. Even with the launcher slung over his back, it wasn't difficult to keep pace. Hell, he could have probably overtaken Marknos if he really wanted to, but he was more than willing to let the shotgun toting Spartan lead.

The engineering room was a mess, but at least there was no welcoming party arrayed for them. The Flood seemed to have wrested control of the bottom floor, but the Covenant were taking advantage of the high ground to keep them suppressed. All the while, the glowing blue form of the Monitor danced about on the second floor as the construct flitted from console to console, plumbing the depths of the ship's archives. His Sentinels had their hands full trying to contain the Flood, and Marknos seemed intent on carving a path right through. The few Flood forms who had the misfortune to be in his way were swept aside with buckshot. The second Flood combat form that received this treatment managed to survive having a leg blown off just long enough for Max to put a burst of fire into it while it was down. "Takeshi, waypoints!" On cue, an orange diamond appeared on a small door on the second floor.

Passing by 343 Guilty Spark was an exercise in temptation. Temptation to see if that shiny metal shell of his could be cracked with a 102mm rocket. Unfortunately, they had more important targets. The back room contained little more than a small walkway to get up to the third floor, requiring them to travel single file. Not that they'd been exactly keeping stride before now. At the top, the door opened to reveal a very surprised Sangheili, whose surprise presumably only grew as it ate a shotgun blast. Its shields died, but it did not, at least until Marknos drove the stock off the shotgun into its split-jaw. It went down hard, and again Max had the unenviable task of making sure it was dead as Marknos breezed by.

"There's a maintenance shaft that cuts through up top." Marknos barked back at Max. "We're going to tackle those two." Right, they had the heavier gear to carry, but they were going to hike to the further targets. Great. Not that it was much further, but still.

"Great." Was all Max managed. He didn't have much humor in him at the moment, strangely. It was a suspiciously easy journey the rest of the way, and soon enough they found themselves on a catwalk with two terminals, one at either end, each overlooking a rectangular exhaust shaft. "Push the button, shoot the rocket. Easy."

"Not quite. You'll not be able to get an angle from the catwalk, and the manifolds will only stay exhausted for a short time. Safety measure."

"So we have to…what?"

"Jump on the manifold when it retracts." Marknos laughed. "Fantastic. Ride it out, turn back and shoot underneath us." To emphasize the point, he tapped the catwalk beneath them, where their targets would be, once exposed. "You're acrobatic, right, Max?"

Ariel and Kurioto's journey proved somewhat less eventful than their counterparts. Kurioto wasn't one for conversation, and they were able to trace back the same path that the other two had taken. With Dresden navigating for them, they quickly enough found their way to the catwalk on their side of the engineering room, with their own pair of manifolds to conquer. Dresden was quick to explain the process to the two of them once they'd reached the top, and it wasn't hard to determine that Kurioto would do the honors of detonating the explosives. His unofficial partnership with Marknos had left him quite proficient with things that made noise, and however entry level fragmentation grenades were in that category, he could use them.

All Ariel had to do was operate the terminals. Even without her AI on hand, it was reasonably straightforward, and all Spartans were trained with at least basic proficiency in UNSC technical systems. The bigger miracle was that there was any power left in the state the Autumn was in, but perhaps 343 Guilty Spark had something to do with that. As ever, Kurioto was silent as the manifold retracted, but he did send a green ready symbol to her HUD before dropping down. It was an easy throw, done underhanded to make sure it wouldn't accidentally ricochet back out.

The small 'thud' of the grenade was soon followed by a longer, more rumbling explosion as it chained down into the fusion reactor, the ship shuddering beneath them. Ariel hardly was going to sit and wait for confirmation that it worked (the explosion was evidence enough). Instead, she darted over to the other terminal, repeating the process and giving Kurioto a slightly more difficult target. More distant, and with him at a less favorable angle. She was curious how he'd handle it.

As it turned out, well enough. Their excess of grenades ensured he threw two instead of one, not wanting to risk a miss, but it proved unnecessary. The first bounced off of the side of the now-exposed vent and arced inside, once again sending a thunder-like rumbling through the structure of the ship like a tremor. Were they still in space, it'd have been a very bad sign. Down here, it signified one step closer to their final goal. Ariel noticed that it had been more severe the second time, chiefly because she'd had to support herself on the console she had used to open the manifold.

When she straightened up and scanned below to search for Kurioto, who she'd assumed would be climbing back up to meet her, she saw nothing. Nor did a ping sent to him receive a response. That probably wasn't good.

At the same time, Marknos and Max were dealing with their own set of fusion reactors. Marknos triggered the console, Max dropped down onto the retracting vent cover and stumbled, pain spiking through his wounded leg from the jolt of the impact. Walking, even running had been manageable, but he'd felt it, and apparently falls were not great for his condition. At least the recoil of the rocket launcher would be confined to straining his upper body, which was still holding together sufficiently. The wear of their time on the ring was building, but they were so close to the end. Just one final effort.

The first shot was easy, waiting for the moment when the vents opened to dump heat, squeezing the trigger, feeling the launcher jump and the WHUMP of the projectile leaving the barrel and watching it blossom into a fireball within the exhaust manifold. He kept his feet as the ship shuddered, and then turned to the adjacent manifold cover as the one he was on began to retract. A long jump, even not counting his condition. Nothing for it, he had to make it. He took a step back (there was little room for any more) and threw himself forward, leaping for the other manifold cover.

Miraculously, he made it, and he allowed himself a brief moment of triumph to enjoy the moment. Then his leg gave out, and he went down with it. The armor absorbed the worst of the fall, and sensibly he didn't try to land on his feet, but when he sat up, he realized he was back on the ground floor, and was going to have a bitch of a time getting an angle on the other exhaust manifold. That seemed to be his most pressing problem. At least until he caught sight of the Covenant Spec Ops team entering the room the same way the Spartans had.

Now that was his most pressing matter.

The launcher had clattered to the ground next to him, dropped in the fall. He'd not even taken to his feet fully before he dove for it, hefting it onto his shoulder and sending the second rocket streaking towards the doorway. He had no reloads for it, so he let it fall, drawing his sidearm and searching out the closest cover. He always thought it odd that the honorable Sangheili never hesitated to send Jackals and Grunts in before them, but even they must have understood a certain amount of pragmatism.

"Sangheili. Closing fast. Energy sword" Takeshi warned him. No cloak, Max could track it on his motion tracker. Cocky? Or maybe the rocket had interfered with the camo. He peeked out, bringing his weapon up and snapping off several shots, each one causing the Sangheili's shields to flare, but they seemed scarcely scratched.

"Marknos! Could use a spare rocket!" They only needed one more for the fusion cores, and he knew that Marknos had at least two, if not more.

No response.

"Marknos? Not a good time for this!" He glanced up, but he couldn't see any sign of his fellow Spartan. For the time being, he was on his own. No sense ducking back into cover, it'd just give the warrior more time to get close. Instead, he kept shooting, backpedaling as quickly as he dared. When his magazine ran empty, the enemy was close, too close. He didn't bother to try a reload, instead throwing the pistol with as much force as he could muster and drawing his knife.

Roaven might have been more practiced, but he was still a Spartan, and he entertained the brief hope (as he lunged forward) that he had just slipped the arrogant warrior's guard.

At least until said warrior grabbed his arm and twisted it aside, opening its mouth and letting out a low, rumbling noise. It was laughing! Max growled in return, balling up his free hand into a fist and throwing a punch. It collided with the Sangheili's jaw, its shields flickering once more, strained to their breaking point. More importantly, it shut the thing up. It was satisfying, but perhaps not tactically sound, proved as it drew back its glowing blue blade to strike, evidently as annoyed with Max as he was with it.

Before it could, its shields flashed and then shattered as it staggered forward, looking surprised (as much as he could read their expressions). Releasing him, it spun to face its attacker, letting out a battle cry and charging forward. Max immediately dropped to a crouch, grabbing his pistol and loading another magazine in as quickly as he could. He didn't bother to stand, just raise the weapon, firing off one, two, three shots. The first struck the Sangheili in the middle of its back, the recoil causing the second to strike just below its neck and the third to punch through its head. Max liked to think Ariel would have been impressed, were she present.

Gingerly he stepped over the fallen enemy to see what had distracted it. His money was on a combat form. No marines around, that was for sure. Green armor, spiked shoulders…no.

Max barely heard Takeshi's voice in his ear, it sounded so far away. "Max. Max! He needs immediate medical attention."

His gaze was rooted instead on Kurioto's shoulder, where the energy blade had cleaved clean through. He faintly tasted blood as he dragged his gaze down along the other Spartan's arm, still clutching tight the shotgun he had used.

And the spot where it had previously been attached to Kurioto.

"Marknos!" The Spartan's gaze snapped upwards when he heard his name called, after leaning forward, making sure the combat form currently pinned beneath his boot stood no chance of getting back up again. Chambering another round in his shotgun, he briefly considered putting one more shot into it to make sure. Better not, he decided. He'd probably need the ammo before this was over.

"Where's Max?" Ariel had her back to him now, arresting the charge of another Flood form (a waddling carrier) with her plasma rifle. Growling quietly in frustration, she drew her sidearm and put two rounds into the bulbous creature, taking another half-step back. The high-powered rounds proved much more equal to the task, and the plasma rifle well suited to containing the deluge of infection forms that spilled forth after the carrier burst. The Covenant forces on the lower level had either retreated or been overrun, and evidently the ring world's defenses were not adequate to containing the infection. "Engine's gone critical, we're on the clock, and Dresden is yelling in my ear."

To be honest, Marknos wasn't sure where Max had gone. He'd lost sight of the other Spartan shortly after Max's proverbial fall from grace. He'd been left more concerned with dealing with the other engine core than babysitting a Spartan who could probably take care of themselves. "Where's Kurioto?" Marknos countered, gratified to see Ariel turn away, possessed not of an answer to the question. Looks like they'd both lost their charges. After letting the silence hang for several moments, he finally added "Last I saw they were fighting together, bottom level."

"Where? Probably ought to give them a hand."

"They'll be fine. We have to go. Where the fuck is our illustrious leader?" Not that he expected Roaven to materialize, but he did scan his surroundings, more to make a point than anything else. The Pillar of Autumn was practically falling apart around them, fire leaping from the vents on the walls, though not yet close enough to pose a threat to the two of them. "We need a way out." He did not intend to let this place become his tomb.

"Damn it. Roaven. Roaven!" Ariel keyed her mic and waited, hoping to at least get an acknowledgement signal from the team leader, or his AI. The seconds passed by, excruciatingly slowly, to no response. "Dresden, do you-"

"Nothing." Her AI replied, anticipating the question before she asked it. "But Shiro did leave a breadcrumb trail, so to speak. I'll pass it to Kurioto and Max." The waypoint marker that appeared wasn't far away from where Marknos and Ariel currently stood, a side passage from the hallway that connected the two engineering rooms. She gestured for Marknos to take point, pointedly ignoring the derisive scoff that he replied with before marching off. She followed behind, after one last sweep to make sure that no hostiles were following them (she'd long since learned not to rely overmuch on her motion tracker, helpful as it was).

The corridor was empty, and it was impossible to say whether Roaven had passed by here. No corpses littered the way, and any bullet marks or plasma scoring was difficult to make out in the dim light, most of which was provided by flickering fire and dim red emergency lights. "Elevator." Marknos called back. "Not here." Sure enough, there was a bulkhead door, sealed tight, and a call button for a freight elevator.

"Goes to the vehicle bay. From there…yes, I think I see what he had in mind." Dresden murmured, though he did broadcast it to both of the Spartans.

"So we wait here for the other two and-" Marknos began, though Ariel interrupted before he could finish his thought.

"And Roaven?"

"Is up ahead, presumably. Maybe securing transport." Marknos shrugged, sliding three more shells into his shotgun and striding over to call the elevator.

"Wait, it's already on its way down." Dresden informed the two Spartans.

"See? He's coming back to fetch his wayward flock." Marknos busied himself checking over his equipment, topping off his weapons and turning his gaze to the door behind them, in case they had any unwelcome visitors. Ariel was far from reassured by Roaven's return, however. Beyond a feeling she couldn't quite explain, a sense of wrongness, there was still the matter of the missing Spartans.

"If Kurioto and Max don't turn up-"

"They'll be here." Marknos shot back, unconcerned, resting his shotgun on his shoulder and turning back to her. "Kurioto doesn't fail."

"And if they aren't." Ariel repeated, refusing to let the matter drop, even as the elevator settled into place and the blast doors began opening. "We leave?"

"Better that than to join them." Marknos nodded. "Max's AI will be destroyed in the blast. The Cole Protocol will be followed." The same cause had sent the AI off the Autumn with the Spartans to begin with. Such repositories of knowledge could not be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy. Another reason to destroy the Autumn, if one was needed.

"Since when do you care about protocol?" Ariel remarked, turning to see if she could garner any support from Roaven. They could hardly leave the other Spartans behind, even if they were on the clock, now, a ticking time-bomb that neither the Monitor nor the Spartans could halt. By that point, the glass doors of the elevator had parted after the blast doors, revealing the dark-armored team leader slumped against the far wall, unmoving. "Roaven!"

Marknos jumped to readiness, bringing his weapon around to face whatever threat had laid the other Spartan low, a posture that Ariel joined him in adopting. Strangely, there were no signs of a struggle in the elevator. No blood, bullet casings or plasma scoring. It was if there had been no fight at all. "Dresden?" Ariel prompted her AI as she stepped warily into the elevator, checking the corners for hidden assailants.

"No contacts. Shiro is non-responsive, as is Takeshi. The latter could be interference from the Autumn's core, but…" At this range, that was not a likely explanation for Shiro's silence, nor Roaven's current state. Doubting that Marknos cared much, Ariel moved to check on Roaven, or, if nothing else, to retrieve his AI. Better that than to leave it to the fiery grave that the ring was close to becoming. "Wait." Dresden cut in, freezing her where she stood, hand half-outstretched. "I thought I sensed-"

"Contact!" Marknos interrupted, his shotgun punctuating the statement as it rang out, catching a cloaked Sangheili warrior in the chest. The camouflage it wore dissipated, but its shields flickered to life in the same moment, catching the buckshot and dissipating it harmlessly. Dark armor indicated that it was high ranking, no doubt possessed of the best technology the Covenant had to offer. Ariel could render no aid, however, as two more shapes flickered into existence, one clutching a pair of plasma rifles (one in each hand) and the other brandishing an energy sword. Despite the lethality of the blade, the rifle wielding warrior seemed more the threat, as there was nothing remotely resembling cover to be found in the elevator.

That cut both ways, though, and while Marknos had long since discarded the rocket launcher used to destabilize the engines of the ship, she still had most of her satchel of grenades. Arming them would be the more difficult prospect, as she could only think to pull the pin on a handful of them and drop them back inside, hoping that the chain reaction would detonate the rest. For once, the tactics of the opponents facing her favored her. More taken to caution than pride, the greatest sin of less ranked Sangheili, the sword-wielding opponent facing off with her lead with a plasma grenade. Normally, she'd avoid it, not taking the risk of the powerful explosive clinging to her armor, the weapon more than strong enough to burn through if it could get such a sure hold.

This time, she stood her ground, though at the last moment she presented her satchel of grenades as a shield. As planned, the bright blue glowing grenade clung tenaciously to the fabric of the bag, and Ariel wasted no time in dropping it and kicking it away. The smooth metal surface of the elevator provided little enough friction to ensure the bag landed at the feet of the two Sangheili. They recoiled, but only far enough to avoid the plasma blast. The daisy-chain of human grenades that it set off caught them unawares.

Even that wasn't enough to kill them, but the rifle-wielding one, at least, had been left bereft of shields, and so she drew her sidearm, the firearm jumping in her hand as she riddled the vulnerable warrior with slugs. She didn't stop until her magazine was empty, watching it crumple to the ground and swiftly advancing to where it fell, grabbing both of its dropped rifles (leaving her own clamped magnetically to her back). Already, the sword-wielding warrior's shields were recharging, and it was recovering from the shock, ready to charge at her. First, she turned the weapons on the warrior Marknos was facing, however. His weapon was deadly at close range, but Covenant shields of a strength like those wielded by their enemies now tended to defeat most projectile weaponry.

Energy weapons, on the other hand…

She had to give credit to the Covenant, the weapons still functioned perfectly despite the multiple explosions. She alternated fire with the weapons, careful to always leave one cool enough to defend herself with, should the need arise. It did arise, quicker than she'd hoped. She barely brought the rifle in her right hand around enough to deflect a slice, and it did to the plasma weapon what the explosives could not. So, the weapons weren't invincible. She brought the other weapon to bear and unleashed a long burst, only to find it overheating in her grasp, still hot from the shots fired at the other Spartan's foe.

Her assistance had helped Marknos gain the upper hand, but by the time he had shattered the shields of his enemy, he was left with a very empty shotgun, and a foe whose energy blade had no such problems sustaining its attack. That wasn't to say he was helpless, at least. He darted in, shifting to the side at the last moment to avoid the deadly blade and then striking out with the butt of his shotgun. He struck low, at the Sangheili's midsection, with enough force to double it over, but was forced to retreat to avoid another slice. Oh how he wished he had a bayonet.

He hastened to load another shell as he backpedaled, confident that one more shot would be enough to fell the Sangheili, but he needed a distraction, and Ariel had her own problems. A gunshot rang out from across the elevator and the warrior he was facing off with fell to a knee, granting him enough of a reprieve to chamber a shell and put it down, though for good measure, he loaded another and shot it one last time. More shots rang out, and he turned to see how Ariel was faring, finding her own foe dispatched. She was still holding plasma weapons, which would not have made the noise he had heard. He glanced first at Roaven, who was still unmoving, and then to the entrance of the elevator, at the same time as Ariel cried out.

"Kurioto! Max, what happened?!" Her concern was a welcome change from the irritation she seemed to be showing more of late, as far as Marknos was concerned.

Sure enough, Max was supporting the other Spartan, who seemed unsteady on his feet, and was noticeably missing an arm, up to the shoulder. In response, he gestured to one of the fallen Sangheili, one who still seemed to be clinging to life, at least enough to keep the fail-safe on its energy blade from destroying the weapon. The war against the Covenant had been a long one, and none of the gathered Spartans had been able to avoid seeing the damage those wicked swords could cause, but that it should happen to one of their own, and so close to their escape…

"He's stable?" Ariel prompted Max, approaching to try and get a better look at the wound, which at least didn't seem to be bleeding. Max surrendered Kurioto to her care, grateful to have an opportunity to rest, if only for a moment. With them all aboard, he punched the elevator control, sending it rumbling upwards, at least after the blast doors had closed behind them, at least securing their back.

"Oh shit, Roaven!" Caught up in the battle, he had only now noticed the dark-armored Spartan slumped against the far wall. He didn't repeat the question Ariel had asked of him, but it was evident even through his helmet as he looked around at the others.

"No idea. He was like this when we found him." Marknos explained, striding over to the fallen Spartan. "And he never explained his escape plan. Let's hope Shiro knows something." As one of the only two without an AI partner, and with Kurioto occupied, he took it upon himself to retrieve Roaven's AI, in the hopes that the team leader had been able to arrange for something to get them out. Clock was still ticking.

Marknos almost jumped when Roaven's hand grabbed at his reaching arm, though at least some of that was the sudden appearance of a blade in the not-so-dead Spartan's other hand. Roaven relaxed as soon as he realized he was looking at another Spartan, pulling himself to his feet somewhat unsteadily and leaning heavily upon the wall as he stowed the weapon.

"Well. That…." He groaned, tightening his grip briefly on the other Spartan's arm before releasing him. "didn't go as planned." He muttered, as much to himself as the others. After taking a moment to collect himself, he made for the fallen Sangheili, picking through their bodies. "Foehammer! Foehammer is on station."

"You didn't put up much of a fight." Marknos muttered to their leader, glancing around once more at the distinct lack of battle scarring around the elevator. "Strange."

"Echo 419 is still around? That's…convenient." Ariel muttered, looking up from her patient, her tone landing somewhere between skepticism and relief. It was rather obvious she was trying to steer the conversation away from whatever suspicions Marknos held, at that. The biofoam was holding Kurioto's wound for now, but ideally they'd need some proper treatment sooner rather than later. Gaining access to that treatment was an entirely different matter, of course. She gave the other Spartan a pat on the back and stepped back, slowly, making sure he was steady on his feet. "Where's the pickup point?"

"There's the catch." Roaven waved Ariel off as she approached him, rolling his arms and retrieving his rifle where it lay on the ground. "We have to drive. This elevator will drop us at a vehicle bay. Should still have Warthogs."

"Finally get to take the tour." Max made his way over to Kurioto, who ejected the magazine from his pistol and flipped it around to present the weapon to Max, who obligingly slid a new magazine into place.

At least, Roaven thought, he hadn't entirely lost his sense of humor. He steadied himself against the wall as an explosion rocked the ship, though it didn't slow the steady ascent of the elevator. It was echoed by several more blasts in the distance, the ship's destabilization gathering speed as the end drew closer. "This is Echo 419 to Shiro. Things are getting noisy down there. Everything alright?" Their pilot inquired, the channel open for all the team, though Shiro elected to respond, given that he was being addressed.

"Negative. The ship's engines must have sustained more damage than I suspected. We have a wildcat destabilization of-"

"Don't spare the throttle, Foehammer. We'll be at the LZ when you are." Takeshi cut in, doubting that a deeper understanding of the nature of the ship's reactor going critical would do anything but put the other Spartans (or Foehammer) even more on edge.

"Access point 4C." Shiro noted after the comm channel went dead, pushing the waypoint to the rest of the team. "Approximately-"

"Six minutes. We have the timer." Ariel was the first out the door after the elevator came to a halt, and the rest of the team saw the prudence in emulating her haste. To the collective relief of the group, the bay was still well stocked with vehicles, though several of them were damaged, one engulfed in flames. One for each and some to spare, though if they had to double back for another vehicle, it wasn't likely they would make it out in time. They just had to ensure it didn't come to that.

"Ariel, Max, grab the first one. Marknos, drive the second. I have the gun." While he was confident that they'd have sorted themselves out, they could not afford whatever seconds might be lost by finding their own way to embarking two of the vehicles, as far as Roaven was concerned. Kurioto, while in no condition to drive or shoot, could be trusted to decide who he would ride with. He was not surprised that Kurioto opted to climb into the passenger's seat of the vehicle Marknos was driving. Now he could only hope that aggressive driving would be enough a help to justify putting Marknos behind the wheel.

Max got behind the wheel of the first, and by virtue of their vehicle being closer, was the first to pull out of the bay and out into the larger corridor, sized for vehicles and easily dwarfing any of the passages they had traversed on foot. Outside, a small force of Covenant troops was fighting off a Flood assault, giving ground slowly. It was impossible to tell if they were trying to push past or disengage, or whether they were aware of the ship falling apart around them.

How badly it was falling apart, anyway. The explosions were rather hard to ignore.

Max swerved through the group, the handling of the assault vehicles temperamental at the best of times, but now truly putting the driving abilities of the Spartans through their paces. Hardly a stray shot was directed their way, the two groups too occupied to bother, and while Roaven's hand hovered over the trigger, he didn't bother, more worried about holding on as Marknos reduced one of the Flood combat forms to a bump under their wheels.

A skittering mass of infection forms up the incline of the corridor proved more a threat to the traction of the vehicles than their occupants, Ariel doing her best to disrupt them with a burst of chaingun fire before they made impact. Small targets and big rounds meant she could only do so much, and most of them were ground under their tires instead. "When the Autumn goes critical, the engines will generate a temperature of almost-"

"Don't be here when it blows, is what Shiro is emphasizing." Dresden scoffed. Ariel, for her part, suspected that Shiro was nervous that things were so far out of his hands, now, unless he wanted to backseat drive. Marknos wouldn't appreciate it, and she doubted Max would either. She at least appreciated the luxury of being able to think, even as she scanned for any likely targets to present themselves. More concerning was the realization that these tunnels were not meant for a military assault vehicle with the engine redlined. Every time the path fell out before them, the Warthogs took to the air, and while she had to give credit to the suspension, it was effort enough just to hold on!

Verticality was bad enough, but the path wasn't a straight line, or at least not one without an ample amount of obstacles, and only more so as explosions continued to ripple through the ship, tossing concussive shockwaves and debris before the vehicles. One particularly close call left Max dangerously close to spinning out, losing enough speed as he regained control to allow for the second vehicle to take the lead. No matter, they all knew where they were going, and were painfully aware of the seconds bleeding away as they made for it.

It was satisfying seeing the odd Covenant soldier or mass of Flood ripped apart by one of the blasts, at least.

Less pleasant was the addition of the third faction to the mix, 343 Guilty Spark's Sentinels waiting for them as they sailed over the crest of an incline and into an open room. Presently, they were engaged with the Flood, but they seemed more than willing to shift targets to the vehicles as they appeared. Ariel harbored some suspicion the Monitor was out to get them in particular, but any number of explanations might have accounted for their newfound popularity. Of course, that cut both ways. The Spartans had two high powered chainguns and an abundance of ammunition they had yet to be able to spend.

It wouldn't be hard to pick out Roaven's target at any rate, but the tracer rounds the vehicle-mounted weapon spit forward as it was brought to bear clearly painted the lead gunner's target, and Ariel was more than willing to lend her own firepower to the cause. The Sentinels' shields caught or deflected a few rounds, but the sheer volume of armor-piercing firepower output by the rotating barrels of each chaingun easily overwhelmed them. They were only able to claim a few of the machines before they were past, and the beams fired back were caught either by the armor of the vehicles or, for lucky shots, their shields.

Once they were clear of the fight, it was back to facing comparatively natural obstacles. Support pillars studding the center of the corridor ahead with small barriers alternating on the left and right side of each one. Impossible to plow through without doing an unpleasant amount of damage to the Warthogs, but the whole thing could be treated as a giant slalom. Ariel's greatest worry was that something would happen to the lead vehicle, and Max wouldn't have enough time to correct, but that was out of her hands.

If anything, Marknos was doing a respectable job of managing, threading his bulky vehicle back and forth, never letting up on the engine. Max trailed in his wake, managing equally well for several long moments, until he turned slightly too sharply. The side of the Warthog brushed one of the support columns, throwing out sparks and causing the right two wheels of the vehicle to lift off the ground as he desperately tried to correct, the weight of a Spartan in full armor sitting on the driver's side only inclining the vehicle more towards overturning. Ariel threw herself to the right side to compensate as the wheels screeched against metal, almost losing her grip on the turret as they settled back onto four wheels once more. They'd lost some speed, widening the gap between the two vehicles, which was maybe for the best, she thought.

"Right, right!" She exclaimed, shouting even over the radio to ensure she was heard over the noise of combat and explosions. Rounding the bend at the end of the corridor, the Warthog had burst into an open room, leaving Max and Ariel precious few seconds to acknowledge the fallen support strut that blocked the path through the center of the room. Roaven's vehicle had gone left, but bled speed in the process, and she didn't want to run into their back. "The walkway!" She urged, pointing at the ramp that lead up to the catwalk as if Max could see her gesture.

"I see it!" It would be close, the path clearly not designed to handle a military vehicle, but it was wide enough to drive on. Probably. A quick glance revealed Marknos trying for a similar route on the opposite end of the room, but Ariel's eyes were drawn forward as they hit the ramp, wheels slipping for a moment before finding purchase and propelling the vehicle forward with has much torque as the diesel engine could muster. At the last second, Max eased off the accelerator to keep from going airborne, both the Spartans wincing as the vehicle touched down, but the walkway held. At least for a moment.

The weight no doubt contributed, but an explosion tore through the support behind them, and Ariel's stomach leaped into her throat as she felt the ground fall out from under them. Their vehicle was all-terrain, though, and the sudden incline it had to contend with was far less a challenge than snow or loose sand. This time, Max didn't let off the accelerator, jumping clear over the downward ramp on the far side and bringing the recon vehicle around as quickly as he could once they made impact. The other Spartans had made it through as well, albeit not without their own difficulty, lagging behind enough for Max to take point once more.

The next room was mercifully intact, but it had by consequence been converted into an improvised strongpoint by Covenant survivors, barricades in metallic purple strewn throughout the room, plasma fire lighting up the room as it darted out to strike down Sentinels and Flood both. More concerning was the stationary Shade turret that swiveled towards the Spartans as they entered the room, heavy plasma blasts forcing them to trade speed for evasiveness, swerving to the side in an attempt to present more difficult targets. Max was fortunate, the time it took for the weapon to swivel about having granted him distance to the far side of the room, where he dropped the Warthog into a lower access tunnel, beneath the turret and out of sight.

The other vehicle wasn't quite so fortune, several blasts burning armor off and damaging the shields of the occupants before they, too, were out of sight. Their ride was holding together, but it looked worse for wear after the encounter, leaving all aboard grateful for the scant 300 meters separating them from their evac point.

"Here! Stop here!" Shiro announced to the team as they dropped off of an abruptly ending path and onto another, which opened out onto a sprawling bridge, open sky and ground to either side making it an obvious access point for air traffic. "Shiro to Echo 419, we need immediate extraction. Get here on the double!" The first vehicle skidded to a halt, forcing Marknos, still running his own vehicle full throttle, to swerve to the side, precariously close to the edge of the platform before he came to a halt. Dismounting, he helped Kurioto from his seat even as Foehammer announced her approach, the others disembarking and setting up a loose perimeter. Not a one of them was ignorant of the still ticking timer, even though one of the AI had paused it, but none of them mentioned it. They didn't need to.

In the distance, the sleek gray form of a Pelican dropship appeared, banking around the hull and into view. It was a welcome sight for the Spartans, who hadn't seen an airborne Pelican in a while, longer for those three 343 Guilty Spark had absconded with earlier. Any joy they might have felt at its appearance died quickly, however. The ship drew closer, making apparent that something was wrong. Dark smoke billowed from one of the engines, the craft listing badly to one side. It was evident that the pilot was doing all they could to keep it level, but two Banshees trailed it, raking the hull with plasma fire.

"Two banshees on your six, Foehammer! Break off; try to shake them!" Dresden announced, a desperate sense of urgency tinging his voice. The Spartans scattered in the meantime, refusing to make an easy target for the enemy craft. Roaven climbed onto the chaingun he had previously been manning, swinging it around and letting off a burst to judge the distance. The Banshee pilots sensed the danger, angling to keep the dropship between them and the Warthog, the next burst of weapon fire catching only air, even as Ariel returned to her own gun as well.

A bright green flash on the rear of the dropship above signified a hit from the heavy fuel rod cannon of one of the banshees. Foehammer's voice cut in, screaming over the sound of warning sirens in the cockpit. "I'm hit! Mayday, mayday! I've lost port thrusters, I can't keep her steady!" Another explosion rocked the dropship above, which flew above the Spartans and rapidly began losing altitude. "I'm losing her!" The pilot's voice didn't cut out, but it became inaudible, and as the two Banshees swung down to strafe the Spartans, none could spare the doomed flight officer any more attention.

Roaven's tracking of the craft proved a benefit, but it also made him a target, one of the bulbous craft diving down to strafe him even as he caught it with a burst of fire. It broke off too late to save itself from the crossfire as Ariel joined in, one of the wings catching a round and splintering, leaving the craft listing helplessly to the side until it smashed into the Autumn's hull and exploded. Already the second Banshee had dropped its payload and dived sharply, dropping beneath the anti-air fire as a blob of green energy dropped onto the hood of Roaven's vehicle. Roaven hesitated for just a second as he saw the projectile approaching for just a second, torn between engaging the other ship and jumping to safety.

It was a second too long.

The intense heat of the blast melted through the Warthog's already damaged armor, the shockwave driving it to the edge before a secondary explosion ripped through the vehicle, throwing the back end of it over the edge of the platform, and the Spartan manning the gun free of the vehicle. The bumper provided a very, very brief respite, Roaven managing a grip on it but dangling precariously, fearful that any attempt to pull himself up would just drive the vehicle further over the edge. A glance down proved a mistake, and a reminder that it was a long, long way down.

Marknos was the closest, first to notice his predicament as the other Spartans engaged the remaining banshee, even Kurioto snapping off pistol rounds at it as it disappeared into the distance. Roaven saw the hand that Marknos offered as his best bet to not fall to his death, judging the distance and swinging out before using every bit of augmented muscle to fling himself towards safety. As predicted, the Warthog tumbled over the edge, and he didn't quite get enough distance to grab the ledge, but he could reach Marknos' hand. His mind already had worked out the timing, his arm responded gladly to the command, and he reached out.

Only to find that the hand Marknos had offered was not where it ought to be. That thought kept him company on the way down. Along with the insidious knowledge that it might well have been his last one.

"Foehammer!" Ariel cried out, hoping against hope that she might get a response on the radio, proof that the dropship pilot had evaded the remaining Banshee and at least managed a crash landing. There was no answer.

"She's gone." Dresden murmured, regret evident in his voice, though he wasted little time in issuing another command. "Shiro. Plan B!"

"Roaven!" Max had noticed the loss of the Spartan's warthog, and the absence of the Spartan himself, and his cry drew the attention of the others to the sudden shortage in the group's numbers.

"He's gone. Shiro, too." Marknos shook his head, echoing the AI, and repeating the urgency of putting together a plan B. "Takeshi. What's the plan?"

"Uh….there's…stand by. Hangar bay seven. There's a Longsword fighter still docked. If we move now, we can make it."

"Four Spartans. One vic." Dresden pointed out. Roaven's loss weighed heavily on the group, but practically speaking they were now down a vehicle as well. "Four will be too heavy."

"There's bound to be other vehicles around, Marknos." Ariel noted after a long few moments of silence. "If you move now, you can likely find one."

"Don't you fucking dare." Marknos growled, spinning to face the female Spartan where she rested against the turret. Max retreated from him as he did so, silently climbing into the driver's seat of their one remaining vehicle.

"If there's time, we'll come back for you." She promised. They both knew there wouldn't be.

"I can't believe this. One dead Spartan not enough for you?" Marknos tightened his grip on his weapon, and the way Ariel brought the three-barreled chaingun to aim in his general direction made it clear she took the threat seriously.

"Kurioto, let's go. Now!" Max insisted urgently, refusing to look over at Marknos. Kurioto fixed him, both of them, with a long gaze. It wasn't until Marknos gave a curt nod that he slid into the passenger's seat. Ariel swung the turret away, but Kurioto continued looking back as the Warthog accelerated, growing small and then disappearing from sight. Marknos wasn't sure if it was worth the effort to try to run. He stood, staring, aware that his time was running out, but unable to bring himself to care.

He never even noticed the shadow that fell over him several minutes later until what cast it was already upon him.

"Ariel."

Ariel tried to ignore Max, gritting her teeth and keeping her gaze straight ahead. From what sounded like very far away, she heard her name twice more before she finally snapped back a response. "Not. Now."

"Surely there had to have been-"

"Max! Drive." She barked, the command coming out harsher than she intended.

"If Roaven was here…" It was difficult to ignore the plaintive tone to his voice, but she couldn't afford to give him time to grieve. Not now.

"He's not, Max. Roaven is gone. Marknos is gone." Ariel had known that as soon as they'd driven away from him, but saying it aloud made it real in a way she wasn't entirely comfortable with. "We are less than three minutes out from being gone. So shut up and drive." She'd always played foil to Max's jovial attitude. Now, instead, he fell silent, and she hated herself for how angry she was. At Marknos, at him, at the Covenant, and mostly at herself. They pushed, they fought, they clawed their way through against all odds, and in the final stretch they faltered. Spartans never died, but two more would never live again, either.

The corridor descended before them, Ariel's stomach rising and falling every time they settled on the ground and then took to the air on the next decline. No threats presented themselves, nothing that was left bothered to attack the Spartans. The Monitor's forces were conspicuously absent, the Flood appeared only on the periphery, most often burning from the fires and explosions flaring up all around them. Every moment she expected one to catch the Warthog, but other than some glancing debris, deflected by the armor of the vehicle or their armor, they pushed through.

Finally, as they rounded another bend in the corridor, they saw Covenant forces, but even these made no efforts to fight. As explosions ripped the ship apart around them, they ran, ignoring the Warthog if they were even aware of it. One unfortunate Grunt was made aware, Max unable to swerve aside in time and simply running it down. A Sangheili had enough situational awareness to fling itself aside, and then they were clear of the squad, weaving back and forth between another row of pillars.

"Keep it floored." Takeshi advised Max, though he broadcasted to all three of the surviving Spartans. "There's a gap in the trench ahead. At full speed….we can make it." The hesitation spoke of doubt Ariel was not thrilled with, but they didn't have time to consider alternatives, and they were hardly going to give up now. The waypoint ahead marked only the hangar, their ultimate destination. It gave no warning when they could expect the gap to appear. Max remained silent, either too focused on his driving to consider any other option, or still following Ariel's last directive.

She didn't feel guilty about it, though she knew she ought to. Roaven, Marknos, Kurioto's injury. She was tired, and it felt as if a weight had been placed on her shoulders when Roaven had…when she took command. Ariel just felt numb, right now. Maybe later, once she had time to process everything that had happened. For now, she clung to the chaingun turret on the back of the Warthog, one hand loosely near the trigger but doubting she'd need to fire it. Everything left on the Autumn seemed to have higher priorities, now.

Ariel almost didn't see the drop coming. As it was, she had just enough warning to wrap her arm tightly around the support strut of the chaingun, and then the ground was gone from beneath them. Ahead was a storage rack, hanging from the ceiling, easily large enough to support the vehicle, but laden with barrels and too far out of reach for them to make. Instead, they were falling, and she could only hope that Max had some measure of control, and an inkling of where to aim them.

The impact rattled her, enough so she suspected without her augmentation, without the MJLONIR armor, her legs would have snapped, even with the vehicle's suspension. The tires found purchase and they shot forward, converting as much of their downward momentum into forward motion as possible. Kurioto, too, was clinging on for dear life, even though he had the benefit of an actual seat, and she suspected beneath his armor Max's hands were white from how tight they were gripping the steering wheel.

Just as she thought that they were back on stable ground, another, thankfully smaller gap in the path revealed itself. This they cleared with less issue, and her stomach was once more allowed to start the slow path to settling back into its proper position.

"Three hundred meters." Dresden growled, the waypoint's distance tracker echoing his claim. They were close, now, so damned close.

The path ahead narrowed into a small passageway, wide enough for the Warthog but only just. Flames licked at the side of the vehicle, explosions rocked it, threatening to overturn it altogether as they rippled down the corridor. It was all Max could do to keep it steady, no room for fancy driving or anything but keeping the accelerator down and the wheels straight. Ariel, for her part, huddled down, trying to shield herself from debris and blastwaves as best she could, though the shield on the Warthog's gun proved little protection against the world around her going up in flames.

"Rocket!" Ariel straightened up and saw, as Dresden announced it, a rocket launcher wielding combat form ahead of them, as it turned and saw them. The path widened now, a short descending ramp entering the hangar, where their escape vehicle was stored. She let off a burst of heavy fire, but it went wide. She hadn't been ready to engage. Max attempted to swerve to the side, but he lost traction, and the entire vehicle went sideways, overturning as the high explosive warhead made contact. Ariel had just enough time to wonder if this was how Roaven had felt, not too long ago, and then she hit the ground.

A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, releasing her only to smack her on the side of the helmet, jarring her to alertness. Their vehicle was gone, a flaming wreck behind them. Her plasma rifle was gone. Kurioto…Kurioto was emptying the last of his handgun into the combat form that had fired at them. It was already on the ground, but she'd seen enough of them rise again to appreciate his over-enthusiasm. Her shield was down, alarms blaring in her armor, but she pushed forward, instead. The waypoint marked the fighter craft at the far end of the hangar. It was a straight shot, and they had just under two minutes to make it. They'd made good time, all things considered.

Max pushed out ahead of her, his own shields sparking and flickering as well. She saw blood, confident that he'd taken the blast worse than she had. Between that and his injuries from earlier, she wasn't sure how he was on his feet. He, at least, still had his rifle, but he used it sparingly. Around them, the last bastion of Covenant resistance in this part of the ship was being overwhelmed by the Flood, and they were bound to turn their attention to the Spartans once the aliens had fallen.

They covered most of the ground to the ship without incident. Stray fire landed nearby, uncomfortably close, but they could do nothing but press on. Ariel's shields had regenerated, and Kurioto had fallen in behind her when she caught sight of a bright blue projectile arcing in to land ahead of them. Max attempted to steer around it, but still caught a large portion of the blast, enough to overwhelm his armor's shield generators once again. It was at that moment, the least opportune time, when a wave of infection forms attacked, skittering in at Max under cover of smoke and flame. He unloaded into them, even as he continued moving, but his rifle ran dry before they did.

A swinging rifle butt caught two, three of them, popping them out of the air, but one made it through, latching onto his leg and driving its tendrils through his armor, into flesh. Ariel doubled her efforts, intent on closing the distance and ripping it out by hand, if she had to. Kurioto kept pace with her, but reached for her, instead, grabbing the sidearm that still hung at her waist. She was ashamed to admit that she had forgotten about it in the chaos. Without a moment's hesitation, Kurioto brought it to bear with his one remaining arm and fired, the round punching through Max's leg and the infection form.

His momentum carried him forward and he went down in a tangle of limbs, and Ariel had to slow just to keep from tripping over him. Returning the favor from earlier, she pulled him to his feet, draping his arm over her shoulder and half-carrying him along. She heard Kurioto firing off rounds next to her, but all she saw was the boarding ramp of the fighter, now tantalizing close. Despite her burden, she made it up first, turning to look back at Kurioto. She saw him fire off one last round, the slide on his pistol locking back, indicating it was empty.

He backpedaled hastily, tossing the empty weapon behind him, up the ramp, and hitting the switch by the ramp as easily a dozen combat forms closed below. Just in time, the ramp swung shut, and she dropped Max against the wall, sprinting for the pilot's seat.

"You're cutting it close." Takeshi warned her, his hologram flickering to life next to the pilot's chair as she settled into it. Max (evidently) had found an input for his AI chip back there. She wasn't an expert pilot, by any stretch, but Spartans were trained with virtually all UNSC vehicles. She fell back into old habits, startup sequences she hadn't gone through in years, flicking switches above and before her and nearly sighing in relief as the engines flared up.

As she grabbed the joystick and throttled up, the Longsword took to the air, somewhat unsteadily at first. Then, she flicked a switch and maxed the throttle out. After a moment's delay as the engines fired up, the fighter shot forward, pressing her back in her seat. Somewhere in the back of the craft, she heard one of the other Spartans bounce off something. Hopefully nothing important. Ariel didn't know if she was picking the most efficient route out, she just aimed for orbit and pushed the craft as hard as she possibly could. Judging by Takeshi's silence, she wasn't being inefficient enough to get them killed.

In other circumstances, she knew it would have been Shiro interfacing with the craft. Dresden was better suited in handling the weapons, but Shiro had always had the knack for thinking. Takeshi was a deft hand with tech, even as far as AI went. He was going to have to be. The craft had barely cleared orbit when she felt the shockwave of the blast hit the Longsword, shaking the ship and setting off three different alarms, the most pressing of which indicated engines had reached critical temperature.

"Shut them down! We're going to need them later." Takeshi instructed, and she was happy to oblige, letting the momentum of the fighter (plus the shockwave) carry them away. With no debris in their path, she could slip from the seat to go look at the destruction. Max and Kurioto were already side by side, staring out through the side of the ship down to Halo below. The blast was still visible, but more striking was an entire piece of the ringworld floating free, slamming into the rest of it and shattering it. It was ripping itself apart below them.

"Takeshi." Max murmured, quietly, enough so Ariel would not have been able to hear it amid the chaos that surrounded them on the Autumn. Now, in the silence that permeated the cockpit, there was no missing it. "Did- anyone else make it?" He knew well enough that Marknos had no chance of making it to a craft, that Roaven hadn't miraculously survived his fall, but there had been an entire ship's worth of soldiers when they'd arrived. Other aircraft. Someone had to have made it to safety. Then again, how would they have known?

"Scanning…just…dust and echoes. We're all that's left." The proclamation robbed Max of what strength he had left, the Spartan turned his back to the view and sank heavily against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position and resting his head against it. Kurioto, at least, had found a chair, but he, too, was staring straight ahead, neither of them looking at Ariel. Silently, she returned to the cockpit, settling heavily into the pilot's seat and looking to Takeshi's hologram. Even the AI seemed diminished, but he had lost a packmate.

"You…we did what we had to." Takeshi assured her, quietly, speaking locally rather than broadcasting on the radio. She was confident that the others needed to hear it as much as she did, but maybe they weren't ready for it, yet. "An entire Covenant armada, eliminated. If Halo had been activated…and the Flood!" Ariel grimaced beneath her helmet, remembering how close Max had come to infection just before they escaped. If they had lost him, too, less than 20 meters from safety…

"Two Spartans dead. One practically at our hands." Ariel countered bitterly.

"Halo….it's finished." Takeshi concluded, decisively, the wolf image curling up and laying down before flickering and dissipating. Dresden was silence, and she refused to drag him from his own contemplations just to keep the silence at bay. Ariel reached up to release the seals on her helmet, leaning back and closing her eyes as she pulled it free, for the first time in what felt like forever. Whatever the AI thought, she harbored the sneaking suspicion that this was only the beginning.