A/N: If you're reading this, thank you for taking the time to check out my story. Also, thanks for the kind review! I'm new to writing and appreciate the feedback.

Chapter 3

Sofia Bjørnstad swatted yet another buzzing insect away from her face. The hot, humid air that followed the earlier downpour made the hike to the LZ much more tiresome.

She was walking between the two Spartans who had found her inside the outpost: the man on her left, the woman on her right. Each time they stepped with their heavy boots, the muddy path made an unpleasant squelching sound. Still, it was a far sight better than the cramped maintenance hatch she'd been in, so she didn't complain.

They were moving uphill on a winding path that sat between two rocky outcroppings. Alice and Douglas had both voiced concerns about the safety of this route, but ultimately decided that it was the fastest, so it would have to do. The group had been walking for a quarter hour before the Spartans stopped and took up defensive positions.

"Why are we stopping?" The doctor asked, annoyance audible in her voice.

"Waiting for our squad leader, Spartan oh-nine-two," Alice said, not taking her eyes off the bluff above the path.

"He'll be here in just a moment, then we'll be on our way." Douglas tried to make his tone sound reassuring, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded. The doctor just stood there, expressionless. He chalked it up to her being shaken by the attack and pushed it out of his mind.

The three of them didn't have to wait long before Jerome rounded the bend. He greeted his comrades with a nod before stopping at the sight of Dr. Bjørnstad. He hadn't recognized her name when Alice had told him over comms, but he remembered her now. Jerome had been part of her escort when she boarded the Spirit of Fire. Her visit had been several months ago, some collaborative project with Professor Anders that required in-person consultation.

The doctor, on the other hand, did not miss a beat. She glanced at Jerome and greeted him indifferently. The armor seemed to have that effect on people; the visor acted as a nebulous mask that never invited personal inquiry.

Clearing his mind, Jerome instructed the group to continue up the path without delay. The soldiers formed a triangle around their VIP and moved quickly. The LZ came in sight within twenty minutes, and they reached it in another fifteen.

The pelican that Alice had called for was ready and waiting to receive Dr. Bjørnstad. A group of marines were fanned out around the vehicle in a standard formation while the pilot had the rear hatch open. Jerome moved close to the doctor so she could hear him over the roar of the Pelican's engines.

"They'll take you back to the Spirit of Fire. You'll be safe there until we can get you back to ONI, or wherever it is you need to go."

"You aren't coming?" She asked, her voice more sounding more worried than she wanted it to.

Jerome's reply was matter-of-fact. "We have orders to secure the outpost. Now that you're safe, we have to complete that objective."

Dr. Bjørnstad nodded in understanding and thanked Douglas and Alice for their help. And then, moments later, the Pelican was speeding away through the troposphere, bound for the Spirit of Fire.

Not even a minute passed before Alice gave Jerome a nudge on the arm. "So, what's the deal there, Jerome? Friend of yours?"

Jerome shouldn't have been surprised that Alice picked up on his hesitation earlier. "Not exactly. I was just trying to remember where I'd seen her before."

"But you do know her?" Douglas asked.

Jerome sighed quietly, trying to take himself back in time. "I was in the welcoming committee when she boarded the Spirit a while back. Cutter called me down personally. Wanted me to be there and 'convey a safe working environment.'" He shrugged. "I didn't even meet her."

That was the end of the conversation, and the Spartans began the trek back downhill. It wasn't long until they'd rounded the bend in the trail and the outpost was in sight once more. But it wasn't the same as it had been when they left. Smoke poured out of the front doors and accumulated in a thick cloud above the roof. Fires blazed on the surrounding greenspace while nearly a dozen squadrons of Banished infantry roamed around, contributing to the chaos.

The Spartans halted and quickly took cover in the roadside brush. Douglas was first to speak.

"Interesting problem."

"Was there anything in there worth saving?" Jerome asked, his voice glacially calm despite the anarchy below.

Douglas matched his composure. "Not that we could find. All UNSC files had been erased. There wasn't even a scrap of metadata left."

While they spoke, Alice's motion tracker was going haywire. Its opacity flickered rapidly on her heads-up display, making it hard to see much of anything. When she twisted her head to try and identify the source of the interference, she shouted at her teammates and raised her weapon. Half a platoon of special-operations Banished elites were deactivating their active camouflage modules, forming a full circle around the Spartans. They brandished carbines in their hands and had plasma grenades at their waists. It was a fearsome display.

But Red Team was an equally fearsome force, even at a fraction of the size. Their gloved fingers rested on their rifle triggers as they swept the barrels between the elites. Each Spartan had something different on their mind: Jerome wrestled with the thought of having failed the mission, Douglas wondered how they got into this mess in the first place, while Alice simply smiled at the idea of seeing some combat.

It took only a handful of seconds for one of the Banished to lose focus and readjust his grip on his weapon. Brief as it was, the action gave Alice all the time she needed to crouch down and spring fifteen feet in the air, sailing over the ring of Sangheili. She alit just behind the nearest one and promptly ended his life with a resounding thump, the butt of her MA5B striking his neck. The whole thing was a bit flashier than she was used to, but it worked.

The elites were not impressed by Alice's acrobatics, though. They had begun firing on Jerome and Douglas as soon as she was in the air. The high, rocky walls of the trail resounded with human and alien gunfire as dozens of rounds were fired back and forth. Lack of cover made the firefight brutal and strategically challenging for the Spartans, who would normally have been victorious in a matter of minutes.

The elites were much tougher than Douglas expected. His shields went down twice in a quick succession, and he only managed to kill a pair of elites on his own. Even with Jerome's help, and the two of them being synchronized as only Spartan IIs could be, the elites were still unusually stalwart. Only after expertly switching directions and covering each other were Jerome and Douglas victorious against the bulk of their enemies.

Alice, meanwhile, had no such trouble as she continued to use hand-to-hand combat. She rushed, rolled, and dodged between carbine bolts, trying to close the distance with her targets. To an outside observer, she would have seemed suicidal, but to her fellow Red Team members she was simply more energetic than usual. Her kicks and punches were clinical, efficient, and effortless; not one of her movements was wasted as she tore through her stumbling opponents. In fact, Alice appeared as graceful as ever, her whirling pirouettes likening her to a dancer whose rhythm was as vibrant as it was lethal.

Despite the initial outlook, Red Team triumphed over the spec-ops squad and reconvened to discuss what had happened.

"How did they know?" Douglas asked, exertion evident in his voice.

"It could be anything," Jerome said, wiping some carbon scoring from his left bracer. "They could have watched us leave with the doctor, or just been on their way to meet up with the rest of the infantry. It's hard to tell."

Alice raised her head after examining a peculiar insignia on one of the elites' chests. "If they'd seen the doctor, I doubt they would have let her leave without a parting gift. Take a look at this. This was a hit squad. Not exactly the types to let their prey escape."

Douglas shook his head. "An entire hit squad for one civilian researcher? That seems a bit unconventional."

"We don't know Doctor Bjørnstad was their target. They could've just been coming to clean up the mess at the outpost." Jerome didn't know what to think. They had no evidence of anything.

"Maybe she was the mess," Alice countered.

"Maybe," he conceded. "Either way, we need to-"

A shrill whine abruptly filled the air as a superheated particle beam narrowly missed Douglas's shoulder. The Spartans immediately ran downhill, hoping to reach the large rock formation at the bottom and use it as cover.

They never reached it. A group of brutes twice as large as the elite squad abruptly touched down between Red Team and safety. Each brute was equipped with a high-powered jetpack, which only contributed to their already imposing figures. Jerome signaled a tactical retreat, but the brutes merely flew above and behind the Spartans, encircling them once more.

Douglas's characteristic optimism was gone. He had very little ammunition left, and Jerome and Alice were similarly lacking. He swore into the comm, and Alice favored him with a tilt of the head. But she felt the same. Things did not look good.

Jerome aimed his weapon at the figure emerging from the group of Banished. It was large, even for a brute, and its face was covered in red war paint. The body was clad in ornate red armor, and a matching helm sat atop its head. Taking its time, the towering form sidled right up to Jerome, who held his ground.

The entire thing was over in an instant. The chieftain disarmed Jerome and hoisted him off the ground by his left arm. As Alice and Douglas moved to help their squad leader, they were stopped abruptly in their tracks, unable to move. A crackling yellow sheen oscillated across their bodies, signifying the armor lockup that now imprisoned them inside their own suits.

Though her armor refused to cooperate, Alice let loose a string of violent curses for the entire group to hear. The chieftain was unbothered however, the human in his hands commanding his attention. Jerome punched his captor multiple times, to no avail. It was hauntingly reminiscent of Douglas's encounter with Atriox all that time ago. Now, it seemed, Jerome was next to suffer.

And he did. The chieftain used his colossal left hand to grip the right side of Jerome's torso and squeezed hard. An unsettling creak pierced the silence as the titanium plating of Jerome's Mark IV suit surrendered to the brute's grasp. The metal wrenched violently before failing altogether, leaving the Spartan within completely vulnerable. Jerome roared in anguish as his bottom three ribs snapped. He continued to groan until his right lung collapsed and he could not manage the sound any longer, resigning the scene to a morbid silence. A satisfactory grin crossed the chieftain's face as he dropped Jerome's crumpled body to the ground.

In an instant, the other, lesser brutes had Jerome on his feet again and dragged him in the direction of a dropship. Alice and Douglas were likewise moved unwillingly, their hearts crushed at the sight of Jerome's limp form. But they could do nothing for him right now. So they watched, helplessly, as he slumped to the ground and the dropship door closed, plunging them all into darkness.