Noble Six felt the sharp rush of awareness as he was thrown out of oblivion.

The spartan opened his eyes, gazing through the malformed caricature of his shattered visor to the deep blue sky overhead, the distant shapes igniting vague shadows of the past shaken loose by a frankly inconceivable number of near fatal encounters. He could feel soft grass under him, and a gentle breeze carrying the scent of pinewood and freshly watered earth. A voice whispered beside him. Unintelligible words muffled as if smothered, but bearing a passing familiarity. And he felt soreness in his legs and arms, from a long day of exercise and the harsh batons of instructors.

He reached out to the sky, his arm fitted in a dull grey fabric as it stretched out to the sunset, it seemed smaller, as if a great distance from himself.

Clouds wisped and drifted, meandering across the horizon, inane, lifeless concentrations of water vapor and debris particulate that seemed somehow conceited as they loomed far above the world. They knew not the agony of existence; he reasoned his distaste. Theirs was the simplicity of nonexistence. Bereft of cause for worry or strife. He had never thought he would ever find himself jealous of a cloud, but neither had he ever considered he would end up as he was now.

Six inhaled deeply knowing what awaited him, as he let all the excruciating sensations of his physical ruination slam into him with the torrential wrath of a hurricane. He embraced the wave, accepting it for what it was. The price to pay. It was as he had taught himself all those years ago on Onyx. He had been given a choice then, lying in the sweat and the mud, battered, bleeding and broken. Welcome the pain, or be consumed by it. Thusly, he honed the burning, the aching, the soreness of abuse, and he channeled it forward, banishing unimportant thoughts and trace memory. And for a time, the agony of his body was forgotten.

Noble Six closed his hand, the armored plates of his gauntlet shimmering with refracted sunlight and clattering around his clenched fist. The ground underneath him was hard and concave, a semi-spherical blast crater that had his back bent in the dirt. He pulled himself upward.

The spartan-III would not stop moving, not until the universe itself was forced to bring him to heel.

Six sat up, ignoring the uncomfortable rattle of his bones and the stinging discomfort of his muscles. Blood trickled from the shattered and cratered armor that had been relentlessly sundered. The spartan rectified this, plugging the new holes with dirt. He felt himself to be more a patchwork construct, a poorly knit collage of bruises and half tended wounds warped into gross mimicry of a human being. Though human, was not something he felt he could still be considered. Six had not felt human in… not since… well. He did not actually remember. Often, he was convinced he had never been human, even though there existed memories, fragments of memories really, of a time before… everything. He felt them scratching at the back of his mind, like a blade against stone, and turned himself away from the weakness of such notions. Now was not the place for recollections, and a part of him hoped there never would be.

There was much that kept him from dwelling on the past. The present, and even the future, were often far easier to face.

Six forced himself to stand, shoving dirt in the last trickle of blood that leaked from a hole in his breastplate. He would need to move quickly if he was to stave off hemorrhagic shock. That was, categorically, one of the least preferable ways he wished to die. It was far too slow and ignoble. He would not waste away, not by choice. He would not fall until something put him in the dirt, and even then, he would drag them right alongside him.

The spartan examined the area around him as he gathered his bearings, the tree a meter to his left had been reduced to a jagged stump, and a shallow pit that could have easily been his grave. Perhaps it should have, if not for the twisted likeness of luck some trickster god seems to have forced upon him. He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts that had nearly been blasted loose, the echo of his respiration whistling through his bisected visor as he bent forward and firmed his balance with an armored hand upon the heated soil. He did not think he could continue like this.

For the first in a time, he felt helpless, blown about by the whimsy of chance, marioneted to a tune he could not place. If he were a fool, he might have thought this maligned sequence of unfortunate events to be the careful planning of some capricious being, but he'd long forgone the concept of religion as illogical.

His nose caught a drift on the wind, the acrid scent of explosive residue, a unique mixture of unfamiliar aromata and particulate matter, alien as it was, distracting him from his strayed thoughts. The area was vacant of life, no sign of hostiles but for the corpses he had previously dispatched, ruffled and disturbed by the air pressure of the explosion that nearly and inexpertly stole his life. A look to the tree beside was enough evidence in itself to identify the most recent attempt to cut short his existence. From the cone of dispersal around the unfortunate arbor, and the way the shattered branches and leaves were arrayed, it stood to reason that it had been trapped, likely a small antipersonnel mine, as a more standard device would have probably turned his internals into vibrant externals. Considering the compromised integrity of his armor he would not likely have survived heavier ordnance.

And judging from the low yield, the device had likely been no bigger than those small, rubbery pancakes served in mess facilities across all branches of the service. Small, compact, easily portable, and offensive to the very concept of the human palate. The area ahead was likely primed with fifteen to thirty of the foul devices, given the compliment of alien creatures he had been in the wake of. Truly it seemed that fate had grown tired of his continued existence. Unfortunately for fate, he rarely took stock in such nonsense.

Fleecing his figure, he dusted away the flecks and splinters of fibrous material.

A flash of hot pain, a fair degree more poignant than the constant dull agony seeped deep in his being, flared from his hand and he gave it a cursory glance, noticing that some of his fingers had been bent out of place from the detonation, twisted back or bent at awkward angles from the force of the blast. Inconvenient. He re-socketed them quickly, swiveling one of the strapped rifles into position to scan the area. The echo of the explosion had likely reverberated for only a kilometer, muffled somewhat by the density of the forest, but he was not one for making reckless assumptions. Logic dictated that OpFor had detected the discharge, and once the squad he had eliminated did not report, they would send further recon elements.

The spartan lacked vital data in regards to his enemy, their allegiance, technology, and social hierarchy. But this could not last, he could not afford it. Until sufficient intelligence was acquired, he'd regarded them thusly. They were, for all intents, an Opposing Force, though quite unlike what he had faced in his days of training. He would need to change strategies, if he was to survive long enough to reach the crash site. He had no intention of guerilla tactics, not with the current state of his body. He was not confident enough he could handle a determined, aware enemy in his current state of wellness, at least not in any way that assured his survival.

Noble Six collected his scattered equipment and pressed onward, at a much more cautious pace. His eyes scanned the environment ahead with an eagle's sharpness, searching for the hidden dangers he now knew lurked in the undergrowth. And not long after he laid eyes on an object of the like that had almost unmade him.

It was a silvery glint that first gave him notice, a flash at the corner of his vision that was near chest height. The spartan fixed his gaze on the object and circled around the tree, wary of a close netting of the devices. His concerns were unprompted, and as he came upon the back of the tree he slowly approached, his shoulder parallel to the bark of the towering oak-like flora.

The mine was strange, as expected, but equally strange in its familiarity. Of course, at a glance it was as alien as he anticipated, but its design, mechanically, was in such a way that he could confidently attempt a disarmament. This was, also, his first look at their written language. Stamped in a strange lettering, part pictograph, part Sanskrit, it was entirely incomprehensible. But he took a moment to study it, committing the lettering to memory. Perhaps later if he survived, he could attempt to make some form of sense out of it. Among many courses at Onyx had been linguistics, both of the human and Covenant lexicons. Alongside such courses as inter-squad tactics and asymmetric warfare were more generalized and broad ranged modules to supplement spartan operatives with information and training to enhance their capabilities in any operations, both on and off the field.

While he had never been interested in such things himself, favoring more tangible lessons the like of mechanics and avionics, he understood their utility. He was confident in time he could make sense of this alien language as he had the Covenant's convoluted and archaic dialect. Until then, he would need to use a little guesswork. Six let the rifle rest on its sling and palmed his kukri as he ran his eyes across the alien script. There was a method to the obtuse calligraphy, some lettering in bold, not dissimilar to the markings on UNSC munitions, likely denoting instructions or warnings. Through careful inference and deduction, he was sure he could make sense of these devices.

The spartan spent several minutes studying this conundrum, planning each step before laying a hand on the explosive. Once satisfied he would at least, probably, not blow himself up, he unsheathed his blade, and using the flat edge, was able to pry open the interior, exposing a bewildering array of compact wires and circuitry that was decidedly more advanced than UNSC anti-personnel ordnance.

Even so, the wires seemed to indicate function in association to color, and he exhaled softly in relief. The chances of self-termination had just lowered considerably.

Their language may have been indecipherable, but mechanical engineering was something of his specialty, and had been his highest scored aptitude for his noncombat curriculum. The spartan traced the wires to their home ports, and studied the circuit board. The device seemed more a miniature computer than a landmine, a facet of such an advanced technology he surmised as he lowered himself to get a better look at what he was working with. It was advanced, certainly, but not nearly as esoteric as half the Covenant devices he had disassembled and disarmed.

He guessed each wire's purpose, a closed circuit running a basic program, likely some form of simple runtime devoted to IFF detection, which he had failed to spectacular effect. The spartan did not have the luxury of breaking down the total operation of this object, so he focused instead on disarming.

This proved unexpectedly simple. He found the power source, a tiny black brick no larger than the postage stamps his father used to collect, and with the edge of the kukri he briefly disrupted the connection. The circular mine issued a terse beep, and shrunk to the size of a quarter, the spartan catching it before it hit the ground. Humming curiously to himself, he resealed the device and pocketed it in his tac webbing. He then continued to clear the remainder on his path, collecting the inactive mines one by one. There was chance they could be useful, and it was well known that spartans were somewhat kleptomaniacs for loose military ordnance.

There was also a chance, of course, that he had made some mistake and they would suddenly vaporize him, but he did not let it concern him overmuch.

Spartans were weird like that.

XXXXX

"Well... it's certainly something of a fixer upper." Fox considered as had to duck low to avoid hanging wires that sparked and fizzled above their heads. The interior of the ship, unsurprisingly, was something of a mess, warped metal panels hanging from the walls and ceiling and littered across the decking. It was dark as well, but for the sporadic bursts of electricity surging through sheared wires and cables. It was somewhat impressive, he would admit, that power still ran through the ship's systems, given its state. And he reasoned they would need to be wary of electrical discharges.

"Lights on." He ordered, flicking the switch on his blaster. A piercing beam of light leaped forward, revealing the twisted corridor of the crashed starship with some clarity. His light was joined quickly by two others, and he looked past Miyu and Fay, catching the eye of Krystal outside.

"Keep an eye on the front porch. Let me know if we get any visitors."

She nodded, gesturing for him to carry on as she disdainfully eyed her only source of company. The pheasant snorted, looking quite affronted as he settled in his makeshift foxhole, moving sheets of scrap into position.

The bird himself glanced back, eyeing Miyu with a smirk. "Try not to stick your face in any alien eggs." He snickered.

"Suck on a fat one, Falco." The feline suggested pleasantly as she followed Fox inside.

"Like… maybe we should take his advice seriously." Fay fretted, rubbing her paws together as she hesitantly followed after the cat.

Miyu sighed. "I was joking Fay. I promise you there are no aliens waiting to stuff babies down your esophagus. And even if, by some miraculous twist of fate there were." She flicked the power setting up on her heavy blaster, the thrumming whine echoing through the empty corridor.

"I'd handle it."

Fox, leading down the hall ahead, glanced back with a raised brown and a wry smile. "You guys should seriously lay off the sci-fi vids."

"Because exploring the wreck of an alien ship is not at all like science fiction?" Fay mused disparagingly.

The vulpine raised his arms up as if to say fair enough.

"Alright… I get it." He assured her, turning back to the path ahead.

"Let's just make sure to keep our heads screwed on tight. After all, there really is no way to know what is inside here." Fox paused on the threshold of the first corridor, looking back to his companions. "Last chance. Are you one hundred percent down with exploring the wreckage of an alien ship?"

Miyu and Fay shared a look, eventually nodding together.

"Absolutely Boss."

"Against my better judgment, yes."

"Alright." He smirked, swelling with pride. "Then let's see just what manner of adventure awaits."

"Please… be careful." Krystal called from afar, the vixen eyeing the party from the makeshift entrance.

"As ever." Fox called back before switching to radio. "Don't worry, we'll holler if we need it. You make sure to do the same. I don't know if the Remnant will make a play for the wreck. Stay in radio contact."

"As you say."

Fox waived her goodbye as he stepped around the corner, faced immediately with a yawning stretch of darkness that seemed to carry on into eternity, separated only by wandering pillars of light cast by their weapons. And in that moment, it really hit him that they were about to climb into the belly of an alien warship, and that he had no fucking idea where he was leading his people. The thought was enough to give him cause for doubt, even if it were for a fleeting moment.

That moment was broken by Miyu, who slugged him lightly in the shoulder.

"Come on then, cap. Let's go see if we can find ourselves an alien."

He turned back to see a roguish smile splitting the feline's lips, and felt his confidence return to him. They were Star Fox. They lived to face the crazy and the impossible. By rights, this was just another day, no different the battling the reincarnated, floating head of Andross over the skies of a planet flush with dinosaurs. Really, in comparison, this felt more like a Tuesday.

"Right then." The vulpine nodded to himself, his wits gathered and tingling with the excitement of the unknown.

"This one's for the history books."

"Here's hoping we're alive to read our names in them." Fay grumbled as she trudged alongside the pair, not nearly as enthusiastic as the lynx and the fox.

The vulpine did not respond to her jape, though he happened to share in her sentiment.

Discovery was often fraught with peril, and while he was all for immortalizing his name, he was not so in favor of being remembered as a martyr. And he was confident that if he got himself killed here, Fara would drag him back from all nine layers of hell just to kill him again for being an idiot. And that was something he could do sorely without.

The thought lingered for a time as they started wandering through the dark ship, minutes lost in the darkness searching for… something. He was still not yet sure what it was he wanted. He supposed it was just naked curiosity, needing no reason other than for the sake of it. He wanted to know, to see, to find. It was a feeling in his heart, a pull to wonder. The same pull that made the stars seem so vibrant and mysterious. Exploration was in his blood, passed by his father who had always entertained him at night as they lay in the grass of their backyard, speaking of amazing things as they looked up into the sky, about the places he'd seen and things he'd done.

Fox only hoped he could share the same stories with his own son when the time came. He and Fara had talked about it infrequently, an uncertain topic that they both struggled to address. The time just never seemed right, with his constant work and her aspirations to take over her father's company. Worse there was the constant threat of the Remnant, and he did not feel ready to raise a son, or daughter, (as Fara wanted), until he was sure he would not do to them what his father had done to him.

He had nothing but pride and love for his father, but James McCloud had been a widower who left his son an orphan, and Fox would be damned before he would do the same for his children.

"Hey, Fox, you alright there? See any spooky aliens?"

The vulpine turned back, Miyu watching him curiously. He looked to his surroundings and realized he had been standing at the edge of a corridor bypass for some time.

He nodded. "I'm good. I was just taking a moment to breathe it all in."

"Yeah… it really is something else." Fay agreed, her voice far-off and distracted, pouring over her notes while he stood around daydreaming. The bashful grad from Beltino Tech was more than happy to let his mind wander so she could focus on her work.

Miyu seemed curious, her eyes flickering with unasked questions. But she shrugged regardless, and motioned ahead. "If you're done then we could get along?"

"Sure." He buried his thoughts and pushed forward, and silence returned to their party.

They traveled for a time through the halls of the wreck, crossing gaps where the deck had sunken in or broken apart, either from impact or whatever battle that had scrapped this colossal warship. The corridors where high and wide, likely meaning the species that had made it were equally so, and yet there were places they had to navigate carefully, climbing over heaps of debris or making makeshift bridges to cross decks that had been almost entirely destroyed. Luckily there was more than enough scrap metal about that it did not slow them overmuch. He had thought he would have felt wonder, or amazement. After all they were pioneering something no one had ever done before. Instead, he felt an inexplicable… solemnity, and a word that was not so harsh as shame. They were picking amongst the bones of the dead, and while they had not yet seen corpses, a look at the damage the ship had taken, he was willing to believe few, if any, had survived this.

He mused on the morality of his venture, when something caught his eye.

Fox's pace quickened as they picked up on a yellowish light in the distance, expecting some new curiosity, they instead came across sunlight. And in that moment, he felt the beginnings of awe and wonder, though his wonderment was not of the joy of discovery. The vulpine pressed an arm against the nearby bulkhead as he leaned toward the light that had plunged into the heart of the alien ship through an utterly gaping break in the hull, like a spear through the stomach of a massive beast. He felt around the lip of the breach, his gloves tracing the half-melted metal that had cooled some time ago, and could now confidently admit that this had been worth the risk.

He counted the decks between himself and the outside, from both directions, as the damage carried clear through the entirety of the ship, allowing sunlight to pour in from both approaches. Fox tried to calculate how much power a weapon would need to punch clean through that many layers of hull reinforced by bulkheads and armor. Not even the largest lance battery of the largest Federation battleship could puncture a warship so cleanly. It left Fox struggling to fathom the manner of enemies this alien race contended with. Whatever ship that had killed this vessel would pose a threat not just to a fleet, but the Federation navy as an entity.

Fox hoped the ship responsible had been the wreck scuttled by the Remnant. Because if it was not…

In any case, he would need to prepare a full report for the General. And it had just become paramount that the Federation secure this site and learn all they could from the crash. Whether this was the result of two warring species or one facing civil strife, it was clear that Lylat was no longer the biggest fish in the water.

The universe seemed, now to Fox, to be much smaller.

Faced with such devastation the vulpine came to a sudden thought. By appearance this ship had just come out of a vicious battle, in which shortly after it made impact with the surface of Fortuna. And yet, it was remarkably intact, in a way that the superstructure yet remained whole enough for him to marvel at the industry of this alien race.

"Damn, these fuckers sure knew how to build ships." Miyu observed as she kicked at a bulkhead, the vulpine momentarily forgetting that he was not alone.

Her mind was likely running on a similar track as his. He could count on a single hand the number of ships classes in the Federation that would survive reentry so intact, certainly not after suffering damage the like he had witnessed. Most broke up in atmosphere, as he had seen on occasion. The fact this ship passed through atmo and retained cohesion upon impact was an engineering marvel. He knew Slippy would be ravenous to pick this ship apart when it came time for it. A find like this was something that could make the toad's career. And yet more than that Fox dared to wonder at the possibilities from researching the ship's superstructure, what they mighty learn from it. Perhaps Slip could discover something to further improve the Great Fox. Fox was rather invested in the concept of adding to his father's legacy.

"I'll make sure to notate for Slip." Fay crouched low to closely study the most intact feature of the ship they had yet to come across, placing a paw against the metal and humming in thought.

Fox smiled, recognizing the tune as the one she sang to herself when she was deep in thought. If he thought this was interesting than Fay must have been ecstatic. He could hear the patter of her haptic display as she scrawled away at her notes like a collegiate cramming for a test. The vulpine figured she'd appreciate having a moment to commit her thoughts to data drive.

"Alright, take five guys." He ordered as he found an elevated portion of the deck that had buckled, and made a home for his butt. Fay was quick to use the opportunity, and he watched as she practically shook herself down, unloading a series of devices and scanners that she used to comb over the intact bulkhead. While the canine worked, he tried not to think too hard on what this meant for the future. The prospect of exploring the wreckage of an alien ship was starting to lose its luster under the growing weight of his concerns and questions.

Miyu set herself beside him, resting her rifle in her lap as she glanced his way. He felt her eyes focus on him, and knew she would be staring for a while. Cats were weird like that. They fixated on things, and if not for the fact he was engaged, and had grown up with feline neighbors, he might have confused her intense gaze as a sign of romantic interest. Instead, he waited patiently for her to speak. It was not as if he felt the need to talk anyway.

In a few moments, his patience was rewarded.

"So…" The feline drawled finally, leaning against the wall in such an effortlessly languorous manner that only cats could ever hope to achieve so gracefully.

"How's the fiancé?"

Fox, expecting a number of topics from her, was for a moment taken aback.

"What?"

"You know…" She continued lazily, waiving her paw about. "How's your littler fennec spitfire?"

Fox, still bewildered, tilted his head as he looked to her. "She's doing well. But not to sound like a major asshole, why the hell are you asking?"

"What? Can't make conversation?" She rebutted, smirking.

He could see the familiar gleam in her eyes, and never knew for sure what it meant other than a sign of her mischief or amusement. It was unsurprising then, that she was amusing herself. While Falco was more often than not the butt of her jokes, she made it no secret that she did as she pleased. It was charming in a way, though mostly when at Falco's expense. And for the moment the bird was not present. He might have worried then that she was up to no good, but this time he could tell there was more to her thoughts than a quick laugh.

"Sure, you can." He answered, eyeing her strangely. "I just thought that maybe since we are in an alien ship, that you might want to talk about the alien ship."

"Well…" She shrugged languidly, leaning further against the warped metal. "I figure we'll have plenty of time to talk shop about this whole alien thing. After all, something tells me life just got a lot more complicated for everybody. Right now, I'd settle for talking about something normal, you know."

Fox… could actually understand that.

"Yeah… alright."

"Cool." The lynx smiled, before pointedly motioning towards him. Fay was quite busy annotating and chipping samples, and it was clear she was hoping someone else to start first.

"Oh right," he realized somewhat awkwardly, rather off put by their location. "Well…" Fox began before slowing for a moment to gather his thoughts. He could hardly remember the last time they talked about anything so mundane, and of course it was Miyu who brought it up as they took a breather inside an alien starship. That was very much the feline's MO.

"Fara has her test flight scheduled for… 1830, FST." He glanced at his omni-tool. It was currently 1346. "She'll be testing the X-04 in orbital conditions."

"Already?" Miyu asked, surprised. "Last I heard the X-04 was buried in development hell."

"Yeah. She finally convinced her father to push the project down through the departments." He chuckled warmly, recalling their conversation and her excitement before he'd left port at Corneria. She'd been pushing for the project for years. "I suppose that's the benefit of being the daughter of Lylat's premier supplier of military hardware."

"Hah. What'd I tell yah?" The lynx grinned cheekily, smacking him on the forearm. "You really lucked out with that one."

"Yeah…" He agreed slowly, glancing at his omni-tool, to the digital clock that ticked endlessly. For a moment he wished he could reach in and pull time backwards, before he dismissed the idea for the stupidity it was. "I really did." He had promised her before they set out, before this mess fell in his lap, that he would contact her before the test. And now, as he looked at the alien corridor around them. He realized that would end up as another promise he had broken.

He had a gut feeling a lot more promises would be broken in the future.

Miyu, picking up on his mood change, switched gears. "Well, you'll be proud to hear I absolutely fucking aced my requal for my MSO license."

Fox perked up at that. "Really? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because I knew you would make a big deal out of it, turn it into some kind of team celebration." She retorted hotly, though her tone was warm as she ribbed him. "Besides, we already celebrated the first and the second time."

"Of course we did." He grumbled irritably. "Even requalifying for a Mercenary Special Operations License is a big deal. I mean, I don't even have that. It should be something to celebrate, like getting your pilot's license, or a birthday."

The lynx sighed, bumping shoulders with him. "I know you mean well, Fox. But sometimes a girl just wants to kick back and listen to some heavy metal and down a couple drinks, privately, in the comfort of her own apartment."

Fox did not want to give ground, but he knew her well enough. For as boisterously social as she could be, there were times when the lynx preferred solitude, just another one of those quirks about felines, not that foxes or canines were any better he supposed. He would never quite live down the incident at the park from last year. Nor would he ever trust Miyu or Falco with a ball, ever again.

Seriously.

Never.

Fox sighed, in defeat. "Alright… but don't think you're entirely out of this. We could at least grab the team and eat somewhere nice, maybe that steakhouse on 23rd by Fara's hab-block. I know you like that place."

"No party?" She asked skeptically.

"No party." He agreed.

"Fine, as long as you're paying."

Fox winced, but nodded. For a girl she sure ate like a platoon of marines, and the steakhouse served a rather high-class clientele, and their prices were suited to match. His wallet would hate him, and Fara would probably have something to say about it, but money was secondary to his family. It was enough for him to see the smile on Miyu's face as she cheered.

"Hell yeah!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet and pointing at Fay. "Did you hear that Fay? We're gonna eat at Felten's Chophouse, and this sucker is buying."

"Felten's?" Fay was jolted from her hypnotic stupor, lifting up her goggles as she looked to Fox in surprise.

The vulpine nodded, even as he felt his bank account shrivel and gasp in despair. But that was fine, he could huddle up and cry about it later, privately, in the comfort of his own room.

"Damn right." Miyu nodded viciously. "Now let's get this train moving. I say another ten… fifteen minutes reconnoitering this hulk and we turn back, rally with Krystal and the featherbrain, get a hold of Slip, and see about wrapping this whole discovery of alien life fiasco in a fancy little ball and getting our asses back home. Yeah?" She asked, turning to him with an outstretched paw.

Fox, torn from brooding on his soon to be economic decimation, looked up to the now eager feline and her offer, and accepted with a small smile. "Right, sounds like the perfect plan."

They waited for Fay to finish packing up, Fox taking that time to clear his thoughts and again focus on the now. Miyu, humming to herself and practically buzzing in place, was eager to get moving once more. Technically their exploration of the wreck was on their own time and not a part of the mission, and his curiosity was satisfied for the moment. He figured they'd do as Miyu suggested, take another ten or fifteen minutes to see if they found anything else, and circle back to regroup. After all the Remnant was still out there, and there was a chance yet still that they made a play for the second wreck, and he was already worried, Slippy should have reported in by now, and the fact the toad had not was something that joined the list of worries he already had.

Time would be a factor on the approach back. And the more of the interior of this ship he discovered, the more he realized they were not equipped for long term exploration. They would need power tools, cutters, and work lights, not to mention a far more sizeable pool of personnel. The Federation could foot that bill, he reckoned. They'd likely stay for a while longer regardless as he was sure the General would extend their contract to protecting the worksite, at least until sufficient resources could be allocated.

There was much they could learn here, the materials of their construction, and maybe even information that could shed light on who these people were and what had happened to them. Because as of yet they had not found any survivors, or bodies for that matter. And that made him think.

Admittedly, it was a hard subject to ignore, a whispering at the back of his every thought. Broken and twisted as it was, the alien ship was easily the size of a Federation cruiser, and though he knew nothing about its occupants, Federation cruisers had upwards of two-thousand crewman. By rights, there should have been a lot of corpses. Although, maybe they had used some manner of escape pods? Maybe crew compliments were smaller? There was no way to know for sure, and he was given plenty of food for thought.

"Hey… uhhhhh…. Boss…."

Fox paused, looking down the passage they'd come on their way in to see Miyu and Fay standing at a door he had initially dismissed as broken on their initial pass-by. The metal was warped and twisted, nothing he could get through without calling down the plasma torch from the Great Fox. And he needed Peppy up there in case things really turned south. Slippy should be back from the garrison soon enough anyway, and he could have the toad make a quick trip.

"Yeah, what's up?" He walked over, noticing their expressions under his gun's light, and he was put on edge. They looked… emotionless. And in his experience that always meant trouble. He tapped Miyu on the shoulder, and the feline was unresponsive. "Miyu?" He asked aloud. She ignored his prodding and he sighed, turning his head to see what the hells they were gaping at.

His jaw flopped open, and he felt the air squeeze out of his lungs.

Oh… that's where the bodies were.

"Holy shit." He muttered, leaning forward to peer inside.

"Yeah… shit." The feline muttered beside him.

It was dark inside the partially blocked room, and the moment he stuck his head through the gap he could smell it, like a punch to the nose.

Decay.

He felt his stomach roil, and the vulpine flinched. He was no stranger to the consequences of war, he'd waded through the mire more than once, the corpses, bloated or crushed, blown apart, burned and ravaged by the cruelty of hard-fought battles in abominable conditions. The siege of Zoness at the end of the war had been the worst. Bodies had been piled high enough to use as fortifications and some nights he could still smell them as they rotted in the night, both armies too low on supplies to burn them. The smell that permeated this room reminded him of that. And it was more the memory than the odor that caused his stomach to turn sour.

Fox retched and yanked his head out of the hole to throw up, the acidic bile of his last meal pooling between his boots.

Spirits, he'd never thought he'd smell something like that again.

It took a few minutes for him to clamp down on his revulsion, but eventually he wiped his mouth and looked top his companions. Miyu was grimacing, and he could see her hand on Fay's shoulder, keeping the canine back from the doorway.

"Fuck…" He groaned, his stomach still shifting as he fought down the last dregs of nausea.

"I suppose… we found the aliens, eh cap?" Miyu spoke hesitantly, the feline's usually lackadaisical expression bearing an unusual severity.

He nodded, not yet ready to answer in full. The vulpine buried the old memories that had resurfaced, things he had not thought about in years and had thought he would never think of again. And in a moment, they were once more banished deep, though he knew they could come back in the night.

And as much as he did not care to, he hardened himself, before again peering through the broken door. His first glance had been quick, and repulsed by the stench. But prepared now for it, he was just able to endure as he studied the interior of the compartment. It was dark as pitch, revealed only in part by the beam of his gun's light. He was immediately disturbed by the familiarity of what he saw.

The aliens, as best as he could guess, seemed remarkably similar to their own kind, and he briefly fought the urge to vomit again during his examination. There must have been ten or fifteen of them inside, bent over tables or crushed under debris splayed as if a great force had swept them aside. Two arms, two legs, short jaws, and thin hair on their scalps, at least as he could observe from the bodies that had not been ravaged too harshly. The bodies had clothes, dull grey under the light, and soaked liberally in a dry, red, flaky substance that could only be blood.

An idea formed, a stupid one that bore little merit, and yet even so he knew he would not turn away. Fox slung his weapon on his shoulder and took a step forward, and, his hands on the metal of the doorway, prepared to squeeze himself inside. It was important he reasoned, that the bodies be documented before the rot could destroy any recognizable features.

Even with that justification, he could not help but feel relief as his radio crackled into life.

"Remnant contact!"

As the words echoed through the quiet corridor, his thanks felt like ash on his tongue.

XX-XX-XX

Krystal threw herself into a naturally formed defilade of metal as a storm of laser fire whizzed through the air she had been standing in a moment ago. She had no time to consider how close she had skirted with death as her shoulder slammed hard into the ground. She ignored the harsh sting of the impact of her body and focused on her training. First cover and concealment, then her weapon. She shifted to her side, listening to the booming barrage of weapons fire that rained on her position as she scooted her back against the massive shard of hull debris and unclipped the cylinder at her waist.

The vixen unfolded her guardian staff, the weapon telescoping to its full length, and seeing its cumbersome nature in her short cover, she shrank the staff to half its size. Her weapon now compact, she focused outward and allowed herself to think.

Judging by the suddenness of the attack and the accuracy of incoming fire they must be facing some special operations unit, likely forward scouts or rangers. Krystal shimmied down the length of her cover and looked to the last place she had seen Falco before she called out the ambush.

"FUCK… SHIT." He yelled as he loaded his assault blaster, belting out further obscenities as he crouched inside his makeshift bunker, the bird seeming more angry than concerned as he weathered a storm of fire that crashed against his little fortification.

She would admit that she was relieved to see him unharmed and in relatively fair condition. Krystal leaned back in her shelter and channeled a portion of herself into the staff. She could hear the rising hum as it charged, the blue gem centered in the filigreed crown glowing as it reached full charge. Now, she did not feel so helpless. It was as Fox always told her. The best defense was a good offense.

The vixen burst from cover, sliding down the hill as weapons fire trailed after her, always a moment too far behind. She centered the point of her staff at the closest enemy, a soldier of the Remnant bearing the familiar and loathed black and red armor of their military, and squeezed the pressure sensor in her staff. The weapon's hum reached a crescendo as the gem flashed, releasing a blazing bolt of energy that cut through the air and then the body armor of her target. The soldier was blow backwards and nearly in half as he hit the dirt, and she was already in the next closest piece of cover as they focused fire on her.

The vixen shuddered, her breathing a great bellow in her ears as she activated her comms. In the few seconds out there, she had seen the numbers arrayed against them, counting fifty at least. That did not bode well.

"Falco, now."

A second later she heard it, a thunderous cacophony of sound, and felt the heat rushing past her.

"Yeah, eat it fuckers!" Falco's taunt carried over the sound of his assault blaster, the triple barreled heavy weapon layering an obscene weight of fire on their enemies. With that weapon in a fixed, rooted position, Falco became a heavy weapons team unto himself.

It would not do much to an equally entrenched enemy the likes they faced, hunkered as they were in the debris just as she was, but its purpose was not to kill, but suppress.

Krystal leaped again out of cover and further down the slope, this time able to fire her staff twice, each shot putting down another hostile soldier. She was closer now, and could see a small squad hiding behind a large piece of the hull to her right. They had not seen her yet, focused now on the heavy cannon in the bunker. She skirted left, weaving through the field of metal, coming around until she rushed their position.

They did not hear her approach until too late, deafened by the chatter of Falco's gun and the sound of their own blasters. The first to notice her was the squad leader, a large reptilian sporting a squad automatic weapon. He turned at the sound of boots on gravel and hissed in surprise.

"Fuck, the bitch is-"

Krystal whipped a dagger from her belt and the small blade sang through the air, before burying itself in his esophagus with a wet thwack. The lizard gurgled and stumbled backwards, dropping his weapon to clutch at his throat. As he sunk to his knees his squad was alerted, and turned to face her with shouts of alarm.

"Holy shit!" The first exclaimed as he fired his gun, and she ducked low, the laser flying past her shoulder as she twisted the haft of her shortened staff and a spike ejected from the pommel.

Another shot whizzed past her ear but she ignored it, flush with the rush of battle. She flipped her staff and lunged as she closed the final gap between them, the spike swinging upward and through the chin of the closest soldier. Grabbing his shoulder, she pushed him into the incoming fire of his comrades and ripped the stake free, letting the corpse drop as she spun her staff and fired twice. The last two soldiers fell, thrown back by the blasts from her weapon.

She was already crouching low as the bodies collapsed, looking to see if any of the recon force had seen her. She eyed a pair of soldiers taking cover across from her, but the sound of Falco's weapon deepened and she watched as a stream of lasers cut them down.

"Thank you." She spoke softly, wiping the blood from the small blade on her staff.

"No problem." He muttered; his voice strained with focus. Suddenly, his tone hitched and she could sense worry spike from him. "Krystal get the fuck back here now!"

She turned and fled, trusting in his instincts. Not a moment later several grenades sailed from the enemy lined and bounced into the position she had just been occupying. The explosion was close, and she grunted as a shard of heated shrapnel punctured her combat suit and sunk into her side. Her sprint faltered and she hit dirt, turning her fall into a roll as she took shelter behind one of a thousand hunks of wreckage strewn about the battlefield.

She gasped at the pain, the sensation like a hot brand against her flesh. She pressed a hand against the wound and felt a steady trickle of blood, and winced as her injury screamed at her probing.

"Hey you alright! Do you need me to come down and rescue your ass?"

Krystal grimaced, ripping out the shrapnel and stuffing the wound with a medi-injector. "No." She snapped heatedly, a quiet mewl escaping her as the antibiotics and painkillers ran their course.

"Whatever." Falco huffed. "Try and make it back alive, my barrels are overheating and my pack is just about used up. You got probably two minutes before I have to strip and reload."

Two minutes? The vixen lifted herself up, leaning against her cover, the sound of footsteps approaching at rapid pace. She nodded, bracing herself.

I can make two minutes.

XX-XX-XX

Six heard it first before he saw it.

The distant sounds had become clear and crisp as he stepped into the shadow of the wrecked Halcyon.

Weapons fire, and a lot of it.

The spartan quickened his pace, though he struggled to make good time. He had a limp now, likely a torn tendon or muscle. He had so many injuries he could not place the reason. Nevertheless, he shouldered the alien rifle and readied it in a moment. The action was familiar, though different as he needed to activate the internal battery before swapping in a fresh magazine in case the one inside had somehow fouled in the explosion. He did not quite trust his new weapons. The concept of a magazine fed rifle that did not take cartridges was new to him, and he had eyed the strange prongs of the power packs with some disdain. He could only hope they were at least as effective as UNSC munitions.

Six felt an unfamiliar emotion rise as he slowed his jog, the sounds of battle so loud he knew he would be embroiled as soon as he crossed out of the tree line. Uncertainty was not new to him these past weeks. It had been silent companion since before Reach fell. It had come to him as they fled the burning city of New Alexandria, when he firmly realized they had lost.

The emotion was of the same that came to him that day, but in a different context.

The spartan took a knee behind a tree, for a moment of respite before chaos fell upon him once more.

He did not yet know what he would do. He knew there were hostile aliens, he had killed plenty already. Killing aliens was the reason for his existence, yet he had never encountered this possibility. Noble Six peered down past the tree into the crater, watching a fierce firefight being waged in the wreckage. He should have been able to make out the combatants with clarity. But his vision was becoming blurred, and it took most of his fortitude to maintain coherent thought. All he knew for sure was one side was vastly outnumbered by the other. And he came across the heart of his dilemma.

There were two sides.

There had never been two sides before.

The covenant did not fight amongst themselves and HIGHCOMM had long theorized that there were no aliens in the Milky Way that were not part of the alien hegemony. The idea brought back the whispers, the doubt. Where had he been taken if not the Milky Way?

The spartan crushed the question, strangled it before it could let out one last gasp. He had no room in his heart for doubt. Nor did he have time to pontificate like a senile fool. He was on borrowed time, and he was not sure he had the strength for another loan.

The spartan shook his head, banishing the bizarre analogy, and grew concerned about the state of his mentality. Whatever he would do, he needed to do it now, before he became any weaker or delusional. Six wiped his bloodied visor, as if it could help clear his clouded vision, and exited the cover of the forest. He was closer now, by the slope, and could see with some precision, a force at platoon strength. He could make out the color of their armor, dark black and deep red. The aggressor in this engagement, and they seemed deadly eager to kill the opposing party.

Across he could make out two figures, one in a pile of metal loosely resembling a bunker, and the other in cover nearby. As it was, they were disproportionately outnumbered. He had counted more than that from the party that had passed earlier. He would have wondered where the others were if not for recognizing that they were defending a hole in the ship. The rest were inside, doing what he knew not.

The spartan came to quick decision.

The smartest thing would be to kill all of them. He could secure the crash and search for medical supplies in the Halcyon.

But… he did not think he was in a position to take the smartest route. He had doubts he could punch though fifty soldiers armed with advanced weaponry, at least not in his current condition. And the heavy weapon belting out from the makeshift bunker would likely cut him in half with his shields blown and his armor so utterly compromised.

Perhaps… a pincer strike.

No.

He discounted the idea immediately. He had never willfully consorted with alien forces. The spartan paused, clutching his helmet as recent memory pulled itself from the fugue around his thoughts. No. That wasn't right. He had made a pact with that zealot. The alien had honored their deal. But there had been communication, understanding, he didn't have that caveat. He did not have that…

The spartan felt the world spin. He dropped to a knee and there was a sharp pain in his chest. Colors dilated and he felt blood vomit from his mouth and all over his armor, such a deep and vibrant red he had never seen except from bodies that had been torn apart. The spartan realized something then in that moment, something that lifted the crushing weight on his shoulders.

He was going to die.

Soon.

He supposed at that, the uncertainty of choice seemed inconsequential. He reached inside his armor, opening a compartment he never thought he would ever touch. Popping the pouch, he removed an autoinjector, a high concentrate mixture of amphetamines and adrenaline, able to stop the heart of an elephant, but enough to boost a spartan operative on his last legs. A project of ONI, one that did not meet approval with the board of directors. Its symptoms were as of yet unknown, as it had not passed clinical trials. There were concerns about the long-term ramifications on spartan biology regarding addictive substances. Even so, he had been able to request it from his handler, whose loose morals had allowed them to comply with his desire. If he was to die, he would not die a lumbering beast.

The spartan removed his helmet, securing it in the crook of his elbow as he eyed the injector one more time. The wind rushed through his hair, a cool breeze against his feverish skin, and for a moment he felt peace.

Noble Six peeled down the suit layer around his throat and pressed the injector against his skin. There was a sharp prick, a hiss of compressed air from the handheld device, and then his heart stopped beating.

Reality shattered like a pane of glass, hammers crashing against his mind as everything rushed into a dizzying spiral of light, sound, color, and taste. Weapons fire, shouts, burning trails of light and copper tang of blood washed over him in a sense depriving tidal wave. The impression was not dissimilar than what he imagined if he were to blow his own brain out of his skull.

Six snarled, rage bubbling up from inside without rhyme or reason. Fuck this. He wasn't going to die from some combat drug. The spartan forced himself to stand, shaking with the need to move, to fight, to kill. He forced his helmet onto his skull, able to hear the rapid flutter of his breath. The vibrant colors faded, and his vison returned with such lucidity he could make out the individual grains of dirt at his feet. The spartan grabbed his rifle, and the weapon crumpled like paper in his grip. He tossed the warped frame aside and took another from his back, this time his strength more controlled.

He looked to the crater below at the figures of the soldiers that had tried to kill him once before. His blood spiked, and he could hear it rushing in his ears like a deafening cacophony. The spartan set his first target and fired the shot. There was no hesitation or doubt. He saw his enemy, and he killed his enemy.

The alien dropped, its skull blown apart, and he fired his next shot as he charged down the steep incline. His boots overtaking meter after meter at wind breaking speed. He held the trigger down, showering the backline of the alien force in a withering fusillade of lethal accurate fire. He dropped ten in the first minute, three to four shots per target, clustered in tight grouping.

He was met with swift return fire.

He ignored it.

The lasers impacted his body but did not slow him, less mass than Covenant plasma, not enough to stumble his stride. He gave no thought to the smoldering tracks that were trailing up and down his armor. It was not as if he could feel it anyway. He could not feel anything. His weapon clicked empty and he dropped it, taking another rifle from its sling and firing again. Eight more dropped, the rest now taking cover. He could see the panic in their movements, as they realized they were trapped in a crater with a heavy weapon on one side and himself on the other. Their panic turned into terror when they realized he was not going down under their combined fire. A hundred shots must have landed against him, and he was sure his armor was melting, but he felt as if nothing had touched him at all.

One of the aliens began to bark orders to instill discipline, an officer perhaps. It seemed to be trying to form some sort of clear firing line. But he was too fast for them to react. The spartan cast aside his now empty rifle and unsheathed the kukri he had taken from Emile's corpse as he came close. He swung the weapon and it cleaved the alien's head from its shoulders. He sprinted past the falling corpse, slamming into their fragile formation like a battle tank.

The first he crushed under the weight of his armor, the second broke against his shoulder, the third he cleaved from throat to hip. And as he was amongst them, he began swinging. The spartan's knifework was wild and clumsy, but the strength behind his arm was enough to sever limbs and bisect torsos. And as the bodies began to fall, as their comrades were butchered like animals, they shattered and began to scatter. He was not in the mind for mercy. The spartan grabbed the officers sidearm from the twitching corpse, and put them down as they tried to flee. He did this to a man.

In the passing of five minutes, he had killed near fifty of the creatures. Their bodies were littered around him in a widening arc as they had tried to escape his reckless barbarity. The aliens lay broken beneath him, blood spurting from torn flesh and draped about like detritus. The spartan stepped over and on them, crushing a ribcage underneath as he approached the Halcyon. His mind was laser focused. He needed to reach the medical wing. From there…

The spartan began to slow, his steps faltering.

Damn it. He cursed. His augmented body was metabolizing the drug too quickly. He could feel the strength leaving him. The spartan stumbled and dropped to a knee, the power he had felt moments ago leeching from his body like a sieve. He glanced down at his armor, and felt his heart stutter. Rivulets of molten titanium leaked from smoldering, cherry red burns in his battleplate, and blood was seeping through the holes he had clogged with dirt. Six could feel the ache building in his chest, the palpitations of his heart struggling to keep blood pumping, its long, hard-fought battle finally spiraling backwards, too weak to keep functioning when now straining from the drugs that had ravaged his system. He was running out of blood, and time.

He looked towards the wreck, his vision darkening until he could barely see three feet ahead.

The spartan, still on his knees, shuddered as a gasp tore through him as his heart began to fail. He reached out as he hit the ground, his gauntlet clawing a furrow into the earth as he tried to pull himself forward. He realized then that he had failed.

The spartan turned onto his back and tried to at least get a look at the clear sky. He focused on the blue blur that consumed his vision, a dazzling field of cerulean before everything faded to black.

AN: At long last it is finished. Jesus, even with my notes it was difficult to come to this point, I was never quite sure how to get the moment together for initial contact, and even then it is left on a rather tense cliffhanger. Despite production difficulties, I hope I can assuage the collective disgruntlement of my reader base with a chapter pushing toward 10k. I am trying to make my chapters long again, as of this posting I am already working on the next chapter. Though I expect it will be a little while. I really want to sell the first contact situation, which is why I broke the chapter into two. Otherwise this would be in development for even longer. A hell of a lot of things are going to happen next chapter, which will probably make it much longer than this one. And this is where the story really starts to diverge. I will do my best but work will likely still be slow. As while I am now focusing 90% of my fanfiction time to Legacy, I am working on an original story and a have one other project currently in my sights, Though I do not yet know if it will reach Fanfiction. I am trying to work on some first person narrative concepts, as a side project and to help hopefully improve my writing skill.

Anyway, that's it for the update. I'll try and get some spellchecking done on this sometime soon, as I'm sure there are at least a few errors or two. Also, in some interesting news. I am cautiously sending out a feeler for a beta reader. As a lot of my time is spent on checking over my work. It's not set in stone, but I would at least like to see if it helps. In any case I am fucking tired as all hell so I am out of here.

As always, please leave favs and reviews. They really do help keep me going.

Keep the faith!

Drake

EDIT: 4/9/2021 I have done some spellchecking and very small portions of tweaking to try and smooth out any roughness that has persisted.