Lost ODST
This One-shot was inspired by a drawing done by Bryn Casey. Visit HBO to see it. As the title says, it's about a lost ODST. Here's my take on the drawing.
Sergeant William Jonathan wandered the deserted streets of Old Mombassa, alone, and without any way to contact the rest of his unit, he was alone, save for his one weapon. The M90 shotgun he was issued.
Except for the occasional stattaco of rifles, the soft crunch of his boots contacting the ground, and the slight grating of his armor, all was silent. His ears were attuned to his surroundings, always listening for the sound of Covenant, the soft growl of an Elite, the buzzing of drones, the guttural bark of a grunt, anything that would alert him to danger. Fortunately for them, they weren't in the nearest proximity of him.
He sighed and sat down on an empty crate. He took off his helmet and ran an armored hand over his short, black hair. It felt good to breath air, without the scrubbers. He rested his shotgun, butt down, and barrel leaning on his shoulder. He rummaged around his pack and found an energy bar. He opened it and quickly scarfed it down.
Something tipped over a trash canister, and caused it to fall over, spilling its contents. The Sergeant quickly shouldered his shotgun, and aimed it at the adjacent alley from which the canister fell. A stray dog emerged from the alley, gazed at William for a moment, before continuing down the opposite alley, nose to the ground. William eased back, and rested his head on the permacrete wall of the building behind him. The image of his previous skirmish played in his mind.
The Covenant came out of nowhere, and attacked them while they were on patrol. Drones, Jackals, Grunts, and Elites, came at them from every direction. Plasma bolts, purple crystalline needles, particle beams, they barely made it out alive. Most of the unit got separated during the battle, including him. His radio was hit by a plasma bolt, so he had no was of reaching anyone, unless he found someone, and soon.
William placed his helmet back on his head, and took up his shotgun. He continued down the alley, hoping that sometime in the very near future that he would rendezvous with someone friendly. Or at least the remains of someone with a working radio. Anything was better than wandering the streets alone.