The Great Journey
A/N: Going to capitalize all weapon names and soldier ranks (ex. Minor). Also, all Elites, etc. will no longer be "it," they will be "he/she." Forgot to mention this in the first A/N, also-Anybody who copies or plagiarizes any part of my story will be prosecuted to the maximum legal extent. If I can't really do anything to you legally (which is more than likely), I'll just flame you and report you, unless it was an honest coincidence.
Reviews:
Klitchko: Well, I must say, you are persistent. I can (partly) understand why you might think the chapter was rushed, because it was rather short (I mentioned that in the A/N). But I don't want it to drag the chapter on too long, and I need to end with something suspenseful, or else nobody would come back. Also, I strongly disagree with your "out of character" statements. Many people have the illusion of the "Master Chiefmindless killing machine" equation, which, sadly, was created by Eric Nylund's stories. Though I have the utmost respect for a writer who is clearly way above my level, I don't like his portrayal of the Master Chief. Nobody can be that inhuman-even if you are trained to be a soldier from childhood. Also, it would be boring for my story-basically, all he would do is walk around and kill stuff. I like William Dietz's version of the Chief much better (I recommend that you read Halo: The Flood), because it gives him feelings, emotions (particularly fear of the Flood and sarcasm/annoyance at 343 Guilty Spark), and basically, a more human-like character. The Master Chief is serious, and a man of few words, but not so much that he can't give a response to an Elite. He, in my mind, is NOT a robot. Not even close. If anyone disagrees with this, that's good for you. Whoever does so can go read some other story, but don't try to change this particular opinion of mine. If anyone flames me I'll just leave your flame there as an example of public stupidity (not saying this review is a flame). Finally, I really need dialogue to expand the plot. A story with all action and little to know dialogue would be a worthless waste of time. Not saying that you can't voice your thoughts, but…
Terrin NyphonYeah, I think I will split the paragraphs and re-post the chapter. It didn't look that big of a paragraph in MS Word. Good advice.
NuclearMageSorry, don't do romance. I suck at it (unless I get help). More Marines, ODSTs/Helljumpers (my favorite Marines), and space battles coming. Just wait…and keep reviewing! Also, if I ever need some crazy name, I'll ask you. Thanks for the offer.
halo marine1If you read the passage again you will notice that it says "nearly stuck to his armor," so it's not exactly on his armor, just nearby on the ground. Other than that, thanks for the review. By the way, no prob about reviewing Halo: SG-1 for you. Always happy to help reviewers.
Everyone else: thanks for the (continued) support! Don't worry, it's not that you don't matter, I'm not putting up all your names because A. I am too lazy and B. it would take too long (see A). Keep reviewing! Thanks!
Chapter 3: High Charity
2009 hours, February 21, 2553 (UNSC Military Calendar) ♦ Unidentified Ship Bay, Covenant Holy City "High Charity," Sanctum of the Hierarchs.
"Cortana? What are you doing here? I thought you went back to Earth with the Chief!" Sergeant Avery Johnson exclaimed. He was staring in amazement at the AI's figure, which was emanating from an alien hologram projection pedestal.
"It's a long story, Sergeant. Care to hear it later? We really don't have time for it right now," Cortana said, brushing off the question.
"Don't have time for it…" the Sergeant snorted. "Got that right. You don't know how many times I've heard that today. Looks like we'll have a couple hours of story time whenever we get some time off."
"Fine, Sergeant, I'll tell you as much as I can for now. To make a long story short, Truth left on a Forerunner ship that seemed to be docked inside the High Charity and connected to its power grid, who knows for how long. Anyway, the Master Chief got onboard, and Truth made a jump to Earth, judging by the path he took, and took most of the Covenant fleet with him. Meanwhile, I was trying to detonate In Amber Clad's reactor to wipe out the Flood here, but…it doesn't seem to be working. My guess is that the Flood have dismantled the reactor, or that they have mangled the ship so badly that I can't communicate with it at all.
"Also Gravemind, the huge creature that seems to control the Flood, attempted to interrogate me. He seemed very interested about the coordinates of other human and Covenant planets. Obviously, he wants to gather enough hosts for his Infection Forms and spread throughout the galaxy. Of course, I fed him a bunch of false information. Still, it is a cause for concern. We have enough on our hands with fighting the Covenant."
"So, how can we get you out of the system? Where's your data chip?" Johnson demanded worriedly, apparently disregarding Cortana's statement about Gravemind.
"Well…it's a long way off from here, and the whole area is infested with Flood. You and your newfound allies, it seems, wouldn't have a chance of reaching it. There is, however, a Covenant data crystal inserted into this very hologram projector. By my readings, it's completely empty and devoid of any harmful coding, and my readings are rarely wrong," Cortana said with a hint of pride.
"So you're saying…" Johnson started.
"That I can dump myself onto the chip through the High Charity's data network, and you can take me out," Cortana finished.
"What about the High Charity? And that Gravemind thing and his Flood?"
"The station seems to be low on power. There's obviously no possible way it could make a Slipspace jump on such low power. Even if they took In Amber Clad's reactor and plugged it into the power grid, they still wouldn't have any amount of power close enough to power those massive Slipspace generators. We can deal with them after we save Earth. So yank me already."
"Are you sure about this, ma'am?" Sergeant Johnson asked.
"Well, you could always leave me here, or fight through waves of Flood to get to my real chip. Seems like a real hard choice, doesn't it? The chip's in the slot right under the top of the projector."
The Sergeant reached a hand out towards the data chip, then stopped. "How will I get you out of here safely?"
Cortana sighed, exasperated. "What's with all the questions? And I thought you were a smart Marine. I know the new Trident prototype suit doesn't have an AI-interface layer, at least not yet, but you have several secure pockets, right? I'll be okay with riding in one of those."
Johnson opened his mouth again, then closed it again and nodded. Cortana's image disappeared from the projector as she transferred herself onto the chip. A few seconds later, the Sergeant yanked the cube-shaped data crystal out and put it in one of his empty grenade pockets. He made sure that the pocket was secure, then returned to his squad. No Flood creatures had attacked during his absence, which worried him. What could the parasites be planning?
The Sergeant made ready his Battle Rifle and the two Magnums in his armor's twin secondary weapons holsters/clips. He had acquired the weapons, four frag grenades, eight clips for the Battle Rifle, and sixteen magazines for the Magnums from Pelican Alpha 279's miniature armory. Now, he stood with the rest of his team, gripping their weapons tightly with gloved hands.
Sergeant Johnson saw a flicker of red in the top corner of the motion tracker in his suit's HUD. It was a welcome feature to him, as was the reticule, ammunition indicators, and all the other features that the Trident suit had. He waved a quick warning signal to his group before he realized that they had motion trackers, too, and probably knew that something was approaching. His suit's flashlight panned over the Helljumpers, who were grouped together for safety. The golden comet insignia that was painted on their suits' shoulder armor plates flashed eerily in the beam of light. One of the Helljumpers had a red cross in their insignia-obviously that of a medic.
Johnson crouched down and swept the general area with rifle and flashlight. The contact on his motion tracker seemed to be coming from behind a door. The ODSTs followed his example, crouching down to make themselves smaller targets. Four Elites, all clad with the red armor of Majors and Veterans, came over to them. The Sergeant suppressed a sudden urge to shoot the former Covenant soldiers. He nodded towards them, and they nodded back.
"You have also picked up the disturbance?" asked one Elite in a deep voice.
"Yep. It's coming from behind that door," the Sergeant replied, gesturing towards the darkened doorway. "By the way, why is power out in this place, anyway? We could do with some more lights."
"When the Prophet of Truth left his place, he took the Forerunner ship that powered this station with him. That ship's reactors, built with the wondrous technology of the Forerunners, was the main power source of this place. The backup reactors cannot supply enough power to light all of the station."
"That's just great," Johnson grunted. "Good thing we have flashlights."
"Also, we should set all our communications systems to the same channel," continued the Elite, as if he had not heard the human. "Since your armor suits seem to be more adaptable, you should set your systems to our channel, which I presume that you already know from monitoring our information networks."
"Yeah, you bet we do. We aren't stupid enough to disregard enemy intel," said the Sergeant, as he and his men adjusted their COM channels. However, their motion trackers still registered the Elites, Grunts, and Hunters as enemies, since they did not have the neural friend-or-foe chip implants that all UNSC soldiers had. They would have to be careful when relying on their motion trackers.
The Elite nodded and trained both of his Needlers on the door. A few more Elites and two Hunters also made their way to where the Flood were expected to attack. The Sergeant didn't see many Grunts, and he guessed that most of them had been killed by the Flood. Johnson decided to pull his soldiers back and let the two massive Hunters take the assault on their shields and armor. He didn't want to lose any of his squad so early in the battle.
While guarding another door, Spec Ops Commander 'Vadumee walked up to the Arbiter. The former servant of the Prophets was looking at the Elites, Grunts, Hunters, and Helljumpers scattered around the ship bay, and seemed to be deep in thought.
"What troubles you, Arbiter?" 'Vadumee inquired, worried.
"Nothing, 'Vadumee," the Arbiter said, preoccupied. "It's just that…our alliance needs a name. The Covenant will need a name to fear as we have our revenge on those treacherous Prophets and the fools who follow them."
"Then we shall be just that: the Alliance," replied the Commander simply.
"The Alliance…Short and simple, just the way I like it," Sergeant Johnson's voice blared through the two Elites' communications headsets. "Not something that makes no sense whatsoever and can't be pronounced without having tongue surgery, like your 'Uneven Elephant' station that the Chief and his boys had the pleasure of blowing up."
The Elites made no reply and instead made preparations for the oncoming Flood assault.
Suddenly, a loud clang reverberated around the ship bay, like a gong. The Sergeant whipped around to face the door he was guarding. As his flashlight lit the door, he saw that there was long dent in it. Several more dents appeared as the watched, and the doors were soon whacked out of position.
Flood Combat Forms poured into the room. The Elites and ODSTs opened fire. Plasma, needles, Carbine rounds, and Battle Rifle shots cut through the first wave of beasts before they could move two paces. Hunters crushed Flood with their huge shields and disintegrated them with Fuel Rod Guns. Johnson fired his Battle Rifle as fast as it would let him. His armor's recoil absorption system took most of the recoil, but he still felt the weapon jump against his shoulder every time he fired.
Combat Forms ran into the ship bay and were killed almost immediately. Many of the mindless parasites didn't even get to fire their weapons before they were demolished by the Alliance soldiers. The Flood were true to their name and kept coming. Before long, however, Needlers, Carbines, and Battle Rifles needed to be reloaded, and Plasma Rifles started to overheat.
The Elites with swords and four Helljumpers wielding Shotguns stepped up. The Hunters remained in the fray, continuing to wipe out whole groups of Flood with their weapons. Swords cut Combat Forms into dust, and Shotgun blasts hit with so much force that the Flood creatures were literally blown to pieces by the cones of eight-gauge buckshot.
Not a single one of the Alliance soldiers had fallen, but the Flood were, as always, persistent. One of the Elite's Energy Swords ran out of energy and collapsed, and an ODST had to back out to reload his Shotgun. Yellow shields of the Helljumpers' suits and silvery shields of the Elites' armor flared as the Flood fired their weapons blindly.
An ODST's shield was brought down by sustained enemy fire, and his suit was hit by several Carbine shots. One of the rounds penetrated the suit's side, which had lighter armor for flexibility. He grunted in pain and stumbled back, still firing his Shotgun to hold off the Flood. The Helljumper squad's medic was hanging back behind the bulk of the Alliance troops with a Battle Rifle and twin SMGs when he spotted the ODST backing away from the fight, clutching his side. The medic ran up, dragged the Marine behind a stack of scrap metal, and pulled out a medpack.
The first group of Alliance troops, including Johnson, took over the fighting again as the second group reloaded or grabbed fresh swords. The Sergeant fired a single burst into a Combat Form's chest, from which a cluster of tentacles protruded. The Flood form dropped in a shower of greenish blood. Surprised, he targeted another in the same spot and squeezed his Battle Rifle's trigger. The beast also dropped to the ground, lifeless.
"Listen up, meatheads! Yes, that includes you Elites. The Combat Forms seem weaker when you hit them where their Infection Forms are living, which is in the chest of their host. That means that if you hit them where a group of tentacles are sprouting out in the center of their chests, they will die quicker. Got that?"
There was a murmur of assent. The Alliance continued to pound the Flood with every weapon in their arsenal, and the parasites continued to drop faster than ever. The Sergeant was hit by a volley of SMG rounds and a group of needles, which dropped his shield to half. He ducked behind a pillar to let it recharge, because he couldn't risk anything with the Flood around.
When he emerged from his cover, a few last Combat Forms ran into the room. Johnson dispatched them with the help of the Arbiter, who held a Carbine. The Arbiter had been guarding another door when he saw the action near Johnson's door. Both the Marine and the Elite aimed carefully, killing the Combat Forms with a few shots or bursts to the Infection Forms that controlled them.
There were no more Flood beasts running through the opening, which was completely covered in pale green blood. His motion tracker was also clear. The Sergeant took advantage of this lull in the fighting to refill his primary ammo pockets with Battle Rifle clips. He took the ammunition off of the body of an ex-human security officer of the In Amber Clad. He tried not to look at the limp Infection Form in the officer's chest as he reloaded his weapons.
After helping the ODSTs and Elites push a barricade in position, the Sergeant put his Battle Rifle in the primary weapon holster/clip on the back of his armor and drew out both his Magnums. He went around and shot each dead Combat Form's chest to make sure no Infection Form could come and bring the bodies back to life. The 12.7mm HE rounds blew large holes in the former Elite and human chests and stained the muzzle of his pistols with blood.
Later, after his grisly task was complete, the Sergeant took a body count. Only one Elite, a Minor, had been killed. Judging by the Shotgun laying next to his corpse, the Elite had been killed when a Flood form rushed up and fired the weapon at point-blank range, penetrating the Elite's shields and armor. Johnson didn't feel too sorry for the alien, as he had spent most of his adult life fighting the Covenant. However, the Alliance would need every soldier they could get to hold back the rushing Flood.
Most of the Alliance soldiers seemed content with their victory over the Flood. However, the Arbiter, who had been guarding a different door, seemed to have other thoughts on his mind. Sergeant Johnson noticed the strange expression on Spec Ops Commander 'Vadumee's face, though he couldn't tell if the expression was caused by confusion, pain, anger, or sorrow.
"Somethin' on your mind?" Johnson asked, walking up to the Commander.
"No…well, yes. I have encountered the Flood before, and the parasite was an incredibly formidable foe. Now it seems that they are too easy to defeat, and that they give up too easily. Perhaps they are planning something."
"Don't worry about it. We whipped them good this time because there was a large group of us, and they were coming through a pretty small door. Also," Johnson said, jerking his head towards the Hunters, "We got those walking tanks right there. Combined with my top-notch ODSTs, which are our special elite division, there's no reason we shouldn't win. Besides, evac's on the way. One of your cruisers is already moving into position." Having said his piece, Johnson walked off to the group of ODSTs who were lounging about in a corner.
'Vadumee looked out through the two translucent energy walls that sealed off the ship bay from space and saw that the human was right. A sleek, silver cruiser was moving into position near the High Charity, shining brightly as its surface reflected light from the system's sun. A few dots, presumably Phantoms, were coming out of a tiny slit in the cruiser's side. Even so, the Commander could not contain a strong feeling of foreboding. Would the dropships arrive in time to save the group from another Flood attack?
As if to answer his question, there was a series of thunderous explosions that broke through a large blast door in the center of the room. Quickly, the Arbiter and a group of ten Major Elites that he was leading raced to cover the door. Johnson, who had been ordering his squad of Helljumpers to refill their ammunition pockets, also came running. The Spec Ops Commander pulled his Energy Sword out of its sheath, activated it, and hurried towards the group of Alliance soldiers pointing weapons at the empty doorframe.
Hundreds of Infection Forms skittered along through the broken blast doors, searching for targets. They paused as the squads of the Arbiter and Sergeant Johnson neared the wrecked doors. All of a sudden, as if somebody had flipped a switch, the Infection Forms surged as one giant wave towards the Elites and Marines.
The Sergeant gathered his breath and bellowed his famous command over the COM channel: "Let 'em have it!" The Elites and ODSTs opened fire without hesitation. Johnson and the Arbiter stood side by side, ripping through multiple forms with their weapons. An ODST who had picked up two SMGs sprayed the podlike creatures with bullets. The hapless group of Infection Forms was decimated in less than a minute.
The Arbiter paused and wondered why only Infection Forms were attacking. He surmised that the forms had been spewed out from exploding Carrier Forms, which had been used by the Flood to knock down the blast doors. Judging by the large amount of Infection Forms that attacked, there had to be many Carrier Forms. That was understandable, because the blast doors were rather thick.
His thoughts were cut off as a fresh wave of Flood entered the room. This time they were Combat Forms. The Arbiter snapped up his Carbine and fired several shots at the lead Combat Form. The green projectiles flew straight and true, but were absorbed by a silver barrier that appeared in front of the former Elite.
"They've got shields!" yelled the Arbiter. Some of the Elites, who had not dealt with shielded Combat Forms before, backed up as the Flood ran towards them. A Helljumper looked as though he was about to do it same, before Johnson stopped him.
"Get back here, soldier! Did I say you could turn tail and run home like a Grunt? No, I think not. Let me show you how it's done." With that, the Sergeant holstered his Battle Rifle, taking out both his Magnums. He aimed the Magnums at a charging Combat Form and fired repeatedly. Seven bullets hit the form's shield, overloading it, and three more to the chest put the whole creature down for good.
"See? Their shields are weaker than the regular Elite shields. They're not much harder to kill than a regular Combat Form," yelled Johnson as he pumped another one of the loathsome creatures full of Magnum rounds. The other Elites and Helljumpers were given confidence by the Sergeant and Arbiter, who were both killing Flood forms left and right, and by 'Vadumee, who cut all kinds of Flood forms into pieces with one powerful slash of his sword.
A trio of Elites worked together, all of them dual-wielding Needlers. They would fill Combat Forms with explosive needles, and the Combat Form would detonate in a cloud of green dust, whether the forms were shielded or not.
Four Helljumpers who had dual SMGs were back to back, rotating in a wheel of death. They blew off the appendages of Combat Forms and filled their bodies with so many 5mm rounds that they came apart. While one of them reloaded, the other three moved around in a triangle formation to cover him. The group moved through groups of Flood, leaving only dead bodies in their wake.
Two Elites with Carbines had their backs to the door, peppering some Combat Forms with radioactive projectiles, when a fresh wave of the creatures leapt in. The Combat Forms whacked the Elites with their Flood-enhanced strength, breaking the spines of the two unfortunate Elites. Both of the Minors crumpled to the ground, dead.
The Arbiter and most of the Elites had been setting up a crude barricade of crates and bodies during a lull in the fighting. Only Johnson, his squad of ODSTs, Commander 'Vadumee, and two pairs of Hunters were still fighting in the open.
"Hunters and humans! Get behind this barricade! There are too many Flood for us to handle out in the open!" shouted the Arbiter. Quickly, the Marines ran to the barricade and took up positions behind it. The Hunters fired a last few blasts from their Fuel Rod Guns and then began lumbering back.
A Combat Form ran up to a Hunter and was about to shoot him in the back when the Hunter whipped his shield over his head and crushed the Combat Form on to the floor. Some Elites parted the barricade to let the large Hunters through. However, the walking tanks did not come behind it. Apparently, the Hunters didn't think they needed to be behind a barricade, which was true. They turned around as the Elites closed up the barricade and wiped out a group of Flood who were standing near the ruined door with their Fuel Rod Guns. All that remained was a olive-green puddle of blood.
The Helljumpers sheathed their SMGs, Magnums, and Shotguns and pulled out Battle Rifles, which were better suited for taking out Flood at long range. The Elites also put away Needlers and Plasma Rifles in exchange for Carbines. The yellow-orange and green streaks of Battle Rifle and Carbine shots filled the air as the Alliance troops took potshots at the Flood.
Johnson was pausing to reload his Battle Rifle when he noticed a few Grunts running around. There weren't many of the short, stocky aliens remaining, but a couple green-armored Grunts, their heavy equipment officers, were setting up light plasma cannons along the barricade. After completing their tasks the little aliens scampered back to the secondary barricade, which was put in place in case the primary barricade was overrun. Johnson guessed that the Grunts were not taking part in the fighting because they had no shields and very light armor, and therefore would be easy targets for the Flood.
Elites quickly moved to man the light plasma cannons that the Grunts had set up. They began pouring out blue streams of plasma-charged death at the Flood who were charging the barricade. The wall behind the Flood, which was already filled with holes from human projectiles and plasma burns, became even more pockmarked as the plasma cannons spewed fire endlessly. Grotesque shapes that had once been internal organs of the Flood hosts also stuck to the wall as they were fused on by a plasma bolt or hammered in by a bullet.
Sergeant Johnson suddenly saw a flash of light and a familiar whoosh as a M19 SSM Rocket Launcher discharged one of its rockets.
"Rockets! Duck!" yelled Johnson urgently. However, the rocket was not aimed at the Alliance troops behind the barricade.
The rocket streaked towards a Hunter, who had thrown up his shield in the nick of time. The high-explosive warhead detonated, send a wave of heat across nearby soldiers. The Hunter gave a low wail and stumbled back, bleeding profusely despite the protection of his shield. Johnson hastily killed the M19-wielding Combat Form with a few quick bursts. He pulled the pin out of one of his frag grenades and tossed it near the launcher on the floor.
"Fire in the hole!" Johnson yelled, dropping himself behind the barricade and tuning down his suit's highly sensitive audio receptors. A few of the non-human Alliance members paused for a split-second, confused, until they saw the primed grenade on the ground and the humans ducking behind the barricade. As they stooped down behind the barrier as well, the grenade detonated with a muffled thump.
A second wave of heat washed over the barricade, more intense this time, accompanied by a loud explosion as the one remaining rocket in the M19's tube detonated.
"There, that takes care of annoying bastards with Rocket Launchers," Johnson said, standing up and opening fire once more.
A small group of white-armored Grunts ran out to the Hunter, the likes of which Johnson had never seen before. Judging by the fact that the Grunts were straining to pull the wounded Hunter back, he assumed they were medics of some sort. Once the white Grunts had the Hunter behind the barricade, they grabbed some purple packages, pulled out some equipment and started, as far as Johnson could tell, to heal the Hunter.
One of the Hunters, presumably the injured Hunter's Bond Brother, gave a booming roar of anger and charged the hapless Flood, firing his Fuel Rod Gun as he went. The Alliance troops lowered their weapons and watched in awe as the Hunter swept his Fuel Rod Gun among the Combat Forms at point-blank range, demolishing many of them at once. Bullets and plasma pinged off of the monstrous alien's armor and shield as the Flood to stop him, but they might as well have thrown stones at it. Before long there were only scraps of the Combat Forms left, and few pulverized bodies that the Hunter had smashed with his shield.
Before the ODSTS, Elites, Grunts, and Hunters could begin to relax, however, four large green blobs sped out of the darkened hallway that the blast door once led into. All of the blobs hit the Hunter that had just decimated the Flood dead-on. The Hunter began to raise his shield but ran out of time. Bright orange blood splattered everywhere as the blobs, which launched from the infantry variant of the Fuel Rod Gun, detonated on the Hunter's armor. One shot exploded near the Hunter's exposed neck and the massive creature fell without any noise of pain. The floorplates shook as the Hunter's body hit the ground.
The wounded Hunter struggled weakly against the Grunt medics' hold. The creature was furious at the death of his Bond Brother, and would've shaken off the Grunts and run to attack the Flood had he not been so badly wounded. After struggling for a short while, the Hunter collapsed on the floor once more.
Seconds later, a swarm of Combat Forms flooded into the room. The Combat Forms were running wildly about and some tripped over the Hunter's corpse. Once they got their bearings, however, they started to fire at the Alliance troops. The form that held the Fuel Rod Gun, an infected Marine, pointed it at the barricade and squeezed the firing stud.
Another green ball of light flashed through the air, hitting the barricade. Bits of purple shrapnel and other bits of metal spewed everywhere as a portion of the barrier was obliterated, killing three Major Elites. Purple blood and pieces of armor hit the floor as the Elites fell.
"Take 'em out!" Johnson yelled without a trace of fear or nervousness. A torrent of Battle Rifle and Carbine shots flew at the lone Combat Form who held the Fuel Rod Gun. The Sergeant blinked and the form was shredded by the countless bullets that were aimed at it. The Fuel Rod Gun dropped to the ground with a clank, and another Combat Form tried to scoop it up. An emerald Carbine projectile, fired by the Arbiter, hit the Fuel Rod Gun's firing chamber and the weapon's volatile ammunition went up in a burst of green light, taking several Flood forms with it.
The Elites who had manning plasma turrets had taken cover in case more Fuel Rod shots or rockets were fired at their vulnerable positions. They started the weapons up once more and let loose a constant stream of deadly plasma, cutting down most of the Combat Forms where they stood.
The Arbiter took his time reloading his Carbine, noting happily that the battle was going in their favor, and that the Phantoms that the Elite-controlled cruiser had launched could be clearly seen by now. He glanced over, watching some ODSTs mow down a group of Combat forms with their Magnums, when suddenly, a shout rang out over the COM channel.
"Arbiter, look out behind you!" yelled Sergeant Johnson over the COM in an unexpected move to help his former enemy. The Arbiter did a quick about-face and stared in horror at what he was seeing.
A massive amount of Infection Forms had fallen from an open vent in the ceiling, right behind the Arbiter. They charged the helpless Elite, who had not even finished reloading. When he did put the clip in, he started to fire, but there were too many of the infectious pods. Carbine shots slashed through a few pods and the resulting blast popped a few more, but they kept coming. His shield was down before he even knew it, and he saw a fresh group of forms skittering towards him. He raised his Carbine to shoot the Infection Forms before they got to him, but when he pulled the trigger, the Carbine's firing chamber gave a dry click.
The weapon's clip was empty.
It is all over now, was the Arbiter's final thought, as the Infection Forms lunged.