—25—

The armory was claustrophobic.

By dimensions, it appeared no larger than a medium-sized bedroom in a small apartment. It only had two, four-tier steel racks against the left and right walls. The rear wall had nothing but a table with a hard plastic surface and collapsible legs as the armory's workstation. At first glance, it would looked more suitable for an over prepared civilian waiting for doomsday. There weren't many weapons, not compared to what you'd see in official UNSC bases or their star vessels. Last week's inventory remained consistent—five MA37 assault rifles, three MA5K carbines, eight M6H sidearms, two M392 DMRs, one M90 shotgun, and two 30-count crates with frag and flashbang grenades. Skeleton firepower seemed to be an apt description.

Damon, Naomi, and Aaron checked their gear, all decked in their limited combat rig. Discretion was key. To see the three of them walking through the camp in full tactical gear and armor plating would raise attention. They remained in their plain clothing, wearing the black matte under armor for their torso and legs. It appeared bulky underneath their clothes, but unless someone was looking too close, they hoped it wouldn't be noticed. Sidearms were the weapons to choice. It was a debate whether or not bringing firearms would be appropriate. Who was to say that their intruder was prone to violence? Or maybe X could've been the type to shoot first and avoid questions, if he was armed. Whatever the case, better to be safe.

Damon loaded up his sidearm and tucked it into his thigh holster, keeping a wary eye on the blue strip of light at the mid-level point on the right wall. Every room in the camp didn't one, but for the ones that did, it meant that DEV had eyes and ears into them. Damon imagined the AI keeping an eye on them, reporting back to Rey what they were doing. Maybe he was keeping his artificial mouth shut, or least he hoped. He never knew the floating cube to be curious, never venturing too outside his programmed comfort zone. That didn't mean he wasn't watching, however. DEV may've been classified as dumb AI, but he knew everything was to know about Titan, it's multiple camps, their systems, and all the baseline UNSC protocols no human would fully memorize. Beyond that, Damon wanted to know could DEV do something that AI's weren't naturally gifted—minding his own business.

"This is a tactical mismatch." Aaron was standing in front of the table, leaned over with both hands on the surface. He examined the projection of the service tunnels that Damon had transferred from his tacpad to his. The tunnels connected to each building, all converging into a T-shaped intersection. "If our guy is down there, he has the advantage."

Damon walked over, shoving an extra ammo clip into his belt pouch. Naomi turned within earshot as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "It's three against one. We move as unit, limit noise, and close in. Our chances are good."

Aaron looked over his shoulder at Damon. "We're not looking at the same layout, obviously." He straightened his posture and pointed at one of the tunnels. "These tunnels have straight, unobstructed sight lines. The only cover we'll have are the corners. The tracking signal from Donna's access card came from the tunnel linked to C Building. We have two corners of concealment, then nothing. The tunnel running from B and C building is a straight shot. There is no element of surprise here. If we get into a firefight, it'll take some horrible aim or Parkinson's not to hit us."

"We also don't even know what's down there," Naomi added. "Is it just tunnels or more? The layout doesn't tell us much. I can tell you this: those tunnels grant ideal privacy, but crap for extended living. I'm betting X used these tunnels to traverse between the buildings to avoid detection, and to patch himself up."

"Then let's get down there and find out." Damon grabbed three sets of night vision goggles and handed them to Naomi and Aaron. "Just in case. If our tunnels are anything like the Grunt's, then there's gonna be limited power down there. I think this goes without saying, but if we have contact, we need to avoid getting into a gunfight. We're not sure if X is armed, but if he is, we don't fire unless fired on first. And even then, it's a last resort. Capture and question. That's the play."

From the expressionless facade on their faces, Damon knew none of them knew what to except. Would this be a fight or something as simple as finding a quivering coward in the dark? There was an unknown danger that loomed with an equally unknown outcome. There was no telling. The plan was as solid as it could be. Damon and Aaron would enter the tunnels from A Building through engineering, while Naomi would do the same from B Building. They would converge on the marked point where Donna's access card had been tracked. If X was there and attempted to run or otherwise, they had coverage to block an escape. C Building was no longer viable, so it was practically a dead end.

Diaz insisted on being alone. Damon didn't like it. It was better to stay together, move as a unit like he'd been trained to do. If they had a fourth, it would even the odds; but she was from another background entirely, another way of doing things that struck him as reckless and overconfident. The UNSC wasn't perfect, but it had structure and operated within the confines of analytical system that Damon could get behind. Diaz and Pearce didn't operate that way, at least within the system he recognized. Survival seemed to be the only thing that fueled them, which Damon found rather sad. You had to live at some point. The Covenant didn't give that choice to many nowadays.

2300 HOURS. LESS THAN NINE HOURS BEFORE DAY CYCLE.

It was lights out a 2100, on schedule. The sun would return in a few hours, and it would remain for the next 15 days. Damon and Aaron were in position, standing above the service hatch that led into the tunnels below. There was no need to rush—slow and precise. There was plenty of time before sunrise. If there was anything Damon learned in his brief time in the UNSC armed forces, was that rushing an op cost time, resources, and of course, lives. He doubted this would lead to any of their deaths, but he wouldn't be cavalier. Captain Anderton wasn't cavalier; he never was, but they still failed the raid against the Grunts and Aiden was dead.

But I'm just a corporal; Rey is a friggin' captain. The man has more operational experiences that I have being alive.

Aaron stood beside him, fiddling with his earpiece to select the private frequency that the three of them would use. The range delay was still an issue, but Diaz was close enough to where it wouldn't cause serious problems. Damon kept staring at the hatch, so much so he could read the small serial number imprinted in the left corner of the peeling yellow caution paint around the seals. His imagination was beginning to run wild of multiple scenarios that could happen, but ultimately pushed them into the back of his mind. Aaron appeared calm, maintaining his usual level attitude as if nothing was bothering him. He didn't seem concerned, casually checking his NV goggles and wincing in the light.

"If we don't find anything, I gotta tell Rey," Damon said.

Aaron pushed the goggles up to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose. He blinked a few times and faced Damon. "You think that's a good idea? I thought the idea was to keep Rey out of it."

Damon shook his head. "I can't keep this from him, not entirely. Plus, he'll find out sooner or later. I can't duck him forever."

"He'll be pissed."

"Not your problem." Damon tested his comms. "Diaz, you there?"

The earpiece crackled to life. A four second delay. "Yeah, I'm in position." She didn't sound thrilled. "Ready when you are."

"Let's rock. See you down there."

Damon crouched down, wrapping his gloved hand around the latch and yanked it back. There was a metallic screech as the hatch was pulled back until it's hinge reached its limit. A rush of cold air smacked him in the face, instantly chapping his lips and stinging his eyes. He jerked back, the sudden inhale of air burning the back of his throat. "Whoa..." He coughed twice. "It's freezing in there."

"And you're surprised?" Aaron eased forward, looking down into the darkness below. "Won't get an accurate temperature until we're in there, but I bet it's only a few degrees, or below."

Damon grunted and applied his NV goggles. "Hate the friggin' cold." He grabbed the icy bars to the ladder, turned, and began to descend. The cold bit at his exposed skin like tiny razors, pricking and burning. He reached the bottom, landing with a solid thud against the concrete. The green lit view illuminated his vision, staring down a long tunnel of that seemed to be eight feet at its highest. Tiny, pitiful lights lined both sides of the corners where the wall met the ceiling, spaced a meter apart. Conduits, pipes, and supply lines ran along both sides of the wall, disappearing as they rounded the corner ahead.

"It's clear." Damon waved up to Aaron.

Aaron speedily went down the rungs, forgoing the last few steps and landing next to Damon. An involuntary shiver struck him. He boosted the temperature on the gel layer in his underarmor. It kept his body warm, but it did nothing for his face. Why didn't they bring helmets? "Negative twelve degrees celsius. Jeez. It'd be colder if the building wasn't insulated."

Damon jerked his head upwards. "It has power, but not much. These lights must be running on the lowest possible setting."

"I'd rather not marvel at DEV's energy conservation skills," Aaron grumbled. "Let's keep moving."

"Right." Damon keyed his comm. "Diaz, we're moving to the rally point. Let us know if you see anything suspicious."

"I've already found a few storage rooms. Nothing inside, just junk."

"Stay alert. We'll meet you in a few."

Damon drew his sidearm and removed the safety. They moved along the right wall, careful with the volume of their footsteps. Slow, purposeful steps was the way to go. The tunnels were devoid of most noise, save for the rumbling vibrations from the machinery above in engineering. A low, almost inaudible hiss was constant from the water supply flowing through one of the pipes. Water was something they never had to worry about running out of. The moon was covered in it, all frozen solid to the point where it became rocks. Still, the filtration system had it's work cut out for it. The water was useless until it was purified. Just one more machine they didn't need to break down.

They rounded the first corner where the design was altered. The conduits and various pipes angled up from the walls and all converged side by side along the ceiling. That's when they noticed the doors. There were only three of them—two on the left, one on the right. Damon nodded to Aaron and approached the right door first. It was a standard sliding door, plated with heavy metal and a depression for a handhold. Its center read: AUXILIARY JUNCTION. Aaron signaled to Damon to stand at the door's left as he went to open. A pull at the handle was met with resistance; it probably hadn't been opened in years prior to them being here. One yank after another and the door only mildly groaned in protest.

"So it's like that, huh?" Aaron holstered his weapon and used both hands, digging his fingers into the cold metal and setting his feet. With a solid heave, the door buckled and surrendered, grinding and screeching against the track until it was fully open.

Damon filled the doorway, gun raised. He swept left to right in quick succession before eventually lowering his arms and relaxing his shoulders. The room was nothing but a collection of frayed wires with exposed copper. Discarded boxes were stacked in the corner, laden with dust and decay with a sour, electrical smell. A single junction box was against the wall, open and missing a few of the breakers.

Nothing.

The next two rooms yielded the same results—cold, pissed off doors that didn't want to open with ultimately nothing inside but the building's lost and forgotten history. It seemed almost ironic, a passive foreshadow of their future that endlessly taunted them. Years from now, perhaps decades, would someone stumble upon their decayed and frozen bodies, leaving them in the past with the rest of the junk? Damon didn't want to think about it; he refocused.

Diaz may've been right—the tunnels seemed too inhospitable for someone to use for an extended period of time. For starters, it was the unrelenting cold, followed by the perpetual darkness that deterred him. Even with the proper gear, which X wouldn't have to begin with, it would be a challenging ordeal. Hypothermia would be a serious issue, and the conditions would only worsen the injury and slow the healing process. Maybe this was just pitstop, a quiet place to rest up until a better spot became available. Whatever the reason, there wasn't much to be found yet.

The corner was ahead, tunnels leading to both the B and C Buildings. Damon just hoped there was evidence. He expected to see Diaz standing at the corner, but he didn't. If she had wandered off in her lone wolf proclivity, then this whole operation had the potential to fail. Everyone needed to be on the same page. His heart nearly skipped a beat as he and Aaron rounded the corner. Diaz was standing to the right of the tunnel, tight against the wall with her back to them. Had he not been wearing his NV, she would've melted perfectly into her surroundings.

"Okay," Damon kept his voice a fraction above a whisper. "This is the spot, so let's see what we can find."

"No need." Naomi still had her back to them. She slowly took a knee to the floor, looked right for a moment, and then stood. She extended her right arm, pointing her index and forefingers at the wall, taking a step back as Damon and Aaron eased closer.

A hushed expletive rolled from Aaron's lips. There was blood on the wall. More than that, it was a smeared handprint. It was almost perfectly preserved, the palm lines evident and even blurred fingerprints. Damon looked down, seeing dried droplets on blood on the floor. There was no trail, isolated only in the spot where they stood. Naomi didn't say another word, silently gesturing down the tunnel to a narrow door with a crash bar. Faded and peeling caution tape was above the bar, the words UTILITY STORAGE in thick white letters on the door's upper section. More blood was on the crash bar. There was no telling what was behind the door, but it wasn't the time to hesitate now. Too much time and effort had been poured into this one moment. The research, the bargaining, the recruiting, the painstaking legwork, the secrecy—all of it seemed to swirl into Damon's rapidly beating heart. Was he so anxious to be right that he was willing to risk the lives of Aaron and Diaz? This wasn't about his pride, he knew. He just needed to know.

He directed Aaron and Diaz to position on either side of the door, guns at the ready. Damon stood in the middle, exhaled the last of his concern, and counted down—three fingers, then two, and one. He kicked it open. The spring in the crash bar made a loud twang, the hinges squealed, and the door flew open. There was an expectation that bullets were going to come spraying out of the darkness, but nothing happened. The three if them, one by one, rushed inside with guns up. Naomi remained near the door, while Aaron and Damon pressed forward inside. The NV highlighted the confirmation: X was here.

There was a ratty old mattress on the floor with several blankets ruffled on it's surface. Next to the mattress was the collection of stolen food, the empty and discarded bits pushed to the other side of the room. There was even a portable cooking unit. It was the small, battery powered type with a convection coil, grimy and ancient in design.

"I gotta admit..." Aaron slid his sidearm into his holster. "I'm impressed, Damon. This is good work."

Damon glossed over the compliment like he hadn't heard it. The praise didn't matter. He wanted to unmask his guy and find out who he was. To stay hidden for this long was not a feat for the inexperienced. X was a pro, and that didn't make Damon feel comfortable. He ventured further along, passively looking at the metal racks that were lined with old dusty boxes and discarded machinery parts. A table, off-center in the room, confirmed another fact.

"I found the medical supplies," he said. Bloody, discarded bandages were crumbled in the far side of the table. He could smell the iron and copper odor. A half empty bottle of antibacterial spray was laying on its side, cap removed. "He's been changing his bandages. If we can salvage the antibiotics and pain killers, we can return them. I know Mathison could use 'em."

"Don't touch anything," Naomi warned. "Not yet."

Aaron retracted his arm from one of the racks. "He's not here, so why the restraint? Damon's right. We can recover the meds and anything else this punk's stolen."

Naomi sighed. "From the looks of this place, he's still using it. If we disturb anything, he'll know and relocate. Then we might lose him for good. Let's just..."

She trailed off and fell silent, scanning the room with newfound suspicion. The hairs seemed to stand up on the back of her neck and her hands curled into fists.

Damon glanced at Aaron before returning his attention to her. "Diaz, you good?"

"Shh." Naomi held her finger over her mouth, the visible air curdling from her nose. "We need to go."

Aaron grumbled. "What do mean we need to go? There isn't..."

A canister was lobbed from the darkness, bounced once, and rolled at their feet. It denoted.