CHAPTER 3: OPERATION RINSE AND REPEAT

2331 Hours, July 31, 2557 (Military Calendar) / Unknown System, Planet Remnant, Continent of Sanus

A week passed by in a flash as the Master Chief began his long journey of travelling by foot between the various scattered villages on this continent. Compared to his time in Vermillion, the past seven days thus far had been relatively quiet. The Grimm were few in numbers and easily dispatched. Most of the villages reported few sightings of large hordes. Several locations that had been attacked had suppressed the abominations quickly. All in all, there appeared to be nothing major going on in the region he was currently travelling in, which was a good thing.

The Spartan kept his contact with the locals to a minimum as he did his duty. He wasn't here to make friends nor was he here to provide permanent protection. He would come and go as silently as he was able, only obtaining supplies when he needed them. The lien he had been given had proven to be useful in that regard, but as conservative as he was, he would need more soon, securing stable income was the next thing on the agenda.

As far as he understood it, he needed some sort of skill or talent in regards funding himself. Lien was the main source of income on this world and there were many ways to obtain it. Being a warrior paid decently as the Grimm were in large numbers all around the world. That was a stroke of good fortune for him. He didn't need to worry about not being useful.

There was one major issue though. These small settlements couldn't offer what John really needed the most: a decent weapon and armor repairs. These people seemed so reliant upon weapons meant for CQC that it felt almost like a needless risk to engage at such close range. There were hardly enough firearms and the few he had seen just didn't look right to him.

In terms of technology, these people were primitive. Dust, while a very interesting substance that had a wide variety of uses, could not be used for space travel, at least that's what the Chief had heard in a passing conversation. Further research via his newly-acquired scroll had him confirming that dust was only useful on this planet. Due to this fact and when considering that dust was the primary power source on Remnant, there was little chance of any sort of space technology or space travel. In other words, the situation was not looking good. Contact with the UNSC might very well be impossible without any sort of long-range communicator and MJOLNIR could only compensate for so much.

The question was this: if he was stuck on this planet, what was he going to do? Long-term plans were never really his forte to begin with. As a Spartan, he was to follow orders and carry them through to the letter. While his ultimate goal of being the sword and shield of Mankind was always most important, it was up to his superiors to decide how best to carry out that duty. Now that he had no contact with the UNSC and he was the only service member on this planet, he was effectively in charge of himself now.

What exactly should I do? Spartan 117 didn't know in all honesty.

Protecting these Humans and Faunus seemed natural to him, but those were short-term goals that happened in the moment. He needed to come up with a long-term goal of how best to make himself useful. If he was to be isolated for an extended period of time, then he would need to get a bearing on the full scale and scope of his own situation. Barring anything unexpected or miraculous, he wouldn't be going anywhere for much longer by what he was doing now. He needed to find a lifeline to help him keep going.

The war veteran stared into the fire that he had created. It was his only source of light against the blackness of the night sky surrounding him. The night was peaceful and it reminded him of some of the camping excursions that he and his fellow Spartans did during their early years of training. Sometimes, it was an intentional test while other times it was simply the trainees going against Mendez and making life difficult for him. Either way, those were good memories and he wouldn't forget them for as long as he lived. Those were much simpler days compared to what he had faced up till now.

Even though he wasn't in a danger zone as far as he had surveyed this area, he kept his sidearm and knife on-hand as well as kept his helmet on. Part of being a Spartan meant being ready to respond to situations within microseconds of them occurring. All of this was uncharted and unfamiliar territory to him so his guard was up to its peak and then some. While Grimm did concern him, he was more concerned about potential hostile contact with Faunus and Humans. He assumed that just like in UNSC space, there were terrorists or rebellions elements that went against the established governments of this world.

One of the names that came up was the White Fang. According to what he had heard from other people, the organization was once a peaceful protesting group, but their methods became radical and violent when the divide between Humans and Faunus continued on without improvement. These days, anything involving the White Fang was not good at all. Intimidation, violence, robbery, propaganda, and sometimes even deaths. In essence, they were terrorists now and their influence was only growing. It was almost like looking at the budding stages of the Insurrectionists.

The Master Chief had more than his share of encounters with the Innies as they were called in the UNSC. The rebels were the reason that the Spartan-II's were created to begin with. Even though the Human-Covenant War ultimately shifted his focus over time, he still dealt with the Insurrection on more than a few occasions. They were without a doubt problematic, causing nothing but trouble no matter where they went. With that at the forefront of his mind, dealing with the White Fang had become clear: if he encountered them, he would neutralize them and ask questions later. Unless given a compelling reason to not take action against them, he would stick by what he knew and believed.

John sat up straight and checked his surroundings. It had been the same as it had always been for the past hour. Nothing was around and it wasn't likely that there would be many travellers at this time of night. The only thing he was managing to accomplish was go down memory lane and dredging up the past. For the sake of his performance, he needed to banish any thoughts that might distract him and settle down for the night.

The Spartan carefully snuffed out the flames and soon his vision began to compensate for the lack of light. His night vision allowed him to see things perfectly. The fire was there merely to cook food and it served as a sense of nostalgia. He should have put it out as soon as he had no use for it. The flame only served as a beacon to everyone and everything nearby. The last thing he needed was to be ambushed in the dead of the night while he was resting.

Reclining against a nearby tree, the man tilted his head back slightly, attempting to find the most comfortable position that he could. It wasn't the best place to sleep, but it wasn't like he was in a position to complain about his situation. If he wanted a bed, he was going to have to buy one, but that meant he would need a place of residence. That didn't seem an appealing idea to him in the least. If he was going to do his job right, he needed to be mobile as much as humanly possible. And he wasn't quite ready to be social with people.

But how long can I keep this up? The Chief asked himself that very important question.

Once again, his thoughts turned to Mendez, the man who had shaped him into who he was today. The very first lesson taught to all Spartans was that if the individual failed, then so too did the entire team. By that same token, wasn't that lesson also saying that there were things that a single man couldn't do alone, even if he was a super soldier? The wording might not be present, but the implication was there.

John shook his head off to dissuade any further doubt from his mind. He was a Spartan-II and he would do his duty no matter what. He had seen off the Halo threat twice and managed to stave off a Forerunner threat. Those were accomplishments that couldn't be achieved easily and he had done it. All he needed to do was keep going forward and always bear in mind what he was doing here. As long as he stuck to his guns, he would win. He always won.

Those were his last thoughts as he drifted off.

Halo - - - RWBY

1111 Hours, August 2, 2557 (Military Calendar)

It had been a long time since he had been a proper scout. Usually, there was another soldier who had done recon and had reported it. It took time and patience to acquire intel that would be used in any offense or defense conducted. It could mean the difference between a small number of casualties and a huge number of casualties. The difference this time was the difficulty in how his next task would be, not the numbers involved.

The super soldier, from his position on a small hill overlooking a gaping cave, he took stock of the environment surrounding the opening in the earth. There had been clear signs of movement as the unusual indentations on the ground indicated. According to the nearby village, this place was home to some very dangerous Grimm types, namely, a Death Stalker, a type of scorpion that could range in sizes. Judging by the cave, it could be a very big one and it might not be the only one.

As reluctant as he was to begin working in true earnest, the lack of proper funding would hurt him in the end. Working with soldiers, marines, and sailors was easy. They were all military and all fighting for the same thing, but civilians led such varying lifestyles that it was hard to keep track of them all. Nevertheless, defending their lives came first and he wouldn't question what they did and to do that he needed their support.

When he first entered the nearby town, many people gave him stares and looks that he was used to, but those stares weren't to last. It was an atypical thing for John, being able to move without people cheering him or staring in awe. Perhaps these people were use to more abnormal sightings. Whatever the case might be, he would not question it. In fact, he preferred it this way. Less attention, more anonymity.

While the town appeared intact on the outside, there had been repeated sightings of more dangerous Grimm types that constantly harassed this village, almost like the method of a guerilla fighter. That pointed to one thing: this Grimm had at least a modicum of intelligence. That thought was frightening in its own way. These beasts were powerful enough as mindless as the mostly seemed. If they were given enough brain to be able to fight back competently, things wouldn't be so easy going down the road, but still he would press on.

The Chief inspected his current equipment one final time. His combat knife was as sharp as it could be and still in good condition for use. His M6D pistol was fully functional, but with only a handful of clips on his person, he intended to use the sidearm sparingly. MJOLNIR was damaged but functional; the energy shield were still down. Power was still being supplied to the suit so his Promethean Shield was operational. That was everything.

From his position, he assessed that enough information had been gathered about the environment and he moved in. As silent as a ghost, he took careful steps forward. Even in half a ton of armor, he made almost no noise. Decades of training and experience had honed his ability to control how he moved his body. His augmentations and MJOLNIR enhanced his ability to fine-tune his movements. In this way, he was a true phantom, virtually undetectable. His motion sensors detected no movement coming from anywhere as he navigated his way forward. This was his cue to proceed inside the cave and eliminate the threat.

Once the darkness of the cave swallowed him, he activated his helmet lights and keep all of his senses on high alert. In such a tight space, combat would be far more dangerous. Often times firefights could end very badly for either side, even the one with superior firepower and training.

John couldn't detect anything that was out of the ordinary, at least not so far. There was the dripping of water from the ceiling to the stone floor. The occasional cave-dwelling lifeform moved around in response to his presence. Then he moved his eyes downward and noticed indicators of something moving around: indentations in the ground from something very big moving back and forth and it definitely was not a Beowolf or an Ursa as he had come to properly identify the Grimm species.

The Spartan suddenly halted in his tracks. Even though he was wearing MJOLNIR and an underbody suit, something about his surroundings had changed. By chance, he glanced down at his right hand and though faint, his sharp eyes saw very thin trail of steam. Not only that, but his body felt just a slight temperature rise, not a major increase, but enough for it to be somewhat suspicious.

With this, he deactivated his helmet lights and remained still as a statue. There was something else here. His breathing slowed in order to minimize noise. If even a hair was out of place, he would know about it within milliseconds and he would engage accordingly.

The Master Chief looked to his right and saw something that he estimated to be some thirty meters away from him. His eyes focused on the object that he had spotted. In the darkness, it would be impossible to miss. A glowing yellow pointed object with a slight curve to it. The way he described it to himself made him look again. Barring the glow and the unusual color, that sounded like the definition of a scorpion's stinger.

Then he had found the target and if the size of the stinger was any indication, then this thing was bound to massive, perhaps bigger than many UNSC ground vehicles. With that in mind, the best course of action was to contain this thing in the cave. Due to its massive size, the Death Stalker would have a hard time maneuvering inside this confined space.

That being said, the risks were also considerable. If the super soldier was not mindful of his surroundings, he could get cornered and killed pretty quickly.

Ideally, the best thing to do was take out the target here so that the impact of the danger could be lessened. Neither Human nor Faunus had a reason to come here unless they were a huntsman. Collapsing the cave would be the best-case scenario, but since the spartan lacked any explosive equipment, that option wasn't much use. Furthermore, he was at risk of being buried alive in the event of a cave in.

John focused on his breathing and reoriented his mind. Think back on his training, he recalled that scorpions were armored all around. He doubted that his knife was quite up to par with dealing with thick skin. He would need to improvise a different kind of weapon sharp enough to pierce the armor. Either that or he would need to strike it with enough brute force so as to ignore any defenses and kill it in one go; it was not a likely scenario.

Picking up a rock he noticed at his feet, the Chief took air and hurled the makeshift projectile at the faint but noticeable hulk that he judged to be the body of the Grimm. After a second of silence, the rock hit its target, causing a loud sound to echo in the cave. The next moment, a glowing red hue began to appear that was not present before. The outline of the red indicated a body that was massive. A screech reverberated causing a slight rocking of the cave. This barely affected the war veteran. He stood in place, cool as ever, watching and waiting.

The hulking form barreled towards him with unexpected speed. As the Death Stalker came closer, the spartan positioned himself to be able to charge or retreat. He was leaving himself a choice. He had never seen a Grimm of this type before so he needed to gather as much intel as possible. Rare or not, he needed to be prepared in the future.

A pair of deadly-looking pincers tried to snatch him up, but found only the air he once occupied. He pushed forward, readying his knife and preparing himself for what he thought to be an ideal striking location. In every opponent, there was a weakness somewhere. For this overgrown scorpion, trying to match it head-on was probably not the right way. Instead, it felt more impertinent to go a lesser-seen spot.

Like it's underside.

His forward momentum, he slid to his back and thrust his knife upward. He made contact with the belly of the beast. What came next was a torrent of fluids coming from the gash inflicted from one to the other. Once he had cleared to the tail end, a loud bang came next as the Grimm collapsed.

The Master Chief took a couple steps backward to see the damage he had inflicted. From where he was standing, it appeared the thing was down, but not out. Its tail moved sluggishly and the glowing stinger bobbled around a bit.

It was time to finish it.

RWBY - - - Halo

1559 Hours

"Thank you for taking care of that Death Stalker." A middle-aged man with a few slivers of grey hair bowed to him. "We can finally lay our fallen to rest."

"I was merely doing my duty." The Master Chief nodded his head respectfully. "Nothing more. And my thanks for the payment."

The village elder shook his head. "I only wish we could pay you more."

"The original agreed-upon price is sufficient." The spartan acknowledged. "But your concern is noted."

The two men shook hands and after collecting his pay for a job well done, John hit the road once more. The next village would be at least a days' journey so he needed to pick up the pace. Based on the current pattern of contact with the locals and engagements with the Grimm, there was a very high likelihood of at least a skirmish or two. The journey would afford some time to configure knowledge and formulate new tactics and strategies.

Handling long journeys was nothing he wasn't used to at this point. Spartan training demanded operating in all sorts of harsh conditions. This was an easy thing to deal with. The weather was mild and resources were plentiful. Plus, with his mind occupied by many other matters, boredom wasn't going to be a problem. At least, that's how it was supposed to work in theory.

For all the things that he could rationalize, ponder, and conclude, his thoughts would always return to the one place that he had no desire to think about deeply: his friends and family, or rather the lack of either to be more frank.

The spartan bristled at his own internal thoughts. He had been alone before many times before Cortana came into the picture. He had seen countless marines and fellow spartans die in the line of duty. It was to be expected and this sense of loss should be considered no different than anything that he had experienced before.

So why did he feel so hurt and so empty this time? Why now and and so harshly? What was different about this time?

He shook away these thoughts. If he continued along this line of thought, he would never be able to get out of it. He needed to keep himself focused on what mattered most right here, right now. Wasting time thinking about things that he couldn't change wasn't going to amount to anything productive.

For the umpteenth time, he reached into one of his pouches and retrieved his map. He was getting closer to the borders of the Kingdom of Vale. He had yet to see the place firsthand, but from surveying the maps and its geography, it was a well-situated nation. With natural barriers to protect it from the Grimm, Vale could defend its borders and not overextend itself in the process.

The Master Chief had considered at least scouting the boarders to get an idea of what exactly was going on in the kingdom. The reason he had not taken action was simply because he had no overly important objective that demanded his immediate attention. He was making do just fine as he was operating.

One thing that didn't make sense to him as he travelled these roads was the lack of huntsmen and huntresses. The past week had afforded him not a single chance to see what these men and women were all about. They were said to be the best warriors on this world with the intended purpose of hunting and killing Grimm. If that was the case, why weren't they here defending these villages?

Actually, now that the spartan reconsidered the idea, it made more sense the more he thought about it. Huntsman acted like a sort of special forces division, acting separately from conventional armed forces. Following that line of logic, their numbers had to be rather limited to begin with. Thus, where they operated had to be more focused on high-value targets and critical operations or whatever equivalent there was in this world. Did huntsmen have any sort of command branch or were they all simply independent?

If they were centralized and controlled by a governing body or some individuals, then it would explain the current state of things. Anyone who employed talented and skilled killers would never waste these individuals on objectives that wouldn't yield a high reward. Helping a village was all well and good, but strategically speaking, there was little value in such a small target. They could offer nothing in terms of resources, manpower, or intel. Barring unusual and abnormal situations, there was little to be gained.

On the other hand, if huntsmen acted independently and weren't strictly controlled by anyone or anything, then that meant so many potential leaks of information, secrets, and knowledge that might otherwise be damaging to the general public. There was also a greater potential for loose cannons and rogue elements. Such a sloppy and undisciplined approach seemed far to destructive to be useful.

But the reality might not be either of those two or it could be both at the same time. Until he could get a very clear and concise understanding of the community that made up the deadliest warriors on Remnant, then this conjecture was all that he had to work with and that was dangerous in and of itself. It could lead to assumptions and assumptions lead a soldier to his death fast.

"If I divert off my current course, It will take at least two days to arrive at the next village." John muttered quietly to himself. "According to the villages I have been to, Grimm have been low in numbers this year."

As he had reinforced earlier, he didn't want to assume that he knew best how to handle the Grimm. After all, he was an alien on this world, ironic as that was. These people knew this place far better than he did. If they said they could handle it, then he needed to trust in their judgement. Thirty-plus years of combat experience with the Insurrection, the Covenant, the Flood, and the Forerunners didn't necessarily make him an expect in all things related to fighting.

Still, his protective nature led him to weigh the risk and benefits. He was fighting Grimm all for the sake of readjusting his own techniques accordingly. While a great deal of things were familiar to him, there were other things that baffled him. Grimm might be animals instinctually, but they were far more aggressive, far more tenacious, and far more intelligent. Who was to say things couldn't change? There just might be an attack that a single lone village couldn't protect itself against.

What should he do?

The Chief's golden visor turned to the sun. The late afternoon painted an image that was not unknown to him. On Earth, he had witnessed this sort of setting during his brief time on the Human homeworld. He had seen this image many times before on Reach and no doubt on his own homeworld of Eridanus II when he was a child. It filled him with a sense of serenity that he rarely felt in his life.

The feeling of no fights being fought, no battles being waged, and no wars ravaging the galaxy? It was a feeling that gave rise to a great deal of emotion. Although he would never vocalize it, these resulting emotions were anything but pleasant. In all of Earth's history, they had always been warriors and there had always been war. How could thousands of years of it all just vanish as if it never existed? Was such a thing even possible?

John moved his right hand to the edges of his helmet. It didn't occur to him that he was trying to take off his helmet until he felt the hissing of air in his ears, indicating that his suit was no longer sealed from that atmosphere. When he did come to his senses, he quickly resealed MJOLNIR. A minor lapse in judgement, nothing more.

Spartan 117 folded his map, pocketed it with care, then set foot on his revised course. Once again, his entire body and mind were ready for battle at the slightest provocation. Despite Grimm numbers reportedly being much lower when approaching closer to the Kingdom of Vale's borders, instances of fighting were known to happen. Sometimes, there were severe casualties; it was another reminder of just how fatal the black and white monsters could be even when nearby what should be considered a safe zone.

Let's go over the mission objectives one more time. He did this every time he was on a mission. My primary objective is to assess the border defenses of Vale, monitor Grimm activity levels, and evaluate overall strategic importance in securing a foothold in the kingdom. If it becomes more beneficial to my mission to have a way inside, then I will secure passage. If there is not a viable reason to conduct further business, then I will switch my focus to the other kingdoms. Perhaps they might have something worthwhile.

With his goals clearly defined and his mind now locked and ready to roll, the only way was forward. This was no doubt going to be a lengthy mission, but he wasn't about to do this indefinitely.

A timetable of three days seemed apt.

Halo - - - RWBY

1700 Hours

Ruby Rose grumbled as her older sister, Yang Xiao Long checked her over for any serious injuries. It wasn't like there was much to be worried about. Aura had already done the work of healing her up wherever she got bruises. Now it was all just the blonde girl being overprotective and overly affectionate.

The girl dressed in red normally didn't put up much of a fuss when it came to this sort of thing. Letting her older sister do this was just one way of showing love, but if there was one thing that was a major point of contention between the two siblings, it was their future, the one that the two of them wished to go on. Both of them were aspiring huntresses, albeit for entirely different reasons. Still, they were on the same career path and they had both trained hard and worked themselves to the bone for what they had now.

But no matter how much Ruby advanced in her skills with a scythe, there would always come a time when Yang would step in out of worry or concern. It was understandable given their family circumstances, but it didn't make it any less frustrating at times. The younger could've sworn that she made the older back off and give her some space, but then again, wasn't this just par for the course for them both?

Whatever the case, today it was just downright annoying for some reason.

"Alright Yang, I get it. Can you stop?" Ruby pushed them apart. "I'm a big girl."

"I'm just making sure that you're okay." Yang rebutted lightly. "That Grimm really did a number on your aura."

"That's why we have aura, Yang: to take damage when we fall short."

"But unlike me, you can't channel damage into your fists. I can, so I can compensate."

"Stop treating my like a kid! I can handle things myself. I drink milk!"

"See why I'm worried? It's for things like this."

"Look, can just get back to training? I want to get this over with? And by the way, you're not that worried. I see that look on your face."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sis. Now get ready!"

Yeah, they might have some slight chinks in the armor, but they were family and they had each others' back all the time. That was the main reason why they had remained a happy family in spite of the numerous challenges each of them had undergone. By all logic, there should be nothing wrong.

But if Ruby was being fully honest, she wanted more out of this. She had always painted the image of being an unstoppable warrior heroine who saved the day and made smiles appear on everyone's face when she saved the day. She loved those kinds of stories in the books that she read as a little girl and everyday that she trained, her desire to see action only made her impatience grow all the more.

She just wanted to get out there and kick some serious butt. She had mad scythe skills and nobody could touch her as long as she had her semblance. Besides, Beowolves, as good as they were for practice, they weren't a challenge.

"I think it's time to put the pedal to the metal." Ruby said to herself. "I want a real challenging fight."

Apologies for the delay in this chapter. A lot has been going on in my life right now and I couldn't put it off and this chapter was written with much speed so I'm still working on potential grammar issues. Please bear with me as I fix them as I see them.

I have an idea of what I'm going to do with the story. I can actually see the end of the line more or less. Now I'm just filling in the details and figuring out how best to use characters. Look forward to new character interactions coming soon.

Feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you all enjoyed reading.

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving."

Albert Einstein