++August 12th, 1300 Hours++

++Three Hours Since Last Contact with Kilo-Five++

I watch Viking and Wink toss the Elite's body into the elevator shaft. The body vanishes into the darkness and a second later there is a loud thud along with a metallic clang of the alien's armor hitting stone.

"They're heavier than I thought." Viking complains.

"I'm sure they'd say the same about you." Wink teases.

"Hey - I'm dense! It's all this muscle."

"Dense." Scratch chuckles.

Just then Naomi walks up with two Elite's under her arms, and tosses them effortlessly into the shaft. "That's the last of them." She says.

"You've got blood on you." Viking points to a spot on her breastplate smeared with blue.

"Noted." She says coolly. Wink, Scratch and myself all laugh.

"Alright, Kilo-Five…" Chance breaks up the conversation, walking into the middle of the group. "Here's our initial scans." On my datapad a series of scans appear detailing the local electrical layout. "We need to make repairs here, here, and here, at the junction boxes. They got overloaded during the surge."

"Should be easy enough." I say. "They're bound to have replacement wires around here somewhere and if we're lucky it's just a quick strip and switch job."

Chance nods. "Right. Good to hear. Scratch you've got the bad news?"

"Yes Sergeant. Bad news is… the backup generator is trashed. Hasn't been maintained - thing is obsolete and was due a retrofit that never arrived so our local engineers didn't bother with the ol' spit and polish. Coils are burnt, along with the contact points and transfer lines."

"ETC?"

Scratch frowns, and rubs the back of his neck. "Honestly hard to say. What we need is all here but we're gonna have to rip the main gens apart to get at 'em. New coils and the like. Only problem is the power surge fried a lot of em so it's a gamble what we'll find in each. I mean we could only be down here a few hours if the first gen we open has everything we need but - realistically after the surge? It's really hard to say."

Chance frowns, and I see him chewing the inside of her cheek. He does that when he's in deep thought. "Alright, here's the plan unless Naomi has anything to add?"

"No."

"We're going to establish a bivouac here. We need rest anyway. We'll get some R and R, and take repair work in shifts. Ginger and Wink, start on those junctions. Scratch and Viking take stock of the backup genny and find out exactly what parts we need. Naomi, you okay to salvage the old gens for parts?"

"I will be able to do so."

"She's gonna rip the whole panel off like a superhero!" Viking mimcis a ripping motion in the air.

"I will try to be a bit more gentle than that." Naomi retorts and everyone chuckles in response.

"Alright, so that's the plan. Everyone ditch your armor, helmets, 'n packs. Best to start conserving energy and water now. I'll set up a sleeping area."

++Thirty-One Hours Since Last Contact with Kilo-Five++

I crouch in the small, dark passageway leading to the backup generator. It's cramped, about four feet tall and four feet wide. I hover over Scratch's shoulder where he's hunched over a generator panel. We've been down here, underground, for twenty hours and it's still unclear how much longer this is going to take. Most of us have stripped out of our armor, down to our plain black fatigues in an attempt to beat the heat. All except Naomi. The air in the ODG facility has become stuffy without new air being pumped down from the surface. Luckily the elevator shaft means we aren't going to suffocate down here.

"Hand me the uhh - spanner. The small one."

I grunt, contorting myself around to the toolbox we found in a maintenance cabinet. The flashlight in my mouth moves chaotically as I try to focus the beam where I need it. Finally I managed to wrap my hands around the spanner and pass it forward. Scratch grabs the tool and repositions himself for a better angle, promptly hitting his head on a bracket above him.

"Ow! Mother fucker!" He rubs the back of his head. "You know," He continues, irritation bristling in his voice. "I can see why they didn't maintain this piece of shit."

"Certainly a design oversight." I agree.

Scratch scoffs, getting the spanner in place and removing another coil shielding panel from the generator. He's forced to pass it backwards, awkwardly trying to position the flat metal plate past his legs. I grab hold and set it alongside the wall with the others.

"Too bad your Spartan isn't here to help." Scratch remarks, reaching into the generator and feeling around for the coil release lever.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not as though she could fit." Scratch gives a harsh chuckle. "There a reason she won't remove her armor?"

"How should I know?"

Scratch snorts. "It's no secret you're close to her."

"Closer than you, maybe."

I hear the ca-chunk of the release lever being pulled and Scratch sighs with satisfaction and he starts to wiggle the large cylinder free of the opening.

"Look," he grunts, pivoting the coil on its side and slowly pulling it from the generator. "We're just worried."

"We?"

"Yeah, the squad. Wink too. Here - you got it?"

I grab the top of the coil as he passes it back, and we both start hobbling backwards before setting the coil gently down on the floor. The passageway is even more crowded with spare parts than it had been when we first arrived. A veritable minefield of burnt and discarded equipment.

"What's there to worry about?" I ask, already partially knowing the answer.

Scratch sighs, catching his breath and pausing to properly address me. "She's a Spartan, Ginger. You know what they're like. They aren't people, they're weapons. She's mission first, always will be, and when they go off people get hurt. Even allies."

"Oh come on…"

"You know what happened just like I do, don't pretend you don't know the stories. Three dead ODST troopers, killed in a fucking gymnasium while sparring. Why? Because Spartans aren't people. They're tools, man." Scratch grimaces at me, waiting for a response I don't have. "I'm not saying Naomi is a bad person, it's just… She'll throw us away if she's ordered to. You know that. Spartans are loyal to the mission, not to soldiers."

I look down at the floor and rub my eyes. I nod. I do. Scratch reaches out and grabs my shoulder, giving me a gentle, reaffirming shake.

"Just don't throw your life away for someone who won't even understand why you're doing it, alright?" He grins. "Save that for me, so I can live and your noble sacrifice will mean something."

I chuckle. "You're an ass."

He nods. "Maybe, maybe." He turns back towards the generator. "Go tell Viking we're ready for the new coil. And have his fat ass bring it this time, we've been down here for hours, it's time he suffers too."

I nod and give him a slap on the back which he acknowledges with a nod, and then turn, making my way back through the passageway to the service ladder that leads back into the atrium. After exiting the cramped maintenance hatch I realize how stiff my muscles have become, and stretch my back, feeling several vertebrae crack with released tension. Back in the atrium Viking is standing at the entrance to the main generator room, a freshly scavaged coil at his feet. He's talking with Wink, who looks unimpressed by whatever story he's telling.

"Viking," I say, waving him down. "Scratch needs the coil. It's also your turn to sweat in the tunnel."

Viking turns and frowns but nods a second later. "Alright. Back to it I guess." He bends down and grabs the metal cylinder with both hands, grunting as he lifts it. "Talk later, Wink."

"Yu-hu."

I watch Viking head off towards the maintenance hatch, whistling to himself.

"What was that about?" I ask.

Wink shrugs. "You know Viking, he gets chatty when he's worried we'll die."

"And you?"

"I get quiet." She smirks. "You eat yet?"

I shake my head. "Haven't had the chance."

"Chance hooked up a burner to a small hand battery. Hot MREs, yum yum." The sarcasm drips from her words.

"Has Naomi had anything?"

Wink looks towards the Spartan whose standing at the far end of the antrium, still clad head to toe in her blue armor. "Don't think so." She pauses and I see Wink chew on her bottom lip in thought.

"What's up?"

"You know how Chance and I used to be a thing?" Wink says bluntly, her green eyes wandering over my face.

"Yeah…" I say, unsure exactly where this is going.

"We broke up years ago. I was the one who - you know. Did the breaking." I watch a small smirk tug at the corner of her thin lips. "I realized that he couldn't be my Sergeant and my lover. Not at the same time. Not without - I just couldn't do it." She shrugs.

"Don't blame you."

"Mmm." I see her eyes narrow for a moment as her mind mulls over whatever she's trying to say. "Sometimes it's best to just accept the way things have to be, and not try to… push. Let people be who they are, you know?"

"I'm just bringing her food…"

Wink grins. "I know."

I sigh and shake my head. "Thanks for the talk. The world is just… so much clearer now."

She laughs, and I chuckle before walking towards our impromptu camp. We'd previously drug various boxes and crates from around the facility into a small circle as chairs, with jackets and maintenance suits laid out as makeshift cushions. In the center of the circle is a hand-held lantern and next to it a small electric stove hooked up to a hand-crack charger. Chance is sitting on one of the boxes, hunched over the stove.

"Hey, Sarg."

"Ginger."

"Heard you've got some chow?"

"Mmhm. Number 302 - Meat stew with vegetables." He removes the small pot from the burner and pours a serving into a tin cup from one of our kit bags. "How you holding up?"

"I'm alright, Sir, just uhhh… waiting for Scratch to do his job."

Chance lets out a breath from his nostrils, a grin cracking across his rugged face. "Any ETC on that?" He asks.

"We're getting close. Should be… maybe another twenty hours? Almost all the coils are replaced, but we've still got a few too go and they're in a hard to reach place but he's going to need to wire the panel back up and that's tedious as hell."

Chance nods, grabbing a canteen and taking a swig of water. "Guess we're sleeping here again - be sure to get some rest. We'll need to be ready when we hit topside."

"I will be, Sir."

"Good." He says, and offers me the tin.

I take the cup and make my way past the small circle and towards the far end of the antrium. Naomi is standing there, arms folded across her chest and helmet staring into the black maw of the elevator shaft.

"Hey," I say, extending the cup of soup. "Got you some food."

She shifts, helmet gazing sideways, an air of apprehension about her. "I'm fine."

I look at the tin and shrug my shoulders. "It isn't that bad, promise." I smile but she doesn't respond and I clear my throat, following her gaze into the elevator shaft. "You know uhhh… You really should eat. We're going to be right back in it when we get topside."

I think I hear a faint sigh and she turns away, moving over to the side of the room and sitting down against the wall. I follow her, and watch as her armored hands move to her helmet. There is a hiss of releasing pressure and a heavy chunk as whatever locking mechanisms secure the helmet are triggered. I extend the tin of food once more and sit down beside her.

"Thanks." She says, her voice even softer without the electronic amps of her helmet.

"No problem."

For a moment there is calm and the only sound is that of her spoon scraping the sides of the tin, accompanied by delicate chewing. It's almost comforting and I close my eyes to take in the moment. How many days has it been since we landed on Reach? Two weeks? A month? Without the display from my helmet I've forgotten entirely.

"Ginger," Naomi's voice breaks the silence, and I open one eye.

"Hrm?"

"What you said before, about me being human…"

"What about it?"

"Did you mean it?"

I can feel my brows furrowing as confusion plays across my face. "What? Of course I meant it, what kind of question is that?"

Naomi shrugs. "I don't know."

There is a long pause and I find myself staring at the side of her face. Her jawline is angular, as are most of her features. Helmetless it's easy to forget what she is, and imagine her as maybe a young lawyer or medical student, on the cusp of changing the world. The corner of her mouth pulls up into the faintest smile.

"You're staring." She says.

I blink and then force myself to look away. "Sorry."

"Is it the scars?"

"Scars?"

She looks at me, eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend."

I look back at her, and the medical scarring that covers her face. I had forgotten about them. The lines, far too precise to have been made by any human's hand, frame her face in efficient, geometric designs. She is a work of art produced by a machine, a sculpture flawlessly carved yet without the emotion of an artist behind it. There really is no limit to human cruelty. "I honestly had forgotten about them."

She snorts, unbelieving, and hands me back the empty tin. "We could die on this planet, you know."

I nod. "I know."

"Then when are you going to tell me the truth?"

"About?"

"About you. Who you are, why you're here?" Naomi puts her hands on her knees, casually eyeing me up and down. Previously I hadn't noticed the fact that she towers over me by a good foot and a half now that we're seated. I suddenly feel quite small.

"I don't know." I confess. It's the truth. If I tell her everything I want to, I'm committing myself to a death on Reach. I know what ONI does to people who give up their secrets. They don't just die, or have an accident, they vanish. They disappear so thoroughly it's as if they never even existed. What a horrible fate, to be robbed of everything that made you, you. To have even your memory taken from the world.

"Do you remember when you asked me how you could show me I can trust you?"

I frown. "Of course, but if I recall you said you already did."

"I do. But should I? Tell me if it's safe to trust you." Her eyes are steely and serious as she looks into my own, and I know this question is the single most important one she'll probably ever ask me. My heart is hammering in my chest so loud I can barely think.

"I won't hurt you." I promise.

She smirks, her eyes bright with new energy. "I'll hold you to that."

We sit in silence for a moment, each of us swimming in their own thoughts. Then Naomi shifts and her armored arm goes over my shoulder. She pulls me into her, so that my head is resting against the side of her breastplate. It isn't the most comfortable position but I don't care.

"You should get some sleep." She says quietly.

I smile and close my eyes. For the first time since we dropped onto Reach I realize I feel safe, and sleep comes quickly.

++Forty-Two Hours Since Last Contact with Kilo-Five++

The blacked out van comes to a halt with a jerk of harshly applied breaks. Cross to my right grunts with annoyance. I check my chronometer and the cold, blue numbers blink a steady 2:32am. The van's back doors open and the team steps out into the early morning darkness. Cross and Whitney are behind me, each of us dressed head to toe in black fatigues devoid of markings or designation. The new CH252's night vision optics bathing the world in a sickly dull green.

The calm yet stern voice of Command comes over the coms. "Firebrand you've got the green light."

"Roger." I reply. "I've got point."

I motion for my team to take position at my flanks. In front of us is the target, a modern style home with tall glass windows and vaulted wood beams, set on a small outcropping of the cities' bay. A waterside view, with plenty of sun in the afternoon. It wouldn't have looked out of place on a postcard. We move forward, no time to sight-see. The house is gated, a black wrought-iron fence stretching around the property.

"Gate." I say over the radio.

"Security system down… Now." Command's efficiency was next to none. Two other teams were being coordinated, one to strike the local security node and a backup team a block away in case of complications.

Our footfalls sound up the paved driveway and we break left around the back of the house. I step over a garden hose someone's left in the yard next to a bed of well manicured tulips. Through another sidegate and we're in the back yard, closing in on the target.

"Door." Cross points and I nod.

"Stack up, Cross take point."

The man nods and pushes past my shoulder, moving to the door with Whitney in tow. The two flank the door and raise their rifles, although we shouldn't need them. I crouch down and remove the datapad from my pant's pocket. The door's lock is electronic and with a few taps on the pad I've sent the master code and the top of the lock switched from red to green.

"First door on the left. Go."

Inside the wood floors of the modern-colonial styled home make our entry louder than I'd like, but the parent's room is down the hall and the door is shut. Hopefully that's enough. Cross reaches the target's door and places his hand on the bar-handle. I nod and he opens it. Whitney stays in the hall, and myself and Cross press into the room. We both shoulder our weapons as we approach the bed and Cross tears away the covers to reveal nothing at all. I stare at the bed for a half second, confusion swirling. Before I have a chance to call it in, Cross lets out a cry of alarm as a feet sweeps out from under the bed and sends him crashing to the floor.

"Shit!" He blurts, as a blur of motion rolls away and sprints for the door.

"Whitney, she's coming your way!" I call over the radio, but the girl's already slipped by and is dashing down the hall.

I leave Cross on the floor and sprint after the target. Whitney follows, and we run out into the back yard. She's gone.

"You go left!" I order, breaking right to follow the garden around the side of the house. "Command, target is lost. I repeat, the target has fled Firebrand and is missing. Need backup."

"Roger that, Firebrand. All teams move in and secure the area."

"What about the clone?" Blue team asks.

"Proceed with insertion."

As I hit the front of the house I see Blue team exiting their own van, a simply dressed little girl, five years old, held in their leader's arms. It's the same girl I'm chasing - well a cheap imitation anyway.

"Good job, Ellis." The man jokes as I pass him. I don't reply.

Once again I'm at the front of the house, and I see Whitney approach from the other side. She shakes her head, and Cross rushes up behind her, head looking around.

"Sweep the area." I call. "She can't have gotten far."

It takes a while of combing through bushes and flower beds before I finally see a scrap of white cloth sticking out from the underside of a large fern at the borner of the property. I don't radio it in, for fear of alerting the girl to my position, and lunge forwards snatching at the cloth. It comes away freely, and I realize it's another trick as a foot collides with the side of my helmet. The strike is admirable, but coming from a five year old it's just not enough. I grab hold of her ankle and yank her out of the bush. She hits the grass with a dull thud and screams.

"Target located. South side of the property." I call before placing my gloved hand over her mouth. The girl bites down on one of my fingers but I ignore the pain and keep the hand where it is as she thrashes.

"The clone is in place. Blue team heading for exfil."

I see Cross and Whitney running over, with Whitney having already retrieved plastic restraints from her waist.

"Stop struggling." I say firmly. The girl stares up at me with eyes not full of fear, but anger. The blue-grey orbs are full of intelligence far beyond the girl's years and for a second a feeling of dread passes through me. Cross arrives, skidding on his knees as he drops beside us. He removes a strip of tape from his pocket and gives me a nod. I remove my hand from her mouth and Cross moves to put the tape over her mouth.

"I'll remember you." She says right as her lips are sealed.

I place a black bag over her head hiding her expression, then I flip her over and Whitney secures the girl's hands behind her back with the zip tie.

"Feisty one." Cross comments.

I nod, hauling the girl up onto her feet. "Firebrand has the target and is proceeding to exfil."