Opening notes: Here we go again. Plenty of people looked for more to come about with this, judging by the reviews that were left. I'll admit I've gotten more attached to Morgan than any other character I've made in basically anything. So for all of you that wanted to see more of her, you're in luck. One of these days I'll put a permanent book end on her story, but that day isn't today. Hopefully I can fix some of the things I wasn't all that happy with that Halo 4 and 5 did. With all that said, thanks for joining me on yet another trip into the Nobleverse (I really need to get a better name for it).


"War is the mother fucking answer"

Corporal Ray Person, United States Marine Corps


Unknown Time

Unknown Location


The air was cool, perfectly climate controlled, and mid day sunlight was peeking through the windows into a spacious living room. A sweat stained ballcap sat on a small table next to the back door, dirty boots on the hard wood floor beneath it. The windows in the door were blocked only by partially opened blinds, and showed more than a little unsettled dirt in the back yard, several plastic containers sitting on an outside table between a quartet of chairs, a concrete patio bleached by the sun completing the image. Some of the containers were empty, save for crumbles of dirt, and others still bore their colorful contents, flowers itching to follow the sun in its trek across the sky.

Water ceased its torrent from the nozzle over the sink, and silence returned to the interior of the home. A tanned woman stood over the sink with a cup of water in her hand, tracks on her face from sweat marking their travel from matted black hair down to a thick neck still rippling with concealed energy. A tank top held tightly to her frame, still form fitting despite having had to resort to using a men's size shirt. It was stained with that same sweat that had made its way down her forehead, and her skin glistened in the overhead lights. Powerful arms, corded heavily with muscle and more than a few scars, escaped from the confines of the shirt.

Freshly washed hands no longer held caked on dirt, washed studiously by their owner until they were clean again, albeit a little raw from scrubbing. A washcloth waited on the corner of the sink, still cold from the water that had been on it, came up and pressed against her face, wiping some of the sweat away and cooling her down before she took the glass and her washcloth into the living room, nothing separating it from the dining room and kitchen except for an invisible boundary and a wall that the kitchen and dining room shared turning away and widening out, leading into the front hallway. The home had been built with an open floor plan, and it had grown on the woman.

Plopping down onto one of the more comfortable couches, the glass of water remained in her hand, already condensing from the slowly melting ice cubes inside. The washcloth went up and sat on her forehead, obscuring emerald green eyes as the woman gave a sigh of relief, relaxing back against the couch and sitting quietly for a time. There was still more work to be done, but it wasn't anything that would be lost forever if a break was had.

Footsteps on hard wood, the dull crack of boot soles on the floor, and the washcloth raised off of one of the eyes, a tired expression and a raised eyebrow meeting the brown eyes of another woman, one clad in a uniform, rather than the lax tank top and jeans, and far less sweaty.

"I thought Spartans didn't take breaks," the newcomer questioned, arms crossed and an ever present smirk hanging off of her lips.

"This one does."

Amber Bailey gave an amused huff as she sat on the couch next to her wife, slyly reaching out and grabbing her hand. Morgan took a deep breath, but her own lips let a hint of a smile come onto them.

"How's it going so far?" Hocus sat in a way that let her keep her eyes on the larger woman.

"Well, actually. Most of the plants are in the ground, some are in planters, a couple of the hooks have been put up and their pots hung with them. Still some more to go, but..." She trailed off.

Her wife's smile softened from its smirk, one of genuine pleasure. "Thought they'd last you longer than just a day. You're gonna run out of things to do at this rate."

Morgan shrugged. "Never leave a job half finished and all that."

"It's not half finished if you do it across a couple of days rather than buying out a flower shop's stock and then dumping it all into the ground in the span of a day. Are you putting all of them in the back yard?"

Another shrug. "The front yard has bushes in it."

Amber raised an eyebrow. "You know you can still hang some of them out there, and there's dedicated spots for flowers, right?"

The Spartan seemed to shrink a bit. "I don't like people being able to see me work."

"Our neighbors can look out their window and see you work."

A quiet whine as she looked away from the pilot, barely audible. "Still."

Amber sighed, her smile becoming a little too powerful and white teeth shining through. Her mouth opened up to say something, but Morgan never heard it. Then the warmth of her hand was gone, all softness taken away and replaced by something cold, something hard.

Morgan frowned, looking back over, and saw something that she had lost years ago. A battered and ruined set of Mjolnir Mark VI stared back at her. The helmet was completely ruined, several heavy dents in the top and sides of it marring the smooth surface and ruining the blocky UNSC stenciling on it. The golden visor was marred with dust and cracked, a large hole broken through the visor where the wearers left eye would be, showing only an inky blackness. The altered chest piece was crumpled in the center, bare titanium staring her in the face, and deep cracks spiderwebbed out from the deep gouge where something had nearly crushed the heavy armor.

Morgan went to swallow, but her mouth was suddenly dry, too dry to function, and no words escaped her mouth as her lips split open soundlessly. The house around her disappeared as the walls crumbled and melted, turning red hot, and disintegrated until nothing was left. All around her, the outside of her home, the verdant mountainside, the other homes, the city below, the blue sky, all of it was gone, replaced by the mottled gray and orange sky of a world long gone.

Smoke and flames filled the sky, and a mountain in the distance climbed into that wounded sky, splitting halfway up and becoming two. The dirt and sand on the ground, filled with dead vegetation and the remains of several armored figures, both Human and alien, lost all definition and gave way to a sea of glass, still red hot around the edges.

She took it all in within an instant, and her throat closed up as she looked back into that empty hole in the visor, and a green eye stared back, empty of emotion or fire. A shadow passed overhead, but try as she might, there was no looking up. Only the sound of an energy projector firing. A flash across the shattered visor, and everything went black.


June 7th, 2557

Town of Allerai

United Republic of North America

Wisps of steam rose from a coffee mug that sat on an oaken table, a small crown painted on the white ceramic. Another sat across from it, bare of any designs, with its own fill of the caffeinated liquid. It was darker, nigh on black, in comparison to the crowned mug's cocoa colored contents.

There was no sound in the room, save for the incessant ticking of a clock mounted on the far wall, ticking off every second that passed between the two occupants of a spacious living room, having changed over the years from how it had been found late one evening.

A dog barking in the distance, audible through the walls of the home, brought a pair of green eyes back to life, looking over a datapad filled with information, before they went back up and met brown. A man in a black uniform sat across from her, the pyramid of the Office of Naval Intelligence on the left breast panel, and a pair of stars caught the light as a ray of sunlight popped through a nearby window.

A scarred hand set the datapad back on the table, and the woman that controlled that hand sat forward, her elbows on her knees as she propped herself up, frowning slightly. She held the gaze of the man sitting across from her, Asiatic features firm and somewhat bulky, a thick set neck. The wheelchair was gone, a pair of cybernetic prosthetics having taken their place at the end of what had been stumps three years before.

"You know, once, I'd have jumped at the offer, but now I'm not so sure."

Morgan Bailey's voice filled the quiet interior of her home, echoes absorbed by the pictures on the wall, of the items that had been picked up over the years and put in their places.

"I know you would have."

Adam Greer, now with another admiral's star on his collar, responded with a look that was practiced neutrality.

"So why come to me now?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow. Her hands came together, fingers interlacing as she waited for his answer. She had read the report on the datapad, had watched the news, still had at least one contact in the military.

"You're the best." It was said almost matter of factly, as if that would be enough for her to sign on the dotted line. It only made her gaze narrow.

"There are others."

"Not like what we need."

"What is it that you need, exactly?"

"A leader."

Morgan's thin lips pursed, growing ever thinner, a tight line that held her words back for a moment. "Not what I was asking. You have plenty that could fill the role. Plenty of other Spartans that could be taken and put into the slot. It's not like I'm the only one with an officer's rank."

Greer frowned. "It's not black and white. There are still some IIs that are active, but most of them work in their own fire teams. Messing that up wouldn't do us any good. Plenty of IIIs have already been pulled into the program, but even the best aren't equipped to lead anything more than a detachment, especially with the issues the Gammas suffer from."

"And what about the IVs? There are plenty of them, almost all of them leaders in their own right. ODSTs, Force Recon, Delta. All kinds of operators are in the program. Not a single one of them is up to the task?"

His frown deepened, and he sat back against the comfortable couch that sat across from her. Wrinkles had cropped up on his face over the years, most of them stress lines, and he scratched at his jaw. "There are a few, but those are already in the higher levels of the program. IIs that washed out of their augmentations, and a III acting as a recruiter and co-director. They already have their hands full with administrative work and they're in too deep to just reassign them."

Green eyes narrowed. "Who's the three?"

Greer's lips pursed, enough to push some of the color out of them. "Sierra-A266. Almost all of the candidates have been hand picked by him. With the Infinity billet open, he recommended we seek you out."

"His words carry plenty of weight with me. He had to have known that. Why didn't he come to me himself, then?"

"He did."

As if Greer had called out, there came a knock at the door, and Morgan's eyes locked on to it. With a moment's pause, the door knob turned and a man stepped in, a black suit covering a large frame. A bald head revealed a tattoo with three arrow across the left temple that wrapped around half of the skull, only visible as the man closed the door behind him and locked it.

Turning back to the two in the room, blue eyes met Morgan's green, and a thin smile came to the man's face. "Six, good to see you again."

Morgan stood up, her mouth suddenly dry. She had always known that Jun was still alive, ever since Greer had first let it slip, but she had never seen him again after that final encounter on Reach. "Jun, likewise."

She tried to swallow, to make it easier to talk, but her body refused to cooperate, and she closed the distance until she got close enough to wrap her arms around him, holding the former Noble Three in a tight grip.

Jun returned the gesture, but it didn't last long, as Morgan pried herself away and awkwardly gestured to the couch that Greer sat on, before returning to her own seat. Silence held for a few moments before she spoke up. "So you recommended me."

Jun nodded. "Would have done it sooner, but you retired, figured you deserved a break after all that you had been through. Clearance told me plenty, Greer told me the rest. All that happened at the end told me you were a no go."

"But you're coming to me now, after I've been settled in for as long as I have."

Another nod. "Like he's already probably said, you're the best for the job. A capable leader in your own right, lethal enough to survive nearly anything, and your service record means that the IVs will follow you anywhere. You've proven yourself, and they all know what you're capable of. Nobody else has that."

She frowned, crossing her arms. As happy as she was to see Jun, and Greer, it wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear. She had spent the last months of the war wallowing in loss and exhaustion, had spent the years after learning how to be more than a war machine. Now she was being asked to come back.

Looking away from the two, she glanced out the window that led to the back yard of her home. It wasn't very large, and it sloped up slowly to meet the back yard of another house that could be reached by going up the road, hitting a switchback, and following the road up again. It would end after four more turns, leading to a mountain trail that she had used plenty of times.

Life was good for the Spartan, calm and peaceful, the nightmares had stopped for the most part, although they came back on bad nights. She didn't have a job because she didn't need one, but she stayed in shape. She helped out in town sometimes, volunteered on hiking trips, acted as a first responder during the winter months when snowfall got heavy and people inevitably got trapped even with all of their preparations.

She had a purpose that was her own, for once. A nice home, a loving wife, and she was happy. What more could anybody ask?

Greer and Jun looked at each other quietly, before looking back to her, and she finally met their eyes again. Morgan made to say something, but the sound of keys entering a lock preceded the front door opening, and a female voice called out to her, tinged with a southern accent that had never faded.

"I'm home!" Amber 'Hocus' Bailey entered her home, still clad in the gray fatigues of a pilot, a ready bag hanging off of her shoulder with personal gear that she kept on hand just in case of a need for rapid deployment, a standard procedure for pilots after the Great War.

"Welcome home," Morgan replied to her wife, watching as the brunette pulled a patrol cap off of her head and undid the bun her hair had been kept in. Wavy hair fell down to just below her shoulders, and she shook her head to fan it out.

"Who are our visitors?" She asked, brown eyes not missing the ONI patch or the two stars Greer wore on his collar, or the man in the black suit.

Gesturing to each of them in turn, Morgan introduced the two, and Amber moved to sit next to the Spartan. "Rear Admiral Adam Greer, Office of Naval Intelligence and my former handler, and Jun, someone I've worked with in the past, Spartan branch."

At the word Spartan, Amber's eyes turned on Morgan, narrowing slightly. "Spartan makes me think they're here for something."

Greer spoke up before Morgan could. "We are. She's been tapped by ONI and the Navy to command a Spartan detachment on the Infinity."

Amber whistled, sitting back against the back of the couch she and Morgan shared, leaning against the arm rest and propping her head up on her hand. "Big posting. Big crew too, high profile." Glancing at her wife, she went on. "What are you thinking so far?"

Morgan returned the look, shrugging slightly. "It's a big change, sudden, but… I don't know how to feel about it."

Greer spoke up. "It doesn't need to be immediate, but the sooner the better. If you need time to think about it, we can give you up to a week. We can also give concessions if you have any requests."

Morgan simply nodded. "Give me a week, time to think about all of it. It's… a big decision now."

Standing, Greer grunted. "Of course. We'll return a week from now, or if you call for us sooner. You still have my contact information?" Another nod. "Good. The datapad will keep the information until midnight tonight, and can only be accessed by you. You know more than anyone the security risk, so keep it safe. I look forward to seeing your answer." Grabbing his cap, he made for the door, Jun giving her a nod as he followed the admiral.

Opening the door, Jun exited first, and Greer pulled the peaked cap back onto his head. Thanking her for the coffee, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

As if that was her cue, Amber scooted closer, leaning up against the bigger form of her wife, grabbing one of her hands. Amber's hands still weren't as large as Morgan's, but they fit well together when it was Morgan holding hers. That didn't deter her, however.

"Were you expecting anyone?"

"No. They just showed up."

"Sounds like a good deal if you wanna go back someday."

Morgan frowned, looking down at their hands, one barely covered by the other. "I won't lie, I've thought about it sometimes. I've had dreams of it. I always thought I wouldn't make it out, but now that I have, I don't know if I should go back in."

"Why's that?"

"It was hard enough getting out the first time. Doing it twice? I don't think so. Knowing my luck, I'll-"

"Ah." Amber's quick admonishment had Morgan's mouth shut with a muted click, her teeth coming together.

"Sorry," she said, apologizing. The pilot had done plenty in the way of dealing with her wife's fatalistic outlook that cropped up sometimes. It had never truly left, popping up from time to time, but immediately after the war had been the worst.

"If just thinking about this brings that mindset back up, is it even a good idea to go?"

She shrugged. "Who knows. I like our life here, I like what we have. But it's hard, sometimes. I get that pull, wanting to go back to it all. Restlessness. Then there's the times that you've left, and I've been here alone."

Amber frowned. "Deployments are never easy when you're married, it seems. I've yet to meet any spousal couple who's not had their rocky bits during a tour."

Morgan looked down at her. "Rocky bits?"

"Fights, loneliness, stuff like that."

"I see." A period of silence. "What do you think?"

Another beat. "I think it's up to you. You lived your whole life in it, nearly died a couple of times, lost everyone. I don't mean to sound like a downer, but..."

She trailed off, letting the words hang as she rested her head against her wife's shoulder, closing her eyes mostly as she looked down at their entwined hands, her thumb rubbing across the scars that crossed the back of the Spartan's hand.

Morgan didn't respond for a time, and the two sat in silence. For years, it had been something they'd both enjoyed. Two warriors that had lived during some of the most chaotic years of the war, where gunfire and explosions were just the natural ambiance. They had spent more than one night without a single word between them. Talk wasn't always needed, and they were both happy simply in the other's company. Too many years living with the rumble of distant combat or the roar of engines left a subtle appreciation for silence between the two.

Eventually, a deep exhale came from her, and her own eyes turned down to look at their hands. "It wouldn't be like it was before, would it?"

Amber looked up at her again. "Watcha mean?"

"I mean… there's no big war anymore, right? The stakes wouldn't be near as high, we wouldn't have our backs against the wall. Plus, there'd be IVs going out, and not me."

"So you mean that you'd be able to get the benefit of going back to that life, without the danger and risks associated with it." A nod. "Then it sounds like you already know what to expect. If nothing else, it'd be a cushy desk job. Better than slogging through mud and aliens."

Morgan's lips quirked up in a hint of a smile. "You're right. What about you, though? You're attached to Chiron Blue, right?"

"We'll get sent where we need to go. Why?"

"Just wondering," she replied.

Amber's eyes narrowed and she met her wife's eyes. "You're never just wondering about anything."

Morgan's smile grew a little more. "Well, they did offer to accommodate some requests if I had any..."

That got an admonishing look from the pilot. "Nepotism's a bitch."

"Maybe, but if I do go, I don't wanna go without you," the Spartan replied.

Amber's admonishment faded, melting away at those words. "I'm not surprised. You're like a lost puppy when it comes to me. If you're gonna do this, at least use the full week to think about it and what else you might want? It's a big move after so long out and your circumstances in particular. See what else you can milk out of ONI in return for your services."

"I promise," she answered. That was enough to appease the smaller woman. Amber knew enough about her wife at this point to know that any time promise was uttered, it would be honored, no matter how big or small. A momentary thought back to the first time Morgan had said it to her, their wedding day. Small, not many people, no strict dress code, but plenty of booze.

When I make a promise, I keep it.

With another nod, Amber pulled her hand out of Morgan's looking up at her wife and planting a light kiss on the Spartan's cheek. "Good. Now, I need to get out of these fatigues."

Standing from the couch, Amber moved away, disappearing up the stairs and into their room. Now, alone, Morgan sat for a few moments, staring off into nothingess, before she broke out of it again. Reaching for a book that had been left abandoned on the coffee table, the big woman resumed reading what Greer had interrupted: Spartans: Humanity's Last Line, by Jennifer Hall. A documentary had been made years before, and been turned into a book later on. It was one she had never really looked into until recently.

It seemed the universe had decided to throw her another curve ball.


The week came and went, the proposal always in the back of the Spartan's mind. The datapad had wiped itself clean, and when the black car from before stopped on the street in front of her house, Morgan was outside waiting with it.

There was no car in her driveway, Amber having left for work hours ago, and she wouldn't return for several more. That left just her to greet Greer and Jun when they made their way up the empty driveway. She noticed Jun had a small bag with him

Standing before they made it to her, she opened the door and gestured them inside. However short this visit might be, prying eyes were always watching, and with the two moving inside before she shut the door, she noticed the blinds in Kris' house had been slightly parted, before quickly falling into place as she looked over. Sweet woman, but nosey.

Shutting the door behind her, Morgan saw the two had already sat down on the same couch. "Coffee? Water?" She asked them, an eyebrow quirked.

Both shook their heads. "No, thank you," Greer started. "We shouldn't take too long for this."

"You could have just sent something."

"Not our call," he answered.

"Fair enough." Sitting across from them, Morgan held out the datapad. With the message deleted, it was little more than an empty datapad, a blank screen. "I've decided to accept, with a few requests."

Greer nodded, taking the datapad and handing it to Jun, who took it and tucked it away in his bag, before pulling another small terminal out and handed it over. "Name them."

"I want my wife transferred with me. Same posting, same berthing."

Greer paused for a moment, before he nodded, typing the request into the terminal. "Alright, what else?"

"I want the freedom to adjust my armor as I see fit."

"That…" He frowned slightly. "Fine, we can accept that."

"Lastly, I want one of the remaining Sabers adjusted and sent aboard for my personal use."

A deeper frown. "That one might be harder to do, but I'll see if I can. No promises."

Morgan pursed her lips, but nodded. "So be it. I'll sign your contract."

He stood from the couch and moved to her, holding out the terminal. "Please stare into the camera for a moment for retinal scan."

Adjusting herself on the seat, she looked into the small lens at the top of the terminal, before a laser scanned her right eye, grunting at the discomfort it brought.

Pulling the terminal back, Greer handed it off to Jun, who stood up and put it back in his bag. With their job here finished, the two made their way for the door. Greer turned back to her before he left, his frown still in place.

"Your wife will get her orders tomorrow from her command. We've drafted yours already in preparation for your agreement. You'll have to make a trip to Fort Garrett and get fitted for uniforms and your tech suit, as well as an issuing of any essentials you need. First tour will last a year, contract for four, a Pelican transport will wait for you at the same location, it leaves three days from now at 0900. Please make your arrangements in a timely manner and report to the flight line in your tech suit for immediate armor fitting once aboard."

With an exhale, his face softened. "There, official speech over. I won't be accompanying you onboard, unfortunately. Shouldn't be much in the way of contact, but there have been reports of raiders in the fringe and a Covenant Remnant. Nothing Infinity can't handle, but…" He trailed off. "Be careful."

Holding his hand out to her, she took it and they shook. Bidding her farewell, he left, the black car pulling away as she stood at the door with her arms crossed, a frown on her face. She needed to get things in order. Her home would be left for a year without anyone to take care of it. She would need help.

With her frown still plastered on, she stepped outside, aiming for the house across the street. Without opening the glass door, she rang the doorbell and waited for all of three seconds, before the inner door opened and Kris looked out at her.

Morgan forced a smile as she stepped back and the older woman opened the door, as bubbly as she always was. "Hello, Morgan! What can I help you with?"

Over the years, Kris had helped her with more than she could remember. There had been long periods of time where Morgan had shut herself away, but her neighbor had always come to check on her if nothing else, leaving baked goods or invitations to community events.

"I hate to ask on such short notice, but I'll need someone to take care of my home while I'm away. I'll be leaving for a year, I can't say why."

Kris' normally smiling outlook faltered for a moment, but didn't completely drop. "Oh, yes, I can watch it for you. Do you only need the outside or the inside as well?"

"The outside, mainly, my garden and lawn, but I have food that'll spoil. I'll bring a key over before I leave at some point and whatever's left can be taken out if you want it. Otherwise, it'll have to be thrown away."

Kris nodded, and Morgan's smile tightened slightly. "Of course, that's not a problem at all. Will Amber be going with you or…?"

Morgan nodded. "She'll be away as well, unfortunately."

"I see. We'll have to go out before you leave then! A whole year without you is gonna feel like forever!"

A momentary chuckle from the Spartan. "Definitely. Tomorrow night, we'll have dinner together. Sound good?"

"Perfect!"

"Alright, I need to get back and start prepping, but thank you for this, I'll have to repay you somehow when I get back."

"I look forward to it!"

Pulling herself away from the other woman after thanking her again and telling her goodbye, Morgan was back in her house less than a minute later, her smile gone and feeling a little more exhausted.

Thinking back on those times that she had wanted nothing more than to stop the fighting, it seemed like she was making a mistake going back into it. It had only taken losing everyone and ending the war on some far off alien installation to get out alive, and here she was running back to it.

It would be alright though, wouldn't it? More than once so far, she had been left in an empty home, with Amber sent off on another ship with another squadron. Rarely did she ever deal with actual combat on those patrols, save for minor skirmishes. Now they would be together, at least, and she would be a commander, stuck with making sure the IVs were ready for whatever came their way rather than her being in the line of fire. Even then, who would try and attack the Infinity? Nothing would make it through that ship.

Putting her hand to her face and wiping her eyes, she frowned. It wasn't even three in the afternoon and she wanted to lie down and go to sleep. She needed to eat as well, at some point. It had been different being able to take a break when she wanted, eating when she wanted, sleeping when she wanted. She had gotten used to it all, had learned to like it. It would be different moving away from her own home and back onto an actual ship.

But it couldn't be helped now. She would have to get herself back into the mindset that the military required. Forcing herself up from the couch, she decided to try and get herself into a positive mentality, and she needed to cook dinner anyway before Amber returned home.


The promised day came quickly, time blowing past in the blink of an eye. Hefting the same bag that she had carried all of her belongings in when she got out of the military all those years ago, Morgan felt it settle on her shoulder, stepping out of the car that had gone to transport them. Her Warthog and Amber's personal vehicle were locked away in their garage, safe from the elements, and Kris would keep her garden and the inside of their home clean and tidy.

Amber stood on the opposite side, already clothed in fatigues that she was more than comfortable with. Morgan fidgeted slightly in the tight confines of the tech suit she wore, having spent so long in loose fitting civilian clothes. Well, not loose fitting, but none of them had the skin tight suction of Mjolnir's undersuits.

Amber bumped into her as she moved around the back of the car. "Feeling alright, Commander?

Morgan gave her a small smile. "I'm fine. Don't get too chummy, we need to make a good first impression."

A snort. "Girl scout."

That got an admonishing look from the Spartan, green eyes turning on her with a look that said to be careful, but there was a flicker of amusement in them. She didn't say anything further, though. Already, the sound of a Pelican's thruster wash was nearly deafening in her ears. The flight line was empty, save for this one bird. The bay door was already open, the crew chief the only occupant. It seemed that they would be flying alone.

Making their way to it, they situated themselves and, strapping in, the crew chief shut the bay door and muttered into his headset that they were clear for lift off.

It didn't take long for the Pelican to pick up speed, pointing up at a steep angle of attack and making for orbit. Morgan frowned as she felt the ship pull away, while gravity fought to keep hold of her. Amber, on the other hand, seemed more than comfortable, bored even, but her fingers tapping at her thigh was enough for Morgan to remember that the pilot hated not being in control of the bird if at all possible.

Eventually, gravity slacked off until its grip had been shook away, and the Pelican made for Infinity. Half an hour more of flight and the bird decelerated, sliding into one of the hangars and touching down as if it had all been controlled by an AI rather than the Human pilot that she could hear even now coming over the intercomm to report touch down.

The straps came off and fell away without any issues, and the two women grabbed their gear and stood, stepping out of the Pelican and onto the decking. They weren't there for a second before a dark blue AI appeared, wearing a rain coat and holding an umbrella with multiple puncture holes in it. She stared out from beneath the brim of a floppy rain hat, a moody expression on her face as she introduced herself. Morgan didn't miss the small artificial water puddles that covered the bottom of her rubber boots.

"Commander, Lieutenant, I am Monsoon, MON-3385-7, UNSC Infinity's temporary AI, and I'll be your guide for your first few days on the ship until you've learned your way around enough to go about your duties.

Morgan and Amber shared a look, before the Spartan cleared her throat. "Monsoon, you've obtained our posting orders, I take it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've taken it upon myself to ensure optimal berthing to allow both of you to go about your duties in the easiest way possible."

A nod, satisfied, and the big woman went on. "Good. Thank you. What about our processing?"

Monsoon seemed to dim slightly, lines of code scrolling across her coat before it all turned into the remnants of a rain that only affected her, droplets of digital water remaining on the blue coat. "Both of you will be shown to your rooms and allowed to stow your gear before splitting up. Lieutenant Bailey will be shown to her squadron and given the chance to acclimate herself. You, on the other hand, will be directed to S-Deck for medical processing, final calibration of your tech suit, armor fitting, and your command level in-brief with the Captain. Any questions?"

"Negative, Monsoon. The sooner we get started, the better."

With a nod, Monsoon gestured to the floor with her free hand, where several panels in the decking lit up, flashing in a way as to guide the two of them. "If you'll please follow the flashing path, it'll take you to your berthing and we'll go on from there."

"Understood. We'll summon you when we're ready."

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, the AI disappeared, her avatar merely a physical representation for Human crew to look at, but she had no doubt that Monsoon had eyes on every inch of the city sized ship at all times. Sharing a look with the pilot next to her, Morgan gestured with a bob of her head. "Ladies first," she joked, a half smile on her face.

"You're a lady too, smart ass," Amber shot back, but she led the way regardless. It was better for her to lead the way, so she could memorize the layout better, rather than staring at the Spartan's back for the majority of the trip.

Even before leaving the hangar, Morgan was astonished with just how big Infinity actually was. Several decks worth of space had been given over to hangars and the facilities required to house and maintain the massive air wing that Infinity kept onboard.

Pelicans and Broadswords were being pushed to and fro by crew in a rainbow's worth of vest colors, the hangar alive with activity as they prepped for cast off and the start of their newest tour. Crates were being offloaded from heavy lift vehicles like the D96-TCE Albatross, the massive vehicle able to carry far more than a Pelican could, and in the distance, she even saw the elongated, lanky looking frame of a D81-LRT Condor, whose job had been usurped by others like the Albatross, but with all the excess Pelican frames left over from the war, there was no reason not to use them for cheaper than their original cost and rip their slipspace drives out.

Several of the recently introduced M510 Mammoth's were onboard as well, being strapped into place, locked down with heavy ratcheting, and even a section of the hangar revealed an artificial gravity pad in the ceiling that was inactive at the moment, but would be activated before going underway to prevent the colossal vehicle from moving during transit.

All of it was left behind as they stepped through another doorway and into the hallways that ran through Infinity like nerves and blood vessels, feeding the important crew to the ship like blood moving to a vital organ. A ship nearly six kilometers long required thousands of crew to keep it functioning, a far cry from the frigate and corvette crews that numbered in the dozens, or a hundred at the most. Just under 18,000 personnel lived and worked on the ship, and it was filled not only with the tools to fight a war, but to keep its crew happy during the long voyages that Infinity would undertake. None of them were in sight now, but they were scattered across the ship, and the two new members of the crew would find them on their own.

Sailors and Marines were in every hallways, working on this or that, posting notices here or there, or ducking into another room to do whatever they did on this space capable city. The floor kept them in line, guiding them to an actual tramway of all things. Of course they should have expected something like this. The ODPs had their own trams, why wouldn't Infinity? There was likely other methods as well, but neither of them questioned it too much, and remained silent through their short ride farther towards the bow of the ship.

When the tram slid to a halt, the pair stepped out and almost immediately into an elevator that would take them to their berthing, still following Monsoon's directions as the AI kept a careful watch on them and their progress. An elevator ride up to another deck, and once again they were back on the path that was laid out.

More walking, more looking around, more memorization, and finally they were at their destination. Morgan felt overwhelmed as the door to their quarters slid open. She had been used to smaller rooms, and her berthing during her time on the In Amber Clad had given her a slightly larger room, but this was different. Given her new status, what they had given her seemed more like a moderately sized apartment than just a room.

The main room they had entered into had a set of chairs in a U-shape around a small table, a kitchenette in the far corner, and an entertainment suit on the open side of the U that the furniture was arranged around. Two doors led elsewhere, with one leading into what was a well equipped state room and the other leading into the sleeping quarters.

Morgan frowned and made for the bedroom, the door splitting open down the center and revealing a bedroom that was already set up for them. A king sized bed and a table on either side, with lamps and storage areas for what might be needed. Cabinets and wardrobes sat waiting for extra uniforms or whatever was stored inside otherwise. Finally, another door led into the bathroom that would be used during their stay on the ship.

Dumping their bags on the bed, Morgan's frown grew deeper. Was all of this really necessary? She had grown used to the comforts of civilian life, but this was a bit much.

"What's got that nasty look on your face?" Her wife's question broke her out of her thoughts.

"Didn't expect to stay in a suite rather than officer's quarters."

"What, you're complaining about it?"

Morgan's brows knit together and she looked back up at Amber. "I'm not complaining, I'm just making an observation."

"Well observe how comfortable it's all gonna be compared to where we've stayed in the past."

Morgan couldn't argue with that, but it did make her think. What were the berthings like for the other Spartans? For regular Marines? What about the Captain and other top ranked officers? It didn't really matter when she thought about it, given there was still far more to experience in the ship than just the rooms people stayed in.

Shrugging, Morgan left her bag alone. "Don't be late getting to your responsibilities," she called to her wife, turning and heading for the door.

"Yes ma'am," came the reply as the sound of a thud came from the pilot landing on the bed. Morgan didn't miss the tone that was the verbal equivalent of rolling her eyes, smiling slightly as she stepped back out and the door shut behind her. The next door opened and let her out into the halls again, and her new path was already lit on the floor beneath her feet, Monsoon more than ready to lead her around.

The ship only seemed to grow larger the more she walked through it, as if every step she took was adding another two steps of length to every corridor. That was to be expected, given her lack of experience with anything so big before. A frigate had always been the biggest ship she'd stepped foot on in regular incidents. Only the size of the super carrier over Reach had been bigger, but she hadn't gotten to explore it.

She stopped in her tracks, the sound of a far off voice coming back to her, and her lips dropped into a frown. She hadn't thought of Jorge in a while. He was still there in her mind, reminding her always, but he never surfaced to let her remember him most days, little more than a memory when the nights were dark.

Morgan thought that she had buried them all when she saw the monument at the museum, but she must have been wrong. A deep breath, in, and then out, and she forced herself to keep moving. Shaking her head slightly, barely noticeable to anyone but another Spartan, she shoved it all back into the box in her mind. There was no reason to give Kat another excuse to believe she was free to come back for a visit.

She made it to the elevators, and then S-deck quickly, intent on keeping herself busy and making good time. Stepping out of the elevator, a corridor ran on either side of the door, but Monsoon's lighting led her straight ahead, through another few doors, until she stepped out into a massive room designed for fitting all the Infinity's Spartans in their armor and tuning it as needed. A few dozen Spartans could be seen, some running on treadmills, others in the armor fitting rings, and still more observing or instructing their comrades, but techs swarmed all over the place, busying themselves with the Spartans.

The room was a large rectangle in shape, with three ascending rows of armor fitting rings on either side, the area lit up and giving off the coloring of a stark white medical room, despite being the farthest thing from it.

"Ma'am."

Her head turned to the right, coming face to face with a shorter woman, albeit barely. A thin nose, brown eyes, hair pulled back in a bun and parted to the right, and a pair of full lips had Morgan's green eyes meeting those brown ones. Morgan also made note that, rather than armor, she was in the bare techsuit. That seemed to be the standard for Spartans on the ship. "Yes?" Her response was quick, sliding into the professional face that she had been learning to don again.

"Spartan Sarah Palmer, Alpha Company Commander for the Spartan detachment and I lead Fireteam Vegas. I've been instructed to guide you around and show you the ropes, ma'am."

Morgan stared for a few moments, taking in the details of the woman and her position, before nodding. "Understood. Let's go then, Spartan."

"Yes, ma'am." With a gesture and turning her back, Palmer took off at a walk. "First thing's first, medical processing. Not too much outside of ensuring records are properly updated for the start of tour, and to hit you with some new cocktails of meds that have been deployed for all Spartans branch wide. Mostly a formality, but…" Palmer shrugged, looking back over her shoulder.

"And then?" Morgan moved next to the other woman, keeping her eyes moving and her head looking around.

"Then comes the armor fitting and suit testing to make sure you're capable of moving without issues. There'll be a period of a week or two that you'll be participating in War Games scenarios and other situations to both ensure that your armor is fully ready to go and to gain some currency after so many years out."

"Currency isn't something I'm all that worried about, Palmer," she replied, glancing back at the other woman.

"That's what the others thought, too, but some of the IIIs that have been folded into the program struggled with the GEN2 armor sets. It takes some time to tune them for you and get you back to full muscle memory status. Usually, the IVs do it during their augmentation period, but the IIIs still struggle a bit, despite having never really left their armor."

Morgan grunted. "Fair enough. Has armor already been shipped in or am I starting from scratch?"

"Shipment came in a few days ago on its own, ONI fingerprints all over it. Figure you must have friends in the shadows, Commander."

"If only you knew, Palmer."

The two stopped their conversation as they stepped into one of the side doors further across the wall to the maintenance bay, leading into one of the medical bays capable of treating an entire fireteam's worth of Spartans, injured or otherwise. Palmer stepped to the side, crossing her arms in front of her as a pair of medical technicians appeared from a separated room, one hidden behind a thick barrier. Both were covered in what would usually classify as HAZMAT gear, only their eyes being visible, and even those were hidden behind protective materials.

Glancing at Palmer, Morgan voiced her concerns. "There a reason why I'm getting handled by a de-con team?"

"Protective measures. Civvie stuff is still standard x-ray, CT, MRI gear that's been in use for centuries, but Infinity has a couple of new toys. More precise, more clear, more… better. Trade off is that it's kinda nasty for normal people, so these machines are solely for Spartan personnel with our enhanced everything. Not being used at the moment but it's standard gear for the techs."

Morgan grimaced, but it didn't last as she was shuffled into place under a setup that looked like the armor rigs outside, putting her feet into stirrups and her hands into a hollow cylinder with a grip point inside. Her feet were locked into place, and her hands soon after, before several restraint pieces were hooked into the armor bolt points in her tech suit, and she was left completely immobile as the tech suit went rigid, the low hum of electricity in her ears.

Another frown. This was new. One of the techs stepped in front of her, a few tools in hand. "Commander, I'm sorry for any discomfort, but most Spartan medical evals are a little… different, than what you may be used to. Luckily, your tech suit allows us to better monitor your status and gives perfect injection sites for any and all procedures we may need to do that don't require a dedicated operating theater."

"So my tech suit is more useful than the GEN1 version?"

The tech nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's got plenty of features that can be added on the fly as well, depending on mission set or armor pieces installed. For example, some variants of the GEN2 suits can be equipped with extra medical for missions where a dedicated Spartan medical response would be needed."

Morgan hummed, taking it all in. She would need to read up more on the armor and its changes from the first generation whenever she got access to whatever office they had set up for her. "Understood. Let's get this over with then."

"We'll try to go easy on you for your first day back, ma'am."

Morgan started to respond, but it was cut off as several needles were pushed into her system, one in each shoulder, each arm, each hip, each leg, and one each on the base of her spine and the base of her neck. She struggled against the sudden pain, grunting, but was unable to move in any way, short of her eyes and mouth.

It lasted for only thirty seconds, but it felt like forever to the Spartan, and she grimaced as the needles were pulled back and separate arms were pushed forward, squirting a small amount of biofoam into the injection ports that had been used. The burn of the antiseptic mixed with the stinging pain of the injections themselves were quickly wiped away by the numbing agent in the biofoam, and after a moment, the techs warned her to hold onto the grips, because they were unlocking the restraints one at a time.

Her hands were released first, and she pulled one down before the body restraints went next. Finally, her feet were freed, and she stepped back onto the deck, flexing her shoulders and hips, still not entirely pleased with the whole thing, but more or less she was fine. It hadn't been a major procedure, mainly a package of antibiotics, immune boosters, vaccinations, and other preparatory drugs that would acclimate her to a ship this size and the environment that it had become over time.

Frowning slightly, she thanked the techs and turned back to Palmer, leaning against the wall near the entrance. "Armor?"

A nod, and Palmer pushed off the wall. She was through the door with Morgan on her heels shortly after, already beelining for the far end of the room, where a glass enclosure with a balcony overlooked the area like a command center. Several of the armor rigs were open and empty, but techs were standing by the one directly under the balcony, an armor case sealed and waiting for its Spartan to come and claim it.

Her heart started to race a little as she took in the storage case that Mjolnir regularly came in. It had been years since she had laid eyes on one, and the last time had been when she'd sealed her armor away at the end of the war. She thought she'd never be in this position again, but… here she was, and things were different now.

Closing the distance felt like it took longer than it should have, anticipation building until she stood face to face with the crate, her reflection looking back at her.

"Ma'am?" She looked away from herself, looking at the tech that had spoken. He seemed to falter for only a second. "I need to access the control panel to unseal it, ma'am."

Morgan's lips parted, ready to say something, before she realized that she was blocking the panel, and nodded, stepping back. "Sorry."

The tech moved into place and punched the code in, before allowing it to scan his eye, and the crate hissed and opened up, revealing several blue colored armor pieces. It looked like when she had first opened the case on the Cairo with the Master Gunnery Sergeant, but with the additions from the battle on The Ark. It even had the shell holder modification and she could see the antenna poking over the right shoulder. She swallowed, before she saw herself again.

The golden visor on the Mark VI helmet was pristine, no dirt caked on or damage to the material. No fingerprint dents in the top or sides of the helmet. It was new, and all that had been on the armor from her struggles on Earth, on Halo, on the Ark… it had all been wiped away. A blank slate that was ready to welcome her into another war in another time once again.

She frowned when she realized she had been standing there for some time, and the techs were waiting for her. Some had exchanged glances, others fidgeting with the armor rig, making calculations that didn't really matter, just to avoid staring. Palmer was off to the side, directly across from the rig, watching with an interesting look on her face.

Nodding to herself, Morgan turned her back on Palmer and wordlessly stepped up onto the armor rig, going through the steps as she had in the medical bay until she was secured in place. With that as their cue, the techs set off to work, and the hum of electricity filled her ears again.

Several processes went on, her tech suit shifting and changing as the internals in it were calibrated and the pressure across the suit adjusted from minimum to maximum, mimicking the hydrostatic gel layer from the GEN1 suits. Rigidity and tension was next, and finally, relaxed. The calibrations themselves went on for several minutes, without a word from her. It was all computer calibrated now based on biosigns. Things had changed. She remembered her first tech suit, all those years ago, had taken hours to properly fit and adjust to her.

When they finished, the techs broke into pairs, lugging the armor pieces out as several arms dropped down in a group for armor preparation. When on the ship and not in armor, the pieces would remain here, attached to the rig. This was her rig and hers alone, and she would need to suit up here.

Once the armor was attached to all of the different arms, they pulled back up into the area above the rig, and one of the techs asked if she was ready. A nod, and the process started. Boots were attached, then the legs. Her rig shifted and changed as she was turned this way and that, the armor pieces held in place by the rig's arms and bolted together as if it was child's play. The legs were finished, her chest piece came on and the backplate was held in place before they were bolted together. Gauntlets, forearm armor, upper arm sets, and finally, the large shoulder pauldrons that had given her the iconic silhouette at the end were put in place. Everything was set up, until the rig placed her back upright, and one last piece came on.

The helmet was lowered slowly onto her head, and she watched the transition from her naked eyes to the interior of the old helmet. It didn't smell like sweat and blood anymore, old memories rushing back to her as that HUD settled into place. It smelled like… new car smell. The Master Gunnery Sergeant's voice was in her ears again, and she blinked. Where was he now? It didn't matter. He was probably out of the military by now, living a life that had been put on hold too long, just like she had been.

The HUD in her eyes brought her back to it, the shield bar flashing between red and blue as the BIOS finished updating and scrolling past. Several more things came online. The motion tracker, empty at first, filled with dots and information. Combat rosters updated rapidly, filling with the name of every Spartan Fireteam on Infinity and registering the bio signs of all of them based on their tech suit readouts, snatched up and carried through receivers all through the ship to keep command appraised of their status at all times. Then, her name appeared at the top, but it was different this time.

Spartan Morgan Bailey.

B312 was gone, it seemed. Her eyes had picked up several numbers that registered as the roster had passed by, including several Gamma company Spartan IIIs, and a few Beta company, but her number had been taken and replaced by a last name, her own.

It gave her pause, but it didn't last long. All of the names had been settled into fireteams and given callsigns, and her own name was separated into a separate location designated command, along with a host of other Spartans that would be working closely with her either as a command presence or battlefield operators, or if the need came down to it, her own personal fireteam for certain missions.

But she would meet them later. She needed to finish this. The techs were waiting for her to commence shield tests. "Ready," she said, nodding to them. One of them nodded back and threw a switch, and the armor pulsed with energy as the rig's power was removed and the reactor pack came online. The alarm in her head sounded loudly, warbling as she grunted and clenched her teeth before dropping the volume and waiting for it to charge all the way with a muted, but satisfying beep.

Satisfied, the techs noted several things on a control panel on the rig's pedestal, and she was released. Stepping out of the rig, it was like she was faster. Not as bad as it had been her first time in the suit, but noticeably so after years out of it. She flexed her hands, her arms, her legs, everything. It was all done slowly and on her own time, a distant callback to the routine she had performed in the beginning to get acclimated and judge the differences in her speed.

Satisfied, she nodded again to herself and stepped forward. Looking at the techs, they cleared her to go, and she moved toward Palmer, the golden visor sealing her inside of the suit doing nothing to reflect Morgan's facial expression. Raising an eyebrow had gone unnoticed, and she frowned. "I'm ready for whatever's next."

"Next, the bridge. You'll be meeting with the brass," Palmer responded, meeting her new commander halfway.

"Understood."

The response was short and clipped, and Morgan noticed that Palmer was quick to keep her moving. Palmer was good so far, a little nonchalant, but ultimately there was nothing wrong with her demeanor. Spartans had always been, in her experience, a little nonchalant. The IIIs had all had their chips on their shoulders, but capable of being informal. Even Jorge had gotten used to their way of things. Only the Master Chief had ever been stoic and formal, but even he had been able to crack a joke from time to time. But he was gone now.

Another frown. Memories dragged back to those that had been gone for years now. She didn't think she would ever get over them, even if she was able to hide them away in the back of her mind to stop the pain that never truly went away.

The trek through the ship was once again quick and short, with someone guiding her. It was easy to get around when you had a map with you. A tram ride, another elevator, and a 50 meters of walking brought them to the main bridge, where a guard was always posted in full armor, and rather than marines, two Spartan IVs stood waiting, their visors watching the newcomers as they came closer. Palmer saluted, and Morgan followed. The two saluted back, and Morgan glanced over the holographic IFF tags they had. Riker and Genoa. Ultimately only important later, but right now, she had more pressing matters on her mind.

Stepping through the door onto the bridge, Morgan and Palmer stopped, both coming to attention and saluting at the back of someone hunched over a holographic table that reminded her of the battle planner on the Forward Unto Dawn. Turning around, an older man with a graying widow's peek set his eyes on them, a severe appearance making him seem as if he was already angry with knit brows and a permanent scowl.

Returning the salute, Captain Andrew Del Rio put his hands behind his back. "At ease, Spartans." The two dropped their hands quickly, mirroring his stance. Another man, standing behind a tech at another station, made his way over. A much younger man with brown hair and a smattering of stress lines, the rank insignia of a commander, and a heavy armored pauldron on one side of his uniform stopped next to Del Rio.

Morgan reached up to remove her helmet, holding it under one arm as Del Rio started. "Commander, welcome to the Infinity. I received your service record, plenty of black ink on it that shows ONI has a very divested interest in you-" I read your file, even the parts the ONI censors didn't want me to. "-but that doesn't mean that you're above procedure or protocol." Del Rio's scowl deepened slightly, enough to be noticeable.

"No, sir," she replied, falling back into the old methods of doing things, when she had been ONI's pet attack dog.

"You'll be reporting directly to myself, or Commander Lasky, and be included in top level briefings regarding operations, planning, and more. This means that your position as commander of the Spartan detachment will prevent you entering the field yourself unless under the most dire of circumstances. You will be expected to maintain proficiency in all things expected of you, combat based or otherwise."

Morgan fought off a frown. There was little so far of Del Rio's personality that led to him being a leader. He seemed more like… she reached for her experiences, and noticed that he seemed more like the manager of a store than a leader. "Understood, sir." There was little to say to him that would fit what she expected him to look for outside of complete following. She didn't like it, but she would do what she had to. She had signed the contract, after all. She wanted this… didn't she?

"Good. I'm glad you know how this works. You were our last boarder. We'll be preparing to shove off in just a few minutes. I'll be remaining here to oversee the jump. Commander Lasky will continue the inbriefing with you in a separate briefing room, update your clearance level, and set you up with whatever else is needed." A glance at Lasky, and Lasky nodded to the Captain. "Dismissed, Spartans."

The two saluted once again, and Del Rio returned it before he turned back to the holotable and Lasky stepped forward, gesturing back towards the door. He led the way out, and almost immediately into another room to the side. With the door shutting behind them again, Lasky stopped at a briefing table, next to one of the walls and with seats facing the wall and table in a semi circle around it.

He started to speak, looking to Palmer. "Spartan Palmer, thank you for your work in getting the Commander up to speed, but that'll be all we need from you for now. You're dismissed."

Palmer saluted, her heels clicking together this time. "Sir." With that, she dropped her salute and was gone back out the door as if she'd never been there.

Morgan looked back to Lasky, the commander going on. "You're really taking the whole 'big shoes to fill' and throwing them out the door, Commander."

"Sir?"

"I'm saying that there's really no other Spartan better for the job, at least not that we have access to."

"So I've been told, sir."

Lasky shook his head. "Please, call me Tom. You've done more than I'll likely ever hope to do, and rank permits it. I feel a little more comfortable that way, at least." He gave a half smile that showed in his eyes a little, and Morgan narrowed her eyes the smallest bit. There it was.

Lasky should have been in charge of the ship, had she had any say in it. But she didn't. Either way, Lasky seemed more like a leader than the managerial style of Del Rio, and that was enough for her to know she would follow Lasky until he showed reason not to.

"Alright… Tom."

His smile grew a little bit more, and he gave her a nod, gesturing to the two seats nearest the front. "Take a seat, this might take a while."

Moving for one of the seats first, he called out. "Monsoon, prep recording, inbrief, 1407, ship standard time, June 17th, 2557."

"Aye sir, recording started, all relevant files and procedures ready for currency update of Commander Morgan Bailey in preparation for assuming command of Infinity Spartan Detachment, henceforth INFSPARCOM."

The artificial voice was immediate, and Lasky relaxed back into the chair as Morgan frowned, looking at the chair, afraid of it not being able to hold her weight. "Relax, commander. These chairs were designed with Spartans in mind. It'll hold you just fine."

Morgan nodded, and sat in the chair slowly, relaxing once the chair failed to make any sound or creak that it would collapse.

"Ready to get started?" He asked, looking over at her with that smile that showed he was resigned to going through the procedure. Nobody liked updating clearances or preparing a new command.

"I'm ready," she replied.

"Let's get this over with then."