"May death claim me first."

"Ah, no my love. You cannot go first. I could not make sense of the world if you did."

- Sabaa Tahir, A Sky Beyond the Storm.


A war was raging in the streets of New Phoenix and Tucson, the Spartans of UNSC Infinity fighting as valiantly as those that had come before them against an unending tide of aliens and their mechanical compatriots. It was close, dirty, and like living life a second at a time. The Covenant Remnant and Forerunner Prometheans had fired on anything in range, cutting down people and vehicles, damaging buildings, and running amok in a way that Earth hadn't seen in years.

Fireteams of five Spartans at a time were swung with all the force of a hammer and the surgical precision of a scalpel, cutting to the heart of whatever stood in front of them in cold methodicalness before crushing it in their armored grips. They spread out like a swarm of angry hornets defending their hive. It wouldn't be the first time the continent had seen Murder Hornets.

Spartan Paul August, Crown Two, was receiving new information in a lull in the fighting after wiping out a group that had attempted to attack their command post. Without their leader on the ground, it had fallen to him to guide the fireteam and the ground battle in Tucson. Hunkered down behind a heavy barricade, he glanced at Helen Castille, her Scanner pattern armor's visor covered by the large scanner attachment. Designed for search and rescue, it had been adapted to provide medical readouts and the information she needed to stabilize whoever she came across, be it Spartan or civilian.

A squirt of biofoam and a foldable stabilizing splint finished healing the eight-year-old girl's broken leg, and Helen's words were a soothing presence in what was the most stressful moment of the girl's life so far. Tears streaked down her face, and while she was still terrified, at least her leg wasn't hurting anymore.

Marines in a Pelican had just touched down, and more were spreading across the city to support Spartan operations and act as a holding force if need be. A Warthog with an M41 chaingun fell from the mag locks, and the squad sent men into it before they set off at a jog, the Warthog rolling slowly behind them. The little girl was carried onto the Pelican for medical evacuation, and other people that had been sent to where fireteam Crown had established a command point and an evacuation station were loaded onboard as well until they were at maximum capacity.

August wanted nothing more than to join the fight himself, but he knew he was better here, protecting those that couldn't protect themselves, protecting his squadmates while they did the important job of stabilizing these people. He was the wall that the Remnant and Prometheans would break against.

With the girl gone, Castille's scanner went up, and she frowned behind her helmet. She wanted to get out there just as much as August did, but she knew her place. She started to say something. "I think that's the-"

She was interrupted by a warning that the rest of them got, but she was seeing far more than they did as her scanner dropped back in front of her face. The squad roster had just pinged Crown One as almost going cardiac. Her heart rate had gone from what might have been a skipped beat to a spiking pulse, doubling their usual. Her blood pressure went through the roof. Adrenaline and cortisol levels rose abruptly. Helen had only had an instant to look it over before a blood curdling howl filled their net, and Spartans across the battlefield witnessed it at the same time.

One of their own had been wounded in a way that not even their superhuman bodies could stop, and there would be blood flowing in rivers before the Spartan was done.


A hundred miles to the northwest of where Crown was watching the signals her armor was sending out, Morgan was entering what most would call a fight or flight response, but there would be no flight for her. There was a single thing on her mind at that moment: Making it to the crash site.

Her throat was raw as another scream ripped it's way through her and into her helmet. Her eyes were dark as the pupils dilated completely, her skin paled, her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest.

She didn't hear the calls from Caesar, didn't hear the Broadsword pilots, and didn't hear Castille calling to her. Proximity warnings flooded the cockpit as the Sabre dropped through five thousand feet, twenty-five-hundred, a thousand. The radar altimeter screeched and the onboard warning system incessantly repeated its order. Pull up. Pull up. Altitude. Altitude. It fell on deaf ears as the Sabre kept going down towards a stretch of empty road, the throttle pulled back and the speedbrakes out.

And then everybody within a mile heard the ear splitting sound of metal on asphalt, the Sabre skittering across the road and slowing rapidly, spinning around counter clockwise with the canopy already popping off and slamming into a nearby building before bouncing off and landing on the asphalt a hundred feet from where the Sabre finally came to rest.

Any normal pilot would have punched out in such a situation, or if they had ridden it down, would be in a world of hurt right about now. But Morgan Bailey was no normal pilot, and as far as anybody knew, Morgan Bailey had been put in the backseat, rational thoughts and command presence gone in the face of a nightmare come to life. Neither of those things had a place here.

Morgan-B312 had been let back out of her box, and she had stepped up to the brink and dived over the edge.

A blue armored figure clutching a shotgun in both hands was out of the stricken Sabre before it fully stopped, armored boots thundering across the asphalt at a speed that only Spartans could attain. Legs were a blur, arms pumping as the shotgun went to her back.

Cars and the bodies of civilians were barely even obstacles. Morgan hurtled up and over them, faster than any Olympian had ever moved. Entire blocks went by in an instant to the tunnel visioned woman, and she saw the black smoke rising up and out of a street ahead, only a few hundred meters away.

Plasma fire came from an alley ahead, a woman running out and looking back behind her before she took a hit to the head and went down without a sound, skidding across the ground for a moment before coming to rest. It didn't make her slow down.

She still didn't slow down whenever the Elite that had killed the woman wandered out of the alley, ears picking up the sound of her boots on the ground. He only had time to spread his mandibles in surprise and bring his plasma rifle up before Morgan was on him.

Her right hand was up and cocked, and as she closed on the Elite at almost 50 kilometers per hour, she used all her strength to slam it forward. A half ton of augmented human, muscle, and grief came together with the Elite's head in a way that spun the Elite's head around 180 degrees, the alien body dropped to the ground just as its most recent victim had done.

And still Morgan did not stop.

She was closing on the wreck of the Pelican now, her heart racing, blood in her ears like a constant stream of drums. Fire was dancing across the ground, flickering as the fuel it had been ignited on was burned away. Smoke poured from the wreckage of the downed Pelican, flowing out of the bay and a section where fuel was still leaking from the frame like blood on a wounded animal.

Finally, she slowed down, diving into the damaged bay and making for the cockpit door. Opening it, she slipped in, closing it behind her to prevent any more smoke from coming in, something that would have been impossible in one of gunship variants with the twin bubble canopy rather than the traditional cockpit.

The windscreen was smashed completely, shards of glass spilled across the floor. Displays were destroyed, the twin control stations sparking with remnants of electricity. The co-pilot was slumped in their seat, red spreading across their back from a small point that was poking through. Whether they were alive or not, Morgan wouldn't know yet, her first instinct being to check the pilot.

To see if her wife was dead or not.

Immediately, Morgan's hand went to her neck, the sensors in the gloves detected a faint but consistent pulse. A weight lifted off of the Spartan, and she started running her fingers gently around Amber's neck, checking for damaged bones, and finding none, before doing the same to her back.

Gently, Morgan lifted the slumped form back into the seat, and a glance at Amber's chest revealed that she hadn't been injured there, at least not that Morgan could see.

Her neck was clear of any blood, and her helmet had a nasty crack running through it, the visor showing a crack that jumped from the helmet to the visor, and halfway down the crack, the visor had split and a large piece had come off, revealing a nasty wound that was already bleeding heavily before dropping off of her chin. Pulling the helmet off, Morgan dropped it to get a better look at the wound. It was trailing down from two inches above her right eyebrow, skipping over her eye just barely, and continuing down her cheek and across her lips. It had likely been smashed when it impacted against her controls during the crash, a sizable dent in her pilot's console that was undoubtedly from the initial impact.

Morgan sighed explosively, feeling her hands trembling ever so slightly. Pulling Amber out of the pilots' seat and setting her on the cockpit floor, Morgan pulled a canister of biofoam from one of her waist pouches. Putting two fingers on Amber's right eye to cover it, she started to squirt biofoam on Amber's facial wound. It would anesthetize, sanitize, and cover the wound all at once and start distributing a coagulating agent and facilitating healing to prevent scar tissue.

She wanted to curse, being unable to see her direct vitals, like she would be able to with a Spartan. There wasn't any blood spreading anywhere across Amber's body, save for her face, but there was no telling what kind of internal injuries she had.

Finally, it was time to check the co-pilot, and she felt a pang of guilt, of self-loathing as she realized she hadn't been objective. She had barely even given the co-pilot a glance, terrified for her wife's well being.

A closer look at the blood spreading across their back, she saw that whatever had penetrated was somewhat shiny in what little light filtered through the cockpit. Lifting them up against the back of the seat, Morgan sighed again. A large piece of the cockpit glass had impaled them, and a glance up showed a large piece of a lightpole right up against the cockpit ceiling. It had been what destroyed the glass, or at least what glass hadn't been destroyed in the impact.

Whatever the case, they were gone, and Morgan grabbed their tags before returning to Amber, gently picking her up and walking back to the bay, one hand covering her mouth and nose for a moment until they were out of the smoke.

The blood thundering in her ears had stopped, tunnel vision had disappeared, she was still shaking slightly. All signs of her adrenaline having started to leave her behind. Swallowing, she keyed her comm.

"Crown Actual to any stations this net. Respond."

Her suit's long range radio should be strong enough to reach out to the Spartans in the facility, Goblin flight, or possibly even Yokai flight. There was no response, and she tried again, before a click replied with enough static to nearly drown out the person on the other end.

"Cr... ing by… ix mil… west. D… ad me?"

She knew it was a long shot, but had no other choices. "Last transmitter, signal one by five, please repeat."

There was nothing for a few moments, and she started to wonder if they'd even heard her, when a Vulture hovered overhead, heavy engines alight as they kept the big gunship floating.

The voice on the other end was loud and clear. "Crown Actual, this is Yokai One, we read you loud and clear. One of the Pelicans you just spoke with sent us your channel. What's your status?"

A whimper of relief escaped her. "Crown is green. Co-pilot KIA from crash of Wizard One, pilot wounded, state yellow-red."

"...Roger Crown. We're on two nets trying to sort it out. Knight Three is on the way here now, but they're gonna have to take the long way and fly NOE. Commander Gibson wants to know what happened with your bird, says it's still sending information across the datalink."

She bit her cheek. "Ditched."

"...Did you say ditched?"

"Yes, Yokai. Ditched."

The pilot seemed to hesitate. "...Uh... Roger that, ma'am. Relaying. Until that bird gets here, we'll cover you. Do you need extract?"

"Negative, only MEDEVAC. I'm still combat capable."

"Copy all, will transmit to all parties. Transmission to Infinity is being obstructed by something, we're on our own. Expect ten minutes for Knight to touch down."

"Understood, keep me appraised, pilot."

"Aye, ma'am."

Ten minutes. That was how long she'd be here, watching over her wife's unconscious form. The rushing of the Vulture's thrusters drifted a bit as it moved around in the sky above, twin autocannons moving on gimbal mounts, scanning for targets. They were both safe so long as Yokai was watching over them.

One of her hands came up to Amber's left cheek, gently cupping it in her hand and frowning. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster."

The words came out before she could stop them, speaking to someone who she only hoped could hear her. She tried to swallow around a large lump in her throat, but failed. She followed Amber's limbs down her flight suit, looking for anything else that might be wrong, and she winced and almost turned away when she saw that Amber's right hand had suffered an injury, her thumb sticking out in a not-normal direction.

It had been dislocated at the least, broken at worst, but she didn't see any bones sticking out or pushing against the skin. With care only a surgeon could have, Morgan reset Amber's thumb, and it held. Outside of Biofoam, there was nothing she could do, and even it wouldn't be effective for this.

Instead of dwelling too much, Morgan forced herself to continue checking for injuries, and she was startled at the sound of Yokai's autocannons firing off in the direction she had come from. She leveled her breathing as she called out to them. "Yokai, status."

"Couple of party crashers, stumbled upon some Elite that looks like he got hit by a damn freight train. Might have been his squad, since he looked alone. We've dealt with them, ma'am."

Relieved, if only a little, she nodded to herself. "Appreciate it. Out."

Back to checking for wounds. Hands ran up and down each arm and leg, her gloves giving her information as she did. No wetness, no open wounds, no bones struggling to break through. Her chest and abdomen were next, and still nothing.

It put her at ease on the surface, but there was no telling if there was internal bleeding or if it was anything severe. It bothered her. She had gotten here as fast as she could, had done everything in her power and now, she was left to wait for evac. It was agonizing deep inside.

But what could she do now? Nothing.

Instead, she just took her wife's hand, running her thumb over the back of it slowly, and eventually, the Pelican from Knight flight was heard in the distance, engines whining and echoing off of buildings before it came into sight and touched down, twisting to point the rear bay at her. A Marine squad ran out of the Pelican, weapons up and surrounding the two women. A medic was already unfolding a stretcher.

With the heat and sudden high gusts from the thrusters, two brown eyes cracked open, looking skyward for a few moments, before looking into a golden visor, locking on to green eyes that lay just behind.

Inside that helmet, Morgan almost gasped, her eyes widening, and she reached up with her free hand to rip her helmet off, to look into her wife's eyes without a visor between them. She smiled almost on instinct at seeing Amber's eyes again, and her voice was a little shaky.

"Hey, you. You uh… you took a pretty nasty hit there."

Amber blinked slowly, eyebrows knitting together. "Yeah…" She started to clear her throat and winced. "Fuck… head is splitting."

The Marines with the stretcher got on the other side of Amber from Morgan, and the big woman didn't stop them as they lifted Amber into the stretcher, but she never let go of Amber's hand. "You're being medevaced. Not to Infinity. Your fight's over, love."

Another groan from Amber. "I don't know if I ever wanna go back to another if this is what it feels like getting older." Another wince as her head seemed to bother her. Whatever that crash did to her, the concussion was something that over the counter meds weren't going to fix.

"Maybe that's for the best," Morgan admitted. "At least you're still pretty."

Amber started to laugh, but immediately winced again, and Morgan felt a slight pang as she did. "Shit, don't… make me laugh."

At that, Morgan's smile returned, a little stronger than before. Her helmet went to her belt, her free hand going to Amber's chest. "You'll be alright, they'll take care of you." Tapping Amber's chest gently, right where she knew her wedding ring was resting, Morgan's voice dropped into a whisper. "You keep this warm, alright? I'll want to see it again when I get back." Almost as if she was trying to fill the void that her wife's evac would leave, she kept going. "It'll be like I'm there with you, and I will be, as soon as I can."

Amber's eyes opened and brown met green. "I know you will. Now get out there and finish what you started, Spartan." Her words were hard, something Morgan hadn't expected, and she couldn't help but grin. Even with a recent crash under her belt, Hocus knew how to motivate her wife.

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave Amber's hand one more squeeze and looked to the Marine squad leader, the last man back onto the bird. Putting one massive armored hand on his shoulder, she stopped him with little effort. "Anything changes, relay to Commander Marcus Gibson on the Infinity. If anyone tries to stop you or say you can't go through them, reference Sierra-312 and tell them that it's important, and when I find out about it, I will come down on them so hard they'll wish they had been in that crash."

The Marine was startled, but nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I promise."

With that, she let him go, and stepped off the bird, leaving without looking back, because she knew if she looked back, she'd never want to turn away again.

Yokai continued to hover overhead, the two pilots watching as that mythical figure from the end of the Great War came back to the field in full, ready to remind the Covenant's remnants just why Spartans had been dubbed Demons in those long dark years.


The several hundred meters between her and the facility disappeared faster than it would have for any other person, and her shotgun was cradled in her hands like it was her child. The parking lot was covered in corpses and battle damage from the strafing runs, and she stooped at the body of a Marine wearing a large radio backpack.

This had been the JTAC she had been in contact with during the initial strikes. Frowning, she reached down, taking his weapon from his hands and pulling the magazines from his armored rig. "Sorry, Marine. I'll take a few for you." Sliding a new magazine home in the MA5D, she gave it a once over, worked the bolt a few times, checked the mag release, and finally tuned the smart link scope. It was already generating a crosshair on her HUD so she didn't need the smart link, but it was there just in case. Sliding it over her shoulder onto her back, she grabbed the few grenades he had and slotted them into her belt pouches.

The shotgun came back into her hands, and she took a moment. Inside, she could hear the distant whine of plasma weapons and the return fire from her Spartans echoing off of the walls. Occasionally, the deep thrum of a Forerunner weapon firing joined the rest. Tuning in to the fireteam net inside, she took a deep breath, remembering an old thing she had done when she knew things were about to go south. Something to let the combat high take hold, to let Spartan time kick in, to let the legend come back to life.

And just like that, Morgan-B312 had returned to her mind, and she entered the facility at a run, following the path of death and destruction that her fireteams had made for her.

The comm keyed up almost as soon as she was in. "All stations inside the facility, blue force entering main concourse. Crown One on the field."

The voice that came back belonged to none other than Spartan Sarah Palmer. "Aye, ma'am. We've left you a trail to follow, sending mapping information to you now."

When it came through a moment later, she saw that the plans of the entire base had been forwarded, rooms in orange marked as visited and cleared, and rooms in a dark color having not been seen. They had been making good time, just as she had expected from Vegas and the others that had gone through. Several rooms had been marked priority, and she made a note of them before the map shrunk and went to a corner of her HUD. "Palmer, status?"

"Green, ma'am. They're putting up a helluva fight. Got a few scientists reached us with the intercomm, say they need to get to a hot room and they can shut these portals off.. We do that and we can mop up quick. Otherwise, we're fighting a never ending horde of the bastards."

The sounds of combat grew louder as she closed on them, going through rooms that were filled with corpses, rivers of blood, and spent shell casings. "Babysitting or clearing a path?"

"Neither. They're locked in a safe room right now, and our guests are trying to beat their door down. We get there, clear the safe room, and they can access the hot room. Everything else is secondary, rest of the teams are on cleanup and keeping them from coming behind us."

"Understood. Moving up on your six now."

"Aye, ma'am. Contact received, got you on motion tracker. Damned good to have you with us instead of against us this time."

Morgan didn't miss the almost joking tone in her voice. "Show me you've improved, Palmer, and I won't have to wipe the floor with your team again."

The laugh that came back was at home even as hardlight and plasma passed around the cover Palmer hunkered behind. Morgan entered the room they were in, spotting all five members of Vegas in varying spots of cover. She slammed into place next to Palmer, behind a thick pillar. She didn't miss the looks the other Spartans gave her.

Holding two magnums up, the blue visor of Palmer's Scout helmet met Morgan's Mark VI. "Orders, ma'am?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow at that, even though it wasn't seen. "Orders? That's your job, Palmer. I'm just here as another Spartan."

The helmet twitched ever so slightly, before Palmer went on without missing a step. "Alright! You heard her, Vegas! Time to show the Commander why we're the high rollers on Infinity!"

Just like that, Morgan's presence and a few good words were all that was needed to put a shot of adrenaline in Vegas' arms.

The fire started to slack off, the enemy force seeming to wonder why none of the Spartans had poked their heads out in so long. Across from her, Morgan saw Spartan Manning, Vegas' pointman, hold up his shotgun and point at it. Morgan got the message, and responded with a nod. Taking her own shotgun in both hands, she ensured a shell was in the chamber, and nodded again. A flash of status lights was all that was needed.

Red. Yellow. Green.

Then the two Spartans were in motion, moving like a pair of blurs, one white, one blue. The fire intensified immediately and their shields flickered to life as plasma and hardlight splashed against them. It wouldn't stop them, nor slow them, and they pushed through to contact, just like Spartans always had.

Morgan was faster, her shotgun barrel coming up as she got within range of an Elite, and pulled the trigger. The buckshot made it through the shields and the Elite behind them ceased to exist as his chest turned into nothing more than ground meat.

That was for Hocus.

Morgan's blood heated the moment she thought about it, when that named passed through her mind again. The first firefight inside and she was already compromised. She had either been out of the game too long, or she'd become more emotional than she'd expected. What had she expected?

Another Elite fell to her left, energy sword ignited in hand, and it winked out with it's owner when Manning dropped him. Rifles chattered behind her with the dry couch of Palmer's magnums as Vegas started to suppress and support their breachers. The Elites remaining had fallen just as quickly as their compatriots, and a slew of Grunts started to turn tail and run. They didn't make it far.

The crack of O'hara's sniper rifle sent a round through the farthest Grunt's methane tank, holing it and causing an explosion that sent the rest of them on their backs. Then it was just mopping up, almost literally.

At the end of it all, she felt herself frown. She was no stranger to combat. Time on Requiem showed that much. Was it because of Hocus? That lack of focus? Would it be a driving force behind her fighting harder than she ever had, or would it be what got her killed?

With Vegas skirting around her in a combat glide, she realized she didn't know, and decided she'd do what she always did.

Wing it.


More firefights went as they had before, and Vegas' original mission had been sped up as they added Morgan's firepower and expertise to their group. They were all good, better than when they'd started, that was how IVs worked. They took a solid foundation and a lot less trauma and they built it up with the addition of their Spartan augmentations, but they were only a shadow of what the IIs and IIIs had been.

Better than any Marine squad by far, the IVs were like children compared to the lifetime of brutality and training that had been drilled into their forebears. Morgan's answer to the ONI handler that had pulled her out of Sapphire Point when she was a child had been that she wanted revenge. She remembered that much clearly. That revenge had been what made every Spartan III what they were, and they had honed it to a razor sharp edge.

The taste of her skills that Vegas had gotten along with their bloodied nose in that initial simulation between them and her was reinforced, and they realized now that Morgan had been everything her service record had said and more.

At least, that was true about the parts that hadn't been covered in black ink.

She and Manning were effectively a two man wrecking ball crew, and while the big man could fight better than any non-augmented human, he was clumsy compared to the dancer's grace with which Morgan flowed through combat, switching to a crude, heavy battering ram when she got within range of her targets.

Truly, a daughter Ares would be proud of.

Her visor glittered with a mixture of her shotgun's muzzle flash, her shield's flaring, and the slew of colors that came from enemy weaponry. She closed the distance as she always had, getting up close and personal, and just for an instant that she never truly caught on to, she felt a sense of satisfaction watching the light in her enemy's eyes fade.

Trauma never really healed, after all.

Another energy sword slid past her, and her elbow came up and over the Elite's arm in a flash, and Manning and the rest of Vegas watched and saw just how personal the IIIs had taken things where the IIs were mechanical and methodical, and the IVs colored by their experiences before their augmentations.

She clamped down on the arm, holding it tight, and twisted her body quick enough that the bones in the Elite's arm disintegrated. He had enough time for his mandibles to spread and his scream to start before the shotgun was shoved into the bottom of his mouth and then he was gone, along with most of his head.

She didn't miss a beat, letting go and snatching the energy sword's hilt from where it had fallen while slotting the shotgun onto her back. A pistol she had grabbed from a downed security forces Marine came off of her hip, and the sword lit up in the other. Grunts continued to try and reposition or even flee. Each one got a bullet to the head, and the ones that didn't were brought down by a withering hail of heavy slugs, falling all the same.

Another twist, like a ballerina spinning on pointed shoes, and Morgan's new toy carved through a Promethean that had teleported into the room, orange skull alight for but a second before it was cut nearly in half and the light faded before it disintegrated and fell away.

The Spartans of Vegas had been mostly in cover, years of doctrine and muscle memory teaching them ways to survive in a war before they had shields and Mjolnir. Morgan didn't have that same mindset, and while cover wasn't alien to her, she wasn't in the mood to use it.

Palmer gave her orders, and Vegas fired all around Morgan, her blue armor standing out against the stark gray walls and the harsh lights above. They would support her any way they could.

When the blood bath had concluded again, one in only a series of rises and falls in the combat tempo that they had settled into, the IVs rushed ahead, and Palmer stopped next to Morgan. She knocked on Morgan's shoulder armor, the woman's gold visor turning to her immediately. "You alright?"

Morgan frowned behind her visor. "I'm fine."

"You sure? You're fighting like you've got a death wish"

That got a snort from the captain, and Palmer had her own frown. "You've seen me in action, Palmer. You know how I fight."

Palmer's response wasn't believing. "This isn't how you fight. Up close and personal, sure, but it's almost like you're trying to get hit, or take all the fire. They can't shoot us and deal with you at the same time if you keep getting in their faces."

Of course they couldn't, but with Hocus having been knocked out of the sky, Morgan wasn't interested in losing any more of her men and women. She never wanted to. She looked away from Palmer. "We need to keep moving, Spartan."

Palmer's lips pursed, and she physically grabbed Morgan's armor and turned her back to be face to face, blue armor standing off against white, with Morgan being slightly taller, and her armor more imposing against the sleek Scout set. "You remember what you told me? About a life spent and a life wasted?"

Morgan could only nod.

"Well I'll be damned if I let you keep dancing around trying to get smoked like you're doing. I've seen you fight, I've seen your flow. This isn't it." Her voice had risen just a little, but the anger was there.

A moment passed, then another, and Palmer was about to say something else when Morgan beat her to it. "You're right." She replied, and Palmer almost kept going when she realized Morgan had agreed with her. "I'll tell you later, when we've gotten out of here and I know more about it. But until then I need you to trust me, and I need you to support me. Let me do the heavy lifting, and then we'll all go home."

The white armored Spartan's frown turned into a grimace. "I'll hold you to it. If you get wounded or killed while you're with Vegas, your wife will have my ass." She didn't miss Morgan's sudden minor twitch, something imperceptible to a normal person, but something that a Spartan would never miss. "It's her, isn't it? She was the one in Wizard One, wasn't she?" A nod. "Fuck…"

At that, Morgan's own hand went to Palmer's shoulder this time, and she turned to start walking, pulling Palmer with her. "The sooner we get through this, the sooner I can make sure she's still alive at the end of the day. Help me, Palmer. I'm not ordering you to accept what I'm doing, but I'm asking you. Help me."

Palmer, mentally struggling with the request, simply nodded. "Whatever you need, ma'am. Vegas will get it done."

Even though Palmer wouldn't feel it, Morgan squeezed the woman's shoulder armor, a bit tighter than she should have, and nodded before letting go. "Thank you, Palmer." Ahead, the sounds of another gunfight broke out as Vegas was engaged by a new enemy.

Morgan set off at a jog with Palmer on her heels. Inside, a large room spread out. They had been slowly dropping below ground level with each new room they entered, and now they were at one of the lowest points in the facility. On either side, three large projectors were buried into the floor, alight with energy, and each one had a small portal sitting over it. Ahead, where two large observation points sat watching the room, a pair of Elites with a cutting torch were working at breaking open the ground floor door, having little success, but making some progress regardless.

They weren't stopping, even as their comrades were engaged with the Spartans of Vegas. When Morgan entered the room, she didn't miss one of them pointing at her, yelling in their guttural language, and a large Elite rounded the cover he had been behind, a fuel rod cannon balanced on his shoulder. Morgan saw it just when O'Hara did, and she started to yell. The fuel rod cannon's trigger and O'Hara's sniper rifle's trigger were both pressed down at the same time.

The heavy whine of the fuel rod cannon firing fought for dominance over the loud crack of the sniper, but it was on target even while the Elite's head disappeared. The green blob came at her, and she was forced to grab Palmer and push her out of the way, just barely in the nick of time.

Radiation alarms spiked in her helmet as the wall she had been standing in front of was turned into molten slag. Palmer was quickly back on her feet and both were rushing to cover. "Status!" She yelled.

Rani, one of the other Spartans, called out to her. "They keep coming through the damn portals! Too many for us to get through before more make it through! We need to get the scientists transferred or we'll never shut them down!"

Morgan's eyes looked out over the battlefield, and she grimaced, spotting the Elite that had given the order for her to be shot. He was their leader, and he had a way of commanding more of them through the portals somehow. If she could wipe him out, maybe she could stem the tide. "I have an idea."

Palmer shouted at her this time to be heard over the din of the firefight. "What's your idea?"

Grabbing the energy sword from her waist, Morgan ignited it, standing over her cover and pointing the two pronged sword at the Elite that she had targeted. The rest of them, and Vegas alongside them, almost did a double take. No more fire came in at her as an order was barked, and she saw another energy sword ignite.

"No!" Palmer tried to grab at Morgan, but the blue armored Spartan was already gone, sprinting at the Elite with sword in hand.

They met with a clash of swords and the weight of two small cars smashing together. Immediately, the Elite started speaking in those spitting tones, her armor translating in real time.

"You will be laid low, Demon, for your transgressions. Your heresy will be removed, and my clan will sing stories about me for generations."

Whether the Elite could understand her or not, she didn't know. "Try me then." And they were apart as she pushed off with her sword, the plasma fields sparking and humming as they parted and came back together. A series of strikes, faster than the eye could keep up, were traded as Morgan and the Elite fought, the tide of battle shifting back and forth every other second. While not a true sword master, like the Elite, Morgan had the reflexes, and that had to count for something.

Around them, plasma fire and tracers crisscrossed the open air, splashing against cover or burrowing into targets. More Elites fell, and more came through the portals to replace them.

Still tuned into their net, Morgan could hear Palmer complaining. "How fucking many are there!?"

Manning, ever the professional, replied with what she would have said. "Too damn many! Don't stop firing or the Commander's toast when she wins that!"

Another clash of blades. The Elite was realizing her fighting style and finding weaknesses in it even while she was trying her best to keep up. He seemed to laugh at her, a deep rumble that matched his mandibles whenever they splayed wide. "Amateur. It is barely even a challenge to fight you. A pity." He pushed off of her sword, pushing her arm out of the way before he moved to impale her.

She dodged out of the way into a roll, and had just enough time to come back up and block another strike. Now, instead of pulling away to hammer at her, the Elite put all of his weight on his sword, forcing her own sword back towards her head. The Elite's sword started to cut into the armored brim of her helmet while her shields collapsed, and she watched as his mandibles widened further in what must have been barely concealed triumph over a Demon, one that he knew well from the war's end. It kept dropping further and further, and with her still on her knees after coming up, she was struggling and running out of time.

The sword tip penetrated her visor next, the material melting at the edges and exposing her as her HUD flickered and failed in that area. She grunted, trying to respond. "A pity you're too damn stupid to make it quick."

With that, and the Elite's confusion palpable, her free hand dropped to her belt, snatching a grenade without the pin. Three seconds. That was all the time she had, and the world slowed down as her fist came up and slammed into the Elite's jaw. The grenade was pushed into his throat, and as he faltered, she pushed his sword up and away and rose to her feet before her leg came up and shot out like a piston, hitting with enough force to dent his armor heavily. His allies noticed what had happened too late, and warbled in alarm before the grenade detonated.

With her shields down, she was still a sitting duck, and several plasma bursts came in as the Elites attempted to stop the Demon, to kill her for the dishonorable tactic she had displayed. Some of the shots splashed against her armor, her collar melting under one hit, and her chest armor failing under another. One barely missed the brim, melting a corner of it. Inside, she frowned as she realized that she had messed up. She had overextended, had finally landed on something Johnson had warned her would be as stubborn as she was. She had no doubt that wherever he was now, he was shaking his head.

But the killing blow never came, no heat bubbling through her, no fusilade of fire to snuff her out. Only the sound of boots on metal and rifles chattering, a shotgun booming, and a pair of magnums sounding like they were being fired on automatic.

Then a hand reached out in front of her. Two green eyes, one obscured, one not, looked at it, and followed the arm back up to meet Palmer's visor. Swallowing, Morgan took her hand and rose to her feet.

"You damn fool," Palmer muttered, even while the rest of Vegas rushed to stop the cutting tool at the end of the room. No more aliens came from the portal, and Morgan's shields finally flickered back to life, a warning on her HUD reshaping to show that her armor had been compromised. "I told you, you get hurt, and your wife will hurt me."

Morgan didn't say anything, and Palmer watched through that new cut in her visor as the green eye inside was fully dilated, looking anywhere but her face.

No response was needed, and she started dragging Morgan to where Vegas had wiped the defenders. "Come on. Let's finish this. You're making my blood pressure spike and I don't like that shit."

The scientists inside came out of the room, ushered forth by Rani. One of them ran for Palmer and Morgan, looking between the two. They had seen it all from above, but more importantly, the scientist met Morgan's eye. He had seen the footage. Everybody in the UNSC had. Everybody had seen that blue armor at the end of the war, had heard her words in the footage. The fact that she was here, now, and had almost gotten her ass handed to her for him and his people, it almost made him apologize.

But they didn't have time for apologies. Palmer let go of Morgan. "Doctor, get your people together. We're shutting these things down."

He only nodded, and the rest came up. Morgan and Vegas surrounded them, weapons in hand, and they were escorted back through the rooms that they had cleared. Who knew how much time they would have before more started coming through the portals with no response from the dead Elite commander.

It took some time, and a long passcode had to be entered from memory along with biological scanning, but they finally got through to the control room, buried under several blast doors and heavy armor. Nothing would get through there, where the tests could be conducted safely. They had only ever practiced with controlled tests, but with whatever had happened on Requiem over the last few days, the portals had been brought to life, and everything had gone to Hell.

Time passed slowly, and each fireteam called in to report that they had all finished clearing out their assigned areas until the entirety of the facility's map was orange. Their job was done. She looked over at Palmer, who had been trying to find a way to relay their comms signal from so far underground back up to the pilots and the Infinity in turn. "Status?"

"Nothing. We wanna talk, we'll have to go topside. This room is isolated entirely from the rest of the base except for the portal generators." Palmer gestured at one of the scientists. "As soon as you finish, you're all coming with us."

He didn't respond, merely speeding his pace a bit more to get their job done faster. They all wanted to get out of here by now.

After what felt like an eternity, but was only twenty minutes, they were done, and Vegas led them back to the entrance. The scientists weren't soldiers, weren't used to seeing a battle's aftermath up close. The smell of cordite mixing with charred flesh and corpses, not to mention the visuals, was enough to make one of them vomit and the rest covered their noses, eyes watering at some of the worst battle sites.

Stepping out into the open air, Morgan immediately keyed her comm. "Crown Actual to any stations this net, respond."

Yokai wasn't quick to reply this time, but someone else did. "Morgan!? What the hell happened down there?"

It was Caesar. The disruption that had been going on in orbit must have cleared up, and she was once again connected to Infinity. "Too much. Facility in New Phoenix is clear."

Caesar wasted no time. "Birds are on their way. Get on them as soon as they get there. We're pulling out of Tucson and New Phoenix. The Didact's ship is maneuvering into geostationary orbit over New Phoenix and we have no idea why."

That didn't bode well. "Say again? Evacuating?"

"Confirm evacuation. You're the last boots on the ground."

Looking up into the sky, the Didact's ship was massive, even hundreds, thousands of miles away. She could see the single glowing eye that lay waiting at the bottom of its form. "Why? What's going on? Did we lose?"

"Not yet. Infinity punched a hole through the ship but the damn thing rearranged its shape on us. All we could do was buy enough time for the Master Chief to make entry. Since then, he's been radio silent." There was a short pause. "No idea if he made it or not. Broadsword datalink got scrubbed and no signals are making it through that hull."

She cursed quietly, biting her cheek. She could only hope he made it. "Understood… and if he didn't?"

His words were a bit more somber this time. "Then we'll hurl everything we got at it and hope it's enough."

It would have to be enough.

The Pelicans touched down soon after, doors already open and the crew chiefs gesturing wildly. The only people evacuating with them were the three scientists that they had brought along. Anybody else still alive was still down there, or dead. They were out of time. Vegas stepped onboard and the Pelican lifted off immediately, the bay closing and the pilots pushing the throttle to maximum.

New Phoenix retreated in the distance, several smoke plumes climbing into the sky, the buildings glittering in the late evening sunset. It was almost peaceful, actually.

And then an orange beam from the ship hanging high in the sky above fired, hitting the middle of the city.


I normally do my author's notes at the beginning, but that would have spoiled things. A friend of mine, who drew one of the first ever proper images of Morgan and cemented her character design, is my primary sounding board during my writing. I like sharing the reviews people leave with him, and his first words after seeing the most recent reviews after Hocus' crash was "It seems you've upset many people." Well, call me a drama queen. I think one of you summarized it best: "Welcome back to hell, Morgan." Anyway, I don't wanna drone on, but I wanted to wait to post this, since he decided to make some art for "all the people Monarch made upset." You can find him on twitter at Arcade_Test, and he has works on FFN and A03 under the name Bravura_Atma. There's also a few other pictures in there as well of Hocus and Morgan, together and on their own. Hopefully it makes up for all the angst I put some of you through these past few days. The link prevention unfortunately scrambles most of my attempts at linking this in here, so I'll try and put the link on my profile and you can go from there. FFN is definitely too outdated for image embedding.