Anne Lin
September 19, 2552

When Anne had woken up on a grassy plain many hours ago, three things were at the forefront of her mind.

The first was that she was on Halo; the overhanging ribbon of grass and mountains could attest to that.

The second was a memory of being a data analyst in 2022, who had just taken a nap, ready to play Elden Ring over the weekend.

The third and final thought was the inexplicable but bone deep knowledge that she was merely the copy of that girl's mind, placed into a newly materialised Spartan-IV body.

She wasn't who she remembered being. She was just a copy.

Whichever deities that had placed her here, on Halo, had clearly wanted to send her a message.

'Do not begrudge us. You would not exist without us.'

What could Anne possibly say to that?

Still reeling from that existential dread, she had been making her way across the grass, towards the Forerunner structure in the distance. What else was she to do? The architects of her arrival here had given her no instructions, no further knowledge other than that her raison d'etre was to be here.

Death was probably waiting for her, Anne thought morosely.

She could see Covenant cruisers in the far off sky. Each one was filled with horrid alien zealots who wanted nothing more than to turn her into a smoking corpse. Worse yet, the Halo that stretched into the distance seemed solid, devoid of the piecemeal appearance and 'basalt columns' of Zeta Halo. That meant this was probably Alpha Halo or Delta Halo, and the worst of the Human-Covenant War was yet to come.

It also meant that this Halo was probably filled with Flood.

The thought made her skin crawl. Beneath her feet were cubic kilometres of zombie space dust just waiting to be released by the aforementioned zealots.

Perhaps death by starvation would be preferable after all, she thought.

She had dismissed it hours ago, reasoning that the intelligences responsible for her predicament could simply revive her if she failed to do whatever their nebulous goals required of her. But if the alternative was undeath by Flood, maybe it was worth revisiting the option.

…On the other hand, there might be a way to escape this situation. A way off of the Ring, perhaps? Or even a way back to Earth? Master Chief had managed it. Somehow. It wouldn't be the Earth that she knew, of course, and she would have to deal with the spooks from ONI.

Maybe she could escape to the Insurrectionist worlds afterwards then? It was going to be pretty chaotic once Regret started invading. If she survived this damned Halo, and then survived this damned war, perhaps she could settle down somewhere. Catch up on some video games. This universe did have five hundred years on her.

Maybe they had proper VR.

Buoyed by thoughts of her very own Asuna waiting for her in a cottage on the 22nd floor, Anne picked up the pace. She had to get to that structure. She had to reach that Forerunner Installation. There had to be something inside those walls. Either a quick, sweet death, or perhaps a Covenant ride to commandeer.

As long as she could get to wherever plot was happening, there was still a chance to survive all this!

"Lumu? How much further to that building?"

Her heretofore silent company responded in her typical stilted way.

"Calculating. Thirty kilometres to target."

It was odd how soothing Lumu's voice had started to sound.

***

It was a few hours later when she reached the base of the Forerunner structure. As she had predicted, the Covenant were here. What was less expected was that they were all dead.

It was madness. Where the earth curved lower, offal and coagulated blood had pooled together into macabre ponds of violet and blue.

If Anne hadn't already been wearing her helmet in anticipation of combat, perhaps the smell of xenosapient blood would be seeing her retch her guts out. What could have done—

Anne stilled. She could feel the blood draining from her face.

The Flood. The Flood had already been unleashed.

Out of instinct, Anne almost fled as fast as her legs could take her, but the desire for longer-term survival eventually held out. Perhaps there was a Ghost still around. The Flood weren't supposed to be all that smart until a Gravemind had formed, right? And she didn't have to enter the structure itself. Anne could at least check the surface for something usable.

Newly determined, Anne drew the MA40 Assault Rifle from her magnetic holster, idly noting how oddly familiar it felt in her hands. Barrel up, she cautiously entered the camp. Moving quietly from cargo crate to cargo crate, the thump of her heartbeat was almost concerningly loud. Anne hoped dearly that her palpitations were only so deafening to herself.

There hadn't been any signs of movement yet. Nothing on her radar, and nothing she could hear or see. The lack of anything happening was less emboldening than she might have hoped. It felt worse on her nerves, if anything.

Anne moved further into the camp, steadily and as noiselessly as she could manage. She was approaching the corpses now. Bringing her scanner up and hoping it would be quiet, she analysed the remains. Upon closer examination she noticed something. Most of them were riddled with bullet holes. Something in her mind clicked, and information about bullet grouping the original Anne couldn't have possibly known flooded her mind.

Not just bullet wounds, but well placed and disciplined bullet wounds.

The UNSC…! It had to be!

It had been well over a decade since she had played Halo 2, but hadn't the guidebook mentioned Covenant disdain for human weaponry? It couldn't be those Heretic folks. They didn't exist yet. It had to be the UNSC! If it had been gunslinger zombies, the shots would have been messier, she was sure.

Overjoyed, Anne looked around for clues with a hop in her step. She needed to contact someone. Someone who could tell her where the hell on Halo she was. Maybe help her figure out what to do. Another human. She hadn't realised how lonely she had been until the possibility of imminent human contact was suddenly in the cards.

She found her human after a few minutes of carefully exploring the Forerunner structure. It wasn't the UNSC.

"Fuck me dead, another player?" asked a tall female Spartan.

That gave her pause.

"Player?" Anne parroted before her mind could process the surprise.

The woman scoffed. "No way those cat ears on your head are canon."

Ah.

"Are you...? Did they send you here too?" Anne managed. She wasn't sure if she was ready to call them gods.

The woman cocked her head. The red 'eye' of her GUNGNIR class helmet made the gesture a little intimidating, Anne thought.

"If you mean the fuckers that told me that I was just a copy and warned me not to be an ingrate, yeah, they put me here," she confirmed, before holding out a hand. "Arthur."

Oh. Oh! "I'm Anne. I'm sorry, your pronouns...?"

"I was a man, or at least my original was. 'She' and 'her' are fine I guess," Arthur replied with an easy shrug. "I've got other issues."

Of course. "We need to get off this Ring."

For the first time in the conversation, it was the other transmigrator's turn for awkwardness. "Well yeah, that too. But I actually meant this."

Arthur gave a small twist of her helmet before lifting the hunk of metal off her head.

"You're an elf?!" Anne blurted incredulously.

An armoured hand rose to rub a very delicate brow.

"Do you know what 'fanfiction' is?" Arthur asked.

***

Arthur Kim or Anairë Itarillë of Eldamar
September 19, 2552

If Anairë had anything to be thankful for, it was probably the fact that her progenitor had such a penchant for ridiculous backstories. A child survivor from the age of the Human-San'shyuum Alliance, last of her kind, engineered to win the war against the Perfidious and Craven Forerunners but awoken by ONI scientists from stasis and trained as their weapon instead. Also, a 'super elf', mistress of the Force, powerful sorceress and also a master of 'genetic kung fu', whatever the fuck that meant. Arthur had come up with that last one during a drunken Christmas Discord gaming party, and had been so pleased with it that he kept it in his character sheet.

None of the more… outlandish talents had materialised, unfortunately, no matter how useful being able to summon a firestorm might have been. Still, Anairë moved with a grace and celerity of thought that outpaced any novel descriptions of the Spartan-IIs. An advantage like that was not to be discounted, given where she was now. And the fact that she was now real, apparently, and according to her memories as Arthur, had very much not been before.

Her memories as Anairë—at once both vaguer and more numerous than the ones of being Arthur—were... appreciated. They were murky. She felt like Arthur, but remembered being Anairë. Sometimes it felt like she had been Arthur, remembering a past life as Anairë. But despite all the trouble, she was very thankful for being Anairë.

It provided her some familiarity with this universe. Memories of having lived for decades in it, or at least a universe very much like it. When she compared her situation with Anne, who had been birthed unceremoniously into what must have been a strange, fictional world, Anairë couldn't help but consider herself more fortunate.

Years of instinct and experience hunting as the Colonel's personal assassin had allowed her to tear through the earlier Covenant with confident ease. The familiarity with ONI, as well as where to lose them, would also be indispensable once she got off this Halo. Likewise, the familiarity with the technology of the Perfidious and Craven Forerunners was indispensable until then.

Some cosmic power's plaything or not, Anairë only had one life, and she was determined to live it. Her new companion would live hers too, if she had anything to say about it.

The two of them made their way deeper into the Forerunner installation. Her original plan had been to check the installation's surveillance logs for areas of possible UNSC activity. Better for her long term survival to warn them about the Flood than not. Failing that, Anairë would have settled for skipping to the next step, locating a few huragok to kidnap and press-gang into building her a slipstream drive.

She glanced at the woman to her left.

"Hey, we're coming up on the control room now," she warned, injecting some irreverence into the tone. "If it's ugly, shoot it."

Her companion nodded in confirmation and raised her assault rifle. She didn't recognise the model, but it was an MA for sure.

Anne's appearance had changed things. If the two of them had been left here, what if there were one or two more? If the search found a few others in the same situation, could Anairë leave them here to dry?

A final glance at Anne answered her question for her.

Anne had been a welcome addition. After the initial confusion and introductions, a quick test had proven her reflexes and martial ability more than adequate. Whatever powers created them had evidently granted her the muscle memory and training one would expect from a real Spartan-IV. What it meant that Anairë remembered being a 'backstory' while Anne was a blank slate, Anairë wasn't sure yet. But there would be ample time to find out later.

At first Anairë had assumed that she had been the only one. That was now provably false. Anairë found that she was grateful for that. Unlike the real natives of this universe, the two of them could understand each other. Beyond Anne's utility, her presence alone was priceless.

Even knowing what Anairë did about her memories, the thought of Noble Team still roused a painful pang. The loss of her ancient people had cut even deeper. Humans were still around, but the culture she had remembered as a child was nothing but ruins and echoes. Perhaps she was in a canon timeline where Eldamar had never existed at all.

Anairë hadn't had nearly enough time to process that loss yet, real or not. The first thing she was going to do once she was home free was get out of this armour and figure out how to have a good wank as a she-elf. The real Arthur would have wanted that. That or cry, for the losses in both illusory lives. Maybe she could do both at the same time, anything was possible.

Regardless, if there were more drop-ins like her and Anne, Anairë would do what she could to save them. One or two detours was worth that.

They stopped before a door. Signs of movement from the other side.

"You ready, Anne?" she whispered.

"I-I'm ready, Arthur," came Anne's sotto reply.

Anairë primed a grenade.

"Let's fucking do this."

***

Private James Riley
September 20, 2552

The others continued their shouting match with the Covenant. Riley could feel his back moisten with icy sweat. Private James Riley had done his fair share of fighting with the Covenant before, but usually that involved more fire and less shouting. Even when the rare word was exchanged, it usually amounted to nothing more than insults and warnings of the others' imminent doom.

In a sense, that was still what was happening now, but there was an unusual lack of weapons fire. Honestly, Riley wasn't sure he preferred this.

"We are trying to help you, you—"

"—everyone just calm down and—"

"You don't understa—"

"Oh, I understand what my rifle is gonna do to your—"

"There's a biological agent of mass—"

"—should trust you? Are you fucking—"

Earlier, Kappus had unlocked another one of these alien doors. Instead of the expected patrol, they had stumbled across a dozen Elites engaged in a wild gesticulating shouting match. Having caught them off guard, the ensuing firefight should have been in his fireteam's favour. Instead, the Elites had rallied with dangerous ease and Riley's fireteam had been forced to retreat beyond the door.

The enemy liked to colour code themselves for ease of identification, and the eye-watering riot of colours on the other side of the door perfectly explained their skill.

Everybody had been ready for the fight of their lives when the Covvies tried to talk to them instead. That was fourteen minutes ago.

"You're not getting past this door!" the purple Elite bellowed with a tone of finality.

"That's enough," Captain Keyes had shouted at nearly the same time.

All parties stared in hostile silence. Maybe to someone neutral it mighta seemed hilarious. Three dozen veterans, human and Covvie, huddled together, aiming their guns through a tiny doorway. Not so funny to him.

Riley had trained his rifle on the latest speaker. If the others tried anything, it was the big purple fucker that would get it first.

Eventually, it was the Captain that ended the stalemate.

"You're Covenant. You're the enemy. But," he said carefully, "I acknowledge your behaviour doesn't conform to what we have come to expect from your kind. If you're truly being sincere, will you consent to surrendering yourself to UNSC custody?"

The Elites exchanged silent glances at each other, before one of them, a golden fellow, finally shook his head. It was a familiar, human gesture. "I speak not for the others, but I cannot consent to that. I have things I must do."

A few of his fellows seemed to want to argue with him again, but the platinum one behind him nodded. "We've given our warnings. If these humans are intent on their demise, we should prepare to handle the fallout."

"There needn't be any fallout!" one of the dissenters exclaimed, but was hushed by a Christmas-coloured hand on his shoulder.

"The Flood has already been unleashed. We all hate this, but extinction is at hand, and time is precious," boomed the Christmas tree. Extinction? Was this about the weapons cache that was supposed to be waiting below?

Riley swallowed thickly. He could only hope that the Captain had a plan.

Captain Keyes made to speak again, but the purple Elite pre-empted him.

"We will leave. As you can see, we have you outskilled," he said with a wide, casual wave of his arm. It rankled. "We do not wish to kill you. Step aside, and there need not be further violence."

Although the Captain had his pistol pointed firmly at the enemy, something changed in his posture. Riley kept his eyes on Purple. Eventually, the Captain spoke.

"You could be bringing reinforcements."

"We wouldn't need reinforcements."

"We still can't trust you," the Captain sighed.

"You don't have any choice. Move or be moved, humans."

Yet another tense silence descended upon the room, but eventually Captain Keyes nodded. "Make way for these Elites."

"Are you sure, Captain?" the Sergeant asked gruffly.

"As this gentleman said, we don't have a choice," he replied.

Still half disbelieving, the fireteam stepped aside, weapons still ready, as the procession of Covvies walked right between them, out of the room.

It was only when the aliens were gone did the tension bleed out of them, just a fraction.

Sergeant Johnson snorted. "I don't know if I'm hoping they were lying or telling the truth."

Captain Keyes nodded grimly. "We'll soon find out."

***

Randeep Rai
September 20, 2552

"We could have tried harder to save them." Vinh glared accusingly at each member who had chosen to leave.

"They were not going to listen," Randeep replied as evenly as he could in the clicking Highland Sangheili. They had communicated in English at first, but found the Covenant tongue much easier on the syrinx. "Even Jose couldn't get through to them."

Those humans—and how funny to think of them that way now—were never going to trust words from the instrument of their genocide. In the end they were few, and there were so many more lives that could be saved elsewhere.

Before Vinh could continue, Jose stepped in to mediate again. Despite the jarring green and red of his combat harness, he had been the voice of calm since the sixteen of them had awoken.

"I know, Vinh. Perhaps we could have saved them. They were not ours to sacrifice." Ever empathetic and soothing, Jose's deep baritone consoled Vinh as best he could. "That is not what we are doing here. There are simply too few of us, and too many other things that must be done."

Although Randeep had already said as much, the same words delivered in a different way could sometimes achieve a different outcome. As proof, the flare of Vinh's mandibles was already settling down into something calmer.

Danny gave Jose a grateful look, while Randeep simply chose to remain silent.

After a while, Vinh finally gave in.

"What's our next move then?" he finally asked.

All eyes turned back to Randeep.

"The communications network has all but confirmed the appearance of more of us. Reports of huge numbers of Demons attacking patrols and task groups." Looking around, he found nodding. "Even with those numbers, the Humans won't survive the war. The Schism must occur, both for Humanity and to protect us from the Halos."

"So, what? We find that Heretic bloke?" asked Warren, or Wazza as he insisted on being called.

"No, my friend. I think we should find 343 Guilty Spark and arrange a blind date with the glorious Supreme Commander," Randeep replied.

***

Mikael Lindqvist
September 20, 2552

A few weeks ago, Mikael had read an interesting article. An Indian man had tried to sue his parents. He had never consented to being born. At the time, Mikael had forwarded the article to his colleagues for a bit of laughter on a Friday afternoon.

Now, he was starting to sympathise.

'Mikael' most definitely hadn't consented to this 'conception'.

The forty-three of them mulled silently over their situation as they cleaned their weapons. They could have been more, but there was simply no time to recruit.

Perhaps the thought was a little ungrateful of him. After all, the small ache he had felt since hitting the big four-oh had disappeared, and he was objectively in better shape than his Original had ever been in his life.

Unfortunately, Mikael just couldn't bring himself to muster up the gratitude when the circumstances were so dire. One among their number, Alireza, had been particularly well-read on matters of Halo lore. Kevin and Grace were familiar as well, but it was Alireza that had explained to Mikael and the others how dire a police state the human polity in this universe was.

It was, frankly, unacceptable, and so the group of Spartan-IVs, IIIs, and IIs had embarked on their self-appointed campaign. Along the way, they had met others in their situation, but the difference in priorities had led to them parting ways. Although some heated words had been exchanged, Mikael could only hope the best for them, wherever their endeavours took them.

Originally Mikael's group had planned to steal a few of the fork-shaped dropships, but a chance encounter with a Lich had granted them a better option instead. It was that very Lich that they were now riding in, towards their next destination.

According to Grace and Ali, the Infinite Succor was some sort of farming ship that was feeding the Covenant fleet. It would be enough for the thousands of newly born Transfers like themselves. In the original timeline, the farm ship was supposedly infested by the Flood sometime within the next twenty four hours. Unless things had changed drastically, the alien zombies were already causing trouble down on the surface.

That boded both well and ill. If the forty-three of them wanted to stand any chance of hijacking the flying farm, any Covenant reinforcements would have to be stretched thin by the attacking Flood. At the same time, taking too long would open up the newly stolen farm ship to the same Flood that had been destined to invade it. An active Flood threatened the lives of the Transfers they were all trying to save.

They didn't have much of a plan. Get in, beeline to the control room. Order the AI to vent most of the security force, and then broadcast a message that only fellow Transfers could understand. Evacuate as many of them as possible, drop off any who were unwilling to follow them on their Exodus, Alireza and Kevin included. Prod the engineer aliens into some magic, and then fuck off to the far-off reaches of the galaxy, resettle somewhere far from the reaches of Covenant and UNSC alike, and hope that none of the Halos fired.

As the Infinite Succor came into view, Mikael couldn't help but sigh. He should have gone back to Warframe instead.


A/N: Was writing practice, basically.