The Rabbit and the Wolfe

And we're back! First, big shout-out to my editing pal, Milkduds! He has been super helpful in polishing these chapters to make sure you guys and gals get the best! Secondly, I hope you enjoy this chapter of fluffiness and setup. The big battle is going down soon and everyone is getting into place. But enough of me jabbering! To the action!

17: R for Revenge

December 25, 2561

Sector 1, Humanity Mall, Tribute

Epsilon Eridani System

0310 hours

The moon stood high in the sky, its luminescent rays painting the war-torn city in jagged shafts of pale light. Light and fluffy clouds had begun their slow march across the sky hours before, breaking up the picturesque crescent of Emese. A soft breeze whistles through the concrete jungle, shaking the half-burnt flora and sending magazines skittering down the street like leaves. Scores of flashlights sweep across the streets like miniature spotlights, turning pinpricks of darkness into day. They're certainly bright enough. A shadow flitters through one of the beams and the area instantly lights up with gold, a wall of lead death. The bullets stop. Footsteps approach, glass cracking under the unrelenting weight of their combat boots. The storefronts looked as if they had been set upon by wolves, their white-hot fangs chewing through the polycrete and glass like it was paper. The vehicles did not fare much better, many of them nothing more than shards of metal. A woodchipper couldn't do that if it tried. Their quarry lay motionless on the cold, hard pavement, his young arms wrapped loosely around a small bundle. Skin and muscle had been torn to ribbons, leaving bloody entrails to breathe freely in the night air. A boot nudged the small ball and out tumbled a chubby little mammal, still as a statue and unresponsive to the rest of the world. The poor thing had been startled to death. Literally. A shout had them moving on. Orders were orders after all. No one buried the kid. No one cared.

Reilcat observed the entire exchange from several stories up, an unreadable expression on his face. He took a long drag on his cigar, the burning embers twisting his visage in the darkened room. Thick, grey smoke billowed from his mouth, swirling steadily to cloud the window, blotting out the activity below. Though his mind were still sharp, his body had difficulties keeping up with the grueling pace he had demanded of it these past few days. Perhaps he had become soft in his later years. Gone were the days a two-mile jaunt was a walk in the park. But he was not useless. Quite the contrary, in fact. He was one of Wilhelm Sundance's closest confidants, a fact that still amused him to this day. Major Alexander Reilcat's position in the United Rebel Front was born out of necessity, as the separatist cell was desperate for information. He struck a deal: in return for crucial information, the URF would give him free reign to hunt the only person he felt truly needed to die. The myth, the legend, the Master Chief. Something came to rest upon his shoulder, jolting him from his memories. He reached for the sidearm resting in its hip holster, fingers halfway around the grip when a familiar voice halted him.

"Relax." Sundance said, his chuckle light and airy. His hand slid off the pistol. "Reflexes aren't too bad. For an old man." Alexander gave a low growl but said nothing, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. They stood there side by side in silence, listening to the chaos that perforated this once great city. No words needed to be said. Both of them knew exactly what they had done to get to this point. What sacrifices would be mane to ensure the day was won.

"How are we looking?" Reilcat asked, not taking his eyes off the darkened streets below. Flashes of gold danced in his hardened green orbs, unable to break through his cynical exterior but beautiful all the same.

"We had some difficulties when the UNSC showed up, but phases one and two are complete. This is the last leg, my friend." The sound of metal scraping against metal bridged the silence as the URF leader lit his own cigar with an old-fashioned lighter. Alex had once asked him why he didn't use the newer, more reliable versions. He responded with a sad shake of his head telling him 'they don't make 'em like this anymore'. He never brought it up after that. With only a few unsuccessful attempts under his belt, Sundance managed to light his own. Taking a few deep pulls, he blew a long stream of smoke through his lips. Alex halfheartedly fanned at the mounting acrid smog, completely nonplussed by its presence.

"I take it they're all operational?" Alex said flatly, jerking his shoulder out of his friend's grasp. If Wilhelm was offended by the gesture, he didn't show it. While they had never exactly been close, the Major had been taking poorer and poorer care of himself lately. In the light of the cigars he could see the bags under his eyes. They didn't just make him look older, they made him look ancient. Less grizzled veteran, more decaying relic. He ate less, slept less. Spent every waking moment either planning for a fight or participating in one. Wilhelm was worried for his friend; Alex never liked his limitations questioned. So, he said nothing.

"When is the last time wore a clean uniform?" Sundance questioned, mentally beating his head against the wall for doing the exact opposite of what he promised. The soldier gave him a cutting sideways glance, a deep frown chiseled into his previously stony façade. Like he could hear the unvoiced questions. Why haven't you eaten? Or slept?

"Don't answer my question with a question!" He snapped, calloused fingers curling into a tight fist. Wilhelm gave him a nasty glare. Like one given to whoever might think about throwing his box of expensive cigars into a lake.

"Mine first." Sundance shot back. Spoken without any malice or condescension. As if stating a fact. Alex's turned to face him, jaw clenched tightly, a mercilessly jagged look in his emerald eyes. Cigar smoke settled thickly about the room. Like it was watching, waiting to see what the two humans would do. He looked like he would hit him on the spot. Or shoot him. In the end though, Reilcat did neither of those things.

He let out a frustrated huff through his nose, much of the tension draining from his shoulders. "Tuesday." He spoke finally. Black brows rose in surprise. Three days. Alex had gone three days without changing his clothes, a proper meal…anything remotely hygienic, really. He had to try. Least then he could sleep tonight.

"It's Friday." He could see the cogs in his head turning as he attempted the mental math. After ten seconds without recognition Wilhelm took pity on him. "That's three days." Alex tapped on his cigar knocking glowing embers onto the carpet. A fire hazard, to be sure, but neither seemed to care in the slightest.

"I'm tired, not stupid." Reilcat spoke, still unhappy, though not overtly hostile like before.

"My point exactly." He said tactfully, some of his own ash leisurely floating down towards the combustible fibrous material. "And yes, all of them are operational." Wilhelm added, almost as an afterthought.

Cold jade flames flickered and pulsed in his eyes as he gazed up at the night sky, his mouth drawn into a thin line once again. But it wasn't the aerial engagements or crumbling touristy infrastructure that caught his eyes. Memories pulled at him, dragging him into the past. Like being swept away in a flood. There one instant, gone the next. It was jarring. They stood in a comfortable silence. Alexander, reliving the faded moments in the past while Wilhelm watched over him like a government-toppling, cigar smoking guardian angel.

"Fine. I'll change." He said, extracting himself from wherever his mind had wandered off. Lifting his own stub of a cigar to his lips, Alex took one final inhale before dropping it onto the rich carpet, grinding it into a messy, charred powder with his heel. Satisfied that that embers wouldn't cause the entire building to go up in flames, the veteran made his way towards the door. The floor cover may muffle his footsteps but did nothing to alleviate the tension coiled in his muscles.

"And sleep." Wilhelm reminded him as the door slid open with a soft hiss.

"Go to hell." Alex retorted with only a paltry amount of venom before leaving the door to shut quietly behind him. The URF leader shrugged helplessly. He didn't want help. Fine. The soldier knew his limits better than anyone else. With the stakes this high and the odds quickly stacking against them, Alex would do what was necessary to ensure his mission is a success. He would change. He would eat. And most importantly, he would sleep. Hoping he could take care of himself was all Wilhelm could ask. A conniving grin crept across his face as he watched a Pelican loose one of its rear thrusters, careening into a high-rise. The resulting fireball was as immense as it was mesmerizing. Brilliant oranges entangled with the smoother, hotter blues, giggling and cheering at all the wretched pain it wrought. The flames surged through the building, torching anything that stood in its way. Supports, furniture, people. It mattered not, as long as oxygen continued to fuel its wanton destruction. Besides, it's Christmas. Who would I be if I showed up to the UNSC's party without a gift?

Sector 8, Humanity Mall, Tribute

0515 hours

The last four days had one barely averted catastrophe after another that was starting to remind her more and more like Hell Week as the hours ticked by. First, it had been the fact that her love had nearly been barbequed. She was still miffed about that. Perhaps, a bit disproportionate. Even unwarranted, considering Kelly had been constantly trying to make it up to her, in her own little way. A shoulder brush here. A squeeze of the hand there. Second, these scumbags had been waiting for them. Not just the UNSC, not even Spartans as a whole. Them. Blue Team. It wasn't the first time she'd felt like they were being hunted. She had even brought it to the other's attention, but had been met with an unnerving silence that had done absolutely nothing to settle her stomach. Linda's last communication had mentioned tanks. Tanks! To a heavily-populated civilian center. It was clear that these bastards were willing to cross any line. The gnawing at her insides had devolved into a feeding frenzy. The sharks could smell blood.

"This is Detroit 5-2! We're pinned down and they're chewing through us like paper!" Gunfire crackled over the link., momentarily cutting off all other sound. "Any UNSC forces in the area, please respond!" The telltale whoosh of a rocket cut through the gunfire like it wasn't even there. Unintelligible noise flooded their coms before going deathly silent.

"Detroit 5-2, this is Sierra-117." Silence. "Detroit 5-2, do you copy?" He tried again. No answer.

"They're gone, Chief." Fred said, the solemn inflection undetectable. Almost. Their leader said nothing, motioning them forward with a jerk of his head. Falling into step behind, the four soldiers steadily marched closer to their objective. In the small hours of the morning, where the light of the sun had not yet crested over the horizon, yielded an expanse of smooth purples and deep blues. Mother Nature gently spread this rich cloak over the entire sky, neatly tucking in every corner and dotting it with the presence of a million constellations. Constant fighting had left little light to pollute the atmosphere. Everywhere she turned there were stars, pinpricks of light that brought untold life and destruction. Many nights during her youth she would look up at these same celestial orbs of gases and wonder. If she would ever see another star besides her own. Discover untold beauty. It was times like these that made her smile.

Or, she would be, if she wasn't operating on nutrient bars, adrenaline and very, very little sleep. Sandra was tempted, more than once, to ask her fellow squad mates to knock her on her ass so she could finally get some shut eye. But they were just as sleep deprived as she was. And they didn't complain. So, she kept her mouth shut.

Something brushed her arm, so light and fast she wasn't even sure she felt it. Like a single flap of a hummingbird wing. But she did. And she knew exactly what, or perhaps more correctly, who it was. NO. She clutched her M45 tighter, the 8-gauge tactical shotgun offering little in the way of comfort. Her HUD pinged her with an incoming private channel request. She dismissed it. Kelly nearly broiled herself inside her armor. She could sweat for a while. Maybe some time to think would cool that rash head of hers. Night vision was showed no hostiles. Motion tracker was clear. Ash and dust floated down upon them, coating their armor in particles of acrimony and genocide. Sandra could feel the weight settle on her shoulders, featherlight, yet impossible to move. Like jogging up a hill with a mountain strapped to your back.

"Sit rep, Chief?" The legend bit back a growl. He briefed them all before they left, and was not pleased by the need to repeat himself. Then again, Sandra had…additional concerns, so her lack of a clear head was understandable. Giving Kelly's companionship the go ahead seemed the most pertinent course at the time, but if their ability to operate on the battlefield was compromised… He mulled over his response as they swept the rest of the block, clearing the buildings room by room like a well-oiled machine.

"Chief," Sandra barked, apparently fed up with the silence. They were all on short fuses. "Either tell me or I'll beat it out of Fred!" He couldn't help but raise a brow in amusement as his longtime friend took a step back, a hand raised in a calming gesture. Their CQC specialist, while not outright afraid of their newest member, was definitely cautious. Especially when the small Sangheili was around. The poor guy had to constantly walk on eggshells or risk being skewered. He held the blonde's gaze for a moment longer before turning towards Fred.

"Better prepare for a fight, Lieutenant." John spoke, unable to keep the barest of smirks out of his voice. On command, his HUD displayed the map of the city, overlaid with the position of every soldier the UNSC had operating in this area. A couple thousand at least. All converging on one spot: the center structure. Like ants returning to the hill. Six entrances to this superstructure. Six battalions. Whoever was running this show really don't want the URF setting up shop. The 'why' didn't matter; he didn't do big picture thinking. He was more than willing to let the brass settle those quarrels. He just followed orders. Blue Team had been running point for the fifth battalion, designated 'Echo', who would be approaching from the North.

Signaling that all was well, Chief took a moment to take stock his team. Linda, per her last check-in, was behind enemy lines doing what she did best. He had doubts that she would make it for the final push. The civilian she mentioned seemed to be in pretty bad shape. Perhaps it was a good thing, as Sandra seemed to knock heads with her quite often. Fred, despite somehow becoming the butt of the team's teasing, was taking everything in stride. Kelly was certainly troubled, given all the furtive glances she was giving the purple Spartan, but otherwise combat-ready. Finally, his eyes came to rest on Sandra, blue eyes analyzing her like a one of Mendez's exercises. Despite being the youngest, the woman had proved herself more than capable, deserving of both her armor and a spot on his team. She brought youth, and more importantly, an energy to the team. One he hadn't seen since before Reach fell.

"What?" Sandra asked, catching Chief observing her. He wanted to push forward; they all did. But facts were undeniable: They were all dead on their feet. If they wanted to live through the next twenty-four hours, rest would be absolutely essential.

"We hold here. Wait for reinforcements. Sleep in shifts. Two-hour rotations. You and Kelly take first." A nod from their resident blademaster. He craned his head to address his second-in-command. "Fred, you take second." Another nod. "I'll take the final shift. Any questions?" His voice was solid and unmalleable, leaving no room for argument. Like hardened steel. Kelly shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the current watch. Ordinarily, the scout would jump at the chance. Sandra knew her better than anyone. The blonde's mere presence was enough to keep her focused and alert, even as her body screamed for rest. But ever since the incident with the Hellbringers a few days ago, Sandra had been dismissive, cold even. The one person she could trust and confide in, above everyone else. Who held her heart, completely and utterly, allowing her to be vulnerable. Being denied these comforts was agony. Like a plasma sword to the stomach.

Fred and John moved off into the adjoining room to catch some much-desired shut eye, their hulking frames weaving gracefully through the debris that littered the floor. Kelly had a sneaking suspicion that her two friends had ulterior motives for giving them space. She appreciated the gesture, giving both of them a light bump of the shoulder as they passed. Knowing the youngest member of Blue Team wouldn't talk to her, she settled down for a long, uncomfortable two hours of silence. Is this what couples mean by 'being in the doghouse'? She certainly felt guilty enough, even if the events were out of her control. Probably. Kind of. Well, not really, but did she really need to tell Sandra she got torched over of a bet with Chief?

Forty-five minutes in and she couldn't take it anymore. "Sandra." She whispered, her unease pouring out in an undulating mess. No response, the woman's gray-gold visor remained fixed on the blown-out window. Damn it. Biting down the urge to grind her teeth, the veteran pushed herself off the wall. She had a plan. A decent one, at least. But as they say: no battle plan survives contact with the enemy. Stepping into her line of sight, Kelly dropped the transparency of her visor, giving her blonde a firm, unamused look.

"I want to hit you. I really do." Sandra spoke, exasperated, her words carrying no real malice. Her whole body was shaking, noticeable only in her close proximity. Like a damned leaf. Kelly instantly felt guilty, reaching out a hand to comfort her love. She stopped just a hair's breadth away, unsure if her presence would be wanted. Sandra made that decision for her, stepping into her touch, visibly relaxing. Like all the stress and anxiety were squeezed out of her. Kelly wanted to wrap her arms around her lithe partner, whispering kind things into her ear. But both of them knew this was neither the time nor place. So, they soaked up whatever contact they could in these little moments.

"Why don't you?" Kelly responded honestly as if it was the simplest thing in the universe. Sandra's disbelief was palpable behind her helmet.

"You…you want me to hit you?" She asked, confused, brain struggling to wrap itself around the strange request. Kelly gave her a soft smile. Even incredibly sleep deprived, befuddled Sandra was beautiful beyond words. How'd I ever get so lucky? She blinked fiercely, forcing her brain back to the present.

"No. But, if it means you'll stop ignoring me, I'll gladly take a punch." Kelly said, her hand coasting over her pup's side. "Besides," She continued, her sapphire eyes glinting with mischief "You hit like a girl." Sandra gave a snort of amusement, shaking her head good-naturedly. Dropping her visor, the veteran could finally lay her eyes upon those lush, verdant pools.

"I wasn't ignoring you. I was angry." She held up a hand as Kelly opened her mouth to interject. She closed her jaw, the soft click of teeth audible in the small space between them. "Angry at your selfishness, the fact that you somehow think you need to prove yourself. You put something else above Amber and I and it really hurt." Kelly focused on Oathsworn, fiddling with the familiar weapon unsure of what to say. Guilt, heavy and unwanted, sat stiff in her gut. Like a rotting corpse, putrid and disgusting, she wanted to be rid of it.

"I, we, uh," Kelly stammered over her words, surprising herself. She was usually so composed and articulate. "Chief and I, made a…" She finished, mumbling the last few words and effectively hiding them from her lover.

"Hmm? What did you and Chief make?" Sandra asked, tilting her head innocently. She is going to skewer me.

"We, we made a…bet." She finished lamely, looking anywhere but her. I hope it's quick.

"Did you win?" Kelly's brain had to take a double take. That wasn't the response she was expecting.

"Did I- what?" She blinked forcefully, like she was trying to clear the after effects of a flashbang grenade.

"Did you win? What were the stakes?"

"Chief has to take one of my shifts when we get back."

"Good!" Sandra replied enthusiastically.

She was taking this…remarkably well. To say the veteran was a little off kilter would be an understatement. "So…you aren't mad?"

Sandra let loose an airy chuckle. It was music to the scout's ears. A melody she could never tire of listening to. "Oh, honey. I was born at night, not last night. You're brave, courageous and strong-willed. I never want to change who you are. I love you." She flashed the brunette a disarming smile, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning into her personal space. Something the scout was more than okay with. "But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll break your legs. Clear?"

In that moment Kelly didn't see her lover. Or the soft and kind spirit, helping because she could. No, her vision was entirely consumed by the vengeful archangel, blades drenched in blood, wings caked with ash. The mountain of bodies was rising and if she didn't answer with the exact thing this warrior wanted to hear she would be next. Swallowing thickly, Kelly gave the response she hoped her love would want. "Yes ma'am. Solid copy." The malice and intense emerald flames were gone in an instant, replaced by the gentle angel she knew so well. Like flipping a switch. An intense, terrifying switch.

"Good." She said with finality, tapping Kelly's breastplate for emphasis. The shorter Spartan pulled her shotgun from its magnetic strip and nestled herself in a corner, a clear view out a broken window to the street outside. The winter breeze whistled through the concrete jungle, brushing over the synthetic and organic. The living and the dead. Mother Nature projecting her sadness over the conflict which erupted upon her soil. For as ruthless and cruel as she was, she was not without sympathy. She would accept those who have passed back into her domain to fertilize her creations. It was the circle of life.

"Is that Reach?" Sandra asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. Kelly stiffened as icy memories bored into her skull. This was one of the few things she was dead set on keeping to herself. Everyone saw it when they entered the system, felt their hearts crack a bit more. They all knew the story of one of Humanity's largest and bloodiest battles. Many fought bravely. Only a scant few survived. Then came the whispers, the rumors. Kelly couldn't stand it. She hid in her room until Blue Team was ready for launch.

The images were painful, excruciating. The grief, almost beyond measure. The charred surface, smooth as glass yet razor sharp. The ash, thick and choking, even after almost a decade. But worst of all were the memories, the crushing guilt. Normally, suppressing them was a non-issue, the distance and years building a strong wall to hide behind. But when they entered the system it became too much, and her carefully built walls crumbled as if they were made with sand. The veteran had only managed to make the trip once before, in 2558, where they paid their respects to Sam. She threw up on the way back. So, yes, she saw the planet, and once was more than enough. Her crewmates saw a dead planet. Sad, but an inevitable sight living in the post Covenant-War era. But Kelly only saw dead friends.

"Yes." The scout responded succinctly. She refused to look in the direction of her younger team mate, for fear she would get a glimpse of her childhood home. She took several deep breaths to settle her nerves. She could feel the tears build in her eyes. Lack of sleep makes me emotional. Great.

"I'm sorry." Sandra retorted in a soft voice. "I fought for Earth but not Reach. I can't help but feel I let you down."

"Don't." Kelly's voice carried little emotion. This was not a topic of conversation she enjoyed discussing. "You'd be dead if you did." Like all my friends.

"Kelly?" The woman grunted unhappily. She was extremely tired and her nerves were shot. She didn't know when Fred would relieve them and frankly, it couldn't be soon enough. "I know you may not want to hear this right now, but I want to remind you: I'm here for you, whatever you need. You need to talk, about anything, I'll gladly be your ear. Something you don't understand? I'll sit down and explain it to you. I don't care how long it takes. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, I will soak up your tears. You're not alone. Not anymore." They met each other's gaze, subconsciously seeking the other out.

"Thanks." Kelly softly spoke, using the voice she saved only for her pup. Despite the war, lack of sleep and a planet-sized reminder of a violently traumatic event, she felt lighter. Freer. Like the crushing weight on her shoulders wasn't so debilitating. Then she saw Frederic standing in the doorway. Relaxed but alert, the sleep had done wonders for him. She repolarized her visor as he cleared his throat.

"Anything?" He asked, the steel in his voice dulled. Whether from sleep deprivation or something else she couldn't tell.

"No, sir." The scout reported. Fred gave them a nod and stepped away from the door frame. Sandra failed to stifle a yawn.

"Feeling better?" He asked Kelly in a low voice as they approached. She opened her mouth to answer, but the blonde beat her to the punch.

"Let you know in four hours. Have fun, Lieutenant!" Sandra answered cheekily, pulling the hapless scout into the room with her. Fred could only shake his head as he took up position with his DMR. She reminds me of you, Sam. He thought with a fond smile. I think you would have been fast friends. If you don't mind the grandfather jokes, that is.

Sector 1, Humanity Mall, Tribute

1155 hours

Alexander had lost all joy for the holidays. He had for many years now, ever since that Covenant bombardment vaporized his wife and children. Since then, every day was just another day. Nothing special, just a dead man taking one step after another. But these last few months had given him a renewed purpose, as twisted as it was. The bastard was finally within his grasp. In the next few days, he would either have the murderer's head in hand or would join his family in death. Either way, it would all be over soon. He passed wordlessly through the bustle of the command center, lost in his own world. It was chaos. No one paid him any mind, too caught up in trying to mend the fragments of a crumbling operation. The communication systems buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, flooded with reports of overwhelming UNSC presence. Reilcat gave a mental shake of his head. Shock and awe. One of the oldest strategies in the book. Nothing paralyzed your enemy quicker than a sudden and immense show of force. Heavily armed Pelicans, Scorpions, scores of ODSTs and of course, Spartans.

Bah fucking humbug, he thought bitterly, chewing on his energy bar with more force than necessary. It was bleak and tasteless, like what his life had become, but it would give him the energy he needed. As much as he loathed it, having Wilhelm's kindness forced down his throat wasn't that bad. An uninterrupted five-hour nap followed by a quick shower, change of clothes and a hearty meal. Alex felt like a new man. Well, as new as one could be with a heart of stone. Alex headed for the courtyard, the automatic doors sliding open with a hiss. He brushed past a handful of wounded troops limping back the way he came. The poor bastards were stuffed to the gills with biofoam, barely able to move under their own power. Though he respected Sundance and his plan, it was foolish. Most of these troops were angry farmers and conspiracy theorists. No match for trained soldiers, let alone Spartans. It was a bloodbath. Had been ever since the first pair of boots hit the ground. But that's not my problem.

The late morning breeze washed across his face, tickling the stubble on his chin. A thin mist had settled on the open courtyard, trails of vapor ascending towards the sun. Pure white marble columns loomed over the courtyard, casting towering radial shadows upon the vegetation and people that stood under their magnificence. Like the sentinels of old, they watched over their people, immovable and vigilant. Topped with an intricately carved semi-circle of the same material, its Greco-Roman roots were as visible as the blue sky above. A true period of invention and discovery. Humanity, growing and learning. However, the other side of the columns held a darker side of the budding species. One full of war, pain and destruction. Parked in the middle of the empty street were a cluster of HRUNTING/YGGDRASIL Mark IX Armor Defense Systems, colloquially known as the Mantis. At nineteen feet tall and weighing in at just over five and a half tons, the Mantis was a highly-maneuverable, rompin' stompin' tank on legs. With energy shielding, a 20mm heavy machine gun and surface-to-surface missiles, just one of these babies was enough to blow a nasty hole in pretty much anything besides a tank or starship. And he had ten of them.

But these were not your normal, run-of-the-mill Mantises. 'Commandeered' by Wilhelm's cousin, these mechs were top of the line. Heavy armor, heat seeking missiles, the works. Someone had done a marvelous job spray painting a rising red fist from a rough stencil. The lines weren't perfect and the paint dripped down the front in long streaks, but he liked it that way. Perfection meant staying inside the lines, making no mistakes. Nobody in the URF was perfect. But the UNSC liked to think they were. Immaculate. Untouchable. Above reproach. That they, and they alone knew what was best for Humanity. Bullshit.

His frown didn't do his demeanor any favors as he stepped into the circle of Mantis pilots. "How are we looking?" His firm but casual announcement garnered the attention of the men and women surrounding him. Like him, they were all hurt by the UNSC at some point or another and wanted revenge. For some, it had only been a few months. Others had waited years for their chance.

"Ready to rock n' roll. Just say the word, boss." His casual reply was just another flip of the bird to the UNSC. Passing his gaze from one face to the next, Alexander knew each and every one of them was ready. They had made their penance. There was no backing out now.

"Mount up. We've got a Spartan to hunt." They whooped and hollered as they climbed aboard the powered exoskeletons. Normally, the Major would find that behavior childish, banal even. But even he could not keep the smile from stretching over his face. Closing the cockpit, he powered the beast up. Though Alex had put down dozens of hours in a simulator aboard the Infinity, it was nothing like the real thing. The whirr of the actuators as they drove the legs upright beneath him. The solid clunk-clunk-clunk as the missiles and machine gun were loaded. And finally, the solid, bone-rattling thwomp as each foot planted itself firmly into the ground. A guy could get used to this. The rest of his squad fell into step behind him, their march a rhythmic earthquake.

He keyed his communication systems, making sure he was broadcasting on an open channel. His prey would hear his message and come running. It was going to be a fight, but it was one he was truly willing to die for. "This is Major Alexander Reilcat of the URF. I have a message for the Master Chief." Now all he had to do was wait.

Sector 13, Humanity Mall, Tribute

1730 hours

Megan's crawl back into consciousness was unbearably slow. Like trying to claw yourself through a mixture of honey, molasses and tar. Her head pounded, throbbing to the beat of an unknown song. Beads of sweat trickled down her face, disappearing beneath the sheets. She cracked open an eye, only to immediately shut it due to the onslaught of light. Megan moaned weakly, trying to shield her face from the brightness. In her weak state she couldn't lift them more than a few inches. She gave up after a few attempts, sighing in defeat. Something moved, blocking most of the light. Something big.

Kevin? Everything felt fuzzy, disjointed. She knew she wasn't dead. Dead people don't feel pain. Her leg ached painfully, throwing a wrench into her thoughts. Wait. What if this is some sort of after death…thing? She was so confused. The last thing she remembered was…she couldn't remember. Wasn't that simply frightening? Her tongue was sandpaper in her mouth, uneven and coarse.

"Don't speak. You'll choke on your own tongue. Give your body time to burn through the last of the polly-sue." Megan froze. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Whoever this was, they weren't Kevin. But with her limbs uncooperative no matter what she asked of them, there wasn't much she could do. Massless black shadows and amorphous blobs came into focus as the minutes passed. Laid out on a heart-shaped bed that came straight from an adult holo-vid, left leg wrapped tightly in bandages, propped up on half a dozen pillows. The walls were covered in a beautiful coat of liquid red velvet. The artistic works that adorned the walls were well stylized, subtle and flowed with the rest of the décor, gracefully riding the thin line between pornographic and pure.

In fact, the only thing out of place was the shattered door, hanging limply on its splintered frame. Like someone blew it open. With explosives. What could have done that? As if reading her mind, the person who she assumed was her savior stepped into the room. They were huge, having to literally bend over to fit under the top of the frame. Rising to their full height, Megan could only stare in awe. It was a Spartan. She had been saved by a Spartan! Questions swirled in her mind like a vortex, begging to be asked. Blue eyes sparkled with childlike wonder. Like a kid in a candy shop. But one thought drained that entire vortex: Linda. She wouldn't want to be pestered with pointless questions. 'Ask pertinent questions only. No more. No less.' she would say.

"Drink." They spoke, holding out a bottle of water. No, not they- she. The voice was gruff and resolute, but definitely that of a woman. Megan took the bottle and upturned it into her parched mouth. She gulped down the cold liquid greedily, not stopping until the plastic crinkled in her hands. Pulling the bottle from her lips with an audible pop, she regarded the Spartan soldier with a calculated look. Megan swirled her tongue around her mouth, reorienting the muscle with her brain. Sufficiently satisfied, she voiced the first question that came to mind.

"What happened?"

"Someone broke your leg. I patched you up." And did a darn good job. I think. She hadn't broken any bones before, so she had no prior experience with this sort of thing. Luckily. She just assumed the soldier knew what they were doing.

"What about him?" The soldier tilted their head, as if the very question was ridiculous.

"Eliminated." The emotionless, neutral tone sent a shiver down her spine. How could someone be so cold, so callous, towards ending another life? Perhaps going into the moral grounds of committing such an act was not the best approach. This person, er- Spartan, did just save her after all. Later then. Maybe. So, she switched topics.

"What did you stick me with?" With her helmet on, Megan couldn't see her face but the soldier leaned back slightly, seemingly taken back.

"Polypseudomorphine. Opiate derivative used to dull pain." The woman spoke. Rehearsed, more like. Like she was reading the description of the medication. But the woman was a Spartan. Didn't they, like, have perfect memory or something?

"Okay…" Megan retorted flatly, thrown off by the stiff answer. "I'm Megan. Megan Dikos." She introduced herself, offering a polite smile and a hand. Strangely, the tan bulk took a step back, neither taking her hand or answering her question. Like she had been burned.

"Rest up. We need to move soon." Was all she said before stepping out into the hall, leaving the teacher completely flabbergasted. What the hell?! Does the UNSC not teach their soldiers basic manners? Grumbling under her breath at the lack of her savior's civility, she nestled into the covers as best she could. Not five minutes later she was out like a light.


She awoke some time later, the pounding in her head reduced to a dull ache. Now it was only mildly irritating, not debilitating. Pushing herself into a sitting position on the plush mattress, her blue eyes sought out her tan companion. Relief coursed through her injured body as she watched the Spartan sharpen a knife.

"You need to eat." She said without looking up, pointing to Megan's right with the blade. The elegant, gilded nightstand held a lamp, a bottle of water and a small, steaming pouch. There was nothing else resting upon it. As if the end table itself was offended by these paltry, inferior products. Curious, she picked up the pouch, examining its contents with the accompanying spoon. Meal, Ready-to-Eat. Beef Stew Lumpy Gravy X9 1 1/4C? Weird name. Must be a military thing. It smelled…nice enough, though it left something to be desired in its presentation. She looked to the Spartan for reassurance but the woman was absorbed in her task. With a shrug, she dug into the prepared food and deposited a heaping spoonful into her mouth. She turned it over in her mouth for all of four seconds before spraying the stew all over the floor. Wrenching the cap of the bottle, Megan chugged down half of it in one go. Wiping the offending substance from her mouth with a sheet, she leveled a glare at her rescuer.

"What is this?! Its unpalatable!" She said, horrified. The urge to throw it at the woman was damn near overwhelming.

"Funnily enough, I had the same reaction when I ate my first MRE. My instructor said they were the most foul-tasting substance known to man. I tend to agree." Megan swore the wall of a woman was smiling behind her helmet. "My advice: shovel it as fast as possible. The taste fades quicker." The aqua haired woman eyed the food warily. Like you would a coiled viper. Ready to strike the second you let down your guard. Is this what Linda was forced to eat on her missions? No wonder she is a connoisseur of food.

"Did you eat one?" Megan asked, pushing for an answer. The Spartan gave her a stiff nod of acknowledgement. The tan armored soldier stood up, towering over her.

"Each meal contains roughly three thousand calories; enough to keep you awake and alert. I'll return shortly. Eat it all." Her rescuer disappeared through the doorway without another word, astounding Megan with her stealth and speed. From all the vids she poured over in her research on Spartans, she thought they would be louder. Less wolf, more rampaging elephant. The revolting substance that masqueraded as stew still called to her, ignorant of her taste buds' pleas to chuck the damn thing. In the end, it was her empty stomach that made the decision for her.

"I hate you." She said, glaring at the organ. Holding the packet to her lips, she took a deep breath. Bottoms up. The woman was right: the taste indeed faded quicker. But, boy, was it nasty. The accompanying protein bars and coffee weren't too bad though. At least those went down without complaint.

The armored woman returned soon after, sporting two backpacks along with some other gear. Honestly, if Megan wasn't watching the door, she would have missed the Spartan's entrance entirely. Quiet as a church mouse. Shaking free one of the bags, she set it down on the bed next to her.

"Get dressed. We're moving out." Megan opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. She was out of her element here. Unzipping the bag, she pulled each article out and examined it. The Spartan let out a huff of frustration, irking the smaller woman.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to inconvenience you by having my leg broken!" Megan growled out, gesturing to the leg splint. "And turn around! Your staring is unnerving!" The armored soldier clicked her tongue but said nothing, following her charge's request. It was slow going, getting everything on. Especially the pants! Almost fifteen minutes to gently wrestle the stubborn things into place. Right. When I get back home its skirts only until this damn thing heals. Pants are too much of a hassle.

"Ready?" The deep, feminine voice announced, her back still turned to the teacher.

"Yes, I think so." Linda turned around. "How do I look?" She canted her head to side, as if she was mulling over something.

"Not suitably prepared, but I guess it will have to do." Megan frowned as the woman marched around the side of the bed. Prepared for what? She didn't want to ask. She crouched down, gently sliding her arms under the injured woman, careful of her leg. Linda stood up, cradling her friend close. As if she weighed nothing more than a feather. Megan yelped in surprise. "Did I hurt you?" The Spartan asked quickly.

"No." Megan spoke, eager to ease the soldier of any worry. "Just surprised me." Truthfully, being carried like this, despite the circumstances, was nice. And the Spartan wasn't as cold as she was expecting. Certainly not enjoyably warm, by any standards. But the woman wasn't frigid, like Megan was expecting. And those muscles! It was like being chauffeured by a tank. An imposing, room temperature, sculpted tank.

"Heads up." Her savior spoke coolly, pulling Megan from ogling the woman's impeccable musculature. Huh? What for? She found out a few seconds later, eyes nearly bulging out of her skull. She knew from her research that Spartans were strong. Really strong. But the holo-vids didn't do them justice. Seeing their raw strength in real setting was…surreal. Awe-inspiring yet immensely terrifying. This soldier, her rescuer, just kicked in a metal door like it was made of paper. Tore it from its housing and sent it skittering across the fucking street! The cool evening air greeted her like an old friend, hugging her close. The poor woman didn't even notice, transfixed on the crumpled door. Her jaw didn't leave the floor until they rounded the corner.

Come Back Next Time!

Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. As always, I love hearing what you have to say about this story. Don't forget to favorite, follow and review! Till, next time Halo and RW fans!