The Rabbit and the Wolfe
Back again for another chapter of RW2! I am incredibly sorry for the longer than usual wait. Life has been a handful lately, and my motivation for finishing this chapter went down the toilet for a while. I hope this filler chapter lives up to your standards. Thank you all for all of your continued support! And to my awesome editor MightyMilkDuds. Without you, none of this would be possible. Thank you, so very much!
18: Distorted Sanctimony
December 25, 2561
Sector 7, Humanity Mall, Tribute
Epsilon Eridani System
1755 hours
Children. Major Reilcat had taken children hostage to draw him out. Humanity's future, innocent and curious in all their dealings. Their youth invigorates the old, summons the smile in the most unhappy and can even inject hope into the most jaded and cynical individuals. As lively as they were, children were just as brittle. Perhaps not in the literal sense, but care must be taken when raising them, lest the horrors of the world consume them entirely. To threaten something so precious…there were no words. No language, no syllable, could express the unbridled rage that pumped through every adult's veins at the mention of hurting something irreplaceable.
When the message came over the coms, Kelly had to physically restrain her lover from hunting the man down and stomping in his chest. As a mother herself, she could relate on a level far above any other member of Blue Team, save for their scout, though the taller woman was much more reserved in expressing her rage. Chief knew Sandra would have torn the city apart to find those kids, damn the consequences. Anyone stupid enough to get between the blonde and her goal would get the business end of her twin energy swords. Eventually, with Kelly's help, Chief calmed her down (only after promising extreme, drawn-out bodily harm to "that fucking sadistic prick").
Chief and the others weren't what one would call sociable, by any stretch of the imagination. Outside of military matters, the older members of Blue Team hardly spoke to anyone else, save for their peers and a few select others. It didn't help that their social skills were near-nonexistent. But despite the Spartan's less than amicable demeanor, he and Amber had come to an understanding, of sorts. The small Sangheili had an uncanny ability to read him and his subtle, minute changes in mood. From observing her more reserved parent, he reasoned. The thought that someone could understand him on such a level rubbed him the wrong way. But, despite any ill-conceived notions he may have indulged in, the young Saurian only held the purest of intentions, her golden eyes glimmered with curiosity for each question she asked. And for the moment, she stoked the flames of his humanity, allowing it to glow just a tiny bit brighter. To think that someone would threaten a dozen children just to get his attention… it sent him into a cold rage. It was his duty to protect Humanity, even if it was from itself. Priority one was rescuing the hostages. He would adapt from there.
He crept along the lifeless streets, the twisted husks of concrete and steel threw malformed shadows that concealed the shimmer of his active camouflage. The distant crackling of still-burning fires was his only companion. The evening sun couldn't touch him here. With one eye on his motion tracker, he crept forward, wary and alert. Bodies lay sprawled in the streets, ravaged by fire, bullets and the cold. Stiff, unmoving eyes followed his progress as his titanium boots slid silently across the asphalt. Watching him. Judging him. Unspoken questions passed through his ears like whispers on the wind: Why are we dead? How could they do this to us? Why did the UNSC not save us? Why didn't you? Their words pressed unceasingly against his skull, like being trapped in a building that was slowly flooding. For the first time in a long while, he seriously wished he wasn't alone inside his armor. Cortana had worked with him quite well; they were an unstoppable team. She had kept him focused. Grounded. But being given a flesh-and-blood body, such a partnership was no longer possible. Aura could 'lend' him a combat-oriented fragment. It would give the impatient, troublemaking Forerunner AI something to do besides bothering Engineering. Unofficially, of course. Climbing over an upturned bus, he inventoried his dwindling ammo reserves. Half a dozen magazines for his MA5D, two for his magnum and a measly 27 rounds for the battle rifle clamped to his back. If he didn't bump into a UNSC patrol soon, he would need to scavenge for whatever he could. Suddenly, his motion tracker burst to life, indicating a handful of enemy contacts nearby, including a Mantis.
Using the heavy gunfire as cover, he sprinted into the small shop on the corner, smashing through the front double glass doors like they weren't even there. His suit's filters tagged hundreds of different scents as he ran through the showroom, cluttering his HUD. John dismissed them gruffly. The prestigious, wealthy perfume boutique was of no concern to him as he vaulted over a particularly high display case. The mission was the only thing that mattered.
Kicking open the door separating the showroom from the rest of the building, John barreled up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Whoever was pinned down wouldn't last long against a Mantis. It took him less than twenty seconds to reach the roof. The golden afternoon sun greeted the olive-painted legend as he stepped foot on the solar panels that made up the ceiling of the building. The city was a complete hellscape. Towering skyscrapers, their pristine faces ripped away, groaned and swayed in the blustery, frigid winds. Polycrete and reinforced titanium hung limply off like fragmented bone and torn sinew, completely at the mercy of the elements. Fires raged across the urban jungle feeding on everything it could, orange tendrils hungrily licking the oxygen in the evening air and releasing enormous plumes of black smoke.
Another burst of gunfire shoved the scene to the back of his mind. There were more pressing matters to attend to. A lone soldier was pinned behind what remained of a Pelican dropship as the enemy reigned a hailstorm of lead down upon them. IFF tags appeared on his HUD, displaying the names, rank and designation of the unit below him. PFC Green, T. was the only friendly tag still transmitting vitals. He keyed his mike, sighting down his first target, a young man wielding an old assault rifle perched on top of a car.
"Private Green, this is Spartan-117. Status?" The soldier whirled around, pistol darting around erratically, trying to get a read on his position. Spread out in a loose 'V', the enemy slowly eroded the ODST's cover with overlapping fields of fire. He pulled the trigger. The boy staggered backwards, toppling off the vehicle, blood seeping out of the three new holes in his chest. Chief tried the coms again. There was no response. Either they were ignoring him or encountering issues with their own communications. Neither possibility sat well with him. Pulling a fragmentation grenade from his belt, John hurled it at a small group hiding behind a chunk of wing. A surprised scream echoed off the walls before the grenade detonated with a dull whump. The Mantis pilot pivoted its guns towards the new arrival, pulling some of the heat off Green and unleashing a barrage of death. The first missile nearly lifted him off his feet as 20mm rounds eagerly tore into the side of the small business. Recovering quickly, Chief hit his thrusters, stretching the ground below into a blur of greys and browns. He poured the rest of the clip into the walker, tossing the weapon away when it clicked empty.
Leaping from building to building, John kept its attention focused squarely on him. Hopefully, it would be enough for the Private to escape, or at the very least put some distance between them. Last one, he thought, unclipping the lone plasma grenade from his belt. He was out of options. His AR wouldn't be able to pierce the thick armor. The Spartan was taken by surprise when the blue flash of the plasma-based explosive was accompanied by a tremendous explosion that consumed the entirety of the Mantis. It took a couple of unsteady steps backwards before collapsing in burning heap of metal, circuitry and flesh.
"Merry go fuck yourself!" Without the helmet, John could clearly see the soldier's face. With sharp green eyes and auburn hair, the woman was almost a spitting image of Linda. The woman's demeanor brought a small smile to his placid face. Clearly, not a woman to be trifled with.
"Good work, Private." He congratulated her, stepping off the side of a two-story building. Comfort swept through him as his thrusters triggered automatically, slowing his descent. At least the mech hadn't damaged them. He ran them through a diagnostics program, just to be sure. Out here, there were no second chances. Better his tech fail now than in the heat of combat.
"Oh! Uh, Master Chief." She said, scrambling to attention. He took her in with a critical eye. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises, PFC Green was right as rain. The wrist shackles were new, however. A brown brow lifted in confusion and mild concern.
"Care to explain the cuffs, Private?" Embarrassment and shame blossomed in her cheeks and she scratched the back of her neck sheepishly.
"It's kind of a long story." He frowned behind his visor. "Sir."
"Give me the short version." He ordered flatly, pulling an M7 submachine gun free from one of the corpses. Battered and scraped, the weapon had seen better days. But a Spartan didn't require flashy weapons. It just needed to kill. And the SMG was one of the most rugged weapons in the UNSC arsenal. Attaching it to the empty magnetic clamp on his thigh he turned to the ODST, silently demanding an answer.
"In as few words as possible? Tried to kill you. Left to die by my commanding officer, Captain Lasky asked me for help, Palmer threw me in a bird, and the rest is history." She glanced around, the armored bodies of her fellow commandos strewn across the street in a mass of black armor and blood. "A tragic, wasteful history." John could see the sadness floating in her green orbs, mixing with the rage that lingered just below the surface. He knew that look well. It was the look that adorned the faces of his friends every time they lost another brother, another sister. Over the years it had become easier to hide the pain, but it never lessened the sting of loss.
"There is a detachment of Marines just over a klick southeast of here. If you're quick you can make it before dawn." He told her, stamping down the memories that threatened to rise to the surface. He would deal with those later. Stashing a few more mags for the M7, he moved to push deeper into enemy occupied territory, towards his objective.
"No!" Her sudden outburst caught him by surprise, but it faded just as fast. John observed her for a few moments, nonplussed. To her credit, Tamara didn't even twitch at the Master Chief's imposing figure, continuing on as if he wasn't even there. "My bastard of a CO hoped he could get away clean by throwing me at your feet. That didn't happen. Now, he's threatening kids to lure you out. Children! I don't know what you think of me, and frankly, I don't care. Reilcat is going to pay dearly for what he's done." Beads of sweat dotted her face and neck as she exhaled sharply out her nose. Her eyes bored into his visor like drills, trying to uncover any information on his reaction. The two of them stood statuesque despite the destruction raging around them.
"I will not needlessly jeopardize civilians." He answered honestly. The longer they stood there, the greater chance the hostages could be harmed. Green mulled over his words for a few moments before she spoke, a small smirk creeping onto her face as she did.
"I'm under orders from Palmer."
Unfortunately, there was no way to verify her claim without speaking to the Commander herself. But time was not on their side. She could be lying; John wasn't about to piss off the woman by killing her operative. He would just have to take her words at face value until he could come up with something more concrete. And by the look on the ODST's face, she knew it too. Still, he didn't have to like it.
"You're not coming." The words came out harsher than intended, surprising him. Sandra's bubbly attitude may be affecting Blue Team more than he originally thought.
"Yes, I am." Chief elected to not respond, letting the words float off into the crackling blazes and distant gunfire. Not willing to waste any more time, he grabbed the titanium bar linking the two cuffs together. Gripping one of the cuffs with his hands, he started to pull it apart. The metal groaned under the intense stress before failing, coming completely apart with a sharp snap. He quickly freed her other hand, leaving her to her own devices while he scavenged for ammunition. Only an old M7 smg stood out as remotely serviceable. All the other weapons were either beyond repair or looked close to it. Magnetizing the newest acquisition to his hip, along with a few spare magazines, he stood to find Green dropping the last set of dog tags into a hard pouch. Two rocket launchers leaned against the crippled frame of the pelican. The bird had done a nosedive into the street, carving a jagged path through the asphalt before grinding to a halt in a shopping plaza parking lot. The large-caliber holes in the cockpit and fuselage told the rest of the story. Poor bastards never stood a chance.
"Grab a helmet." He said, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "The temperature is beginning to drop and we don't have time to worry about frostbite."
"You mean you don't have time to worry about it." Tamara said sourly. She felt a twinge of sadness for defiling her fellow soldiers like this but she needed it more than they did.
"Report to your station, Private." He ordered tersely. Without another word, Chief scooped up the heavier launcher, clamping it to his back as he took off at a brisk jog, aiming to leave her behind. Tamara wasn't happy with Master Chief's icy demeanor and low-key jabs, but she supposed it was better than a bullet in the head. Sealing her borrowed helmet, she hefted the other rocket launcher and took off after the olive giant, haunting images of terrified children spurring her onward.
Sector 4, Humanity Mall, Tribute
1810 hours
The quad vibrated intensely as it raced over the uneven dirt paths and manicured flower beds, the vehicle's suspension compensating as best it could. Sandra could almost picture herself back on Earth, taking a Mongoose into the woods behind her childhood home. Almost. A shell screamed overhead, slamming into the side of a small building, erasing the machine gun nest from existence.
"Whoop! Did you see that?! Those foxtrots went up like a Roman candle!" Her passenger cheered. Accelerating, she swerved behind a Warthog, whose titanium shrugged off the burst of small-arms fire like it was nothing. Strangely, despite its relatively small size, it wasn't that fast, easily outpaced by the bigger, heavier Scorpion main battle tanks. Though it didn't boast the fastest speed on the track, it was remarkably agile, going places and performing maneuvers that would be impossible for other vehicles. But this was not the place or time for such topics. It would only distract her and possibly get her passenger killed. Besides, Private Hathora was starting to grow on her.
"Hard to miss." Sandra retorted, some of her smile leaking into her voice. Nothing like a good explosion to brighten your day. Their battalion was just one of a half a dozen or so that were ordered to advance on the URF headquarters in the middle of the city. Early recon reports indicated it was heavily defended with some of their most elite troops. Unfortunately for Sandra and everyone else, they couldn't blow the complex to kingdom come with MAC rounds from orbit. With a civilian presence in the active AO, the government of Tribute had forbidden it and wanting a avoid a potential political disaster, had acquiesced. Not to mention ONI breathing down their necks at the rumors circulating that the URF cell leader, William Sundance was there as well. And they were desperate to get their shadowy, morally ambiguous mitts on him. So with only another hour of sleep, Sandra, Kelly and Fred had met up with the rest of their unit and push on. That is how she found herself driving headlong into overlapping fields of fire. Streams of white-hot death tore deep furrows through the fertile soil, saturating it with blood. In retaliation, a flurry of rockets turned a troop-laden hog into a burning husk of fused metal and melting flesh. They were tearing one another apart. Bloody, ruthless and unending. And with only the light ATV to protect them, they needed to get off this open field, and fast.
"Watch it! I'm not bulletproof!" Hathora yelled over the rumble of the hydrogen-powered engine as stray rounds deflected off Sandra's shields. The transport deftly responded to her knee-jerk reaction, whipping back behind the body of a tank. I really need to get my head on straight. She swallowed heavily, pushing past the guilt stuck in her throat. But now was not the time to apologize.
As if summoned by thought, a Warthog pulled up alongside them, its heavy machine gun billowing out a stream of armor-piercing carnage. Fred swept the weapon from side to side, tearing through walls and people as if they were made of wet tissue paper.
"The side streets! Go, we'll cover you!" Kelly's melodic voice seeped into her coms, filling the younger Spartan with a renewed sense of ease. Forgoing a response, Sandra immediately veered off, Kelly close behind. "Bravo Team, on me!" The roar of an additional five Warthogs drowned out any hope for conversation. They sped across the bullet-torn lawn, crushing exotic flower gardens and reducing the white picket fences to splinters. The engine whined in protest as she pushed it to its limit. The blue diamond of her waypoint kept her focused while the heavy armor kept the enemy busy. 300 meters. 240 meters. One hundred. Come on. Come on… Sandra allowed herself a little smile. Now, as long as nobody jinxed them-
"Woo! Yeah! Home free, you bastards! Have a going away present!" An overzealous ODST shouted, unleashing a sustained burst of fire towards the nearest URF emplacement. Retribution was swift and merciless. A slew of rockets burst forth from a dozen windows and doors like a nest of vipers, the only evidence of their existence were their poisonous contrails. A pair of high-explosive warheads slammed into one of the lead hogs, sending its flaming carcass rolling high over its twin. A third rocket reduced another Warthog's back axle to scrap metal, bringing it to a grinding halt.
"Targets, four o-clock high!" Fred's voice blasted through the coms. Immediately, the remaining hogs let loose with their guns, sweeping across the polycrete walls with a furious roar. Hot shell casings continued to pour out onto the ground until they passed into the narrow safety of the alley. Black smoke billowed up towards the sky, bright orange flames licking at the signature green paint just a predator would savor a delectable meal. Several Marines lay beside the wreck, unmoving. Tires squealed horribly as they fought with inertia to keep the three-ton vehicles on the road. The guttural roar of the engines reverberated down the street announcing their presence and daring anyone to challenge them. In between the gaps in the buildings Sandra could see the column was advancing rapidly. Polycrete crumbled like a poorly constructed tower as the heavy tanks plowed through them at full speed. Tribute would endure a painful and lengthy recovery but at least they would be free. But that doesn't mean they need to blow away everything in sight, Sandra mentally scolded as another shell screamed through the air.
Kelly pushed her foot to the floor, throwing the hog forward with a surge of power. It had certainly been a while since she had been given her own command. Well, technically, they were assigned to Fred, but the lieutenant had made sure they would listen to her orders as long they did not directly conflict with his own. Nevertheless, she slipped into the role like a second skin. It was just like riding a bike. Though, have never ridden one before, she didn't think it was the most fitting example. Truthfully, she wished command could have spared them one more Warthog so at the very least Sandra could keep up with the rest of them. But command had their reasons. And her duty was to follow orders, not question them. But no matter how hard she ignored the fact there was a small part of her wished that she could stand side by side with her love.
An intense ripple passed through the air less than a foot from her head, triggering the heat sensors in her helmet. Her body recognized it before her brain, throwing the car into a drift as Fred opened up with the chaingun. The now-driverless vehicle flipped end over end down the street, the evening filled with the horrid sounds of crushing metal and terrified screams. The transport bounced off a bus and continued to roll down the street before coming to screeching halt between half a dozen trucks, effectively blocking the road ahead. The chassis cracked and warped in so many places, Kelly would be amazed if it ever moved again. And forget about the turret, which had been bent almost ninety degrees…after lodging itself in a militiaman's chest. Blood dripped from her limp body, mixing itself with the fuel and other fluids leaking from the hog. The color was…unsightly. Kelly felt a chill grip her heart. A Gauss turret was one of the most fearsome weapons on the battlefield, able to expel its projectiles at mind-boggling speeds. This extreme speed granted its wielder incredible armor-piercing capabilities, able to drop a shielded Spartan in one hit. A terrifying prospect in its own right.
Not wanting to be aerosolized by the supersonic slugs, the remaining vehicles swerved into any space big enough to fit them, coming to a screeching halt. Frantically dismounting from their vehicles, the majority of the team scrambled across the street as quickly as possible, where Frederic had positioned himself just inside an alley. "How do you want to play this, Lieutenant?" Sandra asked, tamping down the fear that began to creep into her veins. Kelly did a quick once-over and let out the breath she'd been unknowingly holding on to. Pushing those thoughts aside, she refocused her attention on Fred.
"That Gauss cannon covers the street. Trying to push through it would be suicide. Instead, we go around." He said, pointing out the buildings behind him that lined the streets. "Scans show these apartment complexes are interconnected. We're going to push through on foot, take it out from above." Fred turned and addressed the nearest Spartan, newly recovered from his augmentation procedures. "Spartan Blemming, take two others and guard our ride out of here. The column isn't going to stop and if we lose those hogs, we're hoofing it the rest of the way." Blemming nodded, tapping the two nearest Spartans on the shoulder to accompany him. Tapping into the battle network, he warned the other units of the turret and to keep a sharp eye out for others. Knowing their exit was sufficiently covered, Fred motioned the rest of his unit forward towards the nearest entryway. "Hathora, blow the door." He ordered, the militia woman giving a quick nod in response.
"Magdul, give me those shaped charges." Hathora asked, holding out her waiting hand. He handed her the malleable explosives, a grim look on his face. She addressed him, but didn't look up from her task. "We don't have time to be subtle, man. So what if this is a little overkill?" The Gauss turret took this as its cue to hammer the impromptu barricade father down the street, blowing the mangled cars into scrap metal and superheated gas. A lucky round found its way into the chest of one of the Spartans tasked with protecting their rides, killing him instantly and throwing his body into a nearby car.
"Christ!" Pelfa, the lone ODST of the group called out in surprised horror.
"Change of plans, Corporal. Blow those doors, now!" The Egyptian Tribute soldier flipped the switch, detonating the charges with a ferocity one would not expect, shearing the door in half and throwing it down the apartment hall. Kelly charged into the building first, using the smoke as cover, Oathsworn hungry for retribution. The rest fell into step a few seconds behind her.
One soldier stuck his head out into the hall, curious as to what all the ruckus was about. "What the he-" Kelly aimed her shotgun right between his eyes and pulled the trigger, turning his face into a pulpy, gory mess, and splattering his brains into the room. Chairs scraped against the floor as rebels scrambled for their weapons. Kelly largely ignored them, only dispatching those who sought to leave the confinements of their room.
"Kelly, get to that gun emplacement. We'll mop up the stragglers." Fred's order rumbled through her com link.
"Understood." She responded, her muscles twitching eagerly for the coming fight. "Don't slow the others down too much, Lieutenant." Her jab didn't elicit a response but the look on his face must be priceless. Barreling through the stairwell door at the end of the hall, she took the stairs three at a time, unwilling to let anyone else die on her watch. Gunfire echoed up the tight corners as explosions rocked the ground floor. Part of her desperately yearned to head back the way she came, to assist her unit and protect her lover. But she had been given an order which, as much as it pained her to admit, came before all else. As she rounded the corner for the fourth floor, the door ahead burst open, spilling a dozen soldiers in patchwork armor into the narrow staircase.
They greeted her with a hailstorm of lead, rapidly tearing through her shields. Beads of sweat trickled down her neck as she closed the gap, even as the golden aura surrounding her armor flickered and died under the ballistic punishment. Oathsworn bit right back, ripping through the leg armor of one rebel, badly mangling his leg and leaving him to howl in agony. A second 8-gauge shell found its mark, throwing another soldier over the banister as he fumbled for a grenade, leaving the handheld explosive to detonate a floor below.
"Shit! Fall back!" One man yelled out as he fired wildly, attempting to backpedal through the door from whence he came. Oh no you don't. Kelly was on him in an instant. Clamping a hand around his shoulder plate, she threw him aside sending him tumbling violently down the polycrete stairs. Seeing this, the less seasoned soldiers began to panic.
"Have mercy!"
"I don't want to die!"
"I signed up to fight, not to be murdered!"
"Kill it! Kill it now!"
Kelly ignored them all, using her bulk to plow through the mass of bodies, silencing those who attempted to impede her mission. All in all, seven had met their ends at her hands, the rest had scattered to the winds. Though she knew the survivors might pose a threat eventually, it wasn't her job to be judge or jury. She was here to complete an objective and no one was going to stop her.
Her com chirped. "Status, Blue-Four?" Fred's voice was broken with the staccato of gunfire. Seems Fred drew the short straw.
"Advancing through the second level. Schematics indicate that there is a skywalk that connects with a similar complex across the street, right on top of them." Her shields began to climb back to full.
Fred was silent for a moment. Whether it was because he was thinking or focused on the fight, she couldn't tell. "Acknowledged." He ended the link. The Gauss cannon took this moment to fire another volley down the street. Luckily, no one was hit, but it did nothing to calm the unease that crawled up her spine. That emplacement needs to go. Now. Casting a glance out the rapidly passing windows, she did some quick math in her head. Physically, it was possible. It would definitely be a story to tell Amber. If Sandra didn't kill her first, that is. She'd already been through one near-death experience on this planet. A second one was not desirable. I just need to make sure I don't end up dead. Simple. She blatantly ignored the little voice in the back of her head, warning her that this was a terrible idea.
She activated her thrusters, giving her a burst of speed and triggering the rebels sixth sense, who poked out of their holes, firing down the hall at her. Pulling a frag from her belt, she primed it and whipped it down the hall like a stone. It had the desired effect, sending the soldiers scrambling for cover. She launched herself through the window, shotgun in hand. Death was going to be busy.
She felt the heat of the missile's propellant as it passed within a few feet of her head. Like the sting of a slap, only hotter. It was there one instant then gone the next. The concussive blast less than a second later, knocked her out of a controlled freefall. Her jets compensated as the fireball consumed her, causing her internal temperature to spike. It was unpleasant, debris bouncing off her armor, but unlike last time, her shields held fast. Oathsworn answered in kind, its shells clacking on the ground heralded a swift and brutal demise. Her first shot hit square on his chestplate, knocking him to the ground. The second found a rebel peppering her shields with an assault rifle, reducing her firing hand to a mangled, bloody stump. The third punched a hole in her chest, spraying her internal organs out onto the street. She stored the empty weapon as her thrusters slowed her descent.
She hit the asphalt hard, rolling to conserve her momentum. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Kelly turned on her heel and descended upon the surprised rocketeer. He just managed to get one hand around the barrel when she drove her knee into his chest at full force. She left him hacking and wheezing as she scooped up the SPNKr from the ground. Hoisting the weapon to her shoulder, she came face to face with a young woman, barely old enough to drink, if that. Horror consumed her big, brown eyes, the pistol in her hands shaking worse than a leaf in a tornado. This is the face of a killer? One who had executed two of her team? Kelly highly doubted it, if her presence and demeanor were anything to go by. This poor girl looked like she would faint at the mere mention of blood. She didn't belong here. None of these kids did. The battlefield belonged to soldiers, not trigger-happy children who wanted to play war.
"Wha- what have you done?!" The girl stammered out, completely traumatized. Just a few years ago Kelly would have shot this girl without hesitation, merely for standing in the way of her mission. But this was before Amber stumbled into her life. Before Sandra showed her what it was like to live. Now, she couldn't look at this girl and not see her as someone's daughter. This was a potentially fatal error and an extremely dangerous way of thinking. Her love's words echoed in her head: "Prove to me you aren't a machine, 087." She was going to get so much flak for this at her debrief.
"Go home. You don't belong here." The woman didn't move, her eyes flicking between Kelly and the bloody remains of her compatriots. Her eyes held the same look as refugees who watched as the Covenant glassed their planet. Permanently scarred. Haunted by recurring nightmares of the tragedies they endured.
"Ach- Just shoot the bitch, Leslie. She's a goddamn lapdog of the UNSC! Think of your parents! What would they want you to do? Bow down to these tyrants!? Freedom or death, Lez! Freedom or death!" Bloody, ragged coughs cut the rest of his speech short, his punctured lungs fighting a losing battle against the blood that constantly seeped into organs.
"Ma'am." Kelly's stern callout broke the girl's trancelike state like a gunshot. "This is an active warzone between the UNSC and an active terrorist cell. As per UNSC Code Three-One-One, Article 23, Section 12 any individual, unaffiliated or otherwise, who takes up arms against UNSC personnel in an active warzone is to be treated as an enemy combatant." Her confused look said it all. 'Leslie' had no idea what she meant. To be fair, as far as Kelly knew, there is no such thing as Code Three-One-One. She had pulled the numbers out of her ass. Still, she felt the need to clarify. "It means," She began, leaning into the woman's personal space "that I will shoot you unless you drop the pistol and go home." It had the desired effect. The girl backed up, albeit on unsteady legs, and took off tossing the weapon in a burned-out car like it had a contagious disease.
Kelly put the final SPNKr rocket into the side of the Gauss cannon, blowing it apart and rendering it completely beyond repair. "You think you did her a favor? She was nothing before she met me. She had no spine! I had to do everything for her! It was pathetic." The spent launcher slipped from her hands, hitting the street with a dull thunk. And I suppose you made everything better? Give me a break. "I gave her something to believe in again. But what would you know about that, huh? You're just a fucking machine-" She drew her sidearm quick as lightning, driving two bullets into his skull. I am not a machine.
Kelly's status light blinked green three times, signaling Fred the coast was clear. Her coms chirped happily as Fred requested a channel. "That was fast."
"I took the expedient route." Kelly responded, inklings of humor creeping into her voice.
"Understood Blue-Four. Hold your position. I'll signal our ride and we'll be there ASAP. Blue-Two out." Disconnecting the channel, Kelly found herself in the relative quiet of war-torn Casbah City. The gunfire and explosions, while not exactly comforting, were oddly reassuring, reminding the veteran that the UNSC was still hard at work pushing the URF off the planet. She took this time to reload her weapons, casting glances down the street to where the woman disappeared. Her mind filled with unanswered questions as she slid a fresh magazine into her magnum. Did I do that right, or was it an act? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. No, her fear was real. She was in way over her head. Maybe I should talk to Sandra about it, ask her opinion? In any case, she needed to remain focused. The mission wasn't over yet.
Sector 12, Humanity Mall, Tribute
En route to rally point Bravo
1825 hours
To be honest, this was not at all how Megan envisioned Christmas Day would be. Her picturesque holiday of spiced eggnog, watching the snow fall while getting lost in Kevin's warm embrace under the mistletoe had been literally shattered, reducing her to a quaking, emotional wreck. What was destined to be a vacation to remember had transformed into a nightmare she couldn't ever forget. In a few short weeks, this quintessential getaway destination had been reduced to nothing more than rubble and ash. If it weren't for the Tribute Militia and timely intervention of the UNSC who knew how bad things could have got? But how many of those brave souls had lost their lives in this bloody conflict? How many more would perish before this fight was done? These questions weighed heavily upon the teacher's mind as the two of them raced through the decaying skeleton that was once Casbah City.
"There is nothing you can do for them. Your worrying will only put undue stress on your body." She looked up at her companion, eyes wide.
"How did you…" Megan asked, mystified at this woman's powers of observation and deduction. Linda was silent for a few moments, allowing the cold wind to whistle crisply around them.
"I've seen that look before…too many times to count." A heavy pause descended upon the women, driving them both into contemplative silence. Looking for something more positive that the death and chaos that surrounded her, Megan took time to analyze her armored savior. It wasn't like she could do much else, cradled in the Spartan's arms. Hugged against the woman's breastplate, its many imperfections became abundantly clear. Deep gouges carved their way through the titanium like canyons that had been eroded over thousands of years. She ran her fingers over them imagining what could have caused such damage. The rest of the plate was deceptively rough and uneven, casualties of keeping its user alive. A perfect blend of flesh and machine. It was beautiful, in a battle-hardened sort of way.
Megan let out an appreciative hum. "Interesting." She whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
"What is?" Megan's cheeks blossomed pink at the discovery of her private observations. She couldn't be sure, but Megan thought she caught hints of amusement in her tone. Luckily, she was spared further embarrassment as Linda had not taken her eyes off the street.
"Oh, uh, I just find you-your armor intoxicating…interesting! I mean I find your armor interesting!" She sputtered out, utterly mortified. "Yep! Simply interesting. Nothing more! Hehehe…" She finished lamely. Her attempt to save herself had backfired horrendously. Oh my god… Sticking her head in her hands, determinedly refusing to remove them. Damn arms. They're like chiseled marble!
"…Thank you?" The words rolled awkwardly off Linda's tongue. Truthfully, not many people besides the technicians took an interest in her armor. Hell, beyond the simple fact that it kept her alive, she didn't think much of it either. She slowed her sprint as she neared an open intersection, leg muscles burning with an acute familiarity. Though this was offset by the increasingly annoying stabbing pain from her injuries the sniper had sustained earlier.
She ducked around the corner, sticking to the shadows as best she could. Not as easy as it looked. The pale light of Tribute's moon threw a film of silver over the strip of blown-out restaurants, imbuing it with that vintage look seen in archaic black and white vids of centuries past. One of the few vices that the sniper allowed herself to engage in. Perhaps one is in order after this op is done. Her post-op relaxation hopes were brought to a halt as the young teacher broke the silence.
"Diamonds." Megan whispered, as if in a trance. Linda opened her mouth to inquire, but the aqua-haired woman continued on as if Linda wasn't there. "The glass…glittering in the street…like a diamond. It's almost romantic, in a way." Her temper flared and she had to choke down the words desperate to pull themselves from her throat. Romantic? Give me a break. Where is your someone special then? That person you supposedly found?! But Linda couldn't compromise her identity, even for the sake of comforting her friend.
"We need to keep moving." Linda said quietly, shifting the woman's weight, aware of possible enemies in the area. She only got a few more steps before the teacher's next words stopped her dead.
"I think I'm bleeding again. My leg feels wet." The redhead cursed under her breath. Biofoam only lasts a few hours at most, enough to get the individual to a center where they can be treated properly. Megan didn't have that luxury. With a growing dread, Linda came to the realization that they would have to stop for the night.
"Understood." Linda scanned the buildings, her HUD providing an overlay of its relative structural integrity. Only one made her comfortable enough to risk stepping under its roof with Megan. The establishment was clearly one of high class, meant for the wealthier patrons and tourists. Painstakingly carved tables and chairs lay broken, their limbs scattered randomly across the rich marble floor. Kicking on her helmet lights, Linda scanned the area for hostiles. Beyond a large wall-mounted fish tank slowly leaking the last of its contents onto the floor, there was nothing of note. Shifting Megan to one arm, she drew her pistol, determined to let nothing befall her friend. Wading through the debris, the two slowly advanced through to the kitchen and up the lone set of stairs in the back of the building.
Linda idlily turned the biofoam canister over in her hands, her mind elsewhere. Megan's leg had indeed opened up as the coagulant dissolved, though the wound looked worse than it actually was. A little biofoam, little gauze and a combat knife made for a decent patch job. Not permanent, but enough to last another day. Hopefully. She considered venturing out to secure additional medical supplies, but quickly dismissed it. She didn't want to put Megan in any further danger. Small, soft breaths drifted from her friend, drawing the Spartan's attention back to her current situation. Cocooned in the luxurious sheets, sound asleep was Megan, the barest of smiles adorning her young face. She looks content, at peace. Must be nice. An angry chirp from her HUD drew the sniper's lips into a frown. This was the fourth medical alert in the past hour. It was really starting to piss her off. Too bad the alerts were routed directly into the core systems, so disconnecting the damn thing was impossible. Clever bastards. The lack of rest did nothing for her injuries, rendering even simple acts, like breathing, a challenge. The wall creaked unhappily as her Mjolnir armor settled against it, trying to settle into a less aggravating position. Setting the maximum range on her motion tracker, she tried to distract herself with irrelevant questions. It wasn't in her nature, but it was either this or give herself ample time to delve into her murky past. And trips down memory lane were neither pleasant nor relaxing. What else was she supposed to do? Where is her partner? I suppose it could be possible that the male was her partner, but it was just as probable that is wasn't. After all, a child gave me this information. And the accuracy of their statements leaves much to be desired. Megan rolled over, but did not stir, mumbling incoherently and latching onto a nearby pillow. She's been through hell. But it's my duty to protect her, ensures she gets through this. Megan is strong. She'll survive. I know it. Linda wasn't really the kind of girl to make promises, but she felt the need to make an exception in Megan's case. Quashing the eruption of biting pain, she pushed herself to her feet. Taking slow steps as not to rouse her friend, she sat down beside the four-post bed. Linda had no idea what drove her to perform such an unnecessary action, but supposed it didn't really matter in the end.
"Megan…" Her whisper trailed off, her tongue twisting into unfamiliar shapes. She took a breath, trying to get her thoughts in order. She never had a silver tongue, preferring action over words. "I keep you at arm's length, but you won't accept that. Your desire to be my friend will only end in disappointment, as I have none." Technically a half-truth, but the complete lack of any non-Spartan friendships still lent validity to the point. "I am not the…most engaging person to converse with, as you must know by now. So why continue?" She shook her head, as if coming to some conclusion of her own. "John was right. Civilian life is needlessly complex, full of inconsistencies. Completely alien from our own. I don't understand… Regardless, I promise to protect you and ensure you make it back to your loved ones, no matter the cost to myself." A quiet sigh filtered through her helmet, left to flounder in the silence of the bedroom. Perhaps this was a topic to discuss with Halsey. Emotions were a liability she could ill afford. Linda slid the magnum from its holster, refocusing her efforts on the mission at hand, silently observed by a pair of blue eyes heavily laced with a cocktail of whirling emotions.
Come Back Next Time!
I again sincerely apologize for the long wait! I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. With this chapter down we are nearing the end of the final arc of RW: CL. But don't fret, the story of our favorite couple isn't over. A third, and final, part of the trilogy is in the works! There may be a small hiatus between the second and final parts but after that, I will try my hardest to get them out as quickly as possible. GET HYPED FOR PART THREE! Don't forget to favorite, follow and review!
