The Rabbit and the Wolfe
And we are back with yet another chapter! The battle within Humanity Mall, built upon the old city of Casbah, comes to a heart-pounding, bloody climax! But as Master Chief squares up against the traitor, Alexander Reilcat, the rest of Blue Team have their hands full with Sundance and the remaining URF forces. Meanwhile, Megan wrestles with a secret that could destroy more than one relationship… Thank you all for following me this far and I hope you enjoy this newest installment of RW:CL!
*Note: There is mention of a football in this chapter. I am referring to an American football (oblong, brown ball)*
Possible trigger for suicide in this chapter. It is only one paragraph, but I have marked the beginning and the end for those who may take issue with the subject matter.
19: Seek and Destroy
December 25, 2561
UNSC Infinity, P-deck
Epsilon Eridani System
1800 hours
Dr. Halsey sat hunched over at her desk, her weathered fingers gliding silently over the keys. Diagnostics and readouts rapidly poured across the screen, too quick for a less acclimated mind to make sense of. But Catharine Halsey was no stranger to the seemingly indecipherable mass of code and data that made up the core systems of the second generation of MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor. Though more sophisticated, its streamlined construction was largely based upon her own work, reducing the steep learning curve to the size of a speedbump. Output seems to be within predicted levels… So far, her Spartans appeared to be performing flawlessly, as expected. At least on paper. But something about Kelly's demeanor on the ride back from Permefreis kept nagging at her. She couldn't put a finger on it, but Kelly seemed…off. No doubt due to that uppity, cheap, purple knock-off! What nerve, thinking herself to be on equal footing with them!
Perhaps she was being somewhat overzealous, at least in her assessment of the young woman's skills. She could clearly handle herself in a fight; the after-action reports would attest to that. And there were several points of notable interest mentioned in her personnel file. Most intriguing was the young woman's mixed-species parents, whom despite their differences, seemed to provide an excellent environment to raise children. Considering we were still at war; I'm surprised they weren't at one another's throats. The loyalty they must have commanded…the foundation of their relationship… It had been almost nine years since Miranda passed. As estranged as they were, she deeply mourned the loss of her daughter, crying herself to sleep for many nights afterward. It had left a hole, a void, in her heart that no one could ever mend. Though the passage of time had dulled the pain, she couldn't help but feeling as though she had some hand in her daughter's death. Not in the literal sense, but if she had only been a more dutiful mother…taken a more active presence in Miranda's life she might still be here today. They say parents are never supposed to bury their children. It just wasn't the natural order of things. But life threw her a curveball and she dealt with it the best way she knew how: by burying herself in her work. Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but Miranda had done her duty for humanity; it was only right that Catherine did the same.
The door to her workspace opened with a soft hiss, pulling her back to the present. Irritation crawled up her spine. She gave explicit instructions not to be disturbed, unless it was an emergency. Clearly people are unable to follow simple directions. She returned to her reports without giving the intruder another thought.
"If you brought a package, leave it on the table and go." Halsey stated apathetically, not taking her eyes off the displays in front of her. A full minute passed before she realized the door hadn't opened a second time. Picking up the thermos from her desk, she brought the insulated container to her lips. The cold coffee slid down her throat like sludge, pulling her lips downward. She really needed to devise a system to prevent this. She spun around in her chair, expecting to see an officer, Aura or perhaps even Cortana. None of those were even close.
Oh. The mug almost slipped from her fingers.
Well, this is…unexpected.
Gold eyes blinked at her curiously, as if trying to determine her identity through sight alone. The four mandibles that formed her jaw moved in time with her breath. The creature's deep purple and white robe emphasized her dark gray skin, like a Covenant warship hiding in the darkness of space. The olive-green toy cradled in the child's arm brought a quirk of a smile from her lips. Catherine could recognize that armor anywhere. It warmed her heart that John was revered by so many, even if the civilian population didn't fully understand what he did. Or how much he's sacrificed. Though this Sangheili was obviously a child, but the more they looked at one another, the more questions flooded into the scientist's mind. Why was this child here? For how long had they been on the ship? How had she not known of such an intriguing development?
"Hello." Catherine asked, injecting as much positivity into her voice as she could. She gave the child her best smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Smile and be polite. Children like that. She reminded herself. Though truth be told, her track record with children wasn't stellar. Far from it, in fact. Catherine's work with ONI, and subsequently, the SPARTAN-II program had pushed her own child away. And the only children that did consider her a mother figure in any way, had been kidnapped, stripped of their livelihood and conscripted into a top-secret, experimental, morally unethical program. So, no Catherine Halsey was not the best when it came to kids.
"What are you doing?" Amber asked, astonishing the former director. Not only did this Sangheili understand human tongues, but could speak them as well! She had to learn more.
"How did you learn our language?" Amber shrugged, the smooth protective scales clicking lightly as they passed over one another.
"Mommy and mother taught me." The child responded, as if to further explain her previous lack of a verbal response.
Only a child could come up with such a simple response completely devoid of any useful information whatsoever. "I see." Halsey responded automatically, her thought process already tackling a handful of probable explanations. Perhaps a more direct question would elicit a more informative response? "Where did you come from?"
"My room." The saurian girl responded, shifting from hoof to hoof impatiently. Halsey scarcely resisted the urge to frown. Of all the stupid…well, to be fair, she did answer my question, albeit a bit more literal than I desired. "No. I mean where were you born?"
"I-" She paused for a moment before shrugging her shoulders in defeat. "I don't know." Amber continued, staring at the ground, ashamed of her inability to provide this woman with helpful answers.
"Fine." Halsey snapped irritably. "Is there anything you do know? Your name? Anything?" Her view of this young Sangheili was quickly withering. While the child still provided an interesting case of mixed linguistics in alien species, this specimen's lack of insightful information was rapidly trying her patience.
The woman's sharp words were like a knife between the ribs. Why was she being yelled at for doing her best? I thought mommy and mother got all the bad people to go away? Why is she being so mean to me? Nervously tapping her foot on the floor, Amber hugged her toy like a lifeline. "My name is Amber. Who are you?" She asked, battling against the desperate notion to flee from this hard-nosed doctor, but the woman's calculating gaze kept her rooted to the spot.
"My name is Catherine." Halsey revealed, itching to return to her work. These reports weren't going to finish themselves. "Please run along, child. I have much to do." She dismissed the girl with a wave of her hand and spun back around to her desk.
"Why are you being so mean!?" Amber spoke softly, tears prickling at the corners of her youthful orbs.
"I am not being 'mean', as you so inaptly put it. I am quite busy." She spoke, her tone flat, as if listing off a string of facts or calculations. "Where are your parents? Honestly."
"They are…helping people, you big- big…jerk!" Amber yelled back adamantly, shocked that someone could be so dismissive, so... cold. Like she didn't even exist. Tears streaming down her smooth skin, she fled the doctor's room in a flurry of clothes, her hooves echoing noisily down the hall. Now I can finally work in peace.
"Roland, lock my door. I don't want any more unwanted disturbances."
"Of course, Doctor." Roland responded dutifully. There was a soft click as the locking mechanism activated. With nothing else to distract her from her duties, Halsey dove back into her reports and analysis, searching for a way to pry that newer Spartan from Blue Team.
As the hour rounded out, Catherine was startled by a heavy pounding at her door. Irritated that important work had been disturbed, completely unannounced, for the second time, she stood from her chair and marched stiffly over to the entry pad.
The door slid open with nary a sound, revealing a woman clad in a lab coat similar to her own, short brown hair that did nothing to hide the palpable disgust and anger swirling in her teal irises. "I ha-"
"You've got some nerve!" Bridget interrupted, jabbing the older woman in the chest with a finger.
"Excuse me?" Anger flashing hotly in her eyes before simmering to a colder blue.
"Others said you were an asshole. I didn't want to believe it, thinking it was just talk. But with that stunt you pulled just now… You really are an asshole." Catherine did not like being interrupted and she certainly didn't like being misinterpreted.
"I'm not here to make friends. So, go tell your superior to stop bothering me."
"My boss?!" Bridget hissed indignantly. Barred teeth. Narrowed brows. All she was missing was the fangs, a few scales and the noisy tail and the image would be complete. The woman already had plenty of venom, leaking from every word she spoke to the S-II director. "I'm not some intern you can order around. Before Blue Team pulled you from whatever rock you were hiding under, I was part of the Infinity's xenobiology program and headed the SPARTAN physiology program."
The ex-director's lips pulled into a thin line. "My mistake, doctor." Halsey's tone left little doubt as to her true feelings on the subject.
"Dr. Bridget Cassidy." The younger scientist corrected.
"Of course." Halsey responded flatly, unimpressed. She continued on as if Bridget hadn't spoken, reaching for the door panel. "Now if we're done with this pointless argument…" She regretted the words as they left her lips. She should have been firmer with her delivery, left no room for Cassidy to maneuver. But like a fresh recruit during CQC training, she left herself wide open.
Bridget stopped the door with her heel, forcing it to return to its housing. "Oh-h-h no you don't. As director of the SPARTAN-II program, you might be used to talking down on your peers." The younger woman shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the excess anger. "But I don't care who you are, Halsey, you do not get to talk to Amber like that!" Frosty tourmaline gems met indifferent blue.
"Who?" Catherine asked, legitimately confused. I pity the Spartans if this woman was in charge of their health. Her rampant emotions would most certainly hassle her peers in a crisis.
"The young Sangheili child. Told me she left a 'mean lady's room'. Didn't take me long to put the pieces together."
"So, she came crying to you." Not a hint of emotion on the older scientist's visage. Switching topics, she addressed the question that had been on her mind since she met the young alien. "What is a child doing on the Infinity? This is a warship, not a daycare."
"That's classified." A surge of desire crept down her arm. A desire to slap that smug, knowing look off the younger woman's face. Catherine hated being kept in the dark. "Tell me, do you enjoy tormenting children? Destroying their lives? Is it fun for you? Because you've certainly had the propensity for it."
That struck a nerve. The corners of Halsey's tilted downward, deepening her wrinkles. "My Spartans-"
"Your Spartans!? They aren't tools, they're people! You destroyed any hope they had at a normal life, for what? To play god? To see how far you could push the scientific envelope? And don't go feeding me 'it was for the good of humanity' shtick because we both know that's bullshit."
Anger coiled in Halsey's chest, a viper wrapping itself around her heart. What do you know about my Spartans?! Lasky gave you, what? Their records? Those don't mean anything. You don't know them. It's my work making your job possible anyways. Without it, you'd be stumbling around in the dark like a drunken fool! The desire to strike back, give this woman a tongue lashing she would never forget, was so intense that she could taste it. She pushed those thoughts down as deep as they would go, right next to the mountain of guilt she held for herself at the part she played as director of the SPARTAN-II program. There was absolutely no need to lay anything bare to this emotionally charged woman. Planting her arms to her sides, Halsey chose her next words carefully. "What do you want, an apology?"
"No." Bridget spoke, crossing her arms across her chest. "I want you to apologize to Amber."
For one of the few times in her life, Halsey had to fight the overwhelming notion to roll her eyes. You came all the way here for that? "I will not apologize to a child."
Bridget recoiled in surprise, as if the words were physically painful to hear. A multitude of emotions danced frantically in her teal eyes, before settling into a hard fire. "You really are a stone-cold bitch. Her parents won't be happy."
Catherine scoffed. "You think I will bow to the demands of a displeased Marine and their ignorant offspring?"
"You clearly haven't met her parents."
"Good day, Dr. Cassidy." Halsey hit the door panel, closing and locking the door before Bridget could get another word in edgewise. Shaking her head sadly, she began her lengthy walk back to her office. Halsey would have her hands full with the fallout of this incident. That is, if Sandra doesn't kill her first.
Sector 1, Humanity Mall, Tribute
New Casbah Central Command Hub
1920 hours
This was it. The UNSC was knocking at their door, seeking to drown their revolution in the raging tides of their limitless tyranny. Over a dozen stories below, soldiers scurried around like ants, delivering ammunition, securing gun emplacements and making final adjustments to their gear. His soldiers, some of whom he'd been friends for decades. Most likely, many of them would leave this world within the hour.
Wilhelm's lips curled into a snarl, brow furrowing as the muscles tensed below his skin. The evening light seemed to light his skin aflame, mirroring the burning hate within his soul. His rage boiled over, and in a rare instance of physical manifestation of his emotions, lashed out at the bulletproof window before him. His fist hit with a meaty thud, the shockwaves reverberating across the large pane, completely unnoticed at such a distance. Damn them! What an inexcusable waste of life. He released his excess emotions in short, forceful puffs of air.
"I feel as if I'm witnessing the dawn of a new era. It is not often you show so much emotion so openly." Melody, his cousin and ex-ONI operative, spoke with a touch of zeal, electing to remain in the shadows of the doorway.
"You should have left already." The raven-haired woman scoffed, affronted by her cousin's lack of faith in her abilities. Undeterred, he continued on. "The longer you stay, the harder it is to leave."
A few seconds passed as Wilhelm ran his gaze over the massing olive-green forces in silence. Melody's voice broke the silence, surprisingly tender. "I couldn't leave without saying goodbye."
He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing her silhouette with more than a modicum of concern. Deep down, he was pleased that she had visited him one last time, even in spite of great risk to herself. "We planned for this possibility. Tribute's fire burned fiercely, but it's starved of oxygen. In order for our people to truly be free, to rise from the ashes like the phoenix they are, they'll need a catalyst."
"You're forgetting the most important part of that statement: for the phoenix to be reborn…it needs to perish." The silhouette shifted, revealing a vacuum suit as black as the void. His gaze affixed itself on her opaque visor, unblinking. The two of them had never seen eye to eye on much of anything during their years growing up together. They bickered and belittled each other, usually spitting on the very nature of teary goodbyes. Despite all of that, they both agreed this needed to be done in order for their struggle to succeed.
"Then I will ensure our dying flame incinerates as many of these insidious dastards as it can!" Wilhelm spoke with gusto. With little more than a nod, his cousin was gone, once again leaving him alone with his thoughts. Flipping open a small, plain box on the windowsill, his fingers curled around his favorite brand of cigar, a Sweet William, noting with distaste he only had a handful remaining. Tearing off the tip, Sundance lit the rolled tobacco with a flick lighter a friend had gifted to him many years ago. Smoke trails filtered up from the ash and embers, slowly filling the room with the stench of cigar. Things used to be so simple, he mused. Back then, all we had to worry about was waking up one day to find the Covenant knocking at our door. The stench of fear was so palpable, you could cut it with a knife. But at least you knew what to expect. How to react. Not like the UNSC. Unpredictable, savage tyrants, the lot of them. Though he loathed to admit it, he begrudgingly gave a nod of respect to the sea of green that could be seen moving through the city. Even he knew Humanity would have been wiped from existence without the assistance from their combined military might. His lips folded into a frown, as if he had swallowed something unpleasant. But that was all it was: a combined effort for survival. Everyone knew that things would go back to the way they were as soon as our existence was assured, even if they didn't want to admit it. There was no other recourse. Even hidden behind fancy words and appeasing gestures, their rotten core could be easily seen by those who knew the truth.
"Uh, Mr. Sundance?" A small voice entered his earpiece, startling him. Embarrassment crawled up his neck even though he was the only one in the room. He greatly disliked being caught off guard, as he thought it made him appear antiquated. The historic buildings of New Casbah fell like dominos as the UNSC began their attack. Filthy butchers.
"Yes?" He practically snapped, his ire for the enemy's callous method of fighting seeping into his tone.
"The charges have been placed and we have opened communications with the Superintendent-class AI, though it is giving us some…difficulties." Superintendent-class AIs were created for the purpose of supporting a city's infrastructure. Hearing one was giving his men trouble was odd.
"What do you mean it's giving you difficulties? It's not a 'smart' AI. It shouldn't be that difficult." Though he knew next to nothing about them, he had made sure to recruit people who did. And he paid them well.
He heard grumbling on the other end of the line, but ignored it. He had more important things to worry about than a mouthy tech. "It is rebuffing any attempts at Interfacing and assimilating with its systems. For lack of a better word it's being…sassy."
"Sassy." Wilhelm responded flatly, at a loss for words.
"Yeah." He could feel the young man curl in upon himself almost forty floors down. Sundance was definitely going to terminate several staff members if this is the kind of response he receives from what he assumed to be a lengthy, but overall simple task. Maybe the entire team.
They were in the endgame now. Mistakes like this couldn't happen. "Either you gain access by the time I get there or the UNSC will be the very least of your worries!" The poor man tried to stammer out a response but he angrily cut the channel rendering the rest of the man's blubbering words to complete silence. "Bloody morons. All of them!" The sight that greeted him through the window did not fill his heart with joy. In the dwindling light of the evening, fires raged like signal flares, illuminating a path of carnage that chilled him to the bone. Just how far the United Earth Government was willing to go to crush any resistance to its relentless conquest of expansion.
His stomach clenched and rolled uncomfortably as the raw, grotesque remains of battle greeted him like a harsh slap across the face. Corpses littered the street, piled like garbage and left to rot. From his height it was impossible to discern individual faces, but the river of blood which flowed thickly down the hill slithering around and under bodies like a snake in the grass. The twisted image instantly seared itself into his brain. Painting the hills of dead in a pale, unsightly visage, the rising moon reminded him much of the archaic holovids his parents used to watch. Some were cold, chilled by the falling temperatures and lack of life. Others were warmer, giving their last gasp of wintery air before falling still, never to rise again. But no matter the state, form or cause of their demise, all were now denizens beneath the tattered wings of Death.
Three black specks rose from the horizon, slowly drifting higher and higher above the ruined city. At first Wilhelm thought they might be large clouds of smoke or debris from a nearby battle but their ascent was too uniform, too consistent. Growing larger with every passing second, he came to a chilling realization: there was an airstrike coming his way, and fast. Flinging his half-finished cigar to the side he quickly snagged the radio.
"They've got bombers coming in from the south! Take those devils out!" His tone was hurried, almost frantic. Not the way to command troops, but his words had the desired effect. Anti-aircraft turrets rotated to get a bead on the incoming sortie, like bees preparing to defend their hive. The M-71 Anti-Aircraft Gun, more commonly known as the Scythe, was used to down enemy aircraft at a decent range at a speed of 6,000 rounds per minute. These emplacements saw lots of action during the war, defending installations and protecting civilian evacuations. He had seen vids of Phantoms being literally torn in half by the high-explosive incendiary/armor-piercing rounds. He just hoped they would have the same results on human aircraft. The Longswords tore across the skies at a blistering speed, the fusion reactors powering them humming joyfully along, ignorant of the lethal cannons lying in wait just beyond the wall. The pilots made a few quick adjustments, keeping an eye on their instruments as they finalized their attack vector. Rocketing over what used to be a local communications supplier, one of the GA-TL1's seeming spontaneously exploded into titanium confetti. The crew couldn't even process their deaths as their cockpit literally disintegrated. The other two birds immediately began evasive maneuvers, rolling away in opposite directions. The Scythes tracked their trajectory, twin arcs of brass cutting across the dwindling light much like an angel might unfurl its wings.
Despite being rather large, the manta ray shaped aircraft were deceptively agile for their size, releasing a responding barrage of missiles while continuing to evade. The warheads screamed towards their targets like a wailing banshee, promising nothing but fire and destruction to whomever was unfortunate enough to end up within their grasp. They never even got close. The batteries rapidly flipped targets, detecting the incoming projectiles, and the offending objects were removed from existence. The Scythes continued to fire through the ordinance with an angry buzz as thousands of pissed off brass bees descended upon the birds of prey with a vicious vengeance for daring to defile their hive. The second Longsword plummeted towards the earth with a terrifying screech of shearing metal, before detonating in a brilliant orange fireball that briefly lit up the chaos below.
The remaining Longsword poured on the gas, the hum of its twin fusion reactors reverberating through the hull, a cluster of missiles streaking away from the starfighter. Predictably, the Scythe switched targets, its long rotating cannon shredding the first warhead with impunity. Whoever this pilot was, they had been counting on the emplacement's self-preservation subroutines, as the craft's 120mm ventral cannons suddenly burst to life. The twin cannons ripped into the Scythe with ease, throwing electronics and armor outwards like shrapnel, impaling anything unfortunately close enough to be caught in the blast. Wilhelm's radio suddenly flooded with cries for help, jolting him from his observance. But no matter how he looked at it, he could not make heads or tails of the combat raging below. He was not a soldier. All he saw was chaos, and blood. So much blood. Too much to look at. He looked away from the window as his stomach gave a particularly fierce roll. A second Scythe erupted in an orange ball of flame a few seconds after, proof that the starfighter's cannons were performing brilliantly. The air howled as the Longsword tore through it, barely clearing the central tower, coming close enough for Sundance to read the identification on the hull.
Wilhelm clutched his radio tightly as the Longsword banked into a climb, his brows furrowed in anger, his lips in a tight line. His hands trembled, desperate to blow that murderous asshole from the sky himself! But they needed all of their remaining ordinance for the scum pounding on their doors. The GA-TL1 continued to ascend, its glowing twin exhaust ports being the only evidence it existed at all. A streak of cobalt flashed across the starry sky, finding its home in the blink of an eye. For a moment all was still. The crew never had a chance. A blinding, white light erupted from the aft section, instantly vaporizing half the Longsword and obliterating the fusion reactors' containment systems. What was left plummeted towards the earth in a scorching ball of fused metal, glass, and flesh. Sundance imagined the wailing winds were the screams of the crew. The wreckage smashed into a group of Scorpions, bathing the behemoths in flame. Soldiers writhed in agony as they were slowly cooked alive, trapped under tons of titanium.
We may not have your fancy toys, but we are far from defenseless. He thought proudly, his neutral expression inching towards a smile. It seems his armor was delayed, but they would be here soon, provided they don't run into any more interruptions. A knock echoed into the room, the distinct rap of metal on metal jarring in the silence. Turning away from the window, the URF leader fixed the soldier with a deceptively neutral look.
"Yes?" He questioned the trooper, mildly annoyed at the interruption.
"Sir, it's time." The man's face was hidden behind the polarized faceplate of his ODST armor, but there was no waiver or quiver of his voice. Whatever would unfold within these next few hours, he was ready for it. They both were. There was no alternative, no backup plan. It was time to do or die. With a solemn nod he joined the man, squinting at the fierce lighting burrowing into his skull.
"Lead them well, Sergeant." Sundance said, his words heavy with finality. Passing the radio to the soldier's waiting palm, he made his way towards the elevator at the end of the hall. Dust flittered down from the ceiling in swirling clouds as the building shook under continuous bombardment. The sounds of combat dogged Wilhelm as filtered through the ventilation system, dulled by distance and multiple layers of polycrete. But it was like a poison, it could be diluted, redirected or hampered, but it could never truly be eradicated. Over the centuries, many had tried to prevent it, only to end up as casualties of its inevitability. The only true way to prevent war was to prepare for its arrival.
The doors slid shut with a hiss, silencing the ceaseless whispers of combat. With the press of a key the lift began to descended into the lowest level where his prize awaited: the Superintendent-class artificial intelligence for the city of New Casbah. With its help, they may hamper the UNSC long enough to mount a counter-offensive. This was their last stand, their Alamo. No second chances. No do-overs. And Sundance would make damn sure history would remember their struggle to free themselves from tyranny. Every soldier fighting above knew what they were standing on: enough fissile material to level half a city block. While it was no SHIVA, it was certainly going to leave one hell of a lasting impression. I always wanted to go out with a bang.
Sector 12, Humanity Mall, Tribute
En route to rally point Bravo
2050 hours
Linda woke with a start, her breath returning to her in a sharp gasp, a painful reminder of her current health. Through clenched teeth, the sniper scanned the room with her pistol, keen emerald orbs observing the shadows slowly crawl across the room. The momentary post-sleep fog quickly seeped back into the recesses of her mind as her HUD displayed the time. I was out for over two hours! It should have been no more than 30 minutes. She thought sourly, frowning behind her visor. Thankfully Sandra wasn't here. That woman would have a grin bigger than a Cheshire cat and a teasing joke on the tip of her tongue.
Soft, even breaths from the bed beside her reminded Linda that she had more important things to focus on. Her plates clicked and rubbed against one another as she pulled herself to her feet. Her suit flashed medical alerts on her HUD which she dismissed with a frustrated grunt. She knew her body had taken a beating and being reminded of her missteps was not helping matters. Is constant frustration a justifiable cause for murder? She speculated. Scooping her rifle from its resting place against the wall, Linda reached out to wake her friend.
"Linda…" Megan's subconscious vocalization halted the Spartan's hand, fingers inches from the instructor's arm. Linda knew they had to get moving, it wasn't safe here, but curiosity stayed her hand. Besides, with one eye on her motion tracker, she would know if anything foolishly tried to approach them. "Yes, this is what I want. Don't you?... No! Kevin…had your chance!... Too late for that now…" Part of her wondered if this was considered eavesdropping, but quickly dismissed the thought. It isn't like she's consciously uttering these things. The winter winds, which had been howling moments before suddenly quieted, eager to hear the whisperings of the maiden.
Her coms came to life, rendering the woman's next words inaudible. "All UNSC units operating in sector twelve, you have a-" The communication cut out momentarily, worrying the veteran. Her suit was working fine, so the unsteady link must be on their end. "Repeat, you have an arm- colum- headuhngks…yovnvdf…fbd…" The line went dead, static filling her ears. Whatever it was, it was important enough to bypass standard encryption protocols. A sobering thought. Her eyes naturally drifted down to her friend, still mumbling in her sleep. They had loitered long enough. We do not want to caught between that threat and our destination. Need to get moving.
But her body betrayed her mind once again as Megan's words took a more…private direction. "Oh, Linda!" Megan let out a giggle that could only be described as bashful. "So possessive…so intriguing…I love it." An unfamiliar feeling crawled up the base of her neck, making her hair stand on end. Linda instantly hated the unknown variable, infuriated at the fact it was somehow able to slip past her natural defenses. She took a no small amount of satisfaction from her implants pulverizing the unfamiliar sensation to a pulp. "You are so much more than just a suit of armor… How?" Her face scrunched up, her facial muscles responding to some unheard emotional affront. "You're intelligent, understanding, and deserving of everything you desire. Linda, you have this aura about you, like a strong gravitational pull." Megan continued her quasi-conversation, unknowingly muddying the Spartan's thought processes. "And I think-"
I will not be compromised! In a fit of internal emotional panic reminiscent of a hormonal teenager, Linda kicked the bed with her boot. CRACK! The fine wooden leg shattered like it had been shot with a cannon, spraying needle-thin shards into the wall behind. Having only three legs to stand on, the heavy frame collapsed, listing to the broken side and dumping its occupant onto the floor with a startled yelp.
"Rargh!" Megan screamed as her injured leg hit the floor, jostling the misaligned bones and extremely sensitive nerves within. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes as copious amounts of razor-sharp pain lanced through her. Sucking large gulps of air through gritted teeth, she glared up at the Spartan who had rudely awoken her from her slumber. "What. The. Hell!" Several tears escaped their home and fled for the hills of her cheeks, leaving wet trails on her dry, dirt-caked face.
"I- we…" The sniper trailed off for a moment, seeming to retract into herself. Linda couldn't believe it! She was tripping over her words, a first for her in a very long time. Not since her and the other Spartan-II's trained on Reach. Get a grip! You're a Spartan, not some petulant child! Even Amber has more restraint than you, and she is a child! Grab that civi and move to the objective. "We need to move." Linda finally said stoically, no guilt present in her tone.
"I was having a great dream…until you kicked me." Words from last night mixed with those from her dream to such an extent that she wasn't sure which were real and which were conjured up inside her braincase.
"I didn't kick you I kic-" Linda swallowed her tongue at the frosty glare Megan sent her way, daring her to finish that sentence. Guilt speared her like an icicle, chilling her to the core. Securing Nornfang to her spine, Linda crouched down and gently scooped the teacher into her arms. There was little reaction from the shorter woman, save for a curious look in her eyes. Like she was waiting for something.
They quietly made their way back down the stairs and wove through the mess of a dining room for a second time. Evidently, sometime during their rest, the aquarium had finished draining itself, leaving nothing to echo off the grand marble floor. With a thought, her armor switched to night vision, bathing the smoldering corpse of a city in a vibrant green light. The Spartan scanned the street, searching for lingering threats. She waited almost a full minute, but not a soul emerged from the shadows. Dialing down her armor's motion tracker range to a scant fifteen meters, she took a cautious step out into the street. A waypoint marking their destination automatically popped up on her HUD, rotating steadily 876 meters away, drawing her attention from the glass cracking underneath her titanium boots.
She felt naked without a weapon in her hands, but she wasn't about lessen her grip just to give herself a greater sense of familiarity and ease some of the mental stress circling within her mind. The sniper was not about injure her friend, again. Guilt bit into her throat, squeezing down any apology her tongue tried to throw out. The crackle of burning fires had died out hours ago, leaving only smoke and ruin to flood the broken streets. Faceless skyscrapers seemed to bow and fold inwards, ashamed by their hideous, skeletonized appearance. Night vision helped with her sight, but not the unease that settled into her bones, almost like a sludge. If Linda had their way, the two of them would stick to the shadows, but Megan's injury left them little choice. Her biofoam supply had run dry and couldn't risk a search for more. Exsanguination was no longer a case of if, but when. Time was not on their side.
Meanwhile, curled gently within the Spartan's arms, Megan was having her own internal meltdown. The nerve of this woman! Gives me the rudest awakening of a lifetime and not even a hint of an apology! You may have the strength of fifty men but the manners of a mule! She glared up at her companion, who, to the shorter woman's further aggravation, didn't even offer a glace in her direction. Linda would at least acknowledge my presence! Megan's lips melted into a frown at the thought of her mysterious friend. They hadn't spoken for some time and their last conversation left her wanting to strangle the redhead with her bare hands. Regardless, she worried for her quiet companion. What if something happened to her? What if she's de-" She shook her head fiercely, vehemently denying the sheer possibility of it. No. She couldn't think like that. Linda was fine, she had to be!
"Are you alright?" The Spartan questioned from above, the mechanical edge to her voice pulling the instructor from her worries. Megan looked up; surprise clear in her beryl eyes.
She flashed a smile, refusing to meet the Spartan's eyes, instead focusing on the numerous ocular devices affixed to the helmet. "I'm fine," She lied. "Nothing to worry about." The bulk of tan armor seemed to take her words at face value, giving a stiff nod in understanding.
Linda caught the relief that oozed from her friend in her peripheral, but said nothing. It wasn't her place, she reasoned. Instead, she focused on what she knew best: the mission. Like the ticking hands of a clock, titanium boots pounded rhythmically over the asphalt, drawing ever closer to their destination. 800 meters her HUD alerted her. 700. 650…600…575… The lack of resistance was unnerving to say the least, especially considering the cryptic com message her suit picked up, but with Megan unable to walk on her own, Linda would take any luck she could get.
"The killing…does it bother you?" Megan's question from the blue took her completely by surprise.
"No." Linda responded, quick and concise. The sniper's answer was a difficult one for the teacher to swallow, albeit not completely unforeseen. She could not see herself taking another person's life, willingly or otherwise.
"Why not?"
"I was born to." Her voice was unwavering, almost commanding. Megan felt her throat tighten as the horror of the Spartan's words sank their fangs into her. Is this how Linda feels? About fighting? Killing? Terrifying as it was, she pushed herself to learn more. If not for her than for Linda. Maybe she could help her friend, somehow.
"To kill?" She practically squeaked, her stomach rolling at the thought. How could someone be so callous, so indifferent about extinguishing life?
"To protect Humanity." Again, an unnerving amount of certainty in her voice. Some would even call it devotion.
"Even if it means…killing other humans?" The logic made no sense to her. How can you protect something while simultaneously destroying it?
"Yes." Megan had no response, electing to retreat to her thoughts. Several minutes passed before her savior spoke up once more. "I…apologize if I…upset you. And for causing you undue pain. That was not my intention." Megan's eyes widened in surprise, not expecting any apology.
"Thank you. Apology accepted." Clearly this woman was not a fluent conversationalist. Much like Linda. A soft chuckle unexpectedly burst from her throat, light as the winter breeze.
"My concession was not supposed to be humorous." Her voice was as hard as ever, but Megan could imagine the woman frowning behind her helmet.
"No, not at all. You just remind me of someone I know, a friend." Linda shifted her hold slightly, fingers sliding up Megan's spine. She shuddered at the touch.
"How?" The single word carrying enough inflection to render it a question. Misconstruing the short woman's shiver as being the result of an unpleasant topic. Not your concern, Spartan. Stay focused!
Her white-tipped locks rocked back and forth as Megan cleared her head. "You want to talk?" A hint of a smirk creeping into her voice.
"No," Linda pushed on, despite the rapidly forming frown on the other woman's face. "But I will listen." So, Megan told her about her redheaded, enigmatic friend, leaving out some of the more emotionally confusing bits she was still trying to work out herself. Oh, the utter irony of it all was not lost on the veteran. Linda would have laughed had she not been too preoccupied with keeping them both alive.
"I'm worried about her." The teacher concluded. While delivered in a roundabout way, the concern was appreciated, filling her bruised bones with warmth.
"If she is indeed a Spartan, you have nothing to fear." Her few words seemed to brighten Megan's smile, sending a pleasant tingle across the veteran's skin. She blatantly ignored it, telling herself it was a secondary symptom of her injuries. Cracked lips parted to continue their conversation, but Linda heard something in the distance. It was faint, dulled, but most assuredly real. "Quiet." Linda commanded, somewhat harsher than intended. She slowed her pace, coming to a stop behind a half wall connecting adjacent buildings. Setting Megan down on a pile of furniture haphazardly discarded, she crept up to the wall and peeked over the edge. All the warmth that lingered in her body moments before receded faster than breathable oxygen during explosive decompression. That is a…significant hurdle.
The cryptic communication finally made sense. Rumblin', thumpin', titanium, fuel-pumping sense. A convoy of armor, the size of which would dissuade even the most battle-hardened Spartan. Scorpions, Cobras, Mantises, several Wolverines and Warthogs of varying designations. A bona fide threat, even for a battalion of Marines with Spartan assets. Luckily, the tight streets were slowing their pace, nearly to a crawl. Those autocannons would butcher infantry like cattle and the Cobras would ensure there was nowhere to hide. Linda glanced back at her companion, who gave her a confused look as she propped herself up on an elbow. Ensuring she remained fully behind the wall, the veteran squat-walked the few steps it took to reunite them, even as her injuries bristled unpleasantly.
"I have good news and bad news. Which one first?"
"Good." Megan whispered.
"There is a column of enemy armor between us and the rally point." The glow of the night vision rendered shifts of color almost negligible, but the wide eyes and gaping mouth were telltale signs.
"How is that good news?!" Linda understood her hiss of disbelief.
"Because it's about to get very, very loud." She pulled the woman down into her arms as she keyed her mic, allowing it the chatter to filter through her helmet's speakers. She might appreciate the heads up.
"This is Sierra zero-five-eight, requesting immediate air support." She hoped to hell the URF were not listening in, or she was about paint a massive target on her back. "I repeat, this Sierra zero-five-eight, requesting immediate air support at my position."
"This is Talon 6-3. We read you, Spartan. How can we assist?" Megan curled herself into a tighter ball, as if hearing the other voice made it all the more real. Linda quickly adjusted her body to cover her friend.
"Talon 6-3, I've spotted a massive column of enemy armor, slow moving, but well-equipped. Be advised, anti-air support has been positively identified, unknown number."
"Copy all, zero-five-eight. We'll take care of them. Anything else?" She could hear the communication officer in the background contact other squadrons for support.
"Yes. You will be operating danger close. Civilians in the active AO, so keep your lanes of fire tight." She heard him curse under her breath. She understood his position. "Alert me when your 30 seconds out.
"Acknowledged, Spartan. Tell them to keep their damn heads down. Over and out."
"Do they always have a problem with us?" Megan questioned, half-jokingly. In lieu of a verbal response, Linda curled an arm around the teacher's lithe body, resting her hand on the woman's aquamarine locks. Even through the undersuit, her skin was warm to the touch. It was not a sensation the veteran experienced often. Despite the oddity, it was…pleasant. Like a muffin fresh out of the oven or a banana split drizzled with chocolate syrup. It wasn't long until she heard the telltale scream of approaching aircraft and her suit automatically fed the incoming channel to her HUD.
"Ordinance inbound, 30 seconds out. Danger close. Repeat, ordinance inbound, danger close." The coms fell silent even as the approaching interceptors announced their arrival to anyone within a mile. The squadron reached their target within seconds, autocannon rounds relentlessly tore into green and grey painted titanium as streaks of gold carved their way up the convoy. A lone Wolverine was able to bring down one of the encroaching Longswords in between runs. The URF victory didn't last long. Medusa missiles quickly joined the growing symphony of destruction as they screamed through the air, cracking even the toughest armor and allowing the ravenous flames to feast on the souls within. The Shortsword bombers raked through the limping convoy, deploying their unguided bombs in their midst like lethal confetti. Then the bombs went off, shaking the ground with the intensity of an earthquake and filling the air flames hot enough to burn straight to the bone.
The concussion wave scooped up grass, dirt, glass and anything else it could pick up, throwing it to and fro like a child throwing a tantrum. An incredibly deadly tantrum. Even with her palms digging into her ears, it did nothing to stem the noise that rang painfully in her skull. Little chips of debris dug and sliced at her legs and arms, stinging like a thousand needles, somehow making it past the Spartan's bulk. And just like that, it was over. From first shot to last bomb, it was a short fifteen seconds. A quarter of a minute to deposit hundreds of souls into Death's waiting wings. No mercy. No hesitation. Just cold, calculated efficiency. The old 'hurt them before they can hurt you' maxim. The once pristine streets and alleys were nothing more than a smoldering crater, the occasional blackened armor plate or warped mounted weapon poking through.
"Thanks for the support, Talon 6-3." Linda spoke over the com, subtle hints of gratitude leaking into her tone. "Any casualties?"
"One bird. Gone on impact." A short pause as he paid quick respects to his fallen soldiers. "But we made the bastards pay for it dearly. What's the word on the civis?" Linda quickly checked her over. Beyond some additional cuts, Megan was no worse for wear.
"All accounted for. No lasting damage."
"Affirmative. Glad their safe. Over and out." The link went dead once again. So am I. Scooping the woman back into her arms, she peeked over the ledge. Doubtful there was anything alive out there. She boosted the range of her motion tracker, just to be sure. Nothing. The air was still. Ash and dirt floated down like snow, covering their battered bodies in a fine layer of ruin. The rebels nestled in the central hub were in for a very unpleasant surprise. There would be no reinforcements for them. No salvation or redemption. Only death. And that was something the sniper could get behind. With under five hundred meters to go, Linda felt her steps get a little lighter, the mounting pressure became slightly more bearable even as her muscles and bones twisted and twitched uncomfortably. Quiet snores drew her gaze downward, to the sleeping companion in her arms. The day's events must have been exhausting and combined with the lack of sleep, exhaustion was inevitable. The air support must have pushed her over the edge. Rest up. You'll be safe soon.
In a bizarre twist, Linda felt dispirited at the fact they must soon part ways. She had grown accustomed to the weight in her arms, heavier and warmer than any rifle. They talked about things, ideas she had never really given any thought to. They had even come to an understanding about their past behavior, in an odd, inverted sort of way. She chuckled dryly at the irony of it. But by far the most illuminating (or terrifying) was that Megan had given her much to do and even more to think about. Perhaps a visit to Dr. Halsey is in order. Discuss these…inconsistencies. She promised herself then and now that, above all, she would not allow herself to be compromised. Not like Kelly. She needed to keep her composure. Not only for herself, but for her team, her family.
Sector 1, Humanity Mall, Tribute
New Casbah Central Command Hub
2100 hours
A tense atmosphere hovered around the occupants like a dense fog as the lift descended deeper and deeper into the earth. The handful of soldiers crammed into the small cube were what was left of Fred's command. They had started out with twenty, and within a day, 80% of the unit had been killed or otherwise incapacitated. Tenna had been taken out by an anti-personnel mine, both his legs had been ripped from his body. He died quickly, bleeding profusely his wounds. Magdul and Beaulock, both militia personnel assigned to them, were killed instantly when a shell landed directly on their cover. Blemming, one of the few Spartans to accompany them, took a direct rocket to the back when he paused to lift some rubble pinning a fellow soldier. His energy shields struggled to absorb the blast, but in the end, he was thrown into a nearby building. His body did not rise again. But one positive thing came about from his sacrifice: Garner, the Marine he'd saved was still alive, descending into the belly of the beast with the rest of them.
"Status?" Fred ordered; his imposing tone cut deep into the silence. He ignored the growing list of KIA's as he patiently waited for the rest of his unit to respond. Green acknowledgement lights blinked dutifully from Sandra, Kocas, Pelfa and Kelly.
"I'm good to go, sir." Garner spoke from the back of the lift, his tall, lanky frame obscured by several sets of armor.
"I ain't painted green, but I'm very, very mean…sir." Fred respected the fiery Egyptian woman. Despite her injuries and the loss of her comrades, she was eager to protect her home and her people. Though not a Spartan, she could sure fight like one. Always first to volunteer, no matter the potential danger. Determined and occasionally aggressive, but not antagonistic nor overtly violent. He was glad she was along for the ride. For someone unfamiliar with frontline combat, Hathora excelled in it.
Once the tower and surrounding courtyard had been secured, ONI requested Sundance be captured and handed over to them. Blue Team was the assigned retrieval team. Fred didn't like the additional risk it posed to his squad, but he wasn't about to disobey a direct order. With the amount of twists and unexpected surprises the URF had thrown at them, he was uncomfortable placing them in the line of fire once more. But no one complained or butted heads, something he was thankful for. A few of the…shadier members of the Tribute militia passed along snippets of information, one of which being the Superintendent-class AI housed on the lowest sublevel. If the URF cell leader would be anywhere, their best chance would be the deepest floor in the complex.
The elevator began to slow as it neared its destination, signaling the Spartans to shuffle to the front. If the doors opened to a hail of bullets, their shields should hold long enough to create an opening. If it was a volley of rockets…well, shielding strength would be a moot point. With a dull groan, the lift housed itself at the bottom of the shaft. With a soft hiss, the doors parted, revealing a dark, cavernous room, not unlike a hangar or warehouse. The lack of a welcoming party did nothing to set Fred at ease, considering all the noise they made upstairs. Wary, he led the group into the room.
"Lights." He commanded. Simultaneously, half a dozen beams of light pierced the darkness, revealing the dark shapes that clung to the walls. Crates of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, broken open, their contents littering the floor. Others remained unopened, protected inside their scuffed containers. "Fan out. Stay sharp." The others wordlessly acknowledged his orders. Beams of light swept back and forth, illuminating everything one would need to start a revolution: rations, ammunition, weapons, armor, first aid kits and several types of alloys. Something didn't sit well with him. It was all too neat, too organized.
"Lieutenant. I have something." Garner's voice carried through the lofty room, concern slipping into his tone. He joined the younger soldier a few seconds later, his rifle hanging loosely from his fingers. The table was littered with papers, several data pads scattered across its surface. He pulled a random one from a stack and began to read it. It was an order form for titanium alloys. Frowning, he picked up another sheet, then another and another, each one deepened the furrow of his brow. His HUD analyzed the information, compiling a list of possible applications. Then he saw it. Two words that settled like a stone in his stomach: fissile material. A cold feeling slithered up his spine, seeping into his bones. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, the muscles in his shoulders coiling tightly in preparation to strike. But then where's the bomb?
A billowing cone of flame exploded outward from the elevator shaft, showering the soldiers in burning debris and intense heat. Paint instantly vaporized allowing its orange master to char the surface beneath. Pelfa and Kocas were thrown clear by the blast, but their armor sheltered them from extensive injury. Sandra, standing directly in the line of fire, was not as lucky. The flames enveloped her, tearing at her shields like a pack of starving hyenas gorging themselves on a fresh meal. But the orange beast was not able to feast for long. Out of the corner of his eye, Fred caught a flash of color disappear into the flames before the distinctly heavy sound of Mjolnir armor hitting the floor. The blaze quickly dissipated, despite the overabundance of oxygen, having no more fuel left to burn.
The floor's lighting suddenly burst to life, quickly bathing the soldiers in blinding artificial light. Fred's visor adjusted automatically, but the shift was jarring. He blinked several times to clear the spots in his vision. A large set of double doors at the other end of the bay slowly opened, leaving a space big enough to drive a Wraith through. Out strode an older man, his hair and moustache speckled with silver. Late forties, early fifties. Fred guessed, though he couldn't say for sure. Though the lack of solidity in his step gave away his civilian standing, he was by no means lackadaisical. His ashen grey suit made him stand out among all the battle armor and tactical vests. His HUD quickly tagged the man as SUNDANCE, WILHELM, their intended target. The man strode towards the team with a purpose, completely unconcerned with the four Spartans. He stopped several strides away as more than thirty troopers poured into the near-empty room. Their battered and mismatched armor did little to alleviate the growing concern in his gut.
"I would say I am pleased to see you, but that would be a lie." His hard jaw supported a deep frown as he surveyed the soldiers.
Fred spoke, his helmet speakers carrying his voice for all to hear. "Wilhelm Sundance, by order of the UNSC, you and your men are to stand down and accompany us topside." The Designated Marksman Rifle he held in his hands was leveled at the nearest trooper, the deadly weapon carrying enough punch to put a round clear through its skull. Behind him, he could hear Sandra and Kelly pull themselves up from the floor.
"I don't believe you realize the full extent of the situation you are in, Spartan." Wilhelm spoke with a calm ire, spitting the last word out like a terrible poison. "Not only are you outnumbered and outgunned, but you are currently standing well within the blast radius of the thermonuclear device behind me." Sundance's frown had disappeared, replaced by a tight smile.
Fred cursed under his breath. So, there was a nuke in play. The URF leader was no longer the primary-one objective. Pushing away the spike of fear, he addressed his squad over coms. "You heard him. Primary objective is locating and disarming that bomb."
"ONI won't like this. You know how they get about being denied intel…" Kelly responded, her unease undetectable to everyone besides Fred and Sandra.
"Then ONI can take their objections-"
"And shove 'em. That firecracker comes first." Sandra interjected; her displeasure evident to anyone with ears.
"Wow, ONI must love you guys at the office party." Pelfa added unhelpfully.
"We didn't come this far just to surrender, UNSC lapdog." Evidently, Sundance had grown tired of their silence and chose to fill the void with his own voice. "You and your ilk have oppressed us for too long! You may stop me here but others will rise up! Freedom is not something you can take away with a gun or club! And you Spartans are the cruelest instrument those imperialists have ever created! Kill them all!" Bullets hurled through the air, violently throwing themselves against the Spartans' shielding. Fred returned fire, flipping the heavy table over with the flick of a wrist. Garner dived behind it, narrowly missing several rounds aimed at his head.
"Shield the others!" Kelly and Kocas stood side-by-side, presenting themselves as the biggest possible targets, thereby drawing the fire away from their unshielded, squishier team mates. Pelfa and Hathora were crouched behind them intermittently dropping a rebel or two with controlled bursts from their assault rifles. Fred counted his lucky stars the rebels were using outdated equipment as the HMG-38's and MA3A's didn't have near the stopping power the modern MA5D did. He dropped four more targets in rapid succession before ducking behind the table for a momentary breather.
Little cover, outnumbered and several targets he didn't want to shoot. Not a position Fred often found himself in. Where the hell is Sandra?!
"Surprise!" Sandra called out, seemingly materializing from thin air, sword hilts in hand. Those nearest to her jolted backwards as if they had been shocked. Red, ionized plasma projected from the handles with a harsh crackle, the magnetic fields molding it into its recognizable shape. Fred adjusted his aim to the farthest targets as Sandra began to methodically cut through the URF ranks like a hot knife through butter.
"Holy shit…" Pelfa had stopped firing altogether, electing to watch the Spartan carve her way through living beings. A rather fierce uppercut bisected one poor soul, leaving his entrails to crumple into a gory pile.
"Jesus…" Hathora's momentary lapse in concentration rewarded with another bullet in the ass. "Oh, come on! Again?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!?" The woman let loose a long burst from her rifle, tearing into the rebels' makeshift armor, reducing their organs to a pulpy mass. Extreme internal trauma took another three out of the fight.
I think I'm going to lose my lunch…" Garner emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, the tan, chunky liquid quickly permeated the air with a nauseating stench. Bodies rapidly piled on the floor, blood freely flowing from gaping wounds and severed limbs.
Caught between a hailstorm of lead and twin energy swords, the relatively undisciplined separatist forces did not last long. The firefight was over in less than three minutes. Discharged gunpowder circulated around the warm bodies, like vultures would circle their next meal, mixing with the scent of blood. Fred gave the gore an unreadable look, completely masked by his visor. Too messy, though I can't argue with the results. Taking a moment to reload and store his weapon, Fred caught Blue 5's attention. He rapidly curled his fingers inward, palm up: ease off. Sandra glanced at the bodies then gave her CO a nod. She understood. Good. He repressed an involuntary shiver that crawled up his spine. He did not want to get on that woman's bad side.
"You think you won?" Fred whirled around at Sundance's sudden outburst. The leader was resting against a pile of bloody corpses, their lifeblood soaking his clothes. But he either didn't notice or didn't care.
"Kocas, secure him!" He ordered. Mentally chastising himself for his lack of awareness. In truth, the URF leader was beginning to get on his nerves. The sooner they dumped him in ONI's hands the better. "Kelly, analyze that warhead. Hathora can assist." Their scout skirted the dead, making a beeline for the adjoining room, the Egyptian woman tailing her with a noticeable limp.
*Mention of suicide in this paragraph*
"I don't think so." Sundance snarled, his frosty words not slowing the grey S-IV in the slightest. Allowing himself one last glance at his fallen friends, he mouthed a few words before facing his enemies, his eyes locked on the Spartan commander. "I hope you're happy upon your mountain of bones, for we shall meet again in hell." With speed beguiling his advanced age, he pulled a magnum from his belt, pressed it to his temple, and pulled the trigger.
*You're good*
The gunshot, a final cry for freedom, echoed around the chamber, drilling into each soldier a deep sense of finality.
Fred's coms chirped dutifully at the private channel that requested his attention. He answered without thinking, already knowing who was on the other end of the line.
"What happened?" Kelly's voice filled him with a sense of relief, enough to shake off some of the mounting guilt.
"We just lost our intel source. Gunshot. Self-inflicted." There was a pause on the other line. Whether the scout was processing the information or deep into the guts of the nuke, he couldn't tell.
"Understood. And Fred…don't blame yourself. He was an unknown."
"I'm not." Fred quickly answered.
"Yes, you are. I know how that brain of yours operates. You can't keep an eye on everyone and everything at all times." Sometimes he forgot how well they knew each other.
"Almost finished in here. Status report?" Fred tried to change the subject, but Kelly wasn't having it.
She must have sensed the subject change was coming because she amended her statement soon after. "I want an explicit promise that you will not bury yourself over this. Fred."
"Going to sic Sandra on me if I don't?" He cracked a smile at his poor attempt at levity.
"Yes." Her tone was completely neutral, leaving him unsure if their scout was joking or not. He paused mid-stride, chancing a glance at their purple attaché, to prove to himself that their youngest member had not been listening in. Or possessed some form of telepathic connection. Now, Fred wasn't paranoid, but he liked to be extra cautious when it came to Sandra and her blades. With a thought, he cut the private link. After all, they had more pressing concerns at the moment. His steps echoed hollowly as he made his way to the bomb, the others silently falling in behind.
Kelly was bent over the device, wholly consumed in her work. Hathora stood awkwardly by her side, blood slowly staining her pants. She flashed the group a relieved smile as they strode in, white teeth almost painfully bright on her scraped, dusty face. "Patch yourself up, Private." His passing remark, elicited a nod from the raven-haired soldier, who quickly interrogated her squad mates for any fresh biofoam. Stepping around the frame of Blue 2, he got his first good look at it. The thermonuclear device was smaller than he expected, roughly the shape and size of a football. Low yield, relatively speaking. He breathed a small sigh of relief. That was one mystery solved. All that remains-
"The emergency failsafe has been disabled and all the abort bypasses have been removed." Her voice was steady, watching the timer tick down with steeled indifference. "Even with the right tools, it'd be out of my hands." Hushed voices stilled as a dark, chilling aura settled upon them like a thick mist.
"Perhaps I could lend a hand to you strapping young lads and lasses?" A voice called from beyond the scope of their vision, warm with a heavy southern accent, sliding over them like honey on a warm summer day.
"Who's there?"
"Identify yourself!" Fred bellowed, whirling around and bringing his DMR to bear. His motion tracker was empty and his HUD showed was devoid of hostiles.
A console, nestled in a darkened corner, powered on, the electronics humming a tune native to their own. Effortlessly materializing onto the floor like dust in a sandstorm, robust hips and plump breasts sauntered into the room like she owned it. A flannel shirt, breeches and an ankle-length duster formed the base of her outfit. Muddy heeled boots kept her upright as the gun belt and cowboy hat completed the image. Standing at just over a foot, the dust-brown avatar utilized her algorithms and subroutines to run the infrastructure of an entire city. "Howdy! I'm Cas, the Superintendent-class AI housed in this facility. These ruffians sought to lure you here and put y'all six feet under in one fell swoop. Like shooting fish in a barrel." The cowgirl nodded towards the nuke. "Only they tried to cheat. I'm glad you sorted 'em out."
"How long, Kelly?" The scout gently closed the access panel and stood, blackened armor plates scraping noisily together.
"Just over twenty minutes." Her response was not comforting. Even something this size had enough oomph to take out several city blocks. They couldn't disarm it and running would be a moot point. But getting bogged down by such thoughts, especially now would help no one. At this point, he would take any option he could.
"Alright, Cas. What's your plan?" A pulse of data flickered through her form, as if reaching some realization.
"The URF set up a barrel-full of nasty little explosives all throughout this complex. I can trigger them, pulling several thousand tons of polycrete and steel down on this lil' firecracker. I reckon it'll mitigate the blast quite a bit." Cas smiled, pleased with her plan.
It could work. Not taking another moment to second guess his decision, he cave a nod. "Do it." The first blast rumbled through the complex as the words left his mouth.
"Already done, Spartan." She gave a soft smile, eerily familiar to Cortana's own.
"Kelly, Sandra repel back up the shaft." He ordered tersely, his feet already moving towards Cas's data chip was housed.
"What about you?" Sandra questioned.
"I'll be right behind you."
If Sandra or any of the others said anything, it was lost in the following blasts as the stowed explosives tore the complex apart. Like a great beast attacked as it slumbered, it lashed out at everything around it. Titanium beams snapped like bone, caught in its powerful jaws. Polycrete and glass shattered into dust, pulverized under the creature's massive weight. Ferocious and extremely hostile, its bellowing roar shook Fred to his core. But creature or no, there was something he still needed to do.
"NO!" His hand stopped just shy of the chip release, the tips of his fingers brushing the screen.
"We already lost one source of intel. Losing a valuable asset is not on my to-do list." Came his prepared response.
"I need to trigger each one remotely. The best signal is at my current location." Cas sighed; an AI peculiarity often employed to cover the silence of processing data. "Honey, any way you look at it, this is my Alamo. I'm over six years old. At most, I had a year." Though it saddened him to hear it, he understood her reasoning. From what John had told them, Cortana's descent into rampancy was nothing pleasant. And though neither of them admitted it, both bore the scars.
"Understood." Standing to his full height, he saluted. Cas quickly returned it, the action out of character for her avatar, but nonetheless appreciated. With that, he turned on his heel, sprinting towards the blown-out shaft. With a thought, his mag-boots burst to life, securing him to the side of the shaft with a vice-like grip. Triggering his thrusters for extra speed and balance, he began his awkward climb to the surface.
Come Back Next Time!
FINALLY finished this monolith-sized mamma jamma! *Dies, respawns, then dies again* This was one MONSTER of a chapter (11.5k words vs. my usual 5-6). But I am both proud and happy of what I created! Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Don't forget to favorite, follow and leave a review! I love hearing your comments!
