There was a frown on the Master Chief's face. Not one of sadness, or of grief. It was more so out of frustration than anything else. It was a frustration not aimed at the Normandy crew, not at his new mind breaking situation, not even at his newfound enemies. No, he was mostly frustrated with himself. But why you ask? Even he did not quite know. That is part of what frustrated him. That he didn't know what was wrong.

What should he feel? Should he feel sadness, over the deaths of thousands of innocents? Satisfaction in the knowledge that in some way, they had been avenged? Gratitude, that these new fellow soldiers had all been spared? Or grief, that he was once again completely, and utterly, alone?

There were few times in Spartan 117's long and storied military career where he had really been truly alone. Even abandoned on the Halo rings and the Ark, he had had Cortana, or even the Arbiter and Sergeant Johnson to tag along, at least for the vast majority. And before that, Blue team. Very rarely in his career had the Master Chief been forced to work totally alone. Spartan's did their best work in teams.

Such were his considerations as the hulking figure viewed the approaching landing ship from a distance, its gentle angles and sleek shape providing the picture of something more akin to a predatory shark than a spacefaring vessel. Nevertheless, fare space it did, as the ship descended towards the temporary landing zone he and the other operational members of the Normandy crew had set up after they had evacuated the injured to the Normandy and redeployed, better equipped and informed than they had been before. No longer was the focus on gaining intelligence, or to obliterate what had been thought to be 2 hundred or so worth of soldiers from the large city. No, there were far more of the aliens here than was previously thought. It was time for a full-scale invasion. And, it seemed, the Commander indeed still had some leeway, as did a certain soldier with whom he had worked with to recover the team from the hostage situation on Noveria, a James Vega by name. Although there was a good deal of apprehension of sending a large military force to a peaceful human colony, urgency was pressed. Added to the fat that they still hadn't seen any significant number of surviving colonists, which was strange.

Thinking on the current situation, the Master Chief mechanically checked his surroundings with shifting eyes and quick glances, keeping head movement to an absolute minimum to remain as undetectable as possible. He had done this hundreds of times. He would likely do it hundreds more. A certain phrase echoed in his mind, one birthed by a less than agreeable UNSC naval captain, one of the last he had met. 'An aging Spartan…' It was certainly an enigmatic statement. Of course aging, but by whose standards? Medical advancements had slowed the aging process considerably throughout the last few centuries of human history, mostly through heavy genetic modification and DNA splicing. In only his fourth decade of life, the Master Chief was, in 26th century standards, just reaching his prime. That wasn't even counting the fact that he was a Spartan, chosen specifically for his almost perfect genes, and biochemically altered to peak physical condition. 'Was he aging…?'

He certainly didn't feel his age. The weight of billions of lives had certainly weighed heavy on his shoulders from time to time. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It didn't matter. He had a job to do, as he watched the hopefully first of many Alliance landing crafts touch down within their small LZ. Almost immediately, an obvious bay door sprung open from the side, and he watched as a platoon of soldiers quickly made their way outside, weapons shifting in arcs, clearly well trained soldiers- a different breed than most he had encountered during his time in this new… galaxy. It still caused him hesitation every time he thought it. Was it really true? Was that even theoretically possible? He almost would have more readily accepted that he was sent to a different reality than a different galaxy. Something about it just boggled his mind.

He watched from his perch as a pair of the Normandy crew made their way to greet what looked like clearly an officer of sorts as the rest of the Marine crew spread out and expanded the landing zone. Vega and Garrus, it seemed, were eager to press the seriousness of their circumstances, and although the Chief could easily discern every word that was said from such a distance, he tuned all but the most stark details out.

"-ow it's hard to believe sir, but it's true! Shepard's alive!"

"-oke over the QEC, I came because I trusted you, Lieutenant, not some dead Commander."

And then a few moments later; "Collector forces positioned most heavily around the shipping yard and the city shopping district."

"I'll have Bad and Wire Companies landing within the hour, we'll make for the shipping yard first."

Details about the logistics of the invasion were exchanged, catalogued, and queued for further examination within the Chief's brain. And then, as if the news of Shepard's apparent death wasn't enough, a far more curious turn of conversation seemed to take place.

"I heard about Cerberus, Lieutenant Vega. If what I've heard is true, you have a lot of explaining to do."

"Understood Colonel. I have orders direct from Naval Command, sir, I'll make my report to them as soon as I'm able."

"You damn well better Lieutenant. I don't give half a rat's ass what Command thinks. These guys are terrorists. You know this. You should also know that as soon as the situation here is under control, you and your crew will have to be detained for questioning."

As Lieutenant Vega was chewed out by the newcomer, a Colonel who had apparently taken up position with the initial landing party, which was curious, if unorthodox in the Chief's eyes, his enhanced brain whirred with thought. 'Cerberus, the ship and crew with which he had been marooned on for the better part of a week, were terrorists?' That just didn't quite make sense. The Chief knew terrorists when he saw them. Hell, that's what he was initially created to defeat. This conglomerate of humans and aliens with which he had so recently fought seemed much too empathic, too chatty, too… nice, to have affiliation with an active terrorist organization. At least, one with which he was familiar.

The conversation below him seemed to jerk suddenly to a halt as the small team was informed that the Marines had successfully declared the perimeter of the landing zone secure. After a final warning, Vega was left to return to his position, and the team waited.

It didn't take long, perhaps another 5 minutes, before another two of the larger craft descended and deposited more of the Marines onto the soil. Once the last boot had hit the ground, the unusual angular shapes immediately embarked once more to a point beyond the clouds, and a voice echoed through Mjolnir's internal speakers that he had attuned to the marine frequency- cyber security here was pathetic really. "Force Recon is groundside, proceeding to coordinates marked for initial mission objective." The Chief nodded to himself. At least there was something familiar. He could do with some force recon.

A short verbal cue was given to Vega down below, who, having the most familiarity with both the Collectors and the Alliance, related to the rest of the team. "That's our call, we're rolling out with these guys, everybody rally on me." It seemed the others were satisfied with Vega taking the conn, as from their body language, each of Shepard's crew looked a tad apprehensive, having full well understood the precariousness of the situation. If it weren't for the Commander's legendary reputation, as well as Vega's good standing, they would probably be treated no better than the Collectors. Well, maybe not that bad, but still.

The Chief, however, was of a different mindset. One of curiosity. How did these Marines compare to those of his UNSC? The similarities would cement his confidence in their abilities to secure the city, as well as request aid in regards to his current… situation, and the differences would make it much harder for him to share anything sensitive to this new faction. He himself had to be careful, but for entirely different reasons. As he stood up, he noticed a few heads immediately turn his way, shocked at the sudden movement from a place they had so recently thought vacated.

The heads contained to stare, more and more joining the cause as every step he took brought him closer to the small group of the team near the center of the landing zone, crouched behind cover. Some of the Marines openly gawked. A few swore and cursed in disbelief, one or two in fright, and several of them raised their weapons, if only momentarily, in his direction. He grimaced. Well, this much was recognizable. Great.

OOOOOO

"I've been pretty patient with you Commander….. I've killed a lot of people for a lot less……."

He knew a dream when he was in one. Of course, most often as is the case, the second that you realize that fact, is the same moment that your brain regains consciousness and pulls you out of the experience. But this time, unusually, that realization did nothing to wake Shepard from his firing neurons as he lay collapsed in the medbay of the Normandy.

He recognized the voice instantly. It was the man who had interrogated him, who had threatened his team.

It was clear, distinct, masculine. But not in the rough, gravelly way that he had come to associate with the Master Chief as well as certain Krogan battle masters and warlords. No, this voice was humorous, prideful, almost arrogant. The tone reflected his amusement at the current situation. It reminded him in a way of the Illusive Man and his vocal mannerisms, in fact.

"Show this man we mean business…"

While Shepard had indeed been through more harrowing experiences, many of which much more strenuous than this one in particular, he had no wish to revisit a prior interrogation, one in which they had threatened his team, his friends, and then succeeded in carrying out some of those threats.

He tried waking himself up. It didn't work. He seemed to anchor himself more deeply in the memory as a result. The words flashed by his head.

"You do not recognize the significance of the object you recovered."

Well, that was damn right. He vaguely remembered the object they were taking about, what he had referred to as the Obelisk of Karza, which he had subsequently given to a researcher on the Citadel. That was about all he knew honestly. Sure it was a detail of Prothean language, apparently, but that was a minuscule detail in a situation of possibly serious proportions.

The world flashed black before him, and suddenly, a bright, furious light lashed out at his eyes, which he instantly squinted, and attempted to block his eyes with his hands, finding he could not move the appendages required. He looked down. They were fastened to a chair. He grimaced instantly. He remembered this.

He looked up, in time to see a fist crash into his cheek, and send the world spinning. This was a dream. That shouldn't of hurt, should it? Wouldn't it just wake him up? Apparently not, as the voice reached his ears again.

"What do you know of the Janus Key?"

Shepard swore back. Even in a dream, it felt good to spite the man.

It earned him another punch to the face, then one to the gut. If it weren't from the fogginess present like a haze around his vision and general surroundings Shepard almost couldn't been convinced that this was not a dream. Yet those punches were putting in a nice argument to the contrary.

"The Janus Key…." The voice repeated.

"What is the damn Janus Key?" He asked. He had not experienced anything like this since… since… since the Prothean Beacon. Flashes and visions, some more surreal and convincing than others that managed to paint the fate for the galaxy.

"The Janus Key…." Shepard grunted. This was starting to get annoying.

"The JANUS Key!!" And the same debilitating shock that had been awarded in the depths of the Blue Sun facility coursed through his being.

"JANUS KEY! JANUS KEY! JA—S KEY! KEY! KEY! KEY!" The voice bellowed and changed, its voice splintering into many and each trying to overwhelm the other. It caused not only his body to convulse from the electric shock that it was somehow experiencing, but his mind to pulse with pain.

And then, as if turning off a faucet, it all stopped. In an utter calm, the voice, laced with suspicion, said, "Maybe I'll just ask our friend in green."

A pause. If he wasn't asleep, he would've felt tingles down his spine at the next words, though he didn't know why.

"Yes…. Ask the Reclaimer."

He woke up, sputtering all over the bed. The hell was that??

That was unlike any dream he had experienced, or nightmare, for that matter. Even his visions from the Prothean beacon were slightly different.

Shepard sat up in his bed, and eyed the large bandage that covered the upper part of his thigh. He sighed, content with the knowledge that Chakwas would do her very best to lock him in this position for possibly days on end. Of course, given his improved regenerative ability, he would hopefully be back on his feet in fewer time than they all estimated. The subtle beeps and flashes of the medical equipment nearby drew his attention to the rooms other two occupants, Thane and Jacob, who both seemed to be resting. It seemed that Chakwas had managed to stabilize the Drell, much to Shepard's relief. That had been a close call. Much too close. Regardless, Thane would probably be out for a good long while.

Running his hands over his face, he got the feeling that he really didn't understand the significance of that one little object he had recovered for the researcher.

What the hell was the Janus Key? And why would it matter?

Shepard realized with a start that he had completely spaced asking the Master Chief about that particular object. He scowled and swore softly as he realized his mistake. At least he would have a chance to do so now. But what was the affiliation? How could a soldier from a different part of the cosmos know of an object that he himself had recovered but months prior. That being said, the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. How was the Master Chief able to communicate with the crew? There was no apparent use of an omnitool, yet he seemed able to understand every crew member regardless of spoken language. That was peculiar indeed. What exactly was going on here? How exactly was the Master Chief able to not only disable, but destroy the Collector vessel within the city? And what had the man in the dream called him? Retainer? Recreator? Ah, that was it- Reclaimer. The fuck did that mean?

He was interrupted from his musings by the voice of a certain shipboard artificial intelligence, whose voice seemed doubly more tranquil than it's usual monotone. "Commander Shepard, there is an incoming transmission through your earpiece from one Colonel Silvers of the Alliance Marines. Shall I patch him through?"

"Do it EDI, I'm awake now."

"Affirmative Commander."

He didn't have to wait long, before the rough growl of the Marine officer greeted him. "Dammit Collins, I need long range QEC up and running 10 minutes ago! Sorry Shepard, are you receiving me?"

"That I am Colonel, what's the situation on the ground?" He asked. Technically, the Colonel outranked him by a full stripe, but also, technically, he was dead. He didn't really have a rank at the moment.

"Nothing my boys can't handle. I've been ordered to take you in for questioning, Commander. There are certain parties in the Alliance, myself included, that don't quite believe that you sold the farm that you so recently bought."

Shepard sighed. He knew this was coming eventually. A dead Alliance officer, shows up quite not dead, working for a qualifiable terrorist organization a few years later. Happened all the damn time, believe it or not. But never had the previous men been actually… dead. What's more, he just so happened to pop up in the middle of a war zone accompanied by a few criminals and less than savory characters - as society's standards go. Still, could be worse.

"Understood Colonel. I need you to promise fair treatment and security for my crew. All questions are to be directed to me."

Whether or not the Illusive Man liked it, they needed the Alliance. Not only that, but they needed the Alliance to trust them. Deny it as the council might, the Reapers were returning, and the Alliance were the only ones who even remotely believed the Commander's tales. While not as powerful as the Turians, influential as the Asari, or as innovative as the Salarians, the human race seemed to have a might all its own.

"Request granted, Commander. I have a request of my own – I need to liaise a few of your crew members for the time being while we get our feet settled here. They have the most current intelligence on the battlefield as is. I'll report in when their efforts are no longer necessary. Silvers out."

Shepard sighed. It was less of a request, and more of a demand. He understood of course, he would have done the same thing in their place. He was grateful that he had gotten this much, actually, he hadn't expected a QRF to respond so quickly to his request. Their arrival had scared off the large Collector vessel that was skulking around the planet, with the Chief's actions ridding them of the much smaller, yet more than likely capable ship that had entered atmosphere. As a result, the larger ship had fled to the nearby asteroid field that surrounded the system of 4 planets. Any Alliance force would be hard pressed to find such a ship, and frankly, they were content to let it be for now, they had other matters to attend to groundside, and nobody knew if the small QRF of a dozen or so Alliance ships would be enough to rid themselves of the huge insect spaceship.

He just hoped that his team would work well with the Alliance forces. A certain number of them were definitely not the most accepting of authority figures. He placed a brief call to Garrus on the ground, and while officially his second in command was Miranda, he felt that the ex C-SEC officer would be able to get a better handle on the crew. During the brief call, he asked for reports on the team's status every so often, as well as updates on the situation on the ground as it progressed. With that done, there was little he could do. Until he remembered a certain fact that seemed to have also slipped his memory.

They had a pair of loose lips on board. It was time to find out who.

OOOO

Vega had recognized the Colonel immediately. The commander of this particular Force Recon unit was a veritable legend. Arguably the most decorated soldier of the brief First Contact War, the man was a hero in his book. It was said that during one of the final engagements of the conflict, the Colonel, then a Private First Class and the only survivor of his entire platoon, was held as prisoner of war for almost 12 hours before breaking free, slaughtering a number of the Turian soldiers, including a high ranking front lines officer, before rejoining the Alliance Marines in the midst of the battlefield. It didn't end there, as immediately upon his return, he assisted the Marine company with the retake of a captured fire base, where he charged an enemy position and neutralized 5 unsuspecting aliens manning a heavy weapons turret that was laying fire on his fellow marines. Private Silvers was awarded the Legion of Valor for his actions retaking the firebase, a Gold Star for the events following his escape, the Prisoner of War medallion for his brief interment in the Turian camp, and a Purple Heart, having been wounded 6 times during the engagement. The Colonel was the real shit.

During a brief assignment with a Marine Force Recon unit in the beginning of his career as a Marine, Vega had been introduced to the Colonel who served as the Commanding officer of the operation. He held a great deal of respect for the man.

It was this man who seemed to instill confidence like a fire hose back into the Normandy crew.

Standing straight up in the landing zone following the departure of the drop ships, he spoke in a loud voice, unconcerned that this was, until recently, an active firefight zone.

"Alright boys and girls, Listen up. Commander Shepard of our good old Systems Alliance Navy has so conveniently requested for shore leave from the higher ups. Fishes have low stamina, so his request has been granted. Unfortunately for us, Devil Dogs, ours has not!!

"While some of you are working on growing hair between your legs, we seem to have a hostile group of aliens that have taken residence on the beaches of our beloved Colony. It looks as if the wonderful Real Estate of this beautiful planet has been sold by the Colonial Defense Force to the highest bidder!! Do you know what that means Marines?!?"

A loud "YESSIR!"echoed throughout the comms.

"It means that we have to go buy it back. It also means that this same hostile group of aliens is standing between us and our own shore leave on the hot beaches of Huriko! I don't know about you, Marines, but I feel damn sorry for any alien sonofabitch stupid enough to make such a mistake. We are going to take back Huriko, kick these inhuman bastards right in the ass, give the CDF back their planet, and we're going to do it all before nightfall. Is that clear Marines?!?"

"HOOAH!!" Was the chorused response, practiced and eager.

"Good. Squads, move out."

Vega smirked. The Colonel had certainly not lost any of his gung ho attitude- he was a Marine to the core. Unlike most Alliance high ranking officers, he preferred to join his men on the front lines, and although it was quite unorthodox – some might consider it foolish - to deliver such a speech in the middle of a battlefield, he knew what the Colonels response would have been to any who dared to tell him such. "Fuck you, too."

Vega, for his part, was glad for it. The remaining Normandy crew had been put through the wringer, and the speech seemed to distract them momentarily from the horrific reality of the slaughter they would all once more be witness to within the city. Soon enough, they would again have to venture into the city and force the aliens from the colony. They were no longer alone; however.

He watched curiously as the Colonel eyed the approaching Master Chief. To his credit, there was no visible reaction on the Colonel's face- just a nod. With his eyes still boring into the massive super soldier, he spoke to Vega- "your team is going with 3rd platoon, wire company. You'll follow 1st and 2nd platoons in. 2nd Lieutenant Harrison is woman of the hour. That clear?"

"Crystal sir," Vega responded with the discipline of a practiced soldier. He realized that, like it or not, as an Alliance Marine, and a commissioned officer to boot, he was the de facto leader of his little squad for the time being.

By this time, the Master Chief had silently approached the gathering below. Another few seconds the stare of the Colonel lingered on his frame, before he turned around and left, presumably to join the command platoon where he would oversee the operation, which apparently had been codenamed; Operation: Evictus.

Vega took a brief moment to take stock of the team. The ones who had stayed were seemingly in good condition, no reported injuries. They did look tired, well, all except for Grunt and Master Chief. Now that Bad Company had started to move out, the surrounding area had been sufficiently cleared for them to be a little more open with their movements.

They were soon approached by another Marine in the distinctive alliance armor, who James presumed to be Lieutenant Harrison. Face obscured with her helmet, the Lieutenant gestured over to the side of the LZ where a number of other marines were readying to move out. As she began to walk to that area, she beckoned to the rest of the Normandy crew, who began to follow.

"Names Lieutenant Harrison," the woman's began. "You lot'll be our tour guides for the day. With the exception of our fellow marine over here, you are all Cerberus. Know what that means?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Wouldn't give two shits if you live or die. But fortunately for you all, I'm not the one who makes that call. I do give a shit about my men, though. That means each and every one of you will do as I say – is that clear?"

The head nods, yes ma'am's and affirmative seemed to satisfy her. "Good." Then, turning to her team, Davies, you're on point with Michaelson. I want the rest of you in standard asset protection formation," she gestured to the team, "no one breaks until I say so. We'll proceed as soon as we get the go ahead from 2d platoon. Remember kids, this is a densely populated city. Do not fire unless fired upon, and triple check targets before engaging. I don't want any friendly fire, and I sure as hell don't want to pop any civies while we're here." That part seemed just as aimed towards James and the gang as it was towards the Marines, and they picked up on it.

They waited for the all clear signal, which was given over the platoon freq, at which point the Lieutenant looked to Vega, "lead the way, marine."

They proceeded for 20 or so minutes with not much action, mostly following the wake of the rest of Wire companies destruction. They could see the wreckage that the two platoons, who were a hundred meters ahead, were leaving, and it didn't seem like they were slowing down at all. It was odd, as the defenses seemed quite paltry compared to what was previously experienced at these same locales hours prior. With the help from the rest of his team, Vega directed the platoons to the shipping yard, assumed to be the area of heaviest resistance.

After a half hour or so, the team reached a large plaza with a memorial in the middle, dedicated to the heroes of the First Contact war. As it was a small colony, the memorial was simple, little more than a granite monolith inscribed with a message, "To those who would not be turned away from the defense of their homeland and humanity. A memoir to those who gave the ultimate gift to us all – their lives." Out of the corner of his eye, Vega noticed that Garrus' eyes lingered a little longer on the monolith than the rest, clearly uncomfortable.

Grounded air cars littered the perimeter of the plaza, and gift shops and restaurants lined the other side of the street. A few raised gardens, about 3 feet off the ground, accompanied the monolith, spread out through the plaza to provide beautiful resting areas for the cities many tourists.

All of a sudden, a few hundred meters ahead of their position, automatic gunfire exploded into life, a few concussive explosions joining them as a fierce firefight sprung into being between the other platoons and the sheltered Collector voices. A voice, calm yet urgent broke out through the squad freq that the crew had patched into in order to retain communication with their marine counterparts throughout the mission.

"3rd platoon hold position. Heavy contact with enemy forces ahead. Wait for signal to advance."

As one, the marines scattered to cover around the various garden emplacements for cover, intending to wait out the firefight, or provide support if needed.

While the gunfight ahead was raging, for some reason the plaza seemed eerily silent. The sun was beginning to set, and only a half hour or so of light remained within the city.

Vega hurried over to cover to join the Master Chief who was kneeling, still as a rock, with his rifle trained on one of the buildings opposite the plaza. Following his lead, he gestured to the crew to keep their eyes peeled for any activity and movement within the buildings. As they waited, the weapons fire ahead of them seemed to grow louder and louder, while the immediate area seemed to from quieter and quieter. He watched Tali and Kasumi squirmed, and after briefly checking on his building, he wormed his day over to them, taking position between the two.

"How you holding up, you two?"

They hesitated briefly, something that Vega noticed, before responding back to him.

"Good."

"Fine."

Their terse replies, whilst positive, gave him all he needed to know. Out of all of them, the engineer and the thief were the least suited for an open combat situation such as the one ahead of them. It was obvious that the previous engagement, in which three of the Normandy's crew members had been injured, had hit them. Never before had an operation in which they engaged resulted in so many injured. The others, while not purely solders, had received more combat intensive training, and for the most part, been apart of similar situations before. Zaeed in his time as a mercenary had some wild stories, and if true, were twice as batshit crazy as their current situation. Jack, tended to be the one that caused circumstances such as this, and Grunt, well, he was pretty sure Grunt had found his personal paradise. Garrus was rock solid, and even though he was pretty much just a police officer, Vega knew he was just as skilled as any of the soldiers here, having quite a good amount of combat experience from both his time with Shepard and the term of service required for all Turian males. He could be relied on to keep his cool. The Master Chief, well, Vega certainly didn't know a lot about the man, but he was pretty sure he didn't have to worry about that particular crew member. Samara had been an Asari Justicar before his 6x great grandfather had been alive and stormed Sicily with the Devil Dogs himself. This day was probably just another drop in the ocean for her.

Miranda was the only one he was mildly concerned about. Of course, if anything, he was not putting her combat abilities into question at all, if he had learned anything from his time aboard the Normandy SR-2, it was that the ships second in command was more than capable of handling herself. No, his concern was more in the direct that individuals such as her were rarely those who would readily accept orders from an unknown faction, and even then, a battlefield could break anyone.

Vega suddenly found himself missing Jacob and the Commander. Even Thane. Those three were extremely reliable in any combat situation, and though Jacob was currently operating under Cerberus jurisdiction, he still found him easier to relate with than most of the other crew.

He was brought back to the present with stare from the Quarian. The two glowing orbs ever present in her helmets visor that signified her eyes were wide and darting from place to place, even as she looked to him.

He nodded back, electing to transfer some of his confidence to her. "We're gonna be alright. We've done a lot better under a lot worse, remember?" She nodded back, adjusting her grip on her rifle.

"I've served with Force Recon before, these guys are badass, and they'll get us out in one piece. Okay?"

Another hesitation, before a brief nod was thrown his way. "Okay." She replied, still a little shaky, but much better.

He turned to Kasumi. "Okay?"

He received a similar response.

"Plus, if we ever really do run into something tough, we'll just throw the Master Chief at it, alright?" He intentionally lifted his voice, hoping the lightheartedness would ease the tension.

It elicited the desired reaction, as Tali saw the lame duck for what it was and seemed thankful for the attempt. "Keelah, I don't know why we haven't done that already…"

Vega just gave a shrug. One man army as their big green friend may have been, he was more than confident in his fellow marines to get the job done – just as they had done before thousands of times throughout history.

"Only if things get really ba-" He was cut off by a gravelly voice he realized hadn't spoken for a good long while.

"Contact, 3 o'clock high, yellow building, third story, 2nd window from the right," The Master Chief reported.

Half the Marines, and almost all of 'Vega's' team looked to the said building. Vega squinted, not able to see anything. He raised his rifle, using the optics magnification to get a better look. Nothing.

After another 5 seconds, Harrison opened up. "You sure? We're getting nothing up there."

The Master Chief simply nodded. "Affirmative, two contacts, no further movement."

"Hostile?"

"Unknown."

He heard a sigh from the Lieutenant. This was a bad place to get caught up in. The firefight ahead was dying out, if but slowly, but if there really was something there, they had to know.

"Daniels, Wilson, Jenkins, go check it out, squad one, I want you eyes on. Everyone else, hold."

The three Alliance Marines rose slightly from their cover, and hunched over, made their way slowly towards the building, rifles swiveling.

Vega felt a firm pressure on his forearm, and turned to see Tali looking directly behind them. She pointed, not saying a thing. He looked to where she pointed. There, easily silhouetted against the evening sky, two distant figures stood at the top of a large building. He immediately brought his rifle up, looking through the optic in order to better get a look at whoever was watching them. As he did so, he announced over the comm freq, "Secondary contacts, roof at 6 o'clock, I count two…" he trailed off as his optics centered on the position where the figures had been standing. Nothing. He scoured the rest of the rooftop, then brought the rifle back down. Whatever they were, they were gone.

"You have eyes on?" The Lieutenant asked.

He shook his head, "Negative, they bolted. Whatever it was, they were watching us." He looked at Tali, as if to ask her something. She slowly shook her head, gesturing down to the shotgun in her hands, devoid of any viewing magnification. She hadn't gotten a good look. All Vega could see was that it was vaguely humanoid in shape. Which really narrowed it down, didn't it?

She seemed frightened. As Vega was about to ask about it, he opened his mouth only to watch the three marines enter the building in which the Master Chief had pointed out. "It's-"

And then his eyes caught hold of something out of the corner, near a grounded air car. It was a flash of movement. Nothing crazy, but he was sure something was there. It was too big to be a bird.

One of the Marines saw it too. "Shit!" He scrambled to get his rifle up. "Lieutenant, we have any friendlies in the area?"

The Lieutenant in question, Harrison, not Vega, frowned. She had seen it too. "Not that I'm aware. Wait one."

"Command, this is Wire-3, do we have any friendlies operating in the plaza?"

She waited for the response.

"Wire-3, this is Command, unclear at this time, hold position while I get confirmation on that one."

They did so. The seconds seemed to tick on, slower than they had been before. More of the squad seemed to be getting twitchy. There was no gunfire from the building that was being searched, so that was good, he supposed. More flickers on his peripherals drew his attention. With the waning light, he couldn't be sure it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him. The tension ran high and could be severed with a razor blade.

"I've gotta bad fucking feeling about this…" He heard Jack whisper. It took a lot to get to her. Grunt just chuckled, barely audible.

It dragged on for too long, with Samara and the Spartan being the only ones not having knee jerk reactions. Then again, 'that was to be expected', Vega thought.

A loud bang, similar to a door closing, accompanied the shatter of glass, and seemed to come from across the street. The team watched as one of the windows of a building near to where the three Force Recon Marines were searching seemed to just shatter into pieces and fall to the floor. No movement joined it.

"Daniels, what's your status?" Harrison inquired.

"Clear so far Lieu, what was that noise outside?"

"Window. Suggest you clear the building and fall back to primary position." Switching frequencies with a tap on her omnitool, the Lieutenant spoke again. "Command, this is Wire-3, I repeat, are there any friendlies in the plaza and surrounding area? I need to know, now." Vega agreed.

Another pause. "Still working on confirmation, Wire-3. Bad Company is confirmed not in the vicinity, I just need confirmation from Wire 2 and 4.

"The fuck is that?!" One of the Marines exclaimed. More than should have swiveled their heads back to look. When he glimpsed it, a cold shiver ran down his spine. Crouched down on all fours atop a nearby air car, silent as the night itself, it watched them. It was a large, gray skinned, massive figure, with a bulbous head, similar to that of a standard Collector drone. Sharp jaws visibly lined the face of whatever this creature was. Four long appendages gave it a roughly humanoid shape, but the sharp claws were a big 'uh-oh.' What looked like bones lined the chest and shoulders of the figure, which he thought was odd, as Collectors had only their exoskeleton. Lastly, a long tail was the only sign of movement, spikes and protrusions lined its surface, much like the other rigid spikes that line its body. It was only visible for a second or two, after which it darted back behind the car and disappeared.

"That… that wasn't a colonist…" He heard Kasumi speak, barely louder than a whisper.

"Wasn't a Collector either." He put in. He turned to Harrison, who had visibly paled, much like the other marines.

"Fucking Rachni??" One of the Marines whispered. The pictures from Spectre Shepard's after action report had somehow made it into Alliance hands, but they weren't detailed enough in order to correctly distinguish them. Even then, they would be hard pressed to find an anatomical match between the two appearances. However, some of the few here had been present during said endeavor during the crews last trip to Noveria.

Garrus shook his head, "Whatever the hell that was, that was definitely not Rachni – too many differences. Don't think it was the Collector's either. Reaper?"

"Has to be…but why the bloody hell was it just watching us?" Miranda muttered back.

"Didn't look too cybernetic though…" Grunt put in, and was then joined by a nearby marine, who was put on edge.

"Looked like a cross between a Vorcha and those collector bastards…" The comparison was apt. The jaw and facial structure was reminiscent of that of a Vorcha, the sharp jaws and spiked appendages drawing immediate similarities.

"Wire-3, this is command, confirmation, no friendly forces are in the plaza or surrounding area." No shit.

"Daniels, get your boys and pull back to my position, stat." The Lieutenant ordered, somewhat urgently.

"Ma'am, we've almost cleared the building-"

"I said pull back, Sergeant."

"Yes Ma'am." The Sergeant replied, confusion in his voice.

"Wire-3, you are clear to engage, call out sighting," the Alliance Lieutenant ordered.

"The fuck was that thing Lieutenant?" One of the Marines, Michealson who had been on point, asked.

There was no chance to respond. "Wire-3, this is first and second platoons, area has been secured, you are clear to proceed." In all their panic, they had barely noticed that the firefight ahead had reached a lull, Nothing audible except for a few shots here and there.

"'Bout damn time," Harrison exclaimed. They were all eager to get a move on. "Daniels, what's your ETA, we got the go ahead to proceed, just waiting on you."

Silence. Vega felt his heart drop almost quite literally to his stomach.

"Daniels- do you copy?"

There was no response.

"Sergeant Daniels you son of a bitch – get your ass back down here do you read?"Another few seconds ticked by. The Lieutenant swore. "Michaelson, Calvert, get your asses down to Sergeant Daniels and tell him to haul his ass back here."

"But Lieutenant-"

"The hell did I just say?"

"…Yes ma'am."

As they stood up to leave, a voice, hard as rock, stopped them.

"Contact, same window." The Master Chief had remained still as the cover he was using. They all stopped in their tracks. "Single sighting."

The shiver down his back returned, stronger than ever. Whatever was happening in the plaza, Vega had a feeling it would give him trouble sleeping.

OOOO

He used his helmets recording equipment to replay the footage of the contact sighted through the window, the whole time, keeping one eye on his motion tracker, which, until recently, had been swarmed with brief and occasional probing motions. Extended out to 50 meters, he counted about four total contacts, each moved swiftly and darted from cover to cover, fast enough that he couldn't quite get eyes on. The footage showed what looked to him like an elite, except with a more elongated head, slightly hunched over, and instead of the four mandibles, and upper and lower jaw lined with teeth. Size matched, however, and he wasn't eager to fight anything quite that big.

His motion detector flashed with red for a brief moment, before once again disappearing, right where he estimated the Sergeant and his men to be. Their failure to communicate back to their CO could have been chalked up to equipment failure, and considering the jamming that had previously occurred hours prior, that was a possibility. However, the addition of these new contacts made it an improbability.

He sighed. He knew what most likely happened to the Marines, and he, as always, was too late to stop it. He knew that whatever it was, it would also most likely get the jump on two more skittery marines sent to find them.

Jumpy they may be, but they were holding together just fine. No one was panicking, at least not outwardly, and shit hadn't quite hit the fan. Not yet.

He analyzed the situation. Surrounded by an unknown and dangerous enemy who had the drop on them, as well as a number of good vantage points around the entirety of the platoons position, with what amounted to VIP's that needed protecting. The options were weighed. He considered what he knew of the enemy -large, possible predatory in nature. They were intelligent, at least to some degree, as they were adept at remaining unseen for the most part, and spent the first moments observing, even possibly harassing, the members of the team. It also seemed they were probing the platoons defenses. He instinctually felt that these weren't the normal Collectors. In fact, judging from the chatter around him, no one really knew what these new contacts were.

From the obvious reactions these new aliens elicited from the team, it was obvious there was a psychological effect. That was quite possibly the most immediate danger. Jumpy soldiers tended to be a little trigger happy. They also were less precise and controlled. This needed to be dealt with, and from the lack of contact with the three marines sent to investigate, needed to be dealt with now, before any potentially lethal mishaps occurred. First thing, they needed a rabbit. Unfortunately, Kelly wasn't here, so they'd get the next best thing. The wolf.

"Lieutenant, request permission to retrieve Sergeant Daniels and his team." The lieutenant visibly hesitated, looking at Vega with an unspoken question.

"The Master Chief here can get it done, Harrison. He's good for it."

The deliberations took her no longer than a second or two. "Master Chief, huh? Alright, but be damn quick about it. We'll cover you. Michaelson, Calvert, Looks like this big as shit Navy fella here has been so kind as to bail you out. That means I want you to cover his ass like he was your stepmom."

The two nodded, as John slinked away, rifle raised. He heard them Harrison and Vega in the background. "So this Master Chief Petty Officer, he an N7 or something? Never seen anything like that armor he's got on?"

"It's a… long story. But no, not an N7."

"Oh… some other Navy special forces then?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"Dope."

He ignored them as he trained his senses to his surroundings. The whispers of motion on his HUD didn't go unnoticed. The activity had changed though, they were no longer observing the platoon of marines, they were watching him. He drew closer to the building, his rifle raised. He saw a skitter off to his left, and ignored it. They were baiting him. Little did they know, he was doing the same thing. He watched his motion tracker dutifully, until he sensed a slight lull in activity, and then, without warning, he dashed into the building, a flash of green in the dull evening light. Under other circumstances, he would not have been so reckless with his actions, but there were methods to his madness. First, if their current hostiles were more animalistic in nature, then the predators would be caught off guard when their own tactics were used against them. If they were indeed perfectly sentient and able to communicate, a seemingly reckless, stupid decision would be just the thing to hit them where and how they least suspect it. And if the Chief had learned anything about Muphy's ever so present law over his more than 30 years of soldiering, the plan that is least expected is often the ones that gets the ball rolling.

It took the aliens by surprise, as they frantically scattered in and around his position. The building was dark, a few civilian corpses lined the floor of what looked to be a restaurant. He took a closer look at the bodies. He hadn't been totally able to investigate the fallen previously, as he had been a little busy blasting the bastards who had made them that way.

He had noticed previously that the majority of them seemed to have been put down by projectile weaponry. These bodies, however, looked different. Brutalized. Obvious scratch and bite marks dotted the majority, blood coating the floor. Considering the amount of bodies that had been present during the operation thus far, it made sense that the marines sent to check out this building made no large effort check the bodies for cause of death, and from the state of the dead, vital signs were quite unnecessary.

He also noticed that certain number of the bodies appeared to sport wounds that were akin to those inflicted by Covenant plasma weaponry, large portions of their bodies burned away. A long, vocal, and high pitched scream threatened to turn his attention outwards towards the plaza he had just exited. That was no human scream, he was sure of it, having heard hundreds of tortured and mortally wounded humans shred their vocal cords with their shrieks of agony or fright. This scream was alien in nature. He checked his corners, and proceeded through the building looking for the nearest staircase. The Sergeant had been ordered to return to the original position of the team when he had gone dark. That meant that they were most likely in some sort of main corridor or stair well, as they would have no reason to duck down into separate rooms.

The last vestiges of sunlight had just disappeared past the horizon, gone with the systems star. He toggled off any light emitting devices. His eyes, heavily augmented, allowed him to see as well as any night time forest predator. There was one major difference. He was infinitely more lethal than any animal.

He could clearly hear something on the floor above him, slow and quiet footfalls that were amplified by Mjolnir's speakers. Approaching the first stairwell, the Master Chief swiftly and methodically cleared all the corners and entry points of each corridor he came across, operating as fast as he could. If he wanted to get the drop on these new contacts, he would have to use their own tactics against them, something they would surely not expect. Rapid, localized probing movements, intent to confuse and scare the enemy. He held on to one particular saying drilled into his head by Chief Petty Officer Mendez during his training. Any living thing is capable of fear. A Spartan's ability to capitalize and magnify that fear will determine not only how effective they are on the battlefield, but any other friendly force in the vicinity.

It was possible Franklin Mendez had no idea the true extent to which his trainees would operate, the straight outright success of the Spartan program. What made the Spartan II's so lethal wasn't necessarily their advanced training, augmentation, even armor or their skill and calm in battle. It was their reputation. Their mere presence invigorated and breathed life into UNSC forces, at the same time infecting the enemy with dread and terror. As a result, entire battles often slipped in favor of UNSC forces. Marines fought harder, Naval officers were more confident in their decisions, civilians panicked less, elites lost their usual haughty bravado, brutes their reckless savagery, grunts their discipline, and the tide turning was almost a palpable change.

Where did that leave us now? Well these newcomers, and these Collectors, they needed to fear a Spartan. Once they did, they would be easy pickings. As 117 tore through the house, he kept his eyes searching for any sign of the three marines. He noticed a short dot of red in his motion tracker, which seemed to be coming from a nearby room. At first, it quickly approached his position, appeared to stop, and then backed slowly away. Perhaps it realized it was no longer the hunter. It was the hunted. It would have been correct.

The Chief barreled into the room, firing even as he crossed the threshold, mass accelerator rounds finding a difficult time punching through the the thick natural armor of the alien. He continued to fire the rifle with his right hand, even as his left travelled to small of his back and withdrew a lengthy combat knife he utilized in situations such as these. Closing the distance, the alien screeched and launched itself forward as the Chief barreled towards it. While certainly as large as the Sangheili, having no armor it was quite a few leagues away from its weight class as the half ton super soldier slammed into it, jabbing his razor sharp knife into the side below its arm as his right hand darted forward and used the butt of the rifle to smash in it's skull. Rather than the desired effect, it only seemed dazed, which was rather… odd. The creature snapped its jaws at him, clawing at his arms as they struggled together. John felt his shields flicker as the sharp claws slashed away at him, a greenish blood leaking from the hole in its side seemed to sizzle as it came into contact with both the ground and his energy shields.

He took a firmer grip of his combat knife, which was now buried up to its hilt in the creatures side as it shrieked. His right hand dropped the mass accelerator weapon he had been holding and he instead gripped the creatures head, intent on smashing it through the nearest wall. At the same time, he shifted his combat knife across the creatures body, eviscerating it above the stomach. Spartan strength, multiplied by Mjolnir's widespread capabilities, turned the aliens skull into mush as it impacted the wall. He backed away quickly as the resulting goo seemed to melt right through the floor. He grimaced. This new alien had acidic blood? Cortana had mentioned previously how lucky he generally was, but it was at times like these that he doubted her. He had been so lucky as to have fought the Covenant, the Flood, about half a dozen of these new alien races in this strange new reality, and now aliens with acid for blood. 'If he had any luck', he thought, 'it was of the bad variety.' Especially as he looked down at his combat knife, now a shred of its former self as the tempered Titanium-A was boiled away. He dropped it without another thought.

He turned around to pick up his rifle, and noticed that his motion tracker had gone wild with activity, the three remaining contacts zigzagging relentlessly through and around the building. The good thing, they could be killed. That was all the intel he needed. But first, he needed to find those marines. He cleared the corridor, giving passing glances to the surrounding rooms. Another staircase, and as he turned the corner, he almost walked right over the body lying on the ground. He recognized the pattern of the uniform and the armor, it was one of the Force Recon Marines, Jenkins, he believed. The man had a wild slash mark across his chest and neck, the wounds deep and long. He died relatively quickly, no chance to scream or get any shots off.. There was another problem as well – where were the other two?

He turned another corner, and glimpsed motion ahead of him, what appeared to be a string or a rope of some sort that rapidly darted into the room ahead. No, not a rope - a tail. A flicker of red on his motion tracker at his six kept him from barreling into the room. He spun around, only for a heavy object to clatter into him, causing him to stagger. His shields wailed in protest as the claws of the large beast raked over him, eager to tear him to shreds. He grappled with the creature – which was unable to do much but claw and tear at the the glowing gold field that surrounded him. He closed the distance, his shields were about 75% capacity, after all they were built to withstand much harder hitting objects – like plasma for example. He used the slipperiness to his advantage as he rammed the large alien with his shoulder, driving it back, after which a fist caught the he'd near the jaw, almost spinning the thing around. He was about to launch himself back into it when he heard a noise directly behind him, and found himself face to face with a pair of razor sharp snapping jaws. Still holding his rifle, he batted the head aside, and decided to take advantage of one possible location that the alien's skin wouldn't be so fortified.

Increasing the shield resistance on the palm of his left hand, he shaped his fingers into a flat spade and and thrust it into the jaw of the alien, breaking several teeth in the process. The alien squirmed under him as he gripped its jaw and slammed it into the nearby wall. In one fluid motion, he brought his assault rifle up and inserted the barrel between its mandibles, squeezing the trigger. The body went limp in his hands. He spun around once more, expecting to be engaged by the other creature, only to find that it had vanished. He cursed himself for his inattentiveness. The second alien had gotten the jump on him, enough so that he had lost track of his motion tracker for a brief moment, just long enough for his buddy to slink away.

He looked down briefly at the body on the floor. These things were strong, almost as strong as him. Fast too, but he had them beat there. They vaguely reminded him of a mutated elite, but he brushed that thought away. These were not his usual foes. In any case, he would not underestimate them – they were learning.

Automatic weapons fire broke him from his musings. It seems the team outside had engaged as well. He had to be quick about this. He turned into the room from where the other alien had come, and felt a tinge of sadness as he saw the body of the second marine, lying in a pool of his own blood. Damn. But where was the Sergeant? He had to be close, there was no way they would have separated themselves like this on their own, they must've been dragged here. He spied another room in the corridor of the second floor, and he walked in, rifle raised, and checked his corners. There, under a corner of a cabinet, he saw a shred of fabric. He approached cautiously. Laying a hand on it, he felt the flesh underneath, which squirmed at his touch. He watched the barrel of a rifle point in his direction and he grabbed it instinctively to prevent it from going off.

"Sergeant Daniels?"

"Oh thank God!! I heard the shots, but one of them was in the room with me. I couldn't do shit. Are they… are they gone?"

"Two have been neutralized, yes."

"What about my men?"

The Chief briefly considered what to tell the Marine. There was no point in lying, he would find out relatively soon anyways, however an immediate declaration might be the proverbial straw on the psychological camel's back.

"They were killed. We have been ordered to withdraw back to the platoons position. I'll need your help."

There was a pause as Daniels considered his men, quite possibly two good friends of his, before he seemed to straighten. "Of course, sir. Anything you need."

Good, John thought. He really was a Marine. He'd pull through. "I need you to carry Private Wilson out of the building. I will retrieve Private Jenkins. Stay close."

He stood up, there was no recent activity on his motion tracker. Either that meant that the remaining creatures had fled, or, that they were waiting for them. The weapons fire outside was sporadic, it seemed that whatever contact that the team had been engaged in had either ended, or was fleeting. He covered the Sergeant as he worked to secure his friends gear, and hauled him onto his shoulders. "Good to go," he whispered. The Chief simply nodded.

The retreated down the stairwell, the Sergeant eager to rejoin the rest of the platoon.

"Contact with fireteam has been made. 2 KIA, Sergeant Daniels has been successfully recovered. Exiting with bodies in tow." The Master Chief reported in.

He heard a long sigh from the other end of his comms. "Roger. Thanks Chief. We heard the gunfire inside- I hope things weren't too hot to handle."

"Negative ma'am. Two hostiles found and neutralized in the building. Detected a third but was unable to eliminate in time."

"Two of 'em? Well, shit. Good news, I think that third bugger found us instead. Took us a lot of rounds, though."

He didn't respond. He stepped out of the building, trusting the marine platoon to keep him covered. He and Daniels hustled over to their position, delivering the bodies back to their fellow marines. They spotted another one of them huge gray alien, its body riddled with holes, but not as many as the amount of gunfire had led him to suspect. Their tough skin must've been quite bullet resistant. When Harrison saw them, she swore, loudly.

"Fuck… I shoulda sent a whole squad in there, dammit." She wasn't wrong. 3rd platoon had 30 marines in total, 10 of which could be easily redirected to clear the building rather than the 3 that had. But the Master Chief understood her point of view. Against small group of what was assumed to be collectors when the order given, it made sense to send a small fire team in to breach and clear.

"Not your fault, Harrison.'" Vega inputted, likely having come to the same conclusion.

"Agreed ma'am," Daniels added, obviously still shaky from the experience. "the bastards got the drop on us, Wilson and Jenkins were dead before we even saw them."

In return, the Lieutenant sighed once again. "Alright. Let's move out, we have the go ahead to proceed." She regarded the Chief with a curious gaze, brown eyes unknowingly meeting his blue ones as he looked back through his golden visor. "So Vega tells me you ain't Cerberus. That right?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Thought so. Well, mind taking point big guy? Something tells me you know your shit."

He nodded. "Yes ma'am," he repeated, standing and taking his position at head of the formation.

They advanced, slowly, before a though crossed his mind. They had only gone fifty meters. Two in the building, one in the square… He turned, just in time for another shape to come flying into him. Four.

It seemed these aliens had only one setting – pounce. The momentum forced him to take a few steps back, as he held on to the alien with. A hand. He could hear the marines, Vega, and Jack yelling at him to get clear so they old open fire on the big gray skinned monster. With the claws firmly wrapped around his torso, that was probably not a possibility. Instead, he dropped his rifle, reached up with two big hands, and firmly grasped the elongated head of the creature. Once his grip was secure, he wrenched hard, and he felt the shudders of bone breaking beneath his hands. The alien dropped to the ground, dead. He reached down for his rifle. Silence. He looked over his shoulder to see what the issue was, the marines and even the Normandy squad paused, momentarily stunned.

Then Grunt started to laugh. "You know, them more I get to know you, human, the more I like you."

Harrison just said, "shit."

Tali turned to the marine officer. "You most definitely want the big guy on point."

That drew a chuckle from more than a few.

The Master Chief, for his part, was happy with the turn of events. He was back to where he did his best work, the front of a combat formation. He dared another glance at the marines and crew members behind him. He could work with this.

Hey y'all, I tried pumpin out another chapter as fast as I could, so sorry if she's a little shaky, I just wanted to get this update out asap.

Sorry that theirs very little character progression in this chapter, I want to set the stage for that in a later point, being the next chapter. I want to have everyone grow and develop at their own pace, and I'm honestly still feeling out this story and how the characters would realistically change. The story will have more focus on other characters rather than just the Chief and Shepard.

For those of you who didn't know, the obelisk of karza is a Prothean artifact recovered during a side mission in Mass Effect 2. The Janus Key is the main focus of the story of Spartan Ops in Halo IV.

I wanted these new aliens to resemble those from the aliens movie, at least in appearance, if not in function. This, and other things, such as the collectors collecting dead bodies instead of live specimens will all be explained throughout the story. Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys. Love ya!