"What's your name?"
"Oliver."
"Do you want to be a Spartan?"
"Yes."
"And why do you want to be a Spartan?"
"To kill monsters."
"Then we'll get along swimmingly."
November 16th, 2555 - Launch Bay
Prowler UNSC Marder, in Geosynchronous Orbit above the Dwarf Planet Huxley.
The steady thumping of boots came to a slow stop as the thirty-some-odd men and women called to the mission briefing stood in formation around a glowing blue table. All were dressed in ODST gear, with their helmets in a stiff hold to their side. Standing at attention, they all tensed as their commanding officer stepped up to the table.
"In accordance with our alliance with Arbiter, our mission is to help quell the various splinter sects that have been plaguing the Sangheili since the end of the war. This group, in particular, has left Sangheili space and worked their way into our jurisdiction, so it's our job to lay them to rest." Captain Baker said as he began the briefing. "They've holed up in a Forerunner structure situated here, at the foot of this mountain range, but there are too many potential hiding spots for artillery to be for us to drop you in, so we'll have to insert you a good klick out and have you engage from there." He was met by the nods of the strike team.
"Lieutenant Klein, you'll be leading your ODSTs in separate squads up and through the various routes laid out in front of you. Have each squad cover another in order to maximize efficiency." He continued.
"Aye, Sir." Came the response.
"And Sergeant Bricker, you take your team and take out this suspected AA gun location in order for us to land an evac bird." Baker turned to face the Sergeant, who merely nodded.
"Finally, A-019 and A-057 will push up under cover from the Lieutenant's men and move into the installation. Take out the leader. Any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Then get to it. Godspeed." The Captain said with a note of finality. He knew it, and everyone else knew it too. Not everyone in this room would be coming back.
The preparation was quick and orderly. Troopers moved from station to station, prepping weapons, gathering ammo, and tuning various pieces of equipment. Sitting on a crate near the loading ramp of one of the Pelicans that they would be using, Oliver A-019 tweaked a couple of screws on his Operator helmet. It was an old system, from back in 2552. The variant itself was originally made for operatives who frequently engaged in the more extreme end of combat, and preferred that extra edge in visibility than normal systems, if one could even consider Mjolnir normal. Who was he to change it? As the old saying went, if it wasn't broken, don't fix it. Running a hand through his short brown hair, he slid the helmet on, taking a deep breath as the suit's systems started up.
"Hey, Ollie. Are you ready?" Turning to face the source of the voice, another Spartan. He simply flashed a thumbs-up.
"Great. Deployment's in five." His partner said. Wagner A-057. They'd been partnered up as part of the Headhunter program back at the beginning of the S-III's deployments and remained active ever since. His partner's armour was made up of a maroon red and jet black paint job on a Gungnir-based suit of Mjolnir.
Grabbing his DMR from its spot next to his feet and clipping it to his back, Ollie stepped into the bay of the Pelican. The deployment was near silent as the pilot dipped them into an entrance vector.
"Five mikes to landing." Came the voice, clear over TEAMCOM as the dropship approached the landing zone. This was the cue for the final weapons check, as the 32 soldiers in the bay simultaneously grabbed their various weapons of choice and checked for any possible faults.
"Alright, team. Time to run it and gun it!" Cheered Lieutenant Klein over the comms as he loaded a fresh magazine into his MA5D rifle. The whoops of the Helljumpers filled this particular Pelican, and even Wagner allowed himself a couple clunks against the side of the hull. Ollie just loaded his rifle and nodded in what could be considered some form of muted excitement. Undoing their harnesses, the team stood ready as the Pelican bay doors opened, and revealed a dusty, arid landscape. As if on cue, a litany Covenant Shade Turrets opened fire on the Pelican, as bright purple streaks whizzed by the open door. Setting down the Pelican, the troops spilled out and moved to cover. In that instant, a lifetime of training kicked in as Ollie flicked off his safety and rushed from the dropship and out into the rocky desert. The terrain wasn't all that treacherous, but it was obvious why the Covies had set up defences here. There were plenty of ditches and divots where infantry could hide and dig in.
Spotting his first target, a pack of Grunts, Ollie slid into a crouch and shouldered his rifle. His vision tunnelled as hot plasma whizzed passed him, and he sighted his first target. Bang. The Grunt jerked back and collapsed into the dusty ground, fluorescent blue blood pooling around it. Moving to the next Grunt, he picked it off with another precision headshot. Moving in closer, he bobbed and weaved through blobs of plasma, firing another shot into the head of another Grunt. Stepping into their formation, he slammed one of the unlucky Unggoy in the head with the butt of his rifle, before spinning around and knocking another one several feet away with a roundhouse kick to the side of its squat body. There was a crack that sounded out, and nothing else but a dull thud. Targets neutralized.
Rushing headlong into the enemy fire once more, Ollie took cover behind one of the many boulders that dotted the landscape. It was an uphill fight, up into the massive Forerunner spire that stood stoically before them. Loading a fresh magazine into his DMR, he rounded the corner, weapon raised. Three jackals pinning down a squad of ODSTs to his right. Perfect targets. Rolling out of cover, he sighted the hand of one of the avians and pulled the trigger, sending a single high-velocity round blasting through flesh and bone. Whirling away, the Jackal clutched its arm in pain that was quickly ended when a hail of gunfire from the marines below brought it, along with its comrades, down. Moving up once more, Ollie's gunmetal grey form came to a stop next to the dark maroon of Wagner's. Easing up next to his partner, he followed his sightline to a steep ridge across a reasonably large ditch, one that appeared to be about 30 metres deep.
"Gun emplacements up along that ridge, up against that cliff. As far as I see, that's the only way into the installation. The lines of fire overlap. Any type of frontal assault will probably end with one of us dead." Wagner said, sweeping his sniper rifle along the ridgeline. His GUNGNIR helmet relayed information directly from all of his weapons, making it ideal for a sniper like himself. "Any ideas?"
Reloading his rifle as he thought, Ollie took note of the various crags and smaller trails that went up the length of the ridge. They all snaked up and around the gun emplacements, and in some cases, ended up right below some of the Shade turrets.
"The trails?" He mused aloud, pointing them out.
"Thought of that. But any Elites worth the weight of their armour would've thought of that. They'll probably be checking them." Wagner replied.
"Unless…"
"We remove them."
They both grinned. They couldn't see it under their helmets, but they both knew the other shared their excitement.
As the fighting wore on, the ODSTs had captured a large part of the enemy's ground-level defenses, with nothing but minor casualties. No one had died. Yet. Because while the cannons were down, and the fight on the ground seemed to be all but won, you can never expect the best outcome. They heard them long before they saw them. The low, quiet hum, followed by the shrieking pulse of the boosting engines. It was every infantry unit's worst nightmare.
"This is Wildcat to Alpha-Oh-Five-Seven, how copy?" Said Klein as he thumbed his radio.
"This is Oh-Five-Seven, I read you, LT. What's the situation?" Came the reply, almost instant. Classic professionalism you'd expect from a Spartan.
"We have some airborne friends coming in hot. I don't think we prepared enough for them. We're on a timer down here." He said, keeping his eyes trained on the skyline.
"Copy that. We'll try and fix that problem for you. Wagner, out."
Bringing his rifle to bear once more, Klein could do nothing but sit in cover and wait as the sound of the engines came ever closer.
Meanwhile, Wagner hit his comms once more, this time, opening a private channel.
"Hear that, Ollie? We gotta pick it up." He said, keeping his sniper rifle trained on the head of the Elite that his partner was directly under.
"Working on it." Was the terse reply. Oliver was used to working under pressure. He was a Spartan. That spoke volumes of his capability. Calmly traversing the steep side of the ridge, Ollie worked his way underneath of the Shade turrets, the long purple barrel protruding from above him. He froze when he heard the crunching of gravel from above him. The Elite was right above him. Tensing as the alien hunched down and leaned over the edge, the Spartan released like a spring and grabbed the Elite and pulled it down, grabbing it in a tight headlock. With a hard wrench, its neck snapped with a pop. On cue, Wagner's rifle gave a muffled crack as a high-velocity AP round pierced two Grunts above him, and another shot took down the remaining member of the turret team, the gunner himself.
"Clear." Wagner's voice spoke into his ear.
Grabbing one of his Silenced SMGs from his hip, Ollie slowly pulled himself up onto the ridge, taking cover behind the turret. Sweeping the area, he swiftly pulled the dead Grunt's body from the controls on the now-defunct Shade and clambered into the seat. Grasping the controls, the artillery whirred to life as bright purple plasma coils brimmed with fiery energy. Seeing as the idea of stealth was out the window, he angled the Shade turret towards the gun emplacement directly next to him. Smoothly shifting to the will of its controller, the turret glided around to face the confused pack of Covenant, wondering why one of their own turrets was turning to fire on them. That would be the last thing they ever thought, as purple flares of plasma blasted chunks out of them and the surrounding area. The Elites attempted to rally a counterattack but were silenced by the timely cracks of a sniper rifle. The destroyed turrets the pair left in their wake gave off massive plumes of dark black smoke, something that would be visible for miles, not to mention the telltale purple fashes of Covenant plasma. Something that could draw the Banshee's attention.
"C'mon. The entrance just up ahead. Lieutenant, the road is clear. Take a squad and meet us up at the door." Wagner said over the radio. "Also be advised that the Banshees will be making their way over towards this location, so move safely."
"Solid copy. We'll be right behind you." Klein responded.
At that moment, the sounds of shrieking filled the air. Quickly ducking go behind the wreckage of one of the shades, the Spartans were quick to sight the enemy fliers. A pair of them moving in on a straight attack vector, the twin cannons on the front spewing plasma like water from a showerhead.
"I have the one on the left, you take the one on the right!" Barked Ollie. Wagner grunted in agreement over the comms.
Rolling out from cover, Ollie grabbed a stray plasma pistol laying in the limp hand of a fallen Grunt. Swivelling to face the Banshee, he grabbed his pistol from his hip and fired a couple of shots, which pinged harmlessly against the chassis. Veering towards him, it greedily sped straight at him, plasma cannons whirring to life. Ollie quickly turned around and ran along the ridge, the Banshee hot on his heels. It was closing in, and exactly where he wanted it to be. Jabbing his foot into the rocky ground around him, Ollie jumped up and into the cliffside beside him. Spinning around leaping off with his other leg, he hid the plasma pistol in his shadow as he charged the alien sidearm. By the time the Banshee pilot saw the green glow of the plasma, it was too late.
As the blob of energy impacted and splashed across the Banshee's hull, the various electronics onboard shut down, and the pilot lost control. It also didn't help that a half-ton super soldier was grabbing onto one of your wings. Veering down into the crevasse beneath them, Ollie leapt off onto the ridge and watched as the alien flier tumbled into the ground in a glorious fireball. Looking over to find his partner, he was sufficiently satisfied when he saw a tumbling flier impact the wall near where Wagner had been. It was a classic move by a Spartan Marksman, to shoot a Banshee out of the sky.
"Show off." Remarked Wagner at the flashy way that Ollie had disposed of his chosen target. He just shrugged in response. Soon, they were met by Lieutenant Klein and a squad of 4 other ODSTs, one of which was a communication specialist, as evident by the comms system on his back. Falling into a standard squad formation, with the comms specialist in the centre, the team entered the installation.
The first hallways were nothing but a mess of hastily abandoned barricades, most likely for better defensible positions deeper into the mysterious building. Upon approaching the first door, the team abruptly stopped as the comms specialist dropped to his knees and pulled out his console.
"What is it, Finley?" Asked Klein, keeping his MA5D trained on the door.
"Picking up something on the Covie's battlenet. Apparently, it's so important they didn't bother encrypting it, sir. It's being broadcast on an open channel. Patching it through to FLEETCOM right now." Finley replied, tapping away at his console. There was silence for a few moments before their helmet's speakers crackled to life. "Connection complete."
"Brothers! Behold, our greatest achievement! The inner sanctum has been opened and the gateway to victory shall be activated within mere moments. And to those listening to us who may wish to impede in this cause most holy, I beckon you, for there is no stopping it!"
And with that, the transmission went quiet.
"Didn't even bother with anything special, that was a straight-up threat," Finley added. "I don't like it."
"You hear that, command?" Klein asked.
"Loud and clear, unfortunately. All troops, you know what to do. Get in there and stop whatever madness that Elite is planning, by any means necessary. Baker out." The captain ordered.
"You heard the captain, let's move!" Wagner barked, grabbing his M7S. But as they were about to move deeper into the structure, their comms came online once more.
"Sir, this is Bricker! The Covies are dropping in reinforcements along the ridge connecting to the install- PHANTOM! GET DO-!" The channel cut off abruptly with a wash of static.
"Bricker? Bricker, do you read?" Klein barked into his radio, but there was no response. "Dammit. McQuade, Lawson, you two get back up there and help out the rest of the team. Rockwell, Finley, you're with us. Let's pick it up."
Nodding to the Spartans, they took this as their cue to move. Bringing his DMR to bear, Ollie swept out from cover and moved into the room. He was greeted by a team of Elites. None of exceptionally high rank, but a very dangerous threat nonetheless. Letting out a roar, the head Elite let loose a burst of plasma from the Plasma Repeater it carried in its hands. Ducking the shots fired, Ollie fired several shots from his rifle, each one blasting the Elite in its head, whittling down its shield until one round blasted right through the slit in its helmet. Meanwhile, Wagner has unslung his sniper rifle and fired a shot right into the face of the Elite next to the one his partner had just dispatched. From behind them, they could hear the characteristic "poof" of a grenade launcher.
"Eat this, hinge-heads!" Yelled Rockwell as she fired explosive after explosive into the group of Elites. Needless to say, there was a lot of damage dealt. As the dust settled, one lone Elite stood in a daze, its shields down and weapon hanging limply from his hand. It fell to its knees and groaned in confusion as the humans passed by. Ollie delivered a swift coup de grace via a shot to the head, and they moved on to the next room. The next room was empty, although there were strewn supply crates and various small arms laying around. A probable tell that the enemy had retreated deeper into the compound. Jogging through the installation, the enemy resistance began to grow thicker. Teams of Grunts grew into a Jackal phalanx that grew into a full-on defence contingent. Stuck behind the barricades, the team was being forced back slowly.
"We have to make more ground! Get behind their lines and grab some better cover!" Yelled Klein, firing bursts from his rifle.
"Give me some cover. I'll get us some breathing room." Oliver said, reloading his rifle. Vaulting over the barricade, he ducked under bolts of plasma and rolled right up to the first Elite. Grabbing the Elite's right forearm, he jerked the reptilian humanoid downwards and drove his knee into its gut. It coughed blood as its shield popped. Twisting the alien around, Ollie held the alien close to his chest and restrained its offhand while sliding a finger into the trigger guard of the Elite's Storm Rifle. Aiming the dazed warrior's arm towards its comrades, he squeezed the trigger. Purple bolts ripped through several Grunts and blasted cleanly through one Elite's shielding. Staggering, the Elite attempted to bring its weapon to bear once more but was caught off guard when a pair of metallic arms wrapped around its body. Throwing the disoriented alien to the ground and diving on top of it, Wagner drew his custom knife from its sheath on his gauntlet. It was a larger blade than a usual combat knife and was meant for situations like this. Driving the blade into the Elite's neck, the point drove cleanly through the entire neck of the alien warrior, spraying purple blood like a fountain.
Seeing the opportunity presented, Klein and the ODSTs vaulted over the cover and quickly cleaned up the various Grunts and Jackals that were left in the wake of their dead leaders.
"Resistance has been the thickest so far, the control room must be up ahead!" Klein said, pushing forward.
"Then let's get this done." Ollie replied, and the team moved onto the last door. It wasn't grand by any means but was certainly bigger than any other door they had seen so far. Sitting on the ground were the shells of two destroyed Sentinels, most likely the remnants of whatever defense force this installation had at its disposal. Positioning themselves around the door, Ollie reloaded his rifle once more and stepped through the door. Standing there was the organization's leader, standing in the centre of the ornate control room. Positioned behind him and his guards, was a massive pillar of bright orange light that pooled into what appeared to be a large glowing sphere. Energy conduits drew bright white lines across the floor and walls like neon signs. An elaborate control console was active in front of the large beam, and from the looks of it, it was only a few mere button presses away from activation. The room itself was located at the end of a hallway that was dotted with more supply crates, and a few Grunts as well. As for the leader himself, he was clearly of notably high rank, his armour adorned with many bells and whistles that weren't present on the armour of the other Elites present. His escorts were similarly well decorated, with many wearing the coveted Warrior variant of Sangheili armour.
Rushing to cover, the team ducked behind the various crates or behind the door as bolts of plasma sailed overhead. Klein attempted to exchange fire but was rewarded with a searing hot plasma bolt that burned right through his left shoulder-plate, he ducked back behind cover in shock as the useless piece of armour melted clean off his arm and fell to the ground beside him.
"This obviously isn't working!" He yelled over the din of battle, risking another peek out around the corner.
"Leave this to us, Lieutenant. We'll handle this." Ollie said calmly.
Rushing out from cover, Ollie charged the enemy, DMR brought to bear. Shrugging off a few glancing plasma bolts that dispersed harmlessly against his shields, he rolled up to one of the Grunts and proceeded to slam the butt of his rifle into the alien's face. Twisting to avoid another barrage of plasma, he brought his rifle back up once more and fired three shots. Scratch three more Grunts. Without a moment of pause, the Spartan vaulted over the crate the fallen Grunt had been positioned behind. Swapping out his DMR for his twin M7S SMGs, he sprayed the Elites with a hail of bullets, forcing them into cover. Meanwhile, Wagner had calmly poked out from cover and sighted one of the various Elites in the room. Situating his reticle over the head of his target, he squeezed the trigger. The high-velocity round impacted with visceral power, sending the alien warrior cartwheeling from the form of the bullet. Panning over to the next Elite, he fired another shot, the sniper round punching cleanly through this one's head. Not wanting to be left out, Rockwell brought her grenade launcher to bear once more and fired a grenade up and into the room. Smirking under her helmet, she eagerly hit the detonator. While the destructive blast was quite impressive, it also gave off a large plume of smoke, covering the ODSTs and Spartan as they moved up to reconvene with Oliver.
The found their comrade standing over a corpse of another Elite, his SMGs still smoking.
"Eight Elites left. Four confirmed kills." He reported, surveying the smoky control room. As the dust settled, the remaining Covenant struggled to their feet. The room wasn't as large as other control rooms, but it was certainly sizable. The glistening Forerunner metal walls felt both wide apart yet constricting at the same time, but in the heat of battle, distance matters little when your enemy stood before you.
"You take the big guy. We'll keep the others busy. Just make sure that the ugly son of a bitch is dead." Wagner told his partner, reloading his rifle. Ollie just nodded. As the gunfire rang out through the room as the ODSTs and Spartan began to lay down covering fire, Ollie bolted through the squad of foot soldiers, straight for the leader. His rifle already in his hand, he quickly brought it to bear, firing off a quick shot that pinged against the shields of the leader's shoulder. The general stumbled back, and with a snarl, grabbed and small silver convex cylinder from his waist. With a flick of his scaly wrist, the blade sprung to life, the iconic pointed blades of plasma glowing with an intense purplish hue.
Upon seeing the blade, Ollie slowed down into a loping jog, making sure to stay out of the sword's deadly range. He'd seen those in action enough times to know that a single well-placed slash could take out his shields, and most likely one of his limbs with it.
"Demon, I see that you have chosen to die first." He spoke slowly. Unlike his earlier broadcast of religious fervour, he now spoke in a calm and controlled voice. He spoke not in the open tone of a zealot, but in the guarded tone of a seasoned warrior.
"I don't know. Dying never really suited me." The Spartan replied in his usual calm tone. Slowly, the two fighters began to circle each other, as if daring the other to make the first move. Once again, the general spoke.
"I am R'lam Ignus, the leader of the Keepers of God's Truth, and we have come for one purpose. The recovery of this relic has been the purpose of all that have died today. Know for certain that I will have your head." He declared, pointing his blade at the Spartan in a gesture that was half-threat, half-salute. Without another word, he charged. Moving forward with a heavy-handed swipe of his blade, the wide arc of plasma barely missed Ollie, who leapt backwards. Kipping backwards once more, he attempted to bring his rifle to bear once again but was quickly shut down when R'lam's deadly blade of plasma was swung at him once more. Seeing as his current strategy wasn't quite working, Ollie quickly holstered his rifle and pulled out his pistol. In his off-hand, he grabbed one of his combat knives. Without another lull in motion, he rocketed forward towards R'lam, who prepared to strike once more. Raising his pistol, he let loose a volley of shots that mainly pinged harmlessly against the Elite's energy shields. The shots did prove to distract the general, if only for a moment. Taking the opening, he quickly slid into R'lam's briefly-lowered guard and lashed out with his knife. Striking with fluid accuracy, the blade pierced the shield of the Elite's midsection and buried itself into his stomach. To his credit, R'lam let out no more than a grunt of discomfort before he lashed out with his energy sword.
Forced to back off due to the general's quick counterattack, both fighters stood opposite of each other once more. The knife still stuck in his gut, R'lam wiped a thin trickle of blood from his mouth before settling into his fighting stance once again.
"You are skilled, Demon. Certainly faster than the ones that I have killed." R'lam said matter-of-factly. Raising his blade once more, he lunged forward. Seeing as his pistol would be useless against his opponent's current attacks, Ollie holstered the Magnum before rolling to the side, falling into a guarded stance. Normally, this wouldn't be the optimal choice, to engage a combatant as skilled as R'lam in melee combat, but there was no other choice. His ranged options were shut down, and R'lam didn't let up for less than a second, his sword swipes nothing more than blurred flashes as he continued his relentless assault. However, the general made a critical mistake. In his attacks, he remained focused on the Spartan himself, but he never took notice of the shifting of their surroundings. Well, at least not enough. As Ollie leapt backwards once more, the general saw his "opening" and lashed out with a powerful downward slash. However, the wide stance he had adopted to give more power to his blow brought him lower to the ground, and despite his skill with his weapon, his momentum carried his blade into the ground.
The powerful strike easily carved a large gash in the power conduit situated in the floor, causing the lights in the room to dim considerably. As if sensing the damage done to its interior, the structure groaned and the control room was bathed in orange light. Taking advantage of his foe's distracted state, Ollie tackled the general to the ground. Grabbing the knife buried in R'lam's stomach, he brought it down in a stab aimed at his neck. In a moment of razor focus, R'lam grabbed Ollie's forearm mid-swing. With both of them possessing a seemingly equal amount of raw strength, Ollie decided he needed to shift tactics. Using his off-hand, which was pinning the Elite's other arm to the ground he slugged R'lam hard in the face. Coughing up a spatter of purple blood, he faltered for only a moment, allowing the Spartan to sink his blade into the soft flesh of his neck. Letting out a pained gurgle, R'lam clutched the stab wound in his neck and slammed Ollie with his legs in a knee-jerk reaction. Skidding across the floor from the force of the Elite's powerful kick, the Spartan shook the spots from his vision and hopped to his feet to see R'lam struggling to a standing position. In one last-ditch attempt to end his foe, R'lam reignited his blade once again, and rushed forward in a burst of speed. Raising the sword, he thrust forward with all of his weight. But in his delirious and pain-addled state, he was full of openings, and Ollie was quick to exploit them. Sidestepping the hasty thrust, he grabbed the Elite's arm and pulled. Hard. At the same time, he stepped between R'lam's legs and drove his right elbow into his gut, and his shoulder into his chest. There was a wet thump as his armoured arm impacted his already bleeding midsection. With his grip on his sword growing limp, due to both the pain of having his wounded abdomen pounded with the force of a sledgehammer and the fact that his sword arm was probably dislocated, Ollie tore the blade from the Sangheili warrior's hand and drove it into his chest.
In a burst of brilliant blue, R'lam's shields dispelled as he let out a wet cough. His eyes glazed over, and he toppled to the purple-stained ground.
Looking over to see how his companions had fared, he was just in time to see Finley and Klein pumping a volley of rounds into the last Elite standing.
"Clear." Klein's voice rang out through the now silent room, if not for the angry humming of the pillar of light that grew more and more agitated by the second.
"Something's not right with this. That pillar wasn't as bright or as big when we first got here." Said Ollie as he placed the half-spent Energy Sword on his hip.
Making his way to the control panel in front of the pillar, Finley quickly opened up a translation software. It was nowhere near comprehensive, but considering mankind's more invested research in Forerunner technology, the database was needed in this day and age.
"Well? What does it say?" Asked Rockwell, kicking the body of a dead Grunt.
"Let's see… something, something, Phase 2? Energy cut-off detected… the platform already primed? Preparing for emergency activation…" Then, there was a flash, and Finley was forced back from the pillar of light. "Shit! It's getting too hot! I can't read it, the energy's off the charts!"
"This installation is about to blow. We gotta get the men out of here." Wagner said, slinging his rifle over his back. "Lieutenant, order in the evac, now!"
"Already on it. Rockwell, plant the HAVOC. We're blowing this place!" Klein barked. The HAVOC Tactical Nuke was the most powerful portable nuclear device the UNSC had at their disposal and was only used in the event of something cataclysmic. After events concerning the Halo Array and the Ark, protocols were put in place that dictated that in the event a Forerunner facility, no matter how major or minor underwent a catastrophic malfunction, the facility must be swiftly scuttled with overwhelming force in the hopes of negating whatever event the facility was supposed to bring about. Considering how furiously the pillar was glowing, it was safe to say that this was one of those moments. Taking a step forward, Rockwell was quickly blocked by Ollie.
"Don't move any closer. The radiation leaking from that broken conduit will bake you alive. You'll probably leave this room with cancer." He said.
"Then what are you suggesting? We just chuck the tactical nuke in there and hope it blows?" She challenged.
"Wagner and I will set the HAVOC. The Mjolnir's radiation shielding should protect us long enough to set the charge correctly. You just focus on getting out of here."
Rockwell reluctantly nodded and promptly left with the other members of her team, leaving the two Spartans alone in the rapidly irradiating control room. Nodding to each other, Ollie quickly grabbed the HAVOC and ran towards the pillar. Tapping away at the screen of the HAVOC, the nuke let out a few beeps before whirring in agreement with the inputted code. Planting the nuke next to the light, the two Spartans performed one last diagnostic, clamping the nuke to the ground and, upon ensuring the charge was planted correctly, the pair ran for the exit, Wagner in the front, with Ollie following close behind. But as they reached the doorway, there was a loud blast from behind them. The next thing Ollie knew was that he was on his back. His head was pounding and his Mjolnir's HUD was beeping up a storm of alerts that didn't seem healthy in the slightest.
Quickly attempting to assess the situation, his thoughts drifted to why he was on his back in the first place. It wasn't the nuke, otherwise, he'd be vaporized. The only thing that could've done so was the pillar of light. Speaking of which, Ollie turned his head to try and survey the pillar, and noted how bright it had become. Struggling to his feet, he turned to the door and saw that he was firmly closed. He could only hope Wagner had escaped in time, but there was no way to determine whether or not he did, as his suit's systems were all washed over in error notifications. With no time for a reboot, there was no way to interface with the doors either, not that they were unlocked. If there was a failsafe to fire the platform, then there was probably a failsafe to lock doors as well. Staggering towards the HAVOC, he surveyed the state of the charge and found it perfect working order. On the one hand, the Spartan part of him reasoned that if he was going to die, then he would at least die completing the mission. The human part of him, however, thought entirely differently. His thoughts drifted to Wagner, Klein, and the other members of the team. He hoped they had made it out alright. He thought back on his life, and the career of killing he had carried out. Frankly, he was getting tired of being a killer for a living, but there was no other place for him outside of the military. He was a weapon in every sense of the word. Finally, his thoughts drifted to himself, and how he didn't want to die here. He wanted to serve out another tour or so and move back to Meridian or New Harvest and enjoy a quiet retirement as a war hero, with no one to bother him with orders for an upcoming engagement. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him.
Shit. He thought to himself. And who would've thought I'd get sick of killing monsters.
Looking up, the pillar pulsed once more and flared the brightest he had seen so far. Then he saw nothing but static as his visor was overloaded. He was dully aware of his helmet hitting the ground before the static overtook his mind as well.
The doors opened, and Wagner stumbled inside. His Magnum was gripped tightly in his hand, but he knew he wouldn't be needing it. The enemy was the least of his concerns right now. He quickly took note of the absence of… anything, really. The light that filled the room was gone. As were the crates. As was the corpse of R'lam Ignus. And most importantly, as was Oliver A-019.
Stalking to the middle of the room he looked around once more. Nothing. Nothing but the sound of his own boots clunking against the dull-grey floor of the now-defunct control room, and the sound of his own voice.
"Dammit."
This is it. I'm back. Thank you to kpmh2001 for editing this chapter, and just being a great guy for helping me keep this project going. Another big shoutout to Psihopatul, my previous editor, who has been dealing with his own things right now. Without him, I wouldn't be at the point right now. Thanks, man. Most of all, thank you to all of my readers, both old and new, for sticking this one out.
Let us begin.