Jorge grunted as he used a girder to lever a pile of debris into the air, clearing a small triangular hole.

It had been a couple of days since he had first landed and connected DOT with the mainframe of Onyx Point- which had turned out to be one of three secondary mainframes, with a primary mainframe deeper in the base where the residents had apparently kept the more sensitive information. This wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the fact that DOT needed access to all three secondary mainframes in order to open the causeway to the primary. This was not to mention that, during the attack, some soldiers had shut down the main elevator for the entire base, meaning that both the armory and the mainframe were somewhere that they couldn't go.

So, here he was, a Spartan, the end product of several of humanity's greatest projects, and he was relegated to repair duty.

Ian shimmied into the gap, headlamps on, searching for the break in the cables that isolated the third secondary mainframe from the other two. The ODST had healed enough to be able to do some basic repairwork, thanks to DOT fiddling with the Ardent Prayer's medbay until she had figured out how to make medigel with the equipment. He wasn't fully healed, as he had to keep reapplying the medigel to his extremities and abdomen where plasma had burned through his armour, but at least his ODST suit was now fully repaired thanks to the efforts of the engineer.

Jorge turned his head slightly to glance at the creature in question through his polarized visor. The engineer was hovering to the side, watching the goings-on with mild interest, as far as Jorge could tell. The alien didn't exactly have much in the way of facial expressions, or, indeed, much of a face. It had worked tirelessly to repair the base's systems enough for deeper access, seeming not to sleep, and it was a large part of the reason that they had made so much progress on their work. Jorge no longer pulled the magnum clipped to his thigh whenever he saw it, which, in terms of his relationship with aliens, meant that he was practically fond of it.

However, the engineer couldn't lift the heavier objects, and struggled with smaller spaces. Thus, Jorge handled heavy lifting while Ian, who had been the technician for his squad and being the smallest of their motley group, forced himself into tiny cracks and crevices to assess the damage. Many pieces and parcels of damage he'd been perfectly able to repair on his own, which had saved them quite a bit of time clearing random bits of collapsed tunnel or steel. Hopefully, this would be one of those, as Jorge was getting a little anxious about staying in this empty tomb of a base much longer.

"I see it!" Ian's voice came through Jorge's helmet's speakers.

"Vidminno. What's wrong with it? Good news, or bad?"

"One moment…" there were a few quiet shuffling noises as the ODST wiggled deeper into the rubble. "Oh, yeah, there it is- four connection cables. Looks like a steel beam fell on them, cut them clean through."

Jorge sighed. Another few hours of clearing rubble so that the engineer could get in and repair them. However, his thoughts were interrupted as Ian spoke again.

"Wait… oh, clever- they're not severed, they have quick releases. When the beam hit, it triggered the quick releases and caused the cables to separate. They just have to be fit back together again. Just a second…"

There were some more sounds of rummaging.

"There we go- I think I got it! Try it now."

"Affirmative, Corporal. Please wait… access successful. Secondary mainframe three online and functional."

Jorge waited for the ODST to extract himself from the rubble pile, standing and brushing away the gray dust that clung to his armour, before slowly lowering the beam back into place, ensuring that none of the rubble slipped back and cut the cables again. Truthfully, he was relieved that at least this portion of the manual labor was over with, and then next he didn't mind so much. Specifically, stripping the armory of this base as bare as possible, filling the Phantom with as many weapons and as much ammo as it could carry, then dropping off that load in the Ardent Prayer's storage before coming back for more until the armory was empty. Yes, he was looking forwards to that.

"Main elevator unlocked." There was a pause. "Noble five, Phantom sensors are detecting unusual activity at the edge of the city. A vehicle is approaching at high speed, registering three lifeforms aboard, humanoid."

Jorge hummed to himself. "Can you give me any more information about them?"

"Negative, Noble five. Apologies: sensor resolution too low at this range for proper scanning."

The Spartan waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. I'll take the Banshee out, see what's happening, maybe rub shoulders with the locals. Find out where they got UNSC common from."

The ODST seemed concerned, though his face was invisible behind his polarized visor, taking an assault rifle from where he'd left it on the floor next to the pile of rubble. The grey surface of the rifle was interrupted by a number of scratch marks, three of them, with a crude sketch of an Elite's helmet above them.

"Are you certain you want to go alone, sir? I could come along if-"

Jorge held up a hand to cut him off, shaking his head.

"Banshee only fits one and taking the Phantom would be as good as announcing our presence to every potential hostile in the area. Besides," Jorge pointed to the patch in the trooper's armour, "you're not exactly combat ready yet."

Ian grumbled, but took the point, clipping the assault rifle to his back. The big Spartan patted the ODST on the shoulder, walking past him and towards the doors. Before he could leave, the ODST seemed to think of something.

"Hey!" Jorge halted and turned his head slightly, the gold of his visor flashing in the low light. The ODST shifted in place, then continued. "Don't die, alright? I don't want to be the only human within a million lightyears, yeah?"

Jorge huffed the smallest amused laugh.

"Don't worry about me." He turned back to the door, Etilka at his side.

"Spartans never die."

The Banshee swept quietly through the skies, engine producing a low wooshing hum not dissimilar to a vacuum. Jorge was thankful that this particular Covenant fighter was adapted to both the atmosphere of a planet and the hard vacuum of space. They were much more fuel efficient than the Phantoms, and they only had so much helium 3 before they ran low and DOT had to leave orbit to refuel at one of the system's gas giants. Losing his primary source of orbital support made Jorge… anxious.

He kept low over the water on his approach, wingtips and the bottom of the vehicle nearly brushing the waves as he flew, seeking to hopefully avoid the notice of anything in the city itself that wasn't exactly friendly. Thankfully, lick seemed to be on his side today, as nothing and no one shot at him as he passed into the city itself, adjusting his altitude to fly just above the buildings.

As he banked to the side to avoid a particularly tall structure, still standing despite the slight lean that it had acquired, Jorge found himself wondering about the people they'd detected. The war that had been fought on this planet had devastated it, and DOT had estimated that close to ninety percent had been destroyed in some sort of orbital strikes. What sort of person survived that? Worse, what sort of person ordered that? Who could have been so desperate as to think that their only option was to bombard a planet almost entirely to glass? The Covenant did so, of course, and with alarming regularity, but they did it out of cruelty. Cruelty was easy to understand, desperation not so.

Jorge pushed aside his musings as a small plume of dust appeared on the cockpit monitors. He slowed the Banshee and came in for a closer look, staying at what he thought was a reasonable distance, far enough that whoever it was shouldn't be able to see him. He cursed not having a human vehicle, as the shining purple of the Banshee stood out like a bonfire on a tundra, and vowed to have each and every Covenant ship repainted with grey camouflage. At least then they'd stand out a little less.

"purpur, ya nenavydzhu kryvavyy purpur…" he muttered to himself.

The Spartan sighted the source of the plume of dust as soon as he had cleared the last row of buildings. A truck, beat up and worn, was making its way down a greatly aged and desiccated section of asphalt road. It bounced every time it encountered a crack, flying into the air a little before coming down on its suspension so hard that Jorge winced every time it did. It was a wonder that the vehicle hadn't shaken itself to pieces yet, if this was how it was being treated.

Zooming in with the optical controls, Jorge could vaguely make out the people in the truck itself- three, driver, passenger and one more in the back seat. The armour they wore, silver and greyish blue, flashed dully in the dim light, and parts glowed with a soft, blue light of their own. He was shocked to see that they weren't some nondescript humanoid aliens: they were, as far as he could tell from here, humans. The one in the driver's seat, blonde hair covered slightly with a pair of goggles, looked annoyed and angry, while the one in the passenger's seat, a large man less from fat and more from pure muscle, seemed almost excited. The third figure was impossible to read, thanks to the helmet he wore, whose eyes glowed the same soft blue as parts of his armour and the weapon that he held in both hands. A Lancer, Mark two, DOT had relayed from the records. Apparently, their enemy, the Locust, had incredibly tough hides, which had necessitated the design and manufacture of a weapon with one of the most bewildering attachments that Jorge had ever encountered: a chainsaw bayonet. He could see the teeth beneath the handguard of the weapon from here, big, vicious curved things designed to tear and rend flesh and metal alike.

While the Spartan was relatively certain that his armour would stand up to the weapon, he wasn't exactly in a rush to find out.

He swung the light and nimble fighter craft around in a sweeping arc, coming up in the blindspot of the vehicle and staying there, seeking to observe what he could. There was a small collection of weapons and boxes in the back of it that appeared to be divided between fuel canisters of some kind and crates of ammunition. Jorge was surprised to note that the difference was easy to spot even from this far, as the ammunition crates had large, glowing gears stamped on them. Vaguely, he wondered whether this was some sort of LED lighting that had been incorporated into the design, or if some brilliant mind had decided that every ammunition crate should contain a healthy amount of promethium. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Eventually, the truck rattled to a halt, pulling off to one side of the road. Jorge angled the fighter down, landing behind a stone outcropping that easily hid the Banshee, then popped the cockpit. His armoured boots made two small puff of dust as he settled his weight onto solid ground, sweeping around to the side of the craft and retrieving Etilka from where he'd strapped the weapon to the side of the fighter. While they hadn't had access to the deeper, main armoury, there was plenty of weapons and ammunition salvage above ground. Some of the defense emplacement's turrets, to Jorge's utter astonishment, used rounds that were functionally identical to the 12.99x99mm rounds that his HMG fired, and he had salvaged several boxes of ammunition from them, totaling near a thousand rounds. His armour allowed him to easily carry the lot.

Crouching low, he made his way to the top of the outcropping before sliding down the opposite side, shield sparking slightly from the movement. Sweeping from rock to rock, far quieter than one would expect seven feet and thousands of pounds of supersoldier to be, he made his way to a rocky lip that gave him safe cover from the road and put him close enough for his suit's audio receptors to pick up their conversation.

The blonde soldier, as Jorge assumed they were soldiers, was looking towards the city with a measure of disdain. He watched as the figure picked up a rock and belted it in the direction of the city itself.

"Hate this stupid city." He intoned, obvious annoyance and frustration ringing through his voice.

"What's his problem?" the helmeted soldier asked, gesturing to the blonde one with the butt of his assault rifle. Not for the first time, Jorge noted that the thing didn't really have a stock so much as a square bit of steel jutting from the back of the weapon.

"Long story." The larger man replied.

"Only COG soldiers are this noisy."

Jorge ducked his head back down behind the safety of the rock at the new voice, then inched back up to peer over. A new figure had appeared. His armour and weaponry were similar, if not identical to, the armaments of the three already present. However, he had a short pistol trained on them, and they had similarly trained their weapons on him. Jorge took the moment of intense focus on both sides to examine the newcomer in greater detail.

His hair was white, though from age or simply by quirk of genetics Jorge couldn't tell. A scar ran down the side of his face and under the neck of his armour, disappearing and quite likely going farther than Jorge could see. His armour, though similar to that of the others in the group, lacked the obvious gear motifs that the other three shared, instead replacing them with plain circles on his chest covered in slightly tilted yellow bars. Perhaps he was from a different faction? Jorge wondered if he was about to witness a shootout.

However, one of the soldiers, namely the blond one, seemed to recognize the white-haired one. He stepped forward, obvious surprise in his voice and written on his expression.

"Paduk?"

Jorge blinked. The name was incredibly similar to names from his home Reach, and he wondered if there were other things than UNSC common that this strange, nonsensical place shared with where he had come from. The blonde one made to step closer, his weapon remaining undrawn, but the larger man held him back, and the helmeted one still had his weapon trained on 'Paduk'. Paduk, similarly, had kept the pistol pointed at them, which the larger man of the four regarded with wary eyes.

"That sidearm can go back where you found it."

To Jorge's surprise, Paduk seemed to consider for one split second, before raising the weapon and uncocking the hammer, sliding it into a holster at his belt. The larger man seemed to accept this, lowering his arm and allowing the blonde one to stride forward, meeting Paduk in the center. They regarded each other for a moment, then shook hands, blonde clapping Paduk on his shoulder before speaking.

"We need help. And a boat."

Help? Help with what? Did these two belong to factions that were neutral with each other, but were at war with another over resources? Had this group been sent to negotiate with this Paduk? Unlikely, Jorge thought. The blonde soldier's reaction to seeing Paduk here had been surprise, and he obviously hadn't expected to meet anyone here, let alone someone that he had previously known. Stranger and stranger. Paduk nodded to them.

"Then come with me."

With that, he turned away and began walking down the road. Blonde turned and pointed at his companions as he followed behind, a small grin pulling up the ends of his mouth, though the large man seemed to have his doubts about this. Jorge watched until they'd reached a wooden bridge across a narrow chasm before hefting Etilka and following behind, leaping down from the outcropping and using the truck as cover. One of the four, the helmet, glanced back and Jorge froze, calmly watching for any indication that he'd been found out. After a few seconds, however, the helmeted figure shook his head and turned back to his companions, making his way out onto the bridge.

"Welcome to beautiful Halvo Bay!" The larger man said, surprising enthusiasm in his voice, especially considering what it was regarding.

"This city's been deserted for years." Paduk said. "Which is how we like it."

Blonde glanced back. "Whose 'we', exactly?"

"Come on. I'll show you."

More credence to the theory that Blonde and his companions had no idea that there was anyone even in the city. But why had they chosen here, specifically? Familiarity, perhaps? The helmeted figure seemed not to recognize it, but both Blonde and the large man had apparently been here before, though their responses to the city itself were on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum.

The four passed beyond the end of the bridge and onto a stairwell there, and Jorge cautiously made his way forwards. While he'd like to reveal himself and perhaps ask some questions, rather than this listening and spying junk, he was wary of revealing his presence to an as-of-yet unknown presence. The bridge creaked dangerously under his weight, part of it coming off and falling into the abyss below, but he made it across, crouching behind a small sign as he watched the figures round a group of burnt-out vehicles. He moved up again only when they were out of sight, making their way down the hill. One of them, Blonde, paused and looked out over the city and towards the oil rig beached in the center.

"How did THAT get there?" he asked.

Paduk spared a glance for the mass of steel.

"Tidal wave, after you sank Jacinto. The wave was twenty stories high. Carried it in from offshore."

Now that was interesting. Sank Jacinto? And what had Jacinto been, exactly? Few things could make a tidal wave that large… and Paduk had addressed it to Blonde personally, not an abstract. 'You', not 'they', and not a simple 'after Jacinto sank'. No, he'd chosen to address that comment personally to Blonde, as if Blonde had either been responsible for, or shared responsibility for, Jacinto's sinking.

"That's where we're headed." Paduk continued.

"That your place?"

"For the moment, yeah."

The four had rounded a bend in the street, and Jorge followed again, ducking behind cars and keeping his armour's bulk as hidden as he could.

"Something's ahead…" Paduk's voice came out in a low growl. There was a faint skittering noise, discarded rubbish being disturbed from where it had lain, and the four readied their weapons.

"GROUNDWALKERS!" A voice, rough and far too low to be human, shouted from ahead and down the road.

"Grubs. We'll get 'em." The hatred in Helmet's voice was obvious.

From what DOT had managed to pull from the archives, Grubs composed a majority of the enemy of the COG's forces, forming the shock troops of the Locust. Scaly, reptilian, ugly and just about as alien as any one of the Covenant. Jorge caught a glimpse of one going into cover before a series of shots rang out. Jorge watched as the four soldiers took cover, one circling up some stairs and onto a raised area to one side, dodging a hail of bullets as he did. Jorge debated his actions for a brief moment, then charged forward, Etilka at the ready.

The first Grub he saw was shredded in an instant by the concentrated fire of his beloved weapon, the rounds tearing easily through the thick hide of the creature and blowing large chunks out of him. A few rounds pinged off of his shield and he turned his weapon towards the offending Grub, causing it to duck behind cover as he rattled off a few rounds in its direction. The four stared at him a moment, apparently surprised, before shaking it off and using Jorge's covering fire to move up and towards the enemy. The one who'd taken the flank, Blonde, popped around a pillar and fired into the side of the cover the enemy was hiding behind. The momentary confusion as they all scuttled back to find better, safer cover allowed the other three and Jorge to pick off a few more before they went to ground again.

However, this proved to be a mistake, as the place they had chosen to take cover in was a small space defined by a twin pair of K rails and enclosed, causing them to bunch up. Paduk threw an oddly-designed grenade, a spike ball on a chain, into the group of Grubs, the explosion killing them before any of them could realize their mistake and seek out better cover. The danger apparently passed, Blonde cocked his head at Jorge and opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the loud sound of an alert horn.

"Ah… the locals know we're here," the large man said.

"Not exactly stealthy, are you?" Paduk replied, sarcasm lacing his voice.

Jorge turned the corner with the other four, laying eyes on a large gate. As he watched, the thing was winched up, letting out a number of Grubs and two far larger things, the size of full-grown Brutes and wielding large weapons.

"Diggers!" Helmet cried, and the four scattered, leaving Jorge to move forward on his own. He watched as both of them pointed their weapons to the ground, pulling the triggers and firing their rounds through the asphalt, where they seemed to dig through the ground, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in their wake as they rapidly approached Jorge's position. He watched and waited for a moment, then dove to the left and rolled, glancing behind him to see both rounds pop out of the ground and explode at waist height.

An interesting and brutally effective weapon, he thought. I'll have to get one for myself.

He turned his attention back to the enemy, noting the four concentrating their fire on the larger ones and only taking out the smaller Grubs when an opportunity presented itself. He joined them, turning his HMG on the first of the 'diggers' and pulling the trigger, sending round after round crashing into the large figure. The thing's armour and hide held out under the concentrated fire from all five of them for a moment, then it shuddered and stumbled back before collapsing to the ground, blood pooling beneath it as it died. The second saw this and turned to retreat, but the five's focus fire cut it down before it could make it very far.

Rifles at the ready, the five of them made their way forward, Blonde poking at the body of one of the diggers and letting out an impressed whistle. Before any of them could question Jorge, however, the horn rang out again. They all looked up towards the roof of the building where the horn was just visible over the lip, then collectively ducked as explosives detonated down the ridge.

"What the-" Blonde's eyes widened. "Oh shit! Avalanche! Run!"

"To the service station at the bottom!" Paduk yelled.

The four of them dashed forward, gear clanking, making a run for the square of yellow light at the bottom of the hill. Jorge spared a glance at the coming rockslide before joining them, easily pulling to the center of the group and keeping pace as rocks rained down around them. The larger Spartan did what he could to protect the other four, his shield flickering and flashing as it deflected rocks and rubble away from all of them. They had to dive the last meter or so, coming into a roll, but they managed to make it into safety just before the mass of material came down, sealing the entrance and blocking them off completely. Each of the four took a moment to recuperate, breathing heavily as the dust created by the falling rocks settled, and Blonde taking a moment to settle a suspicious eye on Jorge.

"Not that I'm not thankful for the help, but who in the hell are you?"