The Last Spartan

by DinoJake

An AU fic in which the Halo and ME universes share the same galaxy. After a well deserved rest in Cryo-Sleep, Master Chief finally awakens...to a whole new galaxy.

37. John's Day-Off

…..

1234 Hours, March 10th, 2683

New Alexandria Colosseum, Surface of Reach

Epsilon Eridani System, Forerunner Cluster

…

The first thing that the Master Chief noticed as he climbed out of the air car was the stares. Or rather, the lack thereof. Whenever he wandered in public places, the Chief was resigned to the fact that people were going to stare at him. How could they not? He was a Spartan. Spartans walking around in public tend to draw a lot of attention.

But not today though. As the public transit air car took off behind them as he and Ashley made their way through the parking lot, the Chief couldn't help but notice all the people who were distinctly not in awe or amazement of him. Sure, a few people spared a glance at him to note how unusually tall he was for a Human, his battle scars, or his pale skin, but after noting those features, they went right back to their usual business, apparently writing him off as nothing more than a very odd-looking man. It was nice, not being in the spotlight for a change. He quickly realized that the reason fewer people took notice of him was because he was almost never seen in public outside of his armor, which meant no one knew what his face looked like. For a split-second, he wondered why he didn't go out in public sans armor more.

In the next split-second he remembered as he patted his thigh to check for a pistol that wasn't there. He was unarmed and unarmored. He was, by Spartan standards, naked. Granted, this was no battlefield, so it didn't seem all that likely that someone would try to kill him here. Then again, that's what he thought back in that bar on the Citadel, and he remembered how well that turned out.

The Chief looked up and up and up at the New Alexandria Colosseum. Across the front entrance was a banner that read 'opening day' in large, stark white print against a deep blue background. His eyes zipped down to the entrance, where scores of fans were being funneled through the opening gates. He looked around the parking lot and noted yet more fans climbing out of their air cars to make for the gates. They passed by one family with a distressed father looking for a lost ticket. He then received a grateful hug from his young son after finding it. They then passed by a group of men not walking towards the gate, but instead setting up lawn chairs, coolers, and a portable BBQ. The scent of burgers and hot dogs wafting up the grill and into his nostrils reminded the Chief that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, which was several hours ago.

"Man, I missed this." Ashley said aloud. "It's been years since the last time I was here for Colosseum season at all. Let alone opening day."

"You've been on Reach before?" Chief asked.

"Grew up all over Alliance space, remember?" Ashley asked. "I spent most of my high school years here on Reach." She then half-heartedly pumped a fist into the air. "Go Go Gutas." she said.

Chief raised his eyebrow at that. "The Gutas. Duvall High's sports team. I was actually on their lutaball team back in those days. I planned on enlisting after graduating high school, so I figured it was a good way to practice."

Chief nodded, understanding why experience in a sports team was a desirable trait in recruits. "Learn the importance of teamwork, develop a drive to win…." the Spartan began to list.

"And learn how to take a hit and not cry about it." Ashley pointed out. "I wasn't a blitzer or a runner. I was a linewoman. My job was to get into fights in the middle of the field while the other guys did the stuff that won them MVP awards." she explained, sounding like she wasn't exactly happy about having an underappreciated role in her team.

"Everyone on a team has a role to play." Chief told her.

"Tell that to Liam Scott." Ashley scoffed.

"Who?" Chief asked.

"My high school team's star player." she answered. "He was our primary runner. Our team's strategy involved clearing a path for him and the other runners once one of them picked up the ball and then they'd just sprint down the field. After a while, Scott became the team's go-to guy for that. Don't get me wrong, he was good. He was second only to Jenny Grigori in raw speed, and he was number one in dodging. He could sidestep like nobody's business. Problem was, he knew all that, and was damned insufferable about it."

Ashley chuckled a little. "Scott would brag after every game about how he scored yet another touchdown for the team or how the other team's blitzers couldn't stop him or how he'd occasionally get lucky and punch someone's lights out on his way up the field. Ego started catching up with him in the second half of the season, though. He developed a reputation for being a prima donna all across the county's high school Lutaball circuit, and that painted a bullseye on his back. Other teams started to go out of their way to hurt him just to put him in his place."

Ashley smiled evilly. "We may have failed to notice the occasional blitzer making it past our line to chase down Scott. By the time we made it to the playoffs, Scott had more than a few scars and bruises to show for it. Made him a little more humble, I'll tell you that."

"Little petty, don't you think?" Chief asked.

"In retrospect, yeah." Ashley admitted. "But hey, I hear Scott's a CDF Lieutenant now, and his men don't fantasize about giving him a swirly so I can only assume that he learned his lesson about the importance of tact and humility." Chief only rolled his eyes in response.

The colosseum seemed to grow larger as Ashley and the Chief walked closer. Chief noted that the structure was so tall that he had to strain his neck to look all the way up to the top. Masses of people were funneled through five doorways one-by-one. Chief and Ashley each walked through a ticket stop, and handed their ticket pads to a clerk. He marked the pads as approved and sent them on their way through.

When they entered the colosseum's interior, Chief's eyes had to adjust to the sudden decrease in light due to the bright sunshine outside. The hallways were packed with people in search of their seat, a concession stand, or a restroom, their collective conversations and yelling and footsteps all reverberated off the concrete and metal walls, making it so noisy that the Spartan almost wished his sense of hearing wasn't so good.

"Come on!" Ashley shouted over, and inadvertently contributing to, the noise. "Our seats are on the second level! Up the stairs!" She then guided Chief up a flight of stairs leading up to the next level. As he climbed up, Chief spared a brief glance out the large windows looking out on the city, the air cars floating and zipping past one another high above the ground. He turned back to Ashley as she led him through the crowds. The scents of every cooked food he had ever smelled and then some wafted into the Spartan's nostrils as the two of them walked past several food stands that offered everything from pizza to hot dogs to cheeseburgers to fried moa. They walked through a miniature food court and bar as they walked out of the colosseum halls and into the stands proper.

As the two of them made their way to their seats, Chief looked out on the field below. He was surprised to find that it was not, in fact, a field. Rather, it looked to be an extremely large 'grid' of sorts, a series of intersecting black lines creating a sea of perfect squares on a wide chrome surface covering an area of several acres. It made him wonder just what the Colosseum games would exactly entail. It didn't take them long to find and take their seats.

"Crap!" Ashley snapped as she suddenly slapped her forehead. "I forgot the programs! Be right back." And with that, the marine got up out of her seat and rushed up back up the steps into the colosseum interior. While she was gone, Chief continued to take in his surroundings.

There looked to be tens of thousands of spectators here. The sound of their collective talking, yelling, whistling, howling, roaring, and chanting was nearly deafening. Chief couldn't help but look up at the top-most bleachers, wondering if perhaps there was a sniper somewhere up there, getting a bead on his head. He took solace in the fact that, in an area as crowded as this, it was unlikely that an assassin would see this as a desirable spot. Too many witnesses. Additionally, without his iconic armor, the Chief blended into the crowd far more naturally. The assassin would be looking for a heavily armored super-soldier; not a large man who's just here to watch a game.

Chief's gaze then turned down from the top bleachers to the rest of the crowd. The family men here with their children. The off-world tourist excited to indulge somewhere new. The vendors patrolling the aisles, offering hot dogs, peanuts and other types of food. The rows of shirtless teamsters with painted bodies, spelling out the name of the team they're rooting for.

The Spartan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was a civilian event. And it suddenly occurred to the Chief that this was the first time in his entire life that he attended an event like this. It was an utterly alien feeling, being there in that colosseum, surrounded not by countless soldiers but countless citizens.

It wasn't long before Ashley came back. "I've got programs!" she ecstatically said as she handed a data pad and an earpiece to the Master Chief.

"What are these for?" he asked.

"They're so we can listen in on the games' commentators." Ashley explained as she stuck her ear-piece in. "I know a lot of fans like to make their own calls, but I feel that the experience isn't complete without some colorful commentary."

Chief shrugged as he put his own earpiece in. "Ladies and Gentleman!" a voice announced over the colosseum's speakers. "The games will begin in ten minutes!"

It was then that Chief suddenly heard a voice in his earpiece. "What is up, everybody?" the voice greeted. "I'm Geoff Ramsey, joining me as always is my co-commentator Jack Patillo."

"Hey." A second, deeper-toned voice added.

"And this is Colosseum Season, opening day, and holy crap, this place is packed today!" the first commentator, Geoff, went on.

"Well, it is opening day and these people have been hibernating for the last six months, waiting for Spring. Well, now Spring is here and it brings the games with it." Jack explained.

"Yeah, how WAS your winter, Jack?"

"Oh it was pretty good. I was on Earth. Austrailia, to be specific."

"Is it true what they say about that country?"

"Yes it's true. Every living thing is trying to kill you on that part of the planet."

"I know right?"

"So what about you, Geoff? What have you been up to in the off-season?"

"Oh, you know. No really big vacations, except maybe for a hiking trip up to the Highland Mountains. Mostly just been spending my days with the wife and daughter. Milly's doing good, by the way."

"Awesome. SO. What do we have lined up today?"

"Well, we got a full day ahead of us." Geoff began. "First up, we've got the best-of-three arena combat game featuring two teams hailing from Earth; the Edmonton Blood Dragons and the Rhode Island Reckoner Knights. Those two are gonna duke it out in a series of three games, first some slayer, followed by a dominion game, and cap it all off with a good-old-fashioned capture the flag game. And, as always, we will have our good friends at Achievement Hunter provide some additional entertainment between the matches. And after that will be the lutaball game, the opener for our very own New Alexadria Nobles as they go up against the visiting team, hailing all the way from the Citadel, the Bachjret Rebels. Jack, what can we expect from the Rebels?"

"Well, the Rebels have kind of a weird lineup, to be honest." Jack answered. "For those not in the lutaball-know, Citadel teams tend to have a lot of species variety, which usually results in well-rounded teams capable of playing a wide variety of tactics. And the Rebels seem to be no exception at first glance. You've got Asari runners, you've got Human blitzers, and you've got a big strong Turian as the center-lineman. But when you look at their stats, that's when you realize that they're actually a lot bashier than the average Citadel team. For one, their fastest players, their Asari runners, have only clocked in at 18 mph, which is kinda middle-of-the-road in this league. Additionally if you look at their training bios, little emphasis was placed on their agility training and more on combat. Basically, these guys weren't trained for hail-mary passes or crazy maneuvers. These guys were trained to straight up hurt people."

"Yeah, I think I get what you're talking about there, Jack." Geoff replied. "I'm looking at this Turian center-lineman you mentioned. He's new to the league, his name is Minox Torsivian, number nine, and good God, this guy is a monster. Six foot seven, weighing in at 347 pounds, can bench press over 400 pounds, where did Coach Steiner find this guy?"

"On Digeris." Jack quickly and matter-of-factly answered.

"Yeesh, they must grow 'em as big as dicks on Digeris." Geoff said.

"That they do Geoff." Jack said. "Anyway, I think it goes without saying that the Nobles can't even hope to out-bash these guys, so they're going to need to rely on outrunning them and outmaneuvering them."

"And staying the hell away from Torsivian, Jesus Christ. Turians should not be allowed to grow to that size." Geoff went on.

"Feeling a little insecure there Geoff?" Jack asked.

"My first wife left for me for a Turian." Geoff joked.

"I thought you only married one time?" Jack joked back.

"That you know of. There's a lot you don't know about me Jack. I've seen some things, man. And some stuff! I wouldn't recommend it!" Geoff went on, earning a little laughter from Jack.

"Okay, so that's the lutaball game…." Jack said. "But first, a few rounds of arena combat. Let's check out the stats on the Blood Dragons and Reckoner Knights….."

Geoff and Jack went on to talk about the stats of both arena combat teams. Their wins, losses and ties, their strengths and weaknesses, who were the veterans and who were the newbies, and liberally applied to it all was Geoff and Jack making risqué jokes and observations about the players. The jokes would get the occasional laugh out of Ashley. Chief didn't really understand why. The jokes were a little too immature for his tastes. Chief was pretty much lost for a while, the commentary degrading into an audio-blur of numbers, names and jokes. But when the two commentators started talking about what weapons the players on the team were best with, Chief immediately perked up.

"So on the Blood Dragons we've got newcomer Mark Nutt, who was traded to the Blood Dragons from the London Excaliburs last year, and he will be the team's designated marksman." Jack explained. "His weapons of choice being the M-96 Mattock and M-92 Mantis."

"Don't get me wrong Jack, Mark Nutt's a great player." Geoff said. "But I've talked to some of his…."

Chief pulled out his earpiece. "Why do the athletes need weapons?" he asked Ashley.

"Huh?" Ashley asked as she pulled out her earpiece.

"Why do they need weapons?" Chief asked.

"Cuz…..that's how arena combat works?" Ashley tried to guess.

Chief glared at her.

"Oh. Right. Frozen for over a hundred years. Still a lot of stuff you missed. I should explain." Ashley said. "Arena combat is basically a publicly available combat simulator."

"So, this is a military war-game we're watching?" Chief asked.

"Not really." Ashley replied. "There's a few Alliance navy and marine-sponsored teams, but it's mostly privately-owned teams and civilian athletes."

"So this is basically a combat sim that exists purely for entertainment purposes?" Chief asked.

"Yeah. Now you got it!" Ashley said with a nod. She paused. "….And I just realized how messed up that must sound to you."

"It does strike me as a little strange, to be honest." Chief replied.

"If this makes you uncomfortable, we can leave." Ashley suggested.

"No. You paid good money for these seats." Chief replied. "Besides, now I'm actually kind of curious about how this all works."

"Ladies and gentleman!" the announcer boomed over the speakers. "Are you ready for some ARENAAAAAAA COOOOOMBAAAAAAAT?!" The crowd cheered and stomped in agreement. Their cheering was so loud, the Chief's naturally high pain threshold was the only thing keeping him from covering his ears. Thankfully, Ashley didn't take part in the cheering and only applauded with a smile. It was then that the lines of the grid began to glow gold. "First game; Slayer! The Arena; Ragnarok!"

It was then that three-dimensional shapes began to rise from the floor, reminding the Chief of a 3D printer. The shapes were covered by criss-crossing golden grid lines on a blue surface. The more they rose, the more the Chief was able to recognize all the shapes; the walls, the rocks, the trees, two buildings of Forerunner-design, one on each end of the arena. He even recognized the shapes of several vehicles forming at each building. Once the shapes stopped rising, the textures 'popped in,' layer by layer. The rocks took on their jagged form, the trees were filled with foliage, the ground was carpeted in a layer of dirt and patches of grass, and the buildings took on the signature silver-grey coloration of Forerunner architecture. A waterfall appeared next to one of the buildings, and it seemed to feed a river that flowed down the entire length of the map.

It was then that the athletes suddenly appeared on the far sides of the map, eight players on each side. How they appeared, the Chief had no idea. A flash of blue and suddenly they were there, as if by some kind of teleportation. "At the red base; THE EDMONTOOOOOON BLOOOOOD DRAGOOOOONS!"

The Blood Dragons welcomed the cheers from their end of the map, where the waterfall was. Their armor was white with a blood-red dragon silhouette printed across the left side of the chest, shoulder and all the way to the back, hence the team name. Their helmets had only a slit as a visor that was, naturally, blood-red in color. Basically, the armor was deliberately designed to resemble the armor of a medieval knight.

"And at the blue base; THE RECKONEEEEEEEEERRRRRR KNIIIIIIIIIGHTS!" the announcer introduced. The Reckoner Knights pumped their fists in response to their own cheering fans from their end of the arena, the shoreline where the river emptied out into a sea. Similar to the Blood Dragons, the Reckoner Knights' armor design was also heavily inspired by medieval knights, but with a much more gothic slant. The armor was a slightly darker shade of grey than the Blood Dragons with blue woven in as a secondary color. Their gauntlets and left shoulder pads were covered in spikes while the right shoulder pad had a Human skull on it. Loosely wrapped around their waists was not one, but two leather belts that also had spikes on them. Finally, the helmet had a black Y-shaped visor on it.

"They look ridiculous." Chief noted.

"True." Ashley conceded. "But don't let that fool you. They may care more about aesthetics than real soldiers, but those hard suits function just as well as yours or mine."

"SLAYER!" the announcer shouted as a giant three appeared on the jumbo-tron. Followed by a two. A one. Finally, a zero appeared on the gigantic screen with a flashing background and an artificially-generated air horn. As soon as the air horn blew, the Blood Dragons and Reckoner Knights immediately went to work. Several members on both teams immediately scrambled to their bases' vehicles. On this map, each team had access to a warthog, a couple of mongooses, a mantis, and oddly enough, a ghost and a banshee. A few went inside their team's base and came back out a second later with a larger weapon. The rest of each team hopped into odd devices that shot them half-way across the map from their bases. Chief believed that he knew what those were. The Spartan recalled the research he did on the Battle of Installation 00 on board the Mt. Everest a while back. He read in a few after-action reports that marines had encountered similar devices on the Ark. They were officially called 'gravity launchers,' though the marines colloquially called them 'man cannons.'

It only took a few seconds for the center of the map to erupt into complete chaos. Geoff and Jack immediately began chattering again, but Chief pulled out his earpiece so he could focus more on the match. The Blood Dragons and Reckoner Knights were charging at one another, each team firing their weapons wildly at the other. The first thing that stuck out to the Chief was how unprofessional the athletes were. Few of them utilized the rocks and trees on the map that were no doubt intended to be used as cover. Instead, most of them chose to take the 'man cannons' straight to the frontline and just run around shooting at anything that wasn't friendly. No tactical positioning, no coordinated strikes, no drawing of battle lines, just running and gunning.

The vehicles operated on the same principal. After one banshee shot down the other, the victorious banshee began bombing runs, shooting fuel rods at any Dragons on the ground. The warthogs and ghosts drove up and down the map in wide circles, the turret gunners firing on any hostile passers-by that came into their crosshairs. One of the drivers, a Blood Dragon, had the sense to stay still long enough for his gunner to finish off a couple of Reckoner Knights, but that just made the hog a sitting duck for the Knights' banshee, which destroyed the warthog in short order. The Knights would have had vehicular supremacy if they hadn't lost their mantis early on to plasma grenades and the Blood Dragons' own mantis was still stomping around, terrorizing the Knights. It seemed like having an assault mech bear down on them was about the only thing that sent these players into cover.

Whenever an athlete fell though, there was no blood. They simply fell over and lay there for a few seconds, making the Chief think that the armor locked up after taking a certain amount of damage. Even stranger, after a few seconds of stillness, the prone player disappeared with the same blue warping effect with which they appeared at the beginning of the match. They then reappeared at a seemingly random spot on the map that was often vaguely on 'their' side of the arena.

Even stranger were the vehicles. Whenever they were destroyed, they exploded into fireballs just as they did in a real battlefield, but when they do, the players just seem to fall out. The Reckoner Knight that was flying their banshee was shot down by a Blood Dragon with a Spartan Laser. Chief actually saw the Reckoner Knight fall through a large piece of banshee wreckage as though he were a ghost before hitting the ground and teleporting to a random spot to leap back into the fight.

Chief checked the scoreboard. The Reckoner Knights were winning so far at 38 kills to 34. First to 100 kills would win the match. 9 minutes and 28 seconds left. Suddenly the teams' chaotic fighting styles made a bit more sense. There were no objectives to be seized, no positions to be attacked or defended, it was all about racking up the bigger kill count. They weren't bothering with making tactical strikes or taking defensive positions because that wasn't the goal. The goal was to accumulate as many kills as possible in the time allotted and the best way to do that, in their view, was to attack as aggressively and relentlessly as possible, to build and maintain momentum.

Occasionally, a weapons pod would mysteriously appear on the map, always in front of a player. The player would then open the pod and grabbed whatever was inside, usually a heavy weapon of some kind. The more the match went on, the more powerful and exotic weapons appeared on the battlefield. Rocket launchers, sticky launchers, some Sangheili weapons including needlers and fuel rod guns, as well as a few alien weapons that Chief didn't recognize; possibly forged by all the 'new' alien races in the 27th Century. Chief checked the weapon layouts of the active players. One had an alien pistol called the 'scorpion,' a white pistol with a curvy shape that had what looked like a fish bowl where the chamber should be. It turned out to be a sticky launcher as the player who used it, a Blood Dragon, fired sticky grenades at the warthog, destroying it and taking out two Knights in the process. Another alien weapon the Chief didn't recognize was something called an 'M-55 argus,' an assault rifle that fired a powerful three-shot burst at long range. A Reckoner Knight used it to take down two Dragons and damage a third's shield before the third ran into cover.

The whole time, the crowd cheered every time a vehicle blew up, every time someone got a 'killing spree,' every time someone killed more than two enemy players within seconds of each kill.

Chief then spotted a Blood Dragon emerge from the Red Base with a sniper rifle in hand. Chief checked the roster. It was Mark Nutt, the Blood Dragons' designated marksman. He took his base's secondary man-cannon to zip off to a large stone arch on the river. He trotted through the shallow water and activated active camo, his armor ability. The players on the field had several different armor abilities including T-packs, sentry turrets, drones, fortification, bubble shields, and in this case, active camo. Seemingly invisible to the naked eye, he lined up a shot and fired. A Reckoner Knight suddenly dropped to the ground, followed by another.

Nutt chose a good sniping spot. The arch provided a good vantage point of the left side of the map, it was an out-of-the-way spot that the enemy players didn't seem to pay much attention to at first, and the rocks could provide cover should the Knights open fire on his position. After a few more kills though, the Chief found himself scolding Nutt. He was too attached to that spot. In an extended battle like this one, the best snipers are the ones who changed nests often. If you stay in one spot for too long, the enemy will eventually figure out where the shots are coming from and will open fire on your position. Even if you have active camouflage, they'll figure out where you are sooner or later. It's better to change positions after two or three kills to keep your enemies guessing.

"MAAAAARK NUUUUUUT!" the crowd cheered every time Nutt scored yet another successful headshot.

The crowd cheering your name every time you get a kill doesn't help either. Nutt should have switched to another sniper nest five kills ago. Chief had already spotted three sniping spots on the Dragons' side of the map that Nutt could have ran over to, and that's not even factoring in the active camouflage. If you do factor in the active camo, there are at least five spots you can snipe from; nine if the Blood Dragons can gain more control of the middle of the map, and a tenth one if Nutt was feeling particularly bold.

A ghost then circled around the arch and ran over Nutt from behind. That's what happens when you stay in one spot too long.

The battle went on. The Chief started to notice that the Knights were pressing their advantage. They had gained ground in the middle of the map, specifically the tree-covered hill in the dead center of the arena, by engaging the Blood Dragons there and had the presence of mind to stay in that general area and open fire on any Dragon that charged in. It was a good strategy. In an arena where you have one base on one end and another base on the other end, controlling the ground half-way in-between gives you a huge tactical advantage simply by giving you more space to work with. You have a presence both on your side of the field and the middle, while the enemy only has a presence on their side of the field. The greater your presence on the field, the greater your likelihood of victory.

Of course, that's a very simple strategy. The problem with simple strategies is that they can be easily defeated by creative thinking. Across the creek from the Knights' position on top of the hill, a trio of Blood Dragons were sprinting across the open field towards the Knights' base. The Knights didn't seem to notice, as they were too busy laying fire down on the Dragons' base, cutting down the Dragons who stayed behind to defend. With each defender fallen, the Knights advanced further and further towards the Dragons' base. Most of the Dragons 'respawned' in spots away from their base and booked for the Knights' base, while the entirety of the Reckoner Knights stuck around the Dragons' base.

"….They switched bases." Chief said.

"Yup." Ashley said. "And now they're going to take each others' weapons and vehicles and then they're gonna clash again on that hill. It's gonna be EPIC." she said with a girlish giggle as she shifted in her seat.

"Does this kind of thing happen often?" Chief asked.

"No!" Ashley replied. "I mean, yeah, slayer games have known to get hectic, but an outright base switch? Now THAT'S rare! This is gonna get NUTS!"

And indeed it did. The Blood Dragons took the Knights' weapons and vehicles, the Reckoner Knights took the Dragons' weapons and vehicles and both headed towards the middle to meet their doom. Chaos erupted once more. Vehicles exploded, players fell, weapon pods appeared on the map to add their own unique twist to the insanity. Chief checked the scoreboard. The Reckoner Knights' aggressive playstyle was paying off as they had managed to shoot past the Blood Dragons on the scoreboard. 95 to 82 Knights. A quick succession of three kills from the mantis followed by a well-timed grenade toss accompanied by a couple of headshots was all it took for the Reckoner Knights to secure their hard-fought victory.

The crowd erupted in applause and stomping. The athletes were then teleported out of the arena seconds before the arena itself began to fade away. "Ladies and gentleman, the next match will begin shortly. Achievement Hunter will be taking the stage in five minutes." As soon as the announcer said that, the Chief was intrigued to see nearly half of the colosseum audience get up from their seats and leave in droves, evidently to take advantage of the five-minute intermission and use the restroom.

"Hey, you hungry?" Ashley asked.

"A little." Chief said.

"I'll grab us a couple of hot dogs! What do you want on yours?" Ashley asked.

Chief paused in thought as he realized that the only times he had ever eaten a hot dog was in a UNSC cafeteria, and they never asked 'what do you want on it,' they just put in a bun and told you to eat it. "Whatever's good, I guess." Chief said with a shrug.

Ashley gave him a weird look before shrugging herself and getting up from her seat. As she left, Chief popped his ear-piece back in for some post-game commentary.

"Holy crap, that match was just NUTS near the end." Geoff gushed.

"Yeah." Jack replied. "So far it's one-nothing Knights in this best-of-three game series. So while both teams take a breather and the Achievement Hunter guys get ready, how about some Fails of the Weak?"

"Already?!" Geoff asked in faux-shock.

"Hey, the arena combat season has been going for a few days all around the galaxy and so we've already got a lot of fails to choose from. First one comes in from the Demons v. Nianas game on Sanves aaaand…."

Chief checked his data pad. What played was a video of three Asari hopping into a warthog and driving off. It crashed into another warthog, sending both hogs reeling onto their back heels and…..

"Tree park!" Jack said as the first hog, through a combination of gravity and peculiar driving skills, wound up leaning on a tree. This earned a chuckle from both Geoff and Jack.

"They turned their mobile turret into a turret." Geoff observed. "Can you imagine being a bird in that tree?"

"Okay, THIS is amazing." Jack began as the next clip played. At the bottom of the screen, the clip said it was from the Neroma v. Assassins game on Sur'Kesh. A group of Salarians were holding position on a ramp of some kind, presumably firing on their enemies. An opposing player drove what looked like a motorcycle up the ramp. Another Salarian from the first team jumped up and fired his grenade launcher at the bike. Not only did the grenade fail to destroy the bike, but the explosion sent the bike flying up and knocking out the Salarian with the grenade launcher. "Did you catch that?" Jack asked since the event happened so quickly.

"No I didn't." Geoff admitted.

"Okay." Jack replied as the clip restarted from another angle. "So that quickstrike went sky-born and hit this guy in the air. Look at this. Aaaand…."

The cycle, a 'quickstrike' as it was apparently called, shot into the air and hit the Salarian again. "Boom!" Jack said.

"Wooah!" Geoff replied. "That was awesome!"

"He got a roadkill, like, goin' vertical. That was freakin' amazing." Jack gushed. "So that's not really fail, that's just badass."

"Congratulations on that guy." Geoff added.

The segment went on for another few minutes, highlighting various examples of hilarious incompetence and the occasional accidentally brilliant tactic. "And finally, we have this clip of the Stellars v. Cannons game on Taetrus and….huh….." Jack paused as he began looking for the right words to describe the clip. Geoff was too busy laughing hysterically.

Two Turians. Each on a different team. They were standing on opposite sides of platform and were firing on their enemies, completely oblivious to one another's presence. Eventually, one of them realized the other was right there and shot them in the head in pretty short order. "Well, that one got the-"

Jack was cut off by the surviving Turian getting shot in the head by a sniper round. "Aaaawwww…short-lived victory." Jack said as Geoff resumed his ecstatic laugh.

"Okay." Geoff said as he finished his laughing. "So that's this week's fails done. Let's turn our attention back to the field where Achievement Hunter is taking the field."

Chief turned his attention back to the field as he saw four men take to one side field, each wearing a colored suit of combat armor; One in red, one in blue, one in yellow, and strangely, one in brown. "Oh! I love these guys!" Ashley said as she returned. She handed the Chief his hot dog, which was covered in an odd, lumpy brown goo with yellow shavings on top. "I got you a chile-cheese. Didn't think you'd like anything fancy." Ashley explained.

You mean this isn't fancy? Chief thought. Indeed, the chile and cheese seemed a little extravagant to him. A lone hot dog would've provided more than enough calories to satisfy the Chief's hunger for at least a few hours. The extra ingredients weren't really necessary. He took a bite out of it and was taken off-guard by the explosion of flavor on his tongue. Spicy, zingy, meaty? The taste was so unlike the military rations he was accustomed to that he honestly couldn't think of any words to tangibly describe it. He didn't hate it. He just found it very strange.

Chief swallowed as he turned his attention back towards the field just as the announcer introduced the four men below. "Ladies and Gentlemen….Gavin Free!"

The one in red armor pointed both pointing fingers in the air, welcoming the audience's applause.

"Michael Jones!"

The blue armored one pumped a fist multiple times.

"Ryan Haywood!"

The one in yellow armor just waved.

"And Ray Narvaez Jr!"

The one in brown armor knelt down on one knee and pulled out of his belt, of all things, a rose. He mimed sniffing it.

"'Ello everyone!" the one in red armor, Gavin, said in a thick British accent as he held a finger to the earpiece on his helmet. "Ah'm Gavin. That's Michael, Ray and Ryan. We are Achievement Hunter, and today we are doing 'Things to Do in the Arena.' This is called 'mud-wrestling.' Uh, could someone boot up Map-37 please?"

With a brief rising of grid-colored shapes and layering of textures, the entire arena floor turned into a very large puddle of mud that went up to Achievement Hunter's ankles, with a few leafless trees dotted around the map for good measure. At the far end of the field, opposite from where Achievement Hunter was standing, was a stone pyramid that had on top a single stack of four golden blocks. Each block looked to be perfect cubes that were three feet long, wide and deep. "Alright lads, here's what's gonna happen." Gavin began as he turned to his three friends. "On top of the pyramid is the Tower of Vitality. Normally it's called something else, but we can't really call it its proper name here since there are children present in the arena."

This mention prompted immediate cheering from many of the small children in the audience. Gavin turned to the audience. "Stay in school kids!" Gavin said with a wave. "Don't do drugs!"

"He's lying kids. Drugs are awesome." Ray immediately quipped. This earned a punch in the gut from Michael and a laugh from the audience.

"Aaaand cue hate letter from an angry mom." Ryan deadpanned in a voice that sounded oddly like Jack Patillo's.

"Anyway, the Tower of Vitality is up there." Gavin resumed. "And the first one to get up there wins. But there's a twist."

"What's the twist?" Ray asked.

It was then that another grid-colored shape rose from the mud. It was extremely large, looking to be nearly fifty feet long, but only standing five feet off the ground. It was definitely an animal of some kind as it stood on all fours and its tail made up almost half of its body length. When the textures were layered on, Chief saw that the creature was some form of massive, aquatic amphibian. It was red in color with a white underbelly. Its head was decorated with gill-like flaps on the sides and a large head fin on top that looked like a mohawk of sorts. It also had a prominent dorsal fin on its back, and a tail that ended in a large oar-like fin. By far the most prominent feature was a snout full of dagger-like teeth and burning yellow eyes.

"FISH!" Gavin yelled as he pointed at the creature. The animal made a roar that sounded like an elephant trumpeting underwater before charging at Achievement Hunter, sending the four of them scrambling for cover.

"Who are these guys?" Chief asked.

"Achievement Hunter. They're a comedy group who work for the Colosseum." Ashley answered. "They're like rodeo clowns. Their job is to provide comic relief in-between matches."

If that was indeed their duty, they were doing a good job of it as the audience were laughing wildly as the four men desperately tried to get out of the way of a rampaging…..whatever that thing was. Most likely some kind of alien fauna that Chief had never encountered nor heard of. Not only did they struggle to get away from the monster, they also struggled to get away from each other. Ray and Ryan got into a brief wrestling match in the midst of making a dash for the pyramid, which was the objective of this 'game.' They were both sent scrambling in opposite directions when the creature came charging at them.

At one point, Gavin and Michael were running from the beast as it chased them through the muck. The latter tripped the former. "MICHAEL!" Gavin yelled out in desperation before the beast snatched Gavin up and tossed him around like a rag-doll.

"Bye Gavin!" Michael yelled in reply before making a u-turn and a mad dash for the Tower of Vitality, only to be swatted into a tree by the beast's tail. "Oh, COME ON!" he yelled as the creature kept slamming him with his tail over and over again.

"We at New Alexandria Colosseum wish to remind everyone that this is a simulation. No animals will be harmed in the course of this segment. Gavin Free, Michael Jones, Ryan Haywood and Ray Narvaez Jr. are professional entertainers. Please do not replicate 'things to do' segments at home." the announcer calmly reminded the audience as the monster continued to gnaw on Gavin as though he were a chew toy.

After a couple more minutes of the boys playing chicken with an amphibious fish-monster, as well as the dropping of odd phrases like 'tease it,' parkour,' and 'shut up Gavin,' it ended with Ray successfully climbing the pyramid and slapping the Tower of Vitality, the signifier of his victory. He pulled two more roses of his belt and held them high over his head as he collapsed to his knees. The audience erupted in equal parts applause and laughter. With the challenge over, the monster disappeared in a flurry of pixels, Gavin falling to the ground from where he hung helplessly from the monster's jaws.

"Achievement Hunter, ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer said as Gavin, Michael and Ryan began to leave the arena. Ray was still standing by the tower of gold, hugging it, caressing it. "Er, Ray? That means you too." Ray then hesitantly let go of the tower and made his own way out of the arena, but not before stopping once to give the tower one last look of longing. "The dominion game will begin in five minutes!" the announcer declared as hundreds left their seats to either grab a food, a drink or to answer nature's call.

The next Arena Combat game was called a 'dominion' game. The objective was simple; rather than a straightforward race to a set number of kills, there were instead three control points on the map, referred to as Alpha, Bravo and Charlie. The object of a dominion game was to assume control of these three bases and hold them for as long as possible. Also, rather than eight-on-eight, this match would be six-on-six. The name of this next map was 'Longbow,' a reconstruction of an old UNSC base located in an icy tundra with its three control points arranged triangularly.

The match started with the Reckoner Knights and Blood Dragons taking Alpha and Charlie respectively, and after that, it turned into a mad dash for Bravo, a race that the Knights ultimately won. Chief checked the scoreboard, noting how the Knights' score was climbing faster than the Dragons'. With the Knights in control of two bases and the Dragons in control of one, it seemed that the Knights' victory would be assured unless the Dragons could take back Bravo and soon.

So it seemed, anyway. The Knights had drawn the battle line at the gates to Bravo; anyone who wanted a fight was heading there first and foremost. However, in overemphasizing the importance of holding Bravo, the Knights had made a critical mistake; they left Alpha unprotected. A mistake that a very sneaky Blood Dragon, Hamish Wilson according to the team roster, decided to exploit with the help of the map's teleporters.

Taking the teleporter that took him across the map early on in the game, Wilson found Alpha still in the midst of being automatically fortified, its automated defenses not up yet. Taking advantage of this, he rushed into the building and seized control of the base for the Blood Dragons, then stayed put to guard it. Wilson took down the first Knight to come in, but was felled by the second. He was quickly avenged however when another Dragon, no doubt alerted to Alpha's capture-in-progress, came in and took down the Knight, stopping him from taking back Alpha. Within a minute, Alpha was securely within Blood Dragon control, leaving the Knights with only Bravo.

A few minutes later, the Knights were able to take Charlie, allowing them to catch up to the Dragons' score and even taking back the lead for a brief time. However, the Dragons took it right back after capturing Bravo. A few minutes later, they swapped the two bases again, the Dragons taking back Charlie while the Knights took back Bravo. In any case, the Dragons wound up controlling two out of three bases for the majority of the game, earning them a victory.

As Achievement Hunter returned to the field for another 'things to do' skit to keep the audience entertained while the Blood Dragons and Reckoner Knights got ready for their third and final match, Ashley turned to the Chief. "So, you enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"It's an interesting experience." Chief replied with a shrug. "I liked that last game. It was good to see that arena combat isn't always so chaotic."

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked.

"That slayer game? The one that was basically a kill race?" Chief asked. "Too chaotic, too unprofessional. Dominion actually demanded that the teams rely more on strategy and tactics than raw firepower."

"But the slayer games are more entertaining." Ashley argued. "Mostly cuz of the weapon pods; you never know what you're gonna get. That random element keeps things interesting."

"But there's no rhyme or reason to any of it." Chief countered. "Dominion has objectives that need to be seized and held for as long as possible. That takes thinking. It gives structure to the battle, a clear sense of where the battle lines are, of where you need to be. Slayer is basically just a bunch of guys running around in the open shooting each other. That's rarely how battles work in real life."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Ashley said with a scoff. "I'm a marine. I get enough real battles on the job. I come to places like this to get away from my job for a little while, not to get a refresher course on it."

"R&R is all well and good, but you should never go out of your way to ignore something that could be vital to your job." Chief replied. "Dominion games, whether by participation or observation, make for good study cases of strategic maneuvers."

"Slayer's more fun." Ashley claimed.

"Dominion's more realistic." Chief shot back.

"Ah, you prefer realism over fun. I see." Ashley said. "See, THIS is why I thought you needed to blow off some steam. You're kind of a workaholic."

"You're talking back to me now?" Chief asked. "I think I liked you better when you were barely able to stutter out sentences in my presence."

"Yeah well, that was when I saw you as 'Master Chief the legend.'" Ashley explained. "Now I'm seeing you less as a legend and more as a man. A man who can be kind of a jerk sometimes."

Chief paused to massage his forehead. "We're getting side-tracked." He said. "My point is that dominion's the more worthwhile game since it requires players to think in order to win. It's why the Blood Dragons won. They're better thinkers than the Reckoner Knights."

"…That a fact?" Ashley asked after a suspiciously long pause and a raised eyebrow.

"You saw that last game." Chief pointed out. "The Blood Dragons wouldn't have won if Wilson hadn't thought to bypass Bravo and capture Alpha while it was unguarded. Hell, you even saw it in the slayer game. While the Knights were busy sitting on their hill, the Dragons flanked them and raided the Knights' base. Knights didn't even notice. The Knights only won that slayer game because the conditions allowed it. They were in their element."

"So you think the Blood Dragons are the better team?" Ashley asked.

"They're the ones who would stand a better chance on a real battlefield, so yes." Chief answered.

"….Wanna bet?" Ashley asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Chief asked.

"How about this." Ashley began. "Once we get out of here, we'll go to lunch. If Blood Dragons win, you pick the place and I pick up the bill. Reckoner Knights win, I pick the place and you pick up the bill." She thrust out her hand. "Whaddya say?"

Chief looked at Ashley's hand. Then back at Ashley. "You're serious." he stated more than asked.

"You know it." Ashley cockily replied. Chief slumped in his seat to massage his forehead again. He looked down on the field. Achievement Hunter was having a race by hopping across several small platforms suspended over a lake of lava. The audience laughed whenever someone fell in. He then looked down at the wrapper that once held the hot dog he had finished eating a while ago. He shook his head slowly.

"I don't belong here." he muttered to himself.

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked.

"The crowds, the games, the food, the idiotic skits." Chief said, gesturing at the field below when he listed that last item. "A rogue Spectre is leading an army on a genocidal crusade across the galaxy and what am I doing? Sitting in a bleacher watching a group of morons compete for fictional gold."

"Until the Alliance or the Council provide us with a new lead, there isn't much else you can do." Ashley pointed out.

"Then I should be standing ready for when that lead eventually shows up." Chief replied. "Not wasting my time here."

A second of silence passed as Ryan slipped off a post and into the lava, earning a cackle from Gavin. "Tupari! Ice cold tupari" A vendor said as he walked up the aisle.

"One bottle, over here!" Ashley shouted. The vendor then tossed her a bottle of the blue carbonated drink while Ashley tossed him a credit. She then shoved the bottle into the Chief's hands. "Quit whining, drink some tupari, and relax for once in your life you big baby." she said.

"Okay seriously. How are you mouthing off to me like this all of a sudden?" Chief asked as he opened the bottle.

"Lots of courage, sir." Ashley honestly answered. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but make no mistake, I am on the verge of uncontrollable panic and hysteria right now because, holy shit, I'm talking back to the foxtrotting Master Chief."

That line got a small smile out of the Chief. The smile quickly faded, followed by the Spartan mentally scolding himself for letting that slip. "So…..how about that bet?" Ashley asked.

"Fine, you're on." Chief grumbled in reply, realizing that Ash wasn't going to let this go.

A few minutes after Achievement Hunter made their way off the grid, the arena took on another new shape. This time the field of battle would be a circular box canyon with a small butte standing in the middle of the map. On each side of the map was a base that looked to be made from the scavenged hulls and bulkheads of a wrecked ship. A mongoose, a warthog, and a ghost appeared at each base. The Blood Dragons and Reckoner Knights spawned at their bases. They each had a single victory and were ready for the tie-breaker.

"Capture the flag!" the announcer declared. The objective was self-explanatory; capture the enemy's flag while protecting your own. First one to five captures, or have the most captures at the end of the timer, wins. This would be a five-on-five game.

Mark Nutt and Hamish Wilson of the Blood Dragons from the last two games took defensive positions at their base, the former with a cloak and sniper rifle, the latter with a mounted turret. Anyone looking to capture the Dragons' flag would have to pass through their LOS first. The remaining three Dragons hopped into a warthog and made a beeline for the Knights' base down the left side of the butte. Oddly, the passenger who was riding shotgun hopped out before the hog reached the Knights' base. However, the tactic became clear once the warthog ran through the Knights' defenses and got into a fight with their own warthog; the Dragons' hog was the distraction, allowing the passenger to grab the flag while no one was looking.

He ran back up to the warthog which then proceeded to speed back to the Dragons' base. The Knights weren't about to let their flag slip through their fingers, though. They quickly destroyed the warthog and took out its occupants. The Blood Dragons were quick to respond, as four of them rushed the flag, Nutt providing covering fire from afar. One of them picked up the flag, got it back to their base, but in an ironic twist of fate, that Dragon was taken out at the capture point, the flag falling just inches away from it. The Knights relentlessly attacked the Dragons' base, believing it a sound tactic to get their flag back and capture the enemy's own flag in one move. Chief disapproved. The point was already lost. The smart move would be to fall back to their base and reinforce. The Blood Dragons eventually scored the first point of the game, not surprising the Master Chief in the least.

The second capture played out much as the first one did. One of the Dragons took a mongoose to the Knights' base, stole their flag, and tried to proceed their way back to the Dragons' base on foot. That didn't work as the Knights took out the flag carrier before he got too far. However, the Blood Dragons understood the importance of escorting the flag carrier, as whenever a flag carrier fell, another Dragon was nearby to fight off the Knights long enough to pick the flag back up and make some more progress back up the field. Through a relentless and persistent offensive force, the Dragons scored their second point.

The Blood Dragons used this tactic a third and fourth time. A Dragon would take a vehicle to get to the Reckoner Knights' base quickly, grab the flag, and then proceed on foot. He would fall, yes. But one of his teammates would be guaranteed to be close enough to pick up the flag and proceed on. The Knights would occasionally be able to swipe the Dragons' flag, but thanks to a rock-solid defense by the Dragons, they never got far with it. And that was only when the Knights were able to get close to the enemy flag at all. Most of their time was spent just trying to keep the Dragons from scoring again.

With the score at four to nil and only a few minutes left on the clock, the Edmonton Blood Dragons decided to end the match with class. Three of them hopped in the warthog and cruised their way up to the Knights' base around the left side of the butte. With the gunner providing covering the fire, the passenger quickly got out, grabbed the flag, and got back in. The warthog sped its way down the right side of the butte, back to its home base, and the Dragons scored their final point.

"Game over!" the announcer yelled as the audience erupted in thunderous applause. Final score: Five to nothing.

"What?!" Ashley demanded as she stood up and threw her hands out, clearly not happy with the game's results. "What the hell was all that?!"

"A team of cunning soldiers employing a fairly simple but effective tactic to win a shut-out." Chief plainly answered.

"But the Knights were freaking vicious!" Ashley said.

"And they showed it. To their credit, they made the Dragons work for every capture." Chief acknowledged. "But they didn't have a plan. They lashed out at the Dragons' flag carriers with such ferocity because that was all they could do in the face of a well-orchestrated offense and a solid defense. Blood Dragons fought smarter, plain and simple."

Ashley grumbled curses as she plopped back into her seat. Chief just leaned back in his, satisfied that he 'won.' "I'm gonna go take a leak." Ashley suddenly said as she got back up. Chief waved her off as he put his earpiece back in for a post-game analysis from Geoff and Jack.

…..

After a five minute interlude, the announcer's voice returned over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen…." he began as the jumbo-tron suddenly darkened. "LET'S! PLAY! LUTABALL!" the announcer shouted to the crowd's thunderous applause, the words appearing on the jumbo-tron as he said it in flashing letters.

The holographic arena kicked in again. This time there was no battlefield, but instead a playing field. The arena created a huge, flat field of perfectly green grass. Painted onto the grass in white lines was a large square box that took up much of the field, with another white line in the middle cutting the box in half. On the sides of the field, outside the boundaries of the white box, were several rows of benches, a cheerleaders' square, and a first-aid station. Finally, and most notably, right in the dead center of the field, painted onto the grass, was an image of a blue Mark V/K Helmet, aka the commando helmet, a type of Spartan helmet.

"Ladies and gentlemen." the announcer said. "Please put your hands together and welcome back to the Colosseum…..THE NEW ALEXANDRIA NOBLES!"

As peppy rock music began playing over the speaker system, eleven players took to the field. All of them were Humans of various builds decked out in American Football playing gear; gloves, cleats, mouth guards, and of course the helmets and shoulder pads. They wore white pants with blue stripes and blue jerseys that displayed their numbers printed in white. Their numbers were also visible on their shoulder pads. One by one, the announcer introduced the Nobles that took to the field, an intro that was accompanied by a flashy animation on the jumbo-tron followed by a brief look at that player's stats. Chief saw at least a dozen others take to the benches. They were no doubt substitutes, for whenever someone got tired or even injured. The latter must not have been an uncommon occurrence if the first-aid station's presence implied anything.

The visiting team, the Bachjret Rebels, did not receive a welcome that was as flashy or warm. The announcer proclaimed their presence, but gave none their players individual intros. He merely announced their presence on the field and the list of players on the Rebels' team appeared on the jumbo-tron with far less fanfare than when the Nobles took the field. The Rebels' uniforms had similar color schemes to the Nobles', but with green in place of blue.

Chief eyed the Rebels as players on both teams started to walk towards the middle line as Jack and Geoff began talking. "The teams are now gathering at the line of scrimmage to give each other the traditional lutaball staring contest before the coin toss." Jack commentated as an Unggoy referee hobbled onto the field. Just like Jack noted, all twenty-two players were right on the line of scrimmage, each player standing on their side of the line and glared at the opposing player on the other side of the line. The referee was able to squeeze his way between two players who were eyeing each other down right on top of the V/K helmet, both of whom were Humans.

"It looks like Noble Captain Antal Igo and Rebel Captain Jeremiah Clark have made their calls." Jack said. "Aaaaand….."

The referee tossed a coin into the air and watched it fall onto the ground. He pointed to the Rebels' side of the field, instantly earning a groan from the crowd. "Ah, dicks." Geoff swore, perfectly echoing the crowd's sentiments.

"Yeah, Rebels win the coin toss, I'm receiving word that they have chosen to receive, which means the Nobles will be making the first kick." Jack explained as the teams took formations on their respective sides of the field. "Generally speaking, you want to receive the ball first, since that increases the likelihood of scoring in the first drive. If you don't receive the ball first, then you're gonna have to take it out of the opposing team's hands if you wanna score in the first drive which, depending on who you're up against, can be really difficult."

"Why are you explaining fundamental strategies of lutaball that everyone knows already?" Geoff asked.

"Well, you know. It's the start of a new season, so there might be some new folks out there who don't really know the basics of the game yet, and I just thought I'd explain it to them." Jack answered.

"You do know that's only, like, seven percent of the audience, right?" Geoff suggested.

"That's an unusually specific number Geoff."

"What seven?"

"Yeah. In fact, now that I think about it, you used that number a lot as an estimation of comically low averages last season. What is it with you and that number?"

"I like seven. It's a lucky number."

"No it's not."

"It isn't?"

"No, I bet on seven-black on the roulette wheel at Errera Casino. Didn't win squat."

"I guess you could say you didn't win Jack-squat." Geoff cracked, earning a chuckle from Jack. "Hey-ooooooooh!"

"I see what you did there." Jack replied. "So the teams have already formed their front line. Hey Miles, can we zoom in on Torsivian?" he asked whoever was in charge of the camera. Chief checked the data pad and saw the camera zoom in on the Turian center lineman. He stood prone at the line of scrimmage, looking ready to tackle the Nobles' center lineman who also stood prone not even a foot away from him. His mandibles splayed and rattled in what looked like some kind of growl. The muscular Turian easily stood a head above him as well as most of the other Nobles.

"Oh man, that's the stuff nightmares are made of." Geoff commented.

"Yeah. Torsivian is a big scary monster, and he knows it. Trying to scare the Nobles' front line there. Make them a little nervous." Jack explained.

"Well I dunno about the Nobles' linemen, but I'm kinda nervous from looking at that guy's ugly mug, and I'm all the way up here in this booth." Geoff went on. "Imagine how the guys on the line must feel."

"The teams have finished their formations." Jack said. "And here comes the kick…."

One of the Nobles on the far side of the field ran up to the ball, held in place by another Noble, and kicked it. No sooner did the ball fly into the air did the Rebels on the line begin tackling the Nobles as a brawl erupted on the line. As expected, players tackled one another to the ground, but much to the Chief's surprise, they were also trying to pin their opponents to the ground as the ones being pinned tried to fight back and slip underneath their captors. It was as much wrestling as it was tackling. There were even some punches being thrown at one another, two linemen getting into a brief boxing match on the line before one knocked down and subsequently pinned the other.

The ball landed on the grass on the Rebels' side of the field, but it was quickly scooped up by an Asari. She and three other Asari ran down the field towards the line. "Nahlia V'lori scoops the ball, runs down the pitch to the line…." Jack commentated.

Nahlia leapt up, dropped the ball next a Human Rebel lineman, and landed right on top of a Noble lineman. "The ball is loose!" Geoff shouted.

The Human scooped it up and started running towards the end zone. "Not anymore!" Jack shouted. "Rebel number fifteen lineman Benjamin Amonk scoops the ball and is now making his way down the pitch!"

"He's got company!" Geoff shouted as the camera on Chief's datapad zoomed in on a tall, muscular man chasing Amonk. "Center lineman Pep Sanchez has broken out of the brawl on the line of scrimmage and is now in hot pursuit. Plus, Heikonen and Maeso are about to intercept."

Two Nobles ran towards Amonk, intent on tackling him to the ground. One ran slightly faster than the other, indicating that he would tackle him first. Amonk, a physically imposing man, elbowed aside one Noble, followed immediately by the other. "But Amonk doesn't give a crap!" Geoff went on. "Not a single crap to give! Zero craps given by Amonk! It's all on Sanchez now!"

Sanchez slowly closed in on Amonk as he ran for the end zone. It was clear from the way he ran that running wasn't supposed to be his forte'. After another second or two, he leapt forward a great distance. The crowd went insane in celebration as Sanchez was able to grab Amonk by the legs, tripping him, the ball slipping from his hands. It was shortly scooped up by a Noble. "I don't believe it!" Geoff cried in utter disbelief. "Sanchez tackled Amonk and number eight blitzer Laszlo Bandy has scooped the ball and is now carrying it back up the pitch accompanied by Taylor Jones and Franky Durango!"

The three Nobles ran up the pitch, running on the left side to try and bypass the brawl on the line of scrimmage. It was then that the Rebels' center lineman, Torsivian, broke off from the brawl and ran up the pitch. He stopped and joined two Asari players there, who were waiting on Bandy, Jones and Durango. "The beast has awakened." Jack ominously said. "Torsivian has fallen back and has assumed a safety position. If the Nobles are gonna score their first touchdown, they're gonna have to go through him first."

"Ooooooh dicks, they've ran past the line of scrimmage and they're closing in on the Rebels' end zone." Geoff said in anticipation as the Nobles closed in. The two Asari charged while Torsivian got off to a slower start. Jones tackled one of the Asari to the ground, Bandy was nimble enough to roll across the ground, dodging the second Asari's tackle. That only left Torsivian who had developed enough of a running start to become an out-of-control train, heading right for Bandy.

"Torsivian is locked on Bandy like a pissed off bull about to give someone the horns, this is gonna get ugly!" Jack shouted.

Bandy made a short pass to Durango seconds before Torsivian charged into him. Taking a second to realize he had the ball, Durango sprinted the rest of the way up the pitch. "Incredible!" Geoff shouted in excitement. "Bandy does a last-second pass to Durango and Durango is now BLAZING up to the Rebels' end zone!"

Durango's sprint came to a slow stop as he crossed into the end zone, earning a deafening cheer from the crowd. "Holy crap they did it! Nobles score! Nobles score! Nobles snatch victory from the jaws of defeat! What a drive!"

The referee ran onto the field blowing the whistle, declaring the touchdown official as Durango took off his helmet to wipe the sweat off his forehead. A couple more Unggoy refs ran into the middle of the field to break up the fighting in the line of scrimmage, another ref running up to Torsivian to call him off Bandy. Torsivian reluctantly released Bandy from the chokehold he had him in. Another ref had to call Sanchez off Amonk in a similar way. Medics came to help Bandy and Amonk to their respective teams' first-aid stations, though the former waved off the medics as he was able to walk to the station on his own. "And we may already have our first two casualties of the season." Jack reported a few minutes later. "I am just receiving word that Amonk is being treated for injuries to his leg sustained during that scrap he had with Sanchez, including a possibly dislocated knee. No word on Bandy's condition yet, but he was walking to the first aid station on his own just fine, so I'd say he's alright."

"After a wrestling match with a 350-pound Turian, that's just luck." Geoff remarked.

After a few minutes, it was learned that Benjamin Amonk had to be benched for the rest of the game, due to the severity of his knee injury. With a point on the board for the Nobles and losing a very good player early on, the Rebels were not off to a good start, to say the least. It didn't get much better for them as the game went on for another hour, divided into two thirty minute halves. Not only did the Nobles run a superior running, passing and even dodging game, but they also ran a good blitzing game that only got better as the game went on. To their credit, the Rebels put up a valiant fight, as they were able to put several points on the board and as well as put a few nobles in the first-aid station. But in the end, it wasn't enough. At the end of the game, the final score was 18 - 8 Nobles.

"Whole. Lee. Dicks. 18-8, what a match!" Geoff gushed.

"Yeah, if this game was any indication, the Nobles are gonna have a great season this year." Jack replied. "Anyway, that's all for us here at New Alexandria Colosseum, thanks so much for stopping by and/or tuning in, and be sure to come back next week for the opening game of the 2683 grifball season!"

….

It was late afternoon by the time the games ended and the Master Chief and Ashley made their way out of the colosseum. They each made one last stop at the bathrooms before navigating through the masses of people who were also on their way out. As they exited the colosseum itself and made their way through the huge parking lot towards the public transit terminal a few hundred feet away, Ashley spoke up. "So, where do you wanna go?" she asked.

"Beg pardon?" Chief asked.

"For lunch. The bet, remember?" Ashley reminded the Spartan. "You win the bet, so you pick the place. So, where do you wanna go?"

The Master Chief had to really think about it for a few seconds. Where did he want to go? Most of his meals usually consisted of either flavored nutrient paste that he took with him on the field, whatever the mess sergeant put on his plate whenever he ate aboard a ship or in a base, or whatever edible things he could find in the wilderness on long recon missions. He's never had a choice about what he ate before, so he had no idea where to even start.

In his attempts to rack his brain for what he could possibly want to have for lunch, he found a distant memory. During their training, he and the other SPARTAN-II's were sent on an underwater training mission on Emerald Cove, a distant colony world at the time. Mendez sabotaged half their air-tanks, forcing the then Spartans-in-training to steal his. They then ditched him and camped out on a nearby island. They were stranded there for a week with nothing to do but light bonfires, surf, and cook whatever they could fish up from the ocean.

"….Know any good seafood places?" Chief asked.

"I know just the one." Ashley replied.

…

Ashley took the Master Chief to a seafood restaurant near the edge of New Alexandria Harbor, appropriately located right by the docks. The place was pretty busy, but luckily, they didn't have to wait long for a booth seat in the corner. They each took a seat, sitting on opposite sides of the table. The window they sat next to gave them an excellent view of the harbor, fishing trawlers and yachts of various sizes coming and going into the harbor for one reason or other. The waitress, a very young woman with long blonde hair, left them menus before going off into the kitchen to get them both a glass of water.

Chief went over the menu and was taken aback by the descriptions of some of the food items. Every dish was described in detail, including what seemed like every single little ingredient that went into it. Melted butter, honey-roasted pecans, lemon wedges, tartar sauce, was all of that really necessary? Just roast some fish meat, put it on a plate in front of the Chief, and he was a happy Spartan.

"Find anything you like, yet?" Ashley asked.

"Not quite." Chief replied. He shook his head. There he was, thinking that the hot dog's condiments back at the colosseum were pointless excess. But this? This took needlessness to a whole new level. How hard was it for a restaurant to just serve some simple, practical-

Baked Clam Platter

Our baked Eposz Shore Clams are cooked in classic clambake style; baked to perfection on heated rocks with rockweed to add moisture and flavor. Served with tartar sauce and two slices of lemon.

Baked clam. It had been literally decades since the last time the Master Chief had a good baked clam.

"I think I've made my choice." Chief said as he set down his menu.

"I'm still deciding." Ashley replied as she rubbed her chin in thought. A few minutes later, the waitress came back with two tall glasses of ice water, each with a lemon wedge.

"Are we ready to order?" she asked as she took out a datapad, her fingers poised and ready to type.

"I think so." Ashley said. "I'll have the wood-grilled lobster, and for the side I'm thinking…..fried calamari."

"Alright." the waitress said as she typed the order down. "And you sir?"

"Baked clam platter." Chief said as she handed the waitress the menu.

"Alrighty." she replied dutifully as she took the menus from the two soldiers. "Anything to drink?"

"Oh! Do you guys do custom drinks?" Ashley asked.

"Sure do." the waitress cheerfully replied.

"Okay then." Ashley said. "One ounce vodka, half ounce chambord, half ounce lemon juice, and fill with lemonade."

"Classy." the waitress complimented. "What would you like to drink, sir?"

The Spartan tapped his glass. "I'm good with just water, thanks." he said.

"Okay. I'll be back in a bit with the food." On that note, she headed back to the kitchen to put in the order. Ashley put a hand on her face as soon as the waitress left.

"Knew you were going to bankrupt me." she grumbled.

"Why?" Chief asked.

"Baked Clam Platter costs thirty-five credits." Ashley replied.

"….Is that expensive?" Chief asked.

"Yes. Very, actually." Ashley replied with a little venom in her tone. "That thing is a party meal, Chief. It's the kind of thing you're only supposed to order in really big parties, not for just one person."

"Well, you're welcome to have some." Chief replied as he leaned back in his seat.

"My personal account balance feels so much better." Ashley deadpanned.

"Don't know why you're blaming me." Chief said. "How much did that drink cost?"

"Less than thirty-five credits." Ashley replied.

"I think you're being a little cheap here, Williams." Chief said. Ashley only muttered something under her breath. "What was that?"

"Nothing, sir." Ashley replied.

The marine grabbed her lemon wedge and squeezed it into her water, then started drinking it. Chief looked down at his own water and raised an eyebrow in realization. So that's what the lemon's for, he thought to himself. He wondered about that because, once again, he had never seen something like it in a military cafeteria. He always knew that the military diet was more stream-lined, efficient, and devoid of needless additions, but before today, he had no idea just how extravagant civilian food could get. He never imagined being able to eat or drink things like this, not even on shore leave.

Shrugging and figuring there might be something to it, he squeezed the lemon wedge into his drink just as Ashley did and drank the water. The water now had a mildly citrusy flavor to it, but that's about all the lemon did. Aside from the flavor, the blast of lemon juice probably only added a few calories to the water, if that. It didn't make sense to him to slice up a whole lemon just to add a few calories to water. Makes more sense to just eat the lemon.

So he did.

"The hell?" Ashley blurted out as Chief popped the lemon slice in his mouth and started chewing. "Uh, Chief? You're eating a raw lemon."

Chief nodded as he chewed.

"…Doesn't that hurt?" Ashley asked.

Chief swallowed. "Don't see why it would. It's a little sour, but I've eaten worse." he said.

"…..Okay then." Ashley said, still a little amazed. Why she was so surprised, the Chief had no idea. The next minute was spent in silence as Chief washed down the lemon with some water. "So, I'm surprised you didn't want to invite what's-her-name. T'soni."

"Why would I?" Chief asked. "The Colosseum didn't strike me as someplace she'd want to visit. Besides, she's busy keeping an eye on Cortana for me."

"Could have still invited her to lunch." Ashley pointed out.

"I don't know how far away she is from here. She could be on the other side of the city for all I know right now." Chief said. "Besides, you're already paying for the both of us. Doubt you'd want to pay for a third."

"I won't complain about that." Ashley replied. "But in all seriousness, you and her have been chatting up each other a lot over the last few days."

"We've become good friends." Chief replied with a shrug.

"Sure you're just friends?" Ashley asked.

"What do you mean 'just friends?'" Chief asked before he took a sip of water.

"Well, to put to bluntly, Scuttlebutt says you got a bit of a thing for her." Ashley said.

The Master Chief immediately stopped drinking and set down his glass. "A thing?" he asked.

"I could understand why." Ashley replied in a teasing sort of tone. "The crew's off limits, with the regs against fraternization. And at least she looks like a woman."

Chief shook his head. "Liara and I have simply become good friends. We're not romantically involved." he stated.

"Really?" Ashley asked. "Cuz you've been hanging around in that-"

"Liara and I are not. Romantically. Involved." Chief stated more slowly and much more sternly this time.

"Okay, okay, I'll back off." Ashley said as she held up her hands. "Let's change the subject. When do you think we're gonna get our next mission? I know how eager you are to get back on the front lines, and I doubt the Alliance will keep us benched for long."

"I don't know." Chief plainly replied.

"Well, where do you think the Council is gonna pick up Saren's scent next?" Ashley pressed.

"Can't say." Chief replied.

"…..Any idea what you're gonna do when they finally give us a lead?" Ashley probed.

"Head to wherever they need me and investigate." Chief replied.

"You're not being much of a conversationalist here." Ashley said.

"Not much to say on the subject." Chief replied.

The next few minutes were spent in silence as the two of them waited for their meals. After realizing that she wasn't going to be getting any more interesting conversations out of the Chief, Ashley started passing the time by toying around with something on her omni-tool. Chief, meanwhile, simply leaned back in his seat and thought. That was all he could really do at this point, wasn't it? Wait for the Council to find another lead, then go investigate it and hope that he finds something. He supposed that was how it always was. Ever since he was six. They give you a mission, then you go out and do it. Don't ask questions, don't worry about the future, just head in and do your job. As much as Section Two glorified him for it, that was all he really was at the end of the day. Just a man doing his job. That's how it was as a Spartan, and that's how it still is as a Spectre.

…No. No, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was different this time. He thought about all the events over the last few weeks that led up to this moment. His induction into the Spectres. Rescuing Liara from Therum. Defeating the Geth and Thorian on Feros. The botched mission on Eletania. On the surface, these missions seemed little different than the ones he conducted in the Outer Colony Rebellions and Human-Covenant War. He was given objectives, and he was expected to accomplish them. But he suddenly realized that this was very different.

In the Human-Covenant War, the Master Chief was given everything. He was given armor to wear. He was given weapons to use. He was given ships to take him wherever he needed to go. He was given fellow Spartans to command. He had one concern and one concern only; getting the job done. Everything else was someone else's problem.

That's not how Spectres operate.

The Master Chief did some research on the Spectres using the codex on the way to Therum, not long after being initiated into their ranks, in order to gain a full understanding of his new post. He remembered the codex entry clearly, word for word.

Spectres are agents from the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance and answer only to the Citadel Council. They are elite military operatives, granted the authority to deal with threats to peace and stability in whatever way they deem necessary.

They operate independently or in groups of two or three. Some are empathetic peacekeepers, resolving disputes through diplomacy. Others are cold-blooded assassins, ruthlessly dispatching problem individuals. All get the job done, one way or another, often operating outside of the bounds of galactic law.

The Spectres were founded after the Salarians joined the Council. For many years, they operated in secrecy, as back-room "problem solvers". Only after the Krogan Rebellions did their activities become publicized. Assignment of a Spectre is less contentious than a military deployment, but makes it clear that the Council is concerned about a situation.

The Master Chief wasn't a Spartan anymore. He was a Spectre now. Spectres operated by a completely different set of rules.

Spectres were, by design, effectively above the law, allowing them to take actions and access information that would be completely off-limits to anyone else. They also exist outside the chain of command of any other military in the galaxy, answering to the Council and the Council alone. This setup affords Spectres levels of operational freedom that was completely unheard of in the UNSC. And while Spectres are required to carry out a mission given to them by the Council, nothing really stops them from going off on their own missions on the side, and the missions that are directly assigned by the Council may be executed in whatever way the Spectre deems fit, legal or otherwise. It suddenly made sense that the Council expect Spectres to pay for their own missions more or less out of pocket. If something goes wrong and the media catch wind of it, the Council can maintain plausible deniability by correctly claiming that they didn't bankroll a Spectre's ill-advised mission performance.

At first, it sounded like every soldier's dream come true. The ability to casually slash through red tape like so much foliage. The ability to go after anyone and everyone you need to accomplish the mission. The ability to use access codes that trump just about anything in any other official database. Freedom to go anywhere, do anything, and nothing short of a bullet to stop you. But the Citadel Council doesn't bestow the title to just anyone. With all that freedom comes great responsibility. Spectres are expected to use all that power and freedom to uphold galactic peace and stability in ways that other people simply could not.

He was reminded of the Council's words the day he was made a Spectre.

Spectres are not trained, but chosen.

According to the codex's sub-entries, thousands of individuals apply to become a Spectre every year. Few, if any of them, make the cut. Most Spectres hailed from the most elite military bodies of their species; most Turian Spectres were from Blackwatch or the Armigur Legion. Most Asari Spectres were formerly commandos. Naturally, the vast majority of Salarian Spectres used to work in STG. They were all skilled. They were all deadly. But most of all, they were all leaders.

Spectres are an ideal. A symbol. The embodiment of courage, determination and self-reliance.

The best Spectres were natural-born leaders. You don't give that much power to someone if they don't have the leadership skills to use it effectively. Anderson said on that fateful day that Spectres needed to be able to command their own ships and their own missions, and he was right. Most Spectres did indeed own a ship of some kind, including crew. Most of the time, as was the case with the Normandy, the Spectre's native government would provide the needed ship and crew, but the rest is up to the Spectre and the Spectre alone. A poor Spectre is one who cannot lead effectively.

Spectres bear a great burden. They are protectors of galactic peace, both our first and last line of defense. The safety of the galaxy is theirs to uphold."

In the Human-Covenant War, the Master Chief's role wasn't really that big. He was a key soldier and the best the UNSC had, yes. But he wasn't the one making the decisions. That was someone else. He wasn't the one who told people where to go and what to do. That was someone else.

That's not the case when you're a Spectre. You're in command of your own ship, your own funds and your own campaign. There's a reason the Council grants you all that freedom. So you can have the freedom to go wherever you need to go to get the job done. Invest in the right companies to keep bankrolling your missions, or at least stay in your native government's good graces so they would be willing to fund you. Be able to recognize where the most activity in an entire galactic region is and investigate it. And most of all, having the responsibility of making the tough decisions that are too much to ask of a normal soldier. For good or for ill, your actions are yours and yours alone.

The Master Chief never had to worry about those things as a Spartan. That was always someone else's problem. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how demanding the job really was. And as he thought back on Eletania, on how badly he mishandled that mission and allowed Saren Arterius to escape, he realized something.

The Spectres operated by a completely different set of rules. A set of rules that the Chief had failed to conform to.

"Something on your mind, Chief?" Ashley asked. The question snapped the Chief from his thoughts, making him realize that he had been looking down at his legs the whole time.

"No." he said.

Ashley stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" he asked.

"Person doesn't become so intent on their navels without something on the brain." Ashley pointed out.

Chief sighed. "When was your last promotion?" he asked.

"Er, February 24th, sir." Ashley replied, a little off-put by the seemingly unrelated question. "I was made Operations Chief after Anderson enlisted me into the Normandy's crew."

"How did that feel?" Chief asked.

"I have to admit, I was a little worried about being assigned to the Normandy." Ashley confessed. "But the crew was really nice to me. They helped me feel welcome. I've only been on the ship for a couple of weeks now, but it already feels like a home away from home."

"Hm." Chief grunted in reply as he digested Ashley's answer. They helped me feel welcome.

"Okay, now I KNOW something's on your mind. I'm the only Normandy servicewoman here, so you can tell me whatever's wrong if you want." Ashley said before taking a sip of her water.

"I'm not cut out to be a Spectre." Chief bluntly said out of the blue.

Ashley would've sprayed water all over Chief's face if she hadn't instinctively bowed her head and covered her mouth in time. "Come again?" she asked after coughing a bit.

"I'm not cut out to be a Spectre." Chief repeated. "Alliance picked the wrong soldier."

Ashley just stared at him with her mouth hanging open like the Master Chief just grew a couple of extra heads. "Why?" she asked incredulously.

Chief paused for a second, trying to think of a way to properly put his thoughts into words. "I don't have the right kind of credentials for it. The right kind of experiences for it. Being a Spectre is very different from how I thought it would be."

"Different how?" Ashley demanded.

"More responsibilities." the Master Chief started. "More responsibilities than I've ever had to handle. Back in the Human-Covenant War, I never commanded more than a few Spartans at a time. I never had to coordinate mission resources, never had to make executive decisions, and never had to direct an entire military campaign. And now? The Alliance dropped me into a position where I'm suddenly required to do all of that."

"What are you talking about?" Ashley asked.

"Think about it. We're at war." Chief explained. "We're at war with the Geth, and Saren Arterius is their leader. He's a warlord now. He has entire fleets and armies of Geth at his disposal. And the Council didn't send a fleet of their own to engage him, or an army. They sent me. My stated mission is to apprehend, or failing that, eliminate the leader of an army whose overall military strength is easily on par with most governments', and I'm expected to take him on with nothing but a single ship and a few dozen unlucky men and women as crew."

Chief rubbed his throat as he leaned back in his chair. It was sore again. He took a drink of water before continuing. "And they're expecting me to do it all on my own. No fleets for back up. All they do is feed me intel and occasionally provide funding. Everything else is on me. Coordinating mission resources, making executive decisions, and directing an entire military campaign. No one else is looking for Saren, it's just me. No one else is actively engaging the Geth, it's just me. I need to make all the decisions on where to go, what to do, and how to approach it. I'm being expected to do the work of an admiral, which is way above my pay grade."

"You've been leading us well so far." Ashley said.

"Have I?" Chief asked. "On Eletania I made a bad call and allowed myself to be captured with mission-critical information."

"But we destroyed it before Saren had the chance to see it." Ashley argued.

"In the course of rescuing me, something you wouldn't have had to do in the first place if it wasn't for me." Chief replied. "I let Saren get away. I failed in my objective."

"That wasn't your fault." Ashley said.

"No Williams. As a matter of fact, it was." Chief replied, his tone getting a little bitter. "And now, I've alienated most of my crew now that they've found out I've been keeping Cortana a secret from them. Morale has been compromised and I've got nothing to show for it. I'm supposed to be a leader, Ashley. Problem is, I've only ever lead other Spartans, and most of the time it was just in small squads. I can't lead a whole ship full of normal Humans and the odd alien. I just can't. It's beyond my capabilities."

The Master Chief was silent after that. So was Ashley. The waitress came by and dropped off Ashley's drink, a tall glass of dark red liquid with a couple of ice cubes floating on the surface. The waitress walked away, saying the food would be ready in 'just a bit.' Ashley took a pensive look at her drink before taking a sip. The silence lasted for another few seconds.

"….Luck." Ashley finally said out of the blue.

"Hm?" Chief asked.

"That's what they say made you so special. Luck." Ashley said. "It's why every bullet or plasma bolt that ever whizzed by your head never quite hit, or why every stray grenade was never quite close enough or why every fall was never quite high enough. You were luckier than the other Spartans."

"Luck only gets you so far." Chief replied.

"But what if it's not luck?" Ashley asked. "What if it was never luck? What if it was something else?"

"Like what?" Chief asked.

"Destiny?" Ashley suggested. "That's what I always personally thought about you." she added with a shrug.

The Chief grunted. "Destiny, huh?" he asked, clearly not convinced.

"Well think about it." Ashley replied. "You wake up from cryo just a week before Saren and the Geth start a war with Humanity, at a time when the galaxy needed a Spartan most. Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"It's just that. A coincidence." Chief dismissed. "The Alliance caught a lucky break with me. If they hadn't found me, someone else would've stepped up in my place."

"But that didn't happen." Ashley countered. "There's a reason for everything that happens, Chief. Even if you don't understand it at the time. The Battle of Installation 00? It put you in the right place at the right time. Your character made you rise to the occasion. And that got you here, in the 27th century, as the first Human Spectre in command of the finest tin can in the Alliance fleet. I know it doesn't look like it, but this is exactly where the galaxy needs you to be."

She paused. "No pressure." she teasingly added as she took another sip from her drink.

"…..Why are you pushing so hard?" Chief asked. "First the Colosseum, now this. What's your angle, Williams?"

"I'm not pushing. I'm pulling." Ashley replied. "I'm pulling you out of that dark hole you fell into after Eletania. I mean, were you listening to yourself a minute ago? Sounded like you wanted to quit the Spectres. Since when do Spartans quit anything?"

"We just went over this. I'm considering quitting because I don't have the right kind of background or experience for this position." Chief replied.

"Well….Damn it, I don't want you to quit. We need you." Ashley snapped, apparently unable to think of something better to say.

"Why?" Chief asked. "Why do you even care? We've only been working together for a couple of weeks. You don't even know me."

"….No." Ashley replied. "But I'd like to."

It was then that Chief suddenly remembered Sha'ira's words once more. You are surrounded by hearts much like your own. Hearts that are as willful, fierce, and wise as your own. You only feel alone because your own heart is so heavily guarded, like every other part of your body.

"The crew of the Normandy believes in you, Master Chief." Ashley said. "You should believe in yourself too. You had a bad mission. That's okay. Setbacks happen to everyone; you can't win them all. Beating yourself up over it won't fix anything. Just learn from your mistakes and do better in the future. That's what Spartans are supposed to be good at, right? Battlefield adaptation?"

"….Yeah." Chief replied.

It was then that the waitress came back with the food. "Alright, sorry if this took a while." she apologized. "Anyway, wood-grilled lobster and fried calamari." she said as she handed Ashley the plate of food. "And one baked clam platter." she said as she placed the platter in front of the Master Chief. It was so big, she had to hold it with both hands. The Chief's saliva glands kicked into overdrive as soon as his nostrils detected that heavenly scent. "Enjoy your meals!" the waitress said as she walked away.

"Just an FYI Chief, you're supposed to squeeze the lemons onto the clams." Ashley said as she held up a calamari ring. "Instead of, you know, eating the lemon wedges raw." she then popped it into her mouth.

The Chief wasted no time. He grabbed a clam, pried it apart with his fingers and popped the baked clam meat into his mouth. He took a moment to savor the flavor, the memories of Emerald Cove, of a genuinely happier time, flooding back to him. He swallowed. He then discarded the shell and went to work on the next one, followed by the next one, occasionally stopping to dip the meat in tartar sauce to try it. It gave the meat a cooler flavor, but he didn't use it much. He also experimented with the lemons by squeezing lemon juice on one of the clams as per Ashley's advice. It gave the meat an interesting citrus flavor, but again, he didn't use it much after that. Clam meat this good shouldn't be spoiled by petty condiments.

The Spartan was about to bust pull apart another clam when he saw Ashley staring at him with a raised eyebrow yet again. "What?" he asked.

"You are demolishing those clams." Ashley pointed out.

"I like clams." Chief justified.

"Apparently you do." Ashley said as she resumed her lobster.

"Hey Ashley." Chief said.

"Yeah?" Ashley replied.

"Thanks for buying." Chief replied.

"Any time, Skipper." Ashley replied.

The Chief paused. "Skipper?" he asked.

"Hey, that's what you are isn't it?" Ashley asked.

"….Guess so." Chief replied before going back to his lunch.

…..

After the meal, the waitress left the bill on the table, which Ashley paid with a few keystrokes on her omni-tool and a grumble. As the two made their way out of the restaurant, Ashley checked her omni-tool's clock. "Five o'clock. We still got a few more hours before sunset. Gotta love Reach's twenty-seven hour days." the marine said. She turned to the Spartan. "So, what do you wanna do now?"

"Don't know." Chief replied as the two turned out of the parking lot and walked down the landing. He looked out on the harbor, the water reflecting the sun's light, a fishing trawler on its way out back to sea. "Wouldn't mind just walking around here for a little while." Chief said.

"Okay." Ashley replied with a neutral shrug.

The two walked on for another few minutes. They walked down a wooden sidewalk of sorts that acted as a border line between the habor's docks and a public park that was situated at the harbor's edge. On their way down, they passed by children's playgrounds, statues by local artists and plaques with lists of names dedicated to fishermen who lost their lives at sea. They eventually happened upon a twenty foot tall wooden structure that looked to be a crow's nest. It had a square frame, a tall wooden pole for each corner and a pyramid-shaped shingle roof on top of the observation area. After reading the signs to confirm that, yes, it was indeed part of the recreational area, they ascended the the crow's nest via the spiral staircase in the center of the square-shaped frame.

The nest itself was fairly large, roughly ten feet by ten feet. There were four benches situated in the middle of the nest, each facing away from the center. Ashley and the Chief emerged from the staircase behind one of the benches and walked up to the railings. From here, they had an excellent view of both Downtown New Alexandria and New Alexandria Harbor. The two of them were silent for a while.

"….Thanks for taking me out today, Ashley." Chief said. "Maybe you were right. Maybe I did need this."

"No problem, Skipper." Ashley replied. "And for the record, you can call me Ash if you want."

"Ash?" Chief asked.

"My nickname." Ashley said. "It's what everyone else calls me."

Chief considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "I shouldn't. I don't really know you well enough."

"No." Ashley admitted. "But I do trust you enough."

"….Hm." Chief hummed. It was the only reply he could think to give. He turned his head towards Downtown New Alexandria and could see a sign in the difference. The metal sign was an advertisement that sat on top of a pole a couple dozen feet tall. It was calling attention to an air car rental lot.

Thinking back to the Codex's entry on Reach, the Master Chief realized that there was last last place he needed to go today.

"Thanks again, Ash." Chief said as he pushed himself off the rail. "There's somewhere else I need to go."

"Where?" Ashley asked.

"Somewhere personal." Chief said as he turned to the staircase. "I think it'd be better if I went alone."

"You sure?" Ashley asked, concern clear in her voice.

"Don't worry." Chief assured her with a small smile. "I'll be fine."

"…You're not going AWOL, are you Skipper?" Ashley asked in a joking way. Well, half-joking. Chief could still hear an undercurrent of legitimate concern underneath the dry wit.

"No. I'll be back on the Normandy tonight. I promise." Chief said.

Ashley leaned on the railing as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm gonna hold you to that." she warned.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Chief replied. With that, he descended the staircase to leave Ashley in the crow's nest. He began walking into the heart of the downtown area, towards the rental lot.

….

"Okay. Let's see here…." Requisitions Officer Victor Lawrence muttered to himself as he stood by the open door to the Normandy's cargo hold. He was taking a look inside a small crate, mostly filled with ammo blocks and spare grenades. With a nod of approval, he checked the item off on his datapad. "You're good. Take it on board."

The Unggoy dock worker whimpered in response as he walked up the ramp into the Normandy's cargo hold, his legs shaking as he struggled to hold up a crate that was easily as large and heavy as he himself was. Another Unggoy walked up to Lawrence, carrying a much smaller crate, for which he was thankful. Lawrence checked inside. He nodded at all the plasma grenades. N'tho should be happy about that. "Put with the others." Lawrence instructed as he checked the item off the datapad.

"Hey!" Lawrence then shouted at an Unggoy who was peeking inside a rations crate. "Stay outta there! That's for our two dextro-amino crew members! That's not for you!"

Lawrence paused. "You don't wanna end up like the last Unggoy that tried to eat Turian food." he said as he pointed to a port-a-potty further down the dock.

"MY BUTT IS DOING HORRIBLE THINGS TO ME!" an Unggoy's voice screeched from inside.

Not wanting to end up like his colleague, the dock worker put the dextro-fruit back in the crate he found it, hefted it, and carried it onto the ship. Lawrence pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes he hated his job. While the rest of the crew was off enjoying their shore leave, he was stuck here overseeing resupply efforts, which usually meant making sure the dock workers didn't break anything.

As he checked off the dextro-amino rations, Lawrence caught out of the corner of his eye a huge forklift truck coming down the dock toward the Normandy. Perplexed, he double-checked the datapad. Nothing that big was on the list. Something fishy was going on. Patting the pistol he kept on his thigh, Lawrence walked up to the forklift, holding up a hand to instruct it to slow down. The forklift driver complied and slowed his vehicle to an eventual stop. So far so good.

Lawrence found the driver to be a large, surly-looking man with hairy, muscular arms and a well-trimmed mustache. "Special delivery for the SSV Normandy." he said with a thick Texan accent.

"What kind of delivery?" Lawrence asked.

"Dunno." the man replied with a shrug.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Lawrence asked.

"Folks wouldn't tell me." the man explained. "You know how them ONI fellers are. Real secretive types."

"ONI?" Lawrence asked. He took a closer look at the side of the crate. Sure enough, there was the symbol of ONI, a pyramid with an open eye near the top. It even came complete with yellow 'classified' tape. "What would ONI want to deliver to the Normandy?" Lawrence asked.

"My guess? Guns. Real fancy guns that they probably been workin' on in the R&D labs." the man speculated. "Word through the grapevine is that the Master Chief's been havin' a rough goin' out in the traverse, so whatever's in here, ten creds says it's gonna even the playin' field a little."

Lawrence paused to look over the crate one more time. He still didn't trust it. Hell, now that he knew it came from ONI, he definitely didn't trust it. Wherever those spooks went, trouble was never far behind. He activated his omni-tool to scan the crate for bugs; recording, listening, and/or tracking devices. He knew better than to put such things past those creeps. After a couple of minutes, the scan came back negative. The crate was clean.

Lawrence walked back up to the driver. "You're clean. Put it by the mako." he instructed as he pointed up the ramp to the desired spot. The man nodded before resuming his course.

Lawrence sighed as he watched the forklift go. Even if the scans showed no bugs or anything else like that, he still had his suspicions. ONI were never the types to just hand stuff out for free. There were always more than a few strings attached. Then again, this was the first Human Spectre they were giving free stuff to, the last living Spartan no less. It made sense that they would make a special case for him. But Lawrence still couldn't shake the feeling-

"OH SWEET MERCIFUL NIPPLE!" The Unggoy in the port-a-potty screeched again. "I'M SPEWING FIRE! IT FEELS LIKE LIQUID FIRE!"

Lawrence rolled his eyes. "You're a levo-aminio species that ate a dextro-amino fruit!" Lawrence hollered at the grunt. "Just be glad you're not dead!"

"DEATH WOULD BE PREFERABLE TO THIS!" the Unggoy hollered back.

….

Codex Entry (Organizations): ARENA COMBAT

In the wake of the Human-Covenant War, the UNSC spent much of its reconstruction period studying Forerunner ruins and relics, hoping to unlock the secrets of the Forerunners and their incredibly advanced technology. Easily one of the greatest technologic achievements wrought by this came in the fall of 2557; a sophisticated virtual reality combat simulator capable of replicating an endless array of environments, real or hypothetical, using holography and pneumatic riser fields.

According to a popular urban legend, it was during a war game exercise between UNSC marines and Kig-Yar Confederacy forces that Confederacy Admiral Shur'R-Kixx joked that the UNSC could rake in additional funding by charging the public to view the war games. Thus, arena combat was born.

Arena combat is a competitive sport that revolves around this very same combat simulator which uses holography, pneumatic riser fields and kinetic barriers to simulate various detailed environments in which two to four teams of players compete against one another in a wide variety of combat scenarios, referred to colloquially as game 'modes' or 'types.' Like the environments, the weapons too are simply holograms and kinetic barriers, designed to look, feel and even sound like the real thing. The projectiles however are non-lethal, but can still hurt according to most players. Whenever a player is felled, their armor locks up for a few seconds before the subject is teleported to a random spot on the map via a localized teleportation grid that is connected to the players' armor and does not extend beyond the boundaries of the arena.

After the First-Contact War, the sport was introduced to the rest of Citadel Space, and for its first few years in the greater galaxy it was a source of controversy. This was because the teleportation grid that the 'respawn' mechanic relies on utilizes slipspace translocation technology. Arena combat lobbyists pointed out that it does not use slipspace on anywhere near the scale of a starship, meaning that the usual risks of slipspace technology are all but negligible in the case of arena combat. As the sport had quickly become popular amongst the general galactic public, even amongst the Council races, the Citadel Council had no choice but to relent. When Slipspace was formally banned in 2667, arena combat was spared on a legal technicality. Many Slipspace advocates cynically note that the only reason the sport survived the ban was because the then-recently built AC stadium on the Citadel was bringing in so much revenue.

….

One more long-ass chapter to go before the Reach arc reaches (get it?) its conclusion!

Hopefully I didn't portray the Chief as being too angsty here. I recall one recent anonymous guest reviewer saying that "my Chief's personality is spot on to what he imagined, other other writers either make him too angsty, or too stoic in which case his character is as interesting as a totem pole with an upturned bucket at the top."

It reminded me of just how tricky portraying the Master Chief is. His primary defining trait is stoicism; if he's not stoic in your fic, you're not writing him correctly, simple as that. However, he can't be TOO stoic or else, as the review points out, he ceases to be interesting. However, he can't be too angsty either, or else he's not only uninteresting, but also completely OOC, which is even worse. It's all about finding the right balance. For me, I think the trick is to have him be outwardly stoic and unemotional at all times, but inwardly, in his inner monologues that the reader can here, that's where you portray any inner conflicts you're thinking of having him go through.

And to all those who think the Master Chief has been acting WAY too jerkish or anti-social lately, I would like to point you to Halo 4's intro cutscene, and I quote:

"Records show Spartans routinely exhibited mildly sociopathic tendencies, difficulty with socialization, etc. etc."

I'm no psychology major, and if there's any among my readership they're free to correct me on this, but I think it's safe to say that, more often than not, sociopaths tend to come across to other people as jerks. Chapters 26 through 30 were all about highlighting those "mildly sociopathic tendencies" that the shadowy dude from Halo 4 was talking about. Big ups to 343 Industries and Halo canon for having my back on this one.

That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

Let's see, what else? Oh yeah! Check out Zgamer's spin-off "Last of an Ancient Breed" if you haven't already, as well as TheTrickyAcid's youtube channel, again if you haven't already.