ATTENTION: If you read this chapter within the first twelve or so hours it was out, I suggest you take a look near the end; I've added quite a bit to it, so you might want to check it out before reviewing (hint hint).
Well, I'm back. Sorry about the long wait, by the way. This new computer game I got, Galactic Civilizations 2: Dread Lords is just very, very, very addictive. That, and I got writer's block, and when I finally broke out of it, I couldn't get to my computer. Just one disaster after another, really.
Anyway, the beginning of this chapter introduces the third franchise of the four-way cross-over. This series, The Codex, is a machinima, just like Red vs. Blue and Omega Team. Unlike both of them, it is in the Action/Drama genre, instead of Comedy like the other two, and its events take place in the Halo universe, while the other two take place in their own universes. The Codex is the most kick-ass series out there, and I recommend it to anyone reading this. But if you don't feel like it, don't sweat; you'll learn about what happened in the series when each of the characters reveals it to the Blood Gulchers and the Omegas.
Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue, Omega Team, and all affiliated characters, organizations, and locations belong to Rooster Teeth Productions and Random Outburst Productions, respectively. The only things I own are the plot and the evil genetic engineer, Professor Köblös.
Far beneath the surface, amongst the inky blackness that consumed the tunnels that honeycombed the planet's crust, a small, blue light invaded the curtain of darkness that normally pervaded those earthen halls. The ethereal glow slowly traveled across the area, looking like a firefly in the middle of a moonless night.
This ghostly glow was that of an energy sword, and its wielder a Covenant Elite. He was clad in golden armor with jet-black trim, which, even in the darkness of the tunnel, was clearly visible. Though barely noticeable, the hilt of another plasma sword was strapped to his hip.
He had been in that god-forsaken place for… hours? Days? Weeks? He couldn't remember. After walking for so long, time began to blend together. One thing was for sure: if he didn't get out of their soon, he would die.
By the Forerunners, how am I going to get out of this place? He thought to himself. I can barely see several steps in front of me. There must be some way out of here; a shaft, or a duct, or a path…
His thoughts were cut short when he felt like something clicked in his brain, and a memory made its way to the forefront of his mind:
So full of hate were our eyes that none of us could see
Our war would yield countless dead, but never victory
So let us cast our arms aside, and like discard our wrath
Thou, in faith, will keep us safe, whilst we find the path
The Writ of Union, he recalled, stopping, the very foundation of the Covenant…
He shook his head. No, I must remain strong. The gods would not leave me, their devout servant, to die like this.
"They have not," a female voice whispered, "for how could they? They don't even exist."
He looked around in surprise. His eyes darted to every shadow that was cast by his blade's glow, yet he saw nothing. He could have sworn he heard something, but at the same time, he felt like he didn't; it was like the voice was inside his head. But that was ludicrous… wasn't it?
"Come out," he called. "Show yourself!"
"I am afraid that is something I simply cannot do," it responded. "Dieing isn't exactly on my list of things to do today."
"Who are you?" he hissed angrily.
"I? I am a monument to all your sins," it murmured back.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Doesn't it? Names are merely that: names. Titles. And titles are merely words to cling to as the darkness falls around you. It is not who you are. It is not what you believe. But then again, both have been brought into question as of late, haven't they?"
"I know who I am; I know what I believe," he shouted into the shadows. "I am the Praetor, commander of millions of Covenant soldiers and countless starships; I believe in the Prophets, and in the Great Journey that they promise."
"A disciple of the Prophets?" the voice said incredulously. "Really? With all the doubts that plague your mind, all the trials they put you through, you haven't renounced them and their false gods?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he growled dangerously.
"Have you forgotten already? Allow me to refresh your memory."
Just as he heard these words, he felt a sudden ache in his skull. He clutched his head and shook it, but it only seemed to get worse. The pain reached its crescendo, and he found himself clutching his head with both hands, letting his blade drop to the ground, as a flood of memories overcame him.
"Enlightenment... and what if our loyalty to the Prophets became… an obstacle to that enlightenment? What if serving the Prophets kept you from truly knowing the gods? Which would you chose?"
"Betray the Covenant? Is that what I did…?"
"I have learned amazing things, things that even the Prophets do not know."
"The Covenant is slipping, my friend; it is losing the path. You can feel it as well as I."
"I have betrayed no one, except perhaps the dogmatic fools who wish to create the gods in their own image!"
"I did my duty!"
After those final words roared in his head, the whirlwind within his mind subsided, and the pain in his head ceased. He was kneeling on the ground, using his hands to support his upper body; he must have collapsed and not realized it.
But… that voice… he recognized it. "Dové…"
"Now do you remember?" the voice asked. "Now do you remember what you have done?"
"I… I didn't have any choice. I-"
"You ALWAYS had a choice, Praetor," the being snapped. "You just weren't willing to give up your career, and ultimately your life, to save him."
"You have no idea what he meant to me!" he bellowed in the blackness. He lowered his head to look at the ground, trying to hide the tears that were coming to his reptilian eyes from whoever was watching. "Dové… he was my mentor… and my friend."
"Was that anger I just sensed in you?" the voice asked, obviously amused. "That is good. It will prepare you for what you must do."
"The only thing I must do now is die," the Praetor spat. "The Prophets I once held in such high regard are power-hungry wretches; the Covenant I once served has rejected me… what more do I have to live for, even if I can get out of here?"
In a whisper barely even audible, the voice said one word, "Revenge."
Not believing what he heard, he hesitated for a moment. "Re… Revenge?"
"Yes," the voice hissed in excitement. "Your nemesis yet lives."
Picking up his head again, he asked, puzzled, "Nemesis? What are you talking about?"
"The one who has set up barriers and sought to ruin your life out of spite; the one who has sought to harm you at every turn; the one who has antagonized you the entire way. The one… who benefited most from Dové Antenatee's death."
Upon hearing that last line, his eyes widened in astonishment. "The Cleric is alive?"
"Correct. And he is continuing to make the lives of others miserable in the name of his false prophets, and for his own benefit. And I know how to get to him."
Grabbing his fallen energy blade, he asked, "What must I do?"
"Simply follow my directions. Are you willing to do that?"
Getting on one knee and lowering his head, he murmured, "I would do anything."
"Good," the voice purred. "But let's get you out of your current predicament. First, turn to your right by roughly fifteen degrees; head in that direction and you'll see a tunnel leading upward."
The Praetor did as instructed, running to where he was bidden. He glanced down at the inactive plasma sword on his right hip. Don't worry, Dové, he thought to himself, turning his gaze forward again, when all of this is over, the Cleric will pay for what he has done to you… to us, in his own blood.
"What… the fuck… is that?"
Those were the first words that escaped Church's mouth as he gawked at the obscenely large object in the sky.
Just a few minutes earlier, the day had been going just like the two before it. Simmons was working with Lopez, surfing the web and searching for any tech specialist that might be willing to help them; Sister, Caboose, and Tucker patrolling the top of the base; Sarge and Donut working on the Warthog on the bottom level, the latter hollering after accidentally hurting himself and the former yelling at him for not listening when he told him what not to touch; Doc heading downstairs to treat the pink-clad private; Grif taking a nap in an armchair with a magazine of questionable content draped over his visor; and Church toying with his sniper rifle, trying yet again to find out why the hell he couldn't hit anything with the damn thing.
Then Tucker spotted this gigantic thing in the sky headed right toward them. They all gathered on the roof, and they now had all their eyes turned upward. Thousands of feet above them, a long black object was descending toward the planet. It branched out into two prongs halfway down its side, making it look like a giant black tuning fork.
"Okay… that right there? That's just fucked up," Tucker said, feebly pointing at the UFO.
"No, that would be a spaceship," Sister corrected obliviously.
Sarge sighed. "She's a Grif, alright…"
"But who owns it? Why is it even here?" Church asked.
"Maybe it's just passing through," Doc ventured.
"I doubt it," Simmons stated. "It's a Destroyer-class cruiser."
"Is that something bad?" Caboose queried.
"Let's just say it has enough firepower to level New York City."
"Oh… yeah, that'd be bad."
"Hey, don't most ships have their names on the side? Why don't you use the sniper to find out?" Donut suggested.
Church brought his sniper rifle to bear and looked through the scope. "It's no good; this thing doesn't have nearly enough zoom. Tucker, you have good eyes. What does it say?"
"Okay, seeing across the canyon is one thing, but seeing something that high up is something else entirely," Tucker reminded.
"'The Discriminator,'" Simmons said simply.
Everyone present turned to him and Doc asked, "What?"
"That's what it says: 'The Discriminator.' Lopez, would start a network-wide search for that name, please?" Simmons requested.
"Sí. Minucioso…" a monotone voice emanated from below.
It was at this point in time that Simmons noticed that everyone but Sarge and Caboose were staring at him. "What?"
Doc was the one that spoke up. "How did you know that?"
Simmons tapped the left side of his visor and explained, "Cybernetic eye. It has two-hundred-to-one zoom, along with tons of other features; it's even outfitted with infra-red and x-ray vision."
"Hey," Caboose interjected, "does anyone else have this little prickly feeling on the back of their neck?"
The moment those words left Caboose's mouth, an incoherent screeching erupted over everyone's radio and Church collapsed. While everyone had their hands pressed against the side of their helmets, a translucent image of a soldier in white armor came into existence.
"What the hell was that?" Church's ghost roared.
"EMP burst," the Red Army officer responded as the static died down. "Don't bother getting back in that body; it'll be hours before it's in working order again."
By then the racket on the radio had died down, and Caboose said quizzically, "EMP… What's the E stand for?"
When Donut looked like he was about to answer, Church firmly said, "Don't encourage him."
"Why didn't he get shut down?" Sister asked, gesturing to Simmons.
"Because my mechanical parts have EMP conditioning. I'm immune to it," Simmons explained.
"Then why the fuck did he get fried?" Tucker asked. "You guys built that robot!"
"Did you really think we'd give a bunch of dirty Blues our state-of-the-art technology?" Sarge asked.
Just as Tucker was about to retort, a large shadow passed over the base.
It was then that the two rival teams noticed that the ship had stopped only a mile or two above the canyon; that was the bad news. The worse news was that dropships were now headed in their direction. A lot of them. The worst news was that there was no good news.
"Simmons," Donut breathed, "about how many soldiers are in those ships?"
"You don't want to know."
"If he didn't want to know, then why would he ask?" Caboose questioned. "That would just be silly."
"Those wouldn't happen to be Pelican dropships, would they?" Simmons asked Church.
"Yeah, I think so; what's it matter?" Church answered.
The cyborg turned toward the approaching ships, which were only several thousand feet away.
"Oh no…"
"Hey, Simmons, you okay?" Donut asked.
He spotted the slightest movement below the dropships' noses, which only confirmed his fears.
"Get down!"
The moment after he got his this warning out, the air was saturated in gunfire.
Simmons tackled Donut, sending the two of them sprawling down toward the floor below. Doc was the next to react, grabbing Sister by the waist and leaping down the opening in the roof. Sarge roughly grabbed Grif by the scruff of his neck and unceremoniously tossed him into the base before following suit. Tucker roughly shoved Caboose into the hole before going in himself.
"What the fuck just happened?" Tucker asked the congregation.
"Yeah, since when did they put guns on dropships?" Grif added.
"It's a new feature of the Pelican-class dropships," he explained. "They now have chin-mounted turrets to soften up the defenses of the drop zone."
"Well, they're definitely working!" Donut said.
"Wait," Church interjected, putting a hand up. "Do you guys hear something?"
After a few moments of silence, Caboose said, "I don't hear anything. Well, except that voice inside my head that tells me to kill all my friends before they have the chance to kill me!"
Saying that those around the Blue Team rookie were disturbed was like saying rain was wet. It was both obvious and an understatement.
Noticing that everyone was staring at him, Caboose said innocently, "What, you guys don't hear that?"
"Look," Church sighed, his patience wearing thin, "I'm going to take a look outside."
The deceased sniper jumped backward into the walls. Outside, his translucent helmeted head could be seen peeking out of one of the flags that adorned Red Base. If Church still had a body, he probably would have fainted at what he saw.
Soldiers clad in dark-grey armor filed out of the dropships, roughly a hundred of them total. Every one of them looked exactly alike except for the white numbers on their shoulders and backs. They were equipped with weapons of all kinds: sniper rifles, assault rifles, shotguns, even a few rocket launchers. And from the looks of it, they knew how to use them.
When the ghost returned inside, Tucker said, "Well? How's it looking out there?"
"Do you want the short version or the long version?"
"Short would do," Sarge grunted.
"We're. Screwed."
"Come out, we know you're in there," a voice echoed from outside.
"Should we go out?" Doc said.
"No, they've got snipers out there," Church whispered.
"And who are you to tell us what to do, dirtbag?" Sarge hollered back.
"I am White One, commander of Gigas Company, the elite unit under the direct command of Lord Pernicious."
"Lord, eh? If he's so high and mighty, why doesn't he come out here himself?"
"Lord Pernicious does not have time to deal with a bunch of insignificant worms like you."
"If we're so insignificant, why don't you come and get us, you bastard?" Sarge goaded.
"Um, Sarge," Simmons stammered, "I don't think that fighting them is really the best idea."
"As much as I'd like to relieve you of your pathetic lives," White One continued, "I have my orders. I'm supposed to take you and any of your comrades alive."
Tch, a bit late for that, Church thought to himself.
"So, I'm giving you a chance to surrender."
"And if we refuse?" Sarge asked.
"If you resist, then we will take you by force. Since there are a hundred of us and less than a dozen of you, then I think it's safe to say that the odds are in our favor," the commander stated smugly. "You have ten minutes to comply. If you fail to respond in that time, we're coming in after you."
After that, silence reigned throughout Red Base, leaving all of them to their own thoughts. Should they stand and fight? Or should they surrender, and be at an unknown enemy's mercy?
Though only about a minute passed, it seemed like an eternity to Church before someone broke the silence.
"So," Donut piped up, "what should we do?"
"What else?" Grif asked. "We surrender. It's not like we really have a choice; there are way too many to fight."
"There are never too many to fight," Sarge said.
"Yeah, but what about too many to fight, and win?" Tucker retorted. Sarge just stared at the shotgun in his hands, unable to answer.
"But if we surrender, then they can do whatever they want with us," Doc reasoned. "I don't know about all of you, but I don't find the prospect of someone named 'Lord Pernicious' deciding my fate very appealing."
"But either way, we lose," Grif argued. "If we surrender, then we might die; if we fight back, we'll just die tired."
"But there's always a chance that we could win, right?" Sister said.
"You're kidding, right?" Church spoke up. "There are a hundred of them. A hundred! They outnumber us ten to one!"
"So?" Sister persisted. "Aren't you the one who said 'people with tanks are never outnumbered'?"
"Yeah, but our tank doesn't even work right!" Church yelled. "The only thing it can do is drive; without an AI, the turret won't even fire!"
"But-"
"You know what? Screw this, I'm leaving," Church said exasperatedly as he got up to leave.
"What? You can't just leave!" Tucker said, getting up to face his teammate.
Church turned on his heel and looked back at Tucker, who was staring at him with a look of pure hatred. "You just don't get it, do you?" the specter said levelly. "I'm dead, Tucker; this isn't my problem. Even if I do stay, what difference does it make? I'll still be dead, and you all will still be screwed."
"Church-"
"One reason," the deceased man said, holding up one finger, surprisingly not his middle one. "One reason, Tucker. Give me one, good reason that I should stay."
Tucker just turned his gaze to the floor, clenching his hands into fists. "I thought so," Church sighed, turning back around. He was about to phase through the wall, when he heard a voice that made him pause.
"I… I'll m-miss you…"
Church, looked over his shoulder, and, to his surprise, the voice came from Caboose. The rookie had his back against the wall, his head buried in his knees, which he was hugging against his chest.
"…what?" Church murmured.
"I'll miss you," Caboose repeated. "Andy, Junior, Sheila; all… gone. I don't want to lose you, too."
Caboose raised his head and gave Church a pleading look. Even though he was wearing a helmet, it was clear that he was crying.
Church looked away, not wanting to look his teammate in the eye. He felt something, some sort of emotion, one he was unfamiliar with… pity? Was that it?
He shook his head, shrugging off the persistent tugs at his heartstrings, and kept walking. Sentiment wasn't a good enough reason; whether they lived or died didn't affect him in the least.
Just as he disappeared into the wall, he heard Tucker say, "You'll never see Tex again."
A few seconds later, Church's transparent form peeked back out from the wall. "What?"
"You know what I said," Tucker spat. "Face it; you need us alive to build this machine. And without the machine, you'll never find Tex."
"Maybe I could find her another way."
"Maybe. Maybe not. The only sure thing is that this… whatever it is, is the best bet you have for seeing her again. And in order for the machine to be built, you need us."
"…fine," Church grunted after several moments of silence. "I'll help you guys out of this."
"Well that's all well and good, numbnuts, but we still haven't decided what we're doing," Simmons said, motioning toward the rest of Red Team. "Your orders, sir?"
"Well, I've never left a conflict with my tail between my legs before, and I'm sure as hell not about to start now!" Sarge declared, cocking his shotgun for dramatic effect.
"Donut, what about you?" Simmons asked his teammate.
"Of course I'm helping! I didn't join the army to rot in some dreary old cell!"
"Good to have ya' aboard," Sarge said, slapping his pink-clad subordinate's back. "We could always use that good arm of yours."
"Grif? You coming?" Simmons said, turning to said slacker.
Though he suspected it was his imagination, Church thought that Simmons had said those last few words expectantly, almost like he was… worried. But wait, those two hated each other… didn't they?
Judging by his reply, Grif did not catch on to this. "Well, I don't have a choice in this, do I?"
"Damn right you don't, dirtbag," Sarge confirmed.
"Look," Church growled, getting impatient, "it won't matter how many men we have if we don't have a plan. Any ideas?"
After ten seconds of silence, Grif said, "Well, I think I know how we could-"
"Grif, I'm sure you have an absolutely brilliant idea," Sarge interrupted, his words dripping with sarcasm, "but whatever it is, I already know what my answer's gonna be: Shut yer mouth while intelligent people are talking."
"Do you have any ideas?" Tucker snapped. Sarge remained silent.
"Go ahead, Grif," Doc encouraged.
"Well, first off, Simmons, is Lopez still working?" Grif inquired.
"Yeah, he's still working."
"Tell him to stop that search he's doing; we'll need him for something else."
"What exactly are you going to do?" Caboose questioned.
Ignoring Caboose, Grif motioned everyone around him to come closer. "Alright," he whispered, "here's what we're gonna do…"
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"…Are we there yet?"
"Would someone shut him up?" the pilot snapped. "I'm trying to concentrate!"
"But I'm bored," José whined.
"Stow it, private," Sergeant Cleveland barked. "I know it's been a long trip, but you need to be patient."
It was true. Team Omega and their two captives had been in that ship for about sixteen standard hours, and most of them were losing their minds with boredom. For instance, Lucky was banging his head on the wall. Repeatedly.
"Private Romano, stop that idiocy right now!" Cleveland demanded.
"Sir, yes sir," Romano groaned, getting back in his seat.
"Seriously, when are we going to get there?" José pressed.
"Yeah, how much longer?" Ace griped. "It's half past ass-kick o' clock, and my watch is slow."
"Then it matches your personality," Dean muttered as he worked on a bronze-colored, egg-shaped device in his hands.
"What'd you say?"
"Hey, Dean," José interupted, "What are you working on?"
"Bubble shield," he mumbled.
"Sorry, private but I didn't quite catch that; I thought for a moment you said 'bubble shield,'" the green-armored officer said.
"I did," Roberts stated. "Deploying it creates an indestructable, near-impenatrable defensive forcefield that bullets, grenades, even rockets can't penetrate."
"Kick-ass!" José exclaimed.
"Sweet!" Ace chorused.
"Yeah, because when I think 'indestructable and impenatrable,' I always think 'bubble,'" Lucky quipped.
"'Near-impenatrable ,' Roberts?" his superior said, skeptical.
"Projectiles and explosions can't get through it, but people and vehicles can," the tech expert explained.
"You have to admit, sir, that's really fucking cool!" Ace gawked.
"Exactly when were you going to tell us about this invention of yours, private?" Cleveland inquired, ignoring his second-in-command.
"When I made enough for all of us. Since we had to leave so early, this is the only one; I was too busy working on the others to make any more," he responded, slightly glumly.
"Others?" Romano said, puzzled.
"Yeah; all my other inventions." With those words, he pulled out several objects from the nearby cargo. One was a large, bronze orb the size of a volleyball that had red lights adorning its surface, the most noticeable being a large cross; the second looked like a bronze-colored clockwork gear; third was an orb that was identical to the first object, but was made of a grey steel and had white lights; lastly, he pulled out an oval-shaped disc made of black steel.
"This," Dean started, hefting the bronze orb onto his lap, "is the radar jammer; it'll do hell to the motion trackers of anyone nearby, including us, so be careful."
"It's twin," he continued motioning toward the grey ball, "is a flare. It acts sort of like a grenade, but instead of an explosion, it'll blind anyone looking in its general direction."
"Third, we have the trip mine," he said, holding up the clockwork gear. "Once activated and set, anyone, and I mean anyone, who goes near it will get blown sky high."
"Last but not least, the deployable cover. This is the early version of the bubble shield, so it only faces one direction, and it isn't indestructible; if shot enough times, it will fail. On the plus side, if you're the one behind it, your bullets will go through, while any projectile trying to get in through the front will be blocked. With the bubble shield, the enemy can't shoot you, but you can't shoot them either, so it depends on the situation."
"I got dibs on the bubble shield!" Ace called out.
"I'll take the trip mine," José declared.
"If Ace has the bubble shield, I'll take the deployable cover," Romano stated.
Watching his subordinates grab their desired items, he sighed, "Well, then I'll take the radar jammer; it could be useful for psychological warfare."
Grabbing the flare, Dean said, "Alright guys, these things only have one charge; after you use them, they're useless until I recharge them, which I doubt can be done in the middle of a firefight, so only use them in emergencies."
"Alright, boys," the pilot said, "we've entered the planet's atmosphere. Estimated time to destination… holy shit!"
A radiant blue light filled the cockpit just as it burst into flame, the violent shaking of the ship sending the surviving occupants tumbling all over the ship.
"Sonnuva bitch!"
"Fuck!"
"What the hell?"
After he regained his bearings, their commanding officer asked, "Is everyone alright?"
"What do you think?" Romano roared, getting off the floor. "The cockpit just fucking exploded!"
"We're gonna die. We're all gonna die!" Dean whined as he lay on the floor, curled in a ball.
"Um, guys," José groaned, "if the cockpit just exploded… then who the hell is flying this thing?"
As the validity of José's question sunk in, Ace muttered, "Oh shit…"
It was then that all of them felt the sensation one got on a descending elevator, only magnified a hundred times over.
"Everyone, we're going to have to jump!" Ace shouted as he opened the bay doors at the rear of the Pelican.
"We're going to have to what?" Romano asked in disbelief.
Dean, however, did not hesitate. "Women and cowards first!"
"Wahoo!" José hooted as he jumped after his orange-clad teammate.
"Go on, sir!" Ace implored his commander.
"I am not leaving a man behind, corporal!" Cleveland said firmly.
"This isn't the time for this kind of stuff, sergeant!" Ace said, exasperated. "Me and Lucky will follow, just go!"
"But-"
"Go!"
Cleveland looked for a second before clapping his head on Ace's shoulder. "Stallion, you're going to make a great squad leader someday."
Taken aback, Ace stuttered, "Th-thank you, sir."
Tightening his grip on his battle rifle, he backed up, and whispered, "Well, here goes everything." With that, he ran towards the door and jumped, vanishing from sight.
"Lucky, you're next!" Ace said, turning to face said sniper.
"No way!" Romano shouted. "There is no way I'm jumping!"
"It isn't that far; take a look for yourself!"
Romano did as instructed, peeking over the edge. The Pelican was hundreds of feet above a blanket of trees that covered the landscape, a swamp from the looks of it, and they were descending rapidly.
Before he knew what was happening, Lucky felt a nudge to his back, and the sea of emerald below was rushing to meet him.
That son of a bitch… Romano thought to himself as he realized what happened.
He fell further and further, closing the gap between him and the treetops. He reached the canopy, the sound of rustling foliage replaced that of air rushing past him, countless leaves obscured his vision…
And everything went black.
Well, I hope this latest chapter was worth the wait; this thing was a bitch to write. Oh, and have a nice Thanksgiving, everyone!