Disclaimer: Characters/factions/items that were not mentioned in any Halo and Assassin's Creed franchise (e.g Arnold-124) belong to me. I do not own any characters/factions/items that do belong to the Halo franchise (e.g Master Chief Spartan-117, Desmond Miles).

A/N: Revised and edited version.

Chapter 2: White Team: Part I

2114 hours, October 19, 2537
Dashat Shah (King's Plains)
Planet Midgard

A cold gust of wind stirred the small shrubs of the desert plain. The sickle-like moon above shone down upon the flat, pebbled land where several stone buildings were lined along each other, forming a large and quiet town, with pathways and roads made of pebbles and sand. An oasis stood strong within the centre of the village, it's trees tall with life and waters undisturbed.

It was a ghost town, not too long ago captured by the Covenant. And it was the hiding place of one of the Prophets of the Covenant as well. An Elite paced about one part of the area, near an abandoned building; it's feet made crunching noises on the ground, too loud for his hearing to detect the faint steps behind him.

A flash of silver caught its eye before it gave a muffled cry and dropped dead to the ground. Standing above the corpse was a tall human in green armour, an indigo-bloodied knife in hand. He shook the knife clean, sheathing it before he continued deeper into the town. The silent night gave the Spartan cover, the long shadows casted by the moon serving as his refuge while he hunted his target.

He stepped around a stone wall then quickly hid behind it; a pair of Grunts stumbled about, sniffing the air. One, two. The Grunts dropped, small throwing knives lodged into their necks. The Spartan pushed forward, sticking to the shadows.

A map of the area within his mind told him he was nearing the Prophets' sanctuary. He sprinted a little ahead, still silent and still under stealth. The Spartan stopped behind a building, peered over the side then continued on. He did so after three or four more buildings before rolling off to one side for cover.

A pair of Hunters led by an Elite were around, the huge powerful brutes like sentinels while the Elite stood guard. The Spartan cursed under his breath. He had orders to accomplish and one of them was not to take unnecessary risks. He had contemplated on taking the roofs though he could be easily seen if he did. That idea though seemed much more appealing than trying to take out Hunters with mere throwing knives and no rocket launcher in hand.

Searching for grooves in the stone wall, he used them as handholds as he climbed up the wall. Some bricks stuck out, giving him an easier route up. As soon as his feet touched the roof, he sprang forward, a blur in the air. The Spartan pushed forward, running on rooftops and leaping over ledges. His muscles, strained and taut from the constant run, burned as he stopped just after a roll.

There. He crept forward, crouching low, until he could look over the edge of a rooftop. He saw the many Elite guards, each with a staff in hand, sentries of the plaza. And the unmistakeable form of a Prophet, it's seat hovering above ground. Accompanying it was a General, walking alongside the Prophet. It's mandibles flared.

They were entering the Grand Plaza's gardens, where the flowerbeds were painted in blood red and the fountain tainted as well. The garden was encircled by buildings, once the jewel of the town, now a mark of sorrow.

The Prophet spoke in a low voice, its lips forming shapes of words. The Spartan had only minutes to complete his objectives, crouching on the ledge, he calmed his erratic heart and slowed his breath, hearing nothing else but only listening to the whispers of the Prophet.

"...burn all filth that has tainted the sacred relic. The artefact must be secured. We cannot allow the vermin humans to toy with it. Those humans," it said in disgust, "dare take it from us. Humans that left us this." he showed the General what Arnold had identified as a Rosario. "The artefact must be saved at all cost." He tosses the Rosario to guard.

The General spoke. "Of course Holy One."

"You hesitate." the Prophet stated. "Speak."

"The relic..." the General started. "It bore symbols...different from what we had founded of the Ancient Ones."

The Prophet waved a hand in dismissal. "No matter the difference, it is truly significant. The relic holds knowledge. Knowledge we must decipher. Knowledge that will lead us to Earth! It will bring us salvation. It will bring us closer to the Great Jour-"

Its last words died in the throat, along with the blade struck into it. The Elites roared in surprise, scurrying like ants as the corpse fell. The blade went deep into flesh as blood pooled at the feet of the Elites. A shadow shifted; the General noticed this and looked up at the sky, towards the rooftop.

Nothing was there.

Arnold-124 boarded the Pelican as it lifted off the ground, dust and sand turning into small storms beneath the aircraft. He sat down, leaned back and heaved a sigh.

"Tired?" a deep voice asked.

Arnold shook his head. He looked at the Spartan seated opposite of him. Chris-271 was taller than most Spartans, though not as big as Jorge. He was more built for speed, a trait that was common in White Team. He had his helmet off, occasionally scratching the back of his bald head.

"Antsy." Arnold said, rubbing his right armoured knuckles.

"What did you get?"

"The Covenant did steal it from us." Arnold explained. "But someone-a human- stole it from them."

Chris sat up straighter. "You sure?"

"Ja." Arnold replied. He rubbed his left knuckles. "The Prophet mentioned that whoever this person was left the Covenant a Rosario."

Chris frowned. The General had also mentioned that the artefact was...different.

"I find it odd too." Arnold said. "If it were an Insurrectionist, I doubt they'd leave something as insignificant as a Rosario."

Chris nodded then leaned back. "Whatever it is, let ONI handle the mysteries. We've completed our first objective. Now we have to wait for orders."

Arnold frowned slightly though his face was concealed from Chris. The Prophet had said that the artefact contained knowledge. Maybe even the location of Earth. The dangers and variables of such an equation was unthinkable and apocalyptic. For their sake, ONI had better solve the mystery soon.

Chris leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin perched on his folded hands. "You know they won't just send us to get it back."

Arnold nodded. "Probably sending in Kurt or Kelly."

"They say they're sending in the big man Arnold." Chris answered slowly.

Arnold stiffened; his stomach dropped. He sat up. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Arnold leaned back in his seat, a hundred thoughts racing in his head.

"It better be worth it." he whispered.

2250 hours, October 19, 2537
UNSC Charon-class frigate Sky Runner
Epsilon Eridani System

Arnold was in the gym of the frigate, working on the various weights offered there. He barely broke a sweat, something he had gotten used to, after the hundredth set. The man sighed, before getting off the machine. He grabbed his canteen on one of the nearby benches, popping the cap open before chugging down the water. Heaving another sigh, he sat down on the bench, lost in thought.

It had been more than an hour since he had returned to the frigate, away from the Midgard now. Since then, the unwanted feeling of anxiousness hadn't left. As a Spartan, he couldn't afford to feel anxious. At least, on the field that is. Out of it though, was a different story. It tormented him in more than one way. Firstly was the unusual item left behind, a Rosario to signify that a human had taken the artefact. Secondly, the artefact was taken from the Covenant hands by humans. Thirdly, the artefact was now truly considered missing. And last but most importantly, was that White Team's mission was no longer personal.

Captain Maverick James, the one in charge of the ship and the missions, had informed them that NAVSPECWAR wanted another set of Spartans to aid them, if only to speed things up and increase the chances of retrieving the artefact. But to Arnold, he preferred the small two-man team that was now White Team. They were specially made for specific reasons; reasons such as assassinations, thefts and espionage. Granted, any other Spartan could have done the same missions. The only difference was how they completed them.

White Team was unofficially created as a three-man unit, at the time when they were still undergoing training, playing war-games with Tango Company. Arnold allowed a small smile. Tango Company were fun to play with, he was sure about that. And in order to begin war-games, intelligence had to be collected, swiftly and undetected. That was how Chris-271, Arnold-124 and Irina-003 had met.

Chris was known to be quick on his feet, not as fast as Kelly, but his evasive movements while running were clocked seconds faster than Kelly. That and he could pickpocket a person with any important material needed. Arnold had lost count of how many times he had stolen from both enemy and ally alike, the former during missions and the latter during training. Chris had told Arnold that where he grew up, stealing was a survivor's way to live and if you didn't do it, you'd die. And because of this gift, they were able to get their dirty little hands on anything they wanted. A fact not tolerated by CPO Mendez before.

Irina. Beautiful, smart and secretive Irina. She was the brains behind every operation. She could hack her way through anything, intercept any transmission before anyone and think five miles ahead before anybody. A genius in technology and information, she planned out every mission White Team had. That was until she was listed as KIA by HIGHCOM. Or at least, that was the official story. Unofficially she was MIA and Arnold believed that Irina was still alive and kicking.

Arnold? He was someone who knew how to operate in the shadows and utilise it well. He was someone who disappeared just as surprisingly as he appeared. Irina had once called him 'Blink'. But that wasn't why he was a part of White Team. He was picked because he knew exactly who they needed to steal from, where they needed to go and what they needed to get. Chris said that he had a gift, for being able to know the things they needed.

In a way, Chris was right. He had a gift no one else did.

The three of them, round after round, mission after mission, would always report back with exactly the information needed. Soon after, their abilities were honed and perfected. Instead of gathering intelligence alone, they were tasked with assassination missions. It was there where Arnold shone, his prowess in the act of killing from the shadows promising. And White Team was transformed from simple information collectors to contract killers. Arnold smiled. The fond memories of his childhood, of his days as a trainee, were what he liked. Becoming the soldier he was meant to be was a part of it.

He frowned.

Despite all the happiness he found as a young Spartan, something always bit him at the back of his mind. That there was a missing part of his childhood, one that was constantly failing at resurfacing. It started its fight again, struggling to be remembered. As always, he ignored it. There was no time to dwell on it. In fact, there never was. But always, some part of him wanted to dwell upon it. Somewhere, somehow, this thing will come back to bite him mercilessly.

"White Team, this is November. You have orders to report to the War Room immediately. I repeat," the ship's AI spoke through the intercom, "Report to the War Room immediately."

Yes...no time to dwell at all.