A/N: Ah…well, I have returned…and I got reviews! Yay! I'd like to respond to those now.

Liljimmyurine: Okay, first off, let me educate you a bit, my friend. Yes, the Spartans are a Special Operations division, and yes some of that is true, BUT they also operate along the lines of today's current military. Therefore, not all of them would hold the rank of Petty Officers, much like the British SAS or the US Navy SEALs. You are going by what Bungie and the writers of the books have written, and I can go ahead and tell you, none of them have any military experience or knowledge. Secondly, I've already mentioned the rule bending several times in the Author's Notes sections, so maybe you should pay attention to them. Finally, I don't know how much you know about biology, but plasma is in your blood. Therefore, going by what chemistry tells us, the plasma in the weapons would infuse into one's blood, therefore harming the heart and muscles and whatever else it comes in contact with, quite a lot like a snake's neurotoxin. As an afterthought, there were over 300 SPARTANs created, so OF COURSE they wouldn't be mentioned!

Blue Orange: Erm…thanks

Warior: You ain't kidding.

Warp Ligia Obscura: Thanks!

The Truth and Reconciliation

Part III

Extraction

'Trayl 'Fusamee grinned as he cleaved the last of the human scum in two. How he enjoyed killing the frail, pathetic creatures as they were, and it had been too long…far too long since he had last spilled their blood. Being a Shipmaster as he was, 'Trayl rarely ever went out into the fields of combat any more, and the human raids on ships were few and far between, making it difficult to keep his combat skills in shape. As the human's body fell to the floor, he turned and stalked down the ramp that led up to the command center and turned to a Special Operations trooper that stood at attention at the bottom.

"'Takamee, is it?" he growled once he had reached the bottom of the slope. The Elite nodded quickly, but dared not speak.

"Go and alert the Fleetmaster of this…incident. 'Zalamee and I will purge this human filth from our great vessel. Move quickly, for I have reason to believe that the Demon is among them."

Without hesitation, the Elite took flight, as though the Prophets themselves were snapping at his heels. With a huff of approval, Ship Master 'Fusamee turned to 'Zalamee, who was kneeling next to the human that had fallen off of the platform. A small amount of blood lay pooled near the back of his head, and the human's…helmet, was it?...had fallen off and lay discarded and cracked right next to his head.

"Well?"

"The human lives…unconscious is my guess."

'Fusamee knelt down to get a better look at the human, more than just slightly interested in it. No mere human would be able to survive a fall of that height, especially after smashing it's head into the floor like that, as 'Fusamee should well know for he had…experimented, but somehow…this one was different. He didn't appear to be one of the Demons, but he was an odd one nevertheless.

"Leave him there, we will question him later. Search the rest of the control room, then we'll move on to the prison blocks."

With a small nod, 'Zalamee stood, engaged his active camouflage and moved around the back of the room, checking each and every nook and cranny for any signs of humans as 'Fusamee moved back up to the command console to do the same. As he was eyeing the corpses that lat at his feet, the chime of a door opening echoed through the room and 'Fusamee immediately activated his camouflage and activated his energy blade. Just as he made it to the bottom of the ramp, a sniper round screeched past his head and struck 'Zalamee's, causing it to immediately disappear.

'Fusamee immediately dove behind the nearest cover as more shots ripped through the air toward him, narrowly missing both if his legs. He chanced a glance around the pillar he hid behind and cursed quietly at his luck; there were not one, but three Demons moving through the doorway, apparently escorting the human leader and several others through the ship from the cell blocks. As one of the Demons approached, 'Fusamee inched around the pillar slowly, but not so far as to put himself within sight of the sniper. As the Demon passed, 'Fusamee made his move. He leapt forward with a battle cry and brought the Plasma Sword held in his hand down toward the Demon, only to have it blown off.

He fell to the floor with a howl of pain as blood gushed from the wound, nerve endings in his arm lit afire. However, his attention was drawn away from his hand by the soft click of an Assault Rifle being readied to fire. Cold steel was suddenly inches away from his head, held by a gloved hand. The Demon hesitated for a moment as he stared down at the Elite curled up in the floor.

"Do it, Demon…" the Elite spoke in his best English, "or you will regret it."

David awoke slowly as the assault rifle thunder echoed in the small room. His vision blurred in and out and his head ached like hell. Carefully, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and groaned softly as a sudden wave of dizziness overcame him. After a moment or two, the dizziness passed and David grabbed his now cracked helmet and pulled himself up over the side of the gap and onto the floor, where his hand met something metallic. Carson's head snapped up, and sighed and shook his head at what was above him; a fellow Marine.

"Hey, how about a hand here?"

The Marine jumped at the voice and looked down, eyes wide in surprise as he lowered a hand to his wounded comrade, which Carson gratefully accepted. As soon as he was upright, Carson lost his balance and an electric jolt of pain screeched through his body, climaxing in his head. The room spun wildly for several seconds as he leaned against one of the many pillars that held the ceiling up in the room, attempting to calm his searing headache. Finally, it stopped and he managed to work his way over to the Marines. The Captain was the first to speak.

"Marine, what happened here?"

Carson, still dazed from his fall, attempted to recall what had happened to his comrades and, after several awkward moments of silence, he finally remembered. "We were ambushed, sir. Pair of Elites, cloaked. I hadn't slept since we landed on this damn ring, so I took the moment of peace to doze.

We were all standing up on the command console, most of the men were talking. I fell asleep right behind Sarge up there, standing up. All of a sudden, I felt something brush against me and push me backwards, and the next thing I knew I was falling. Last thing I heard before I blanked out was plasma blades. That's all I know, sir."

The captain nodded and rubbed his chin, apparently in deep thought. In the meantime, Cortana attempted to radio Foehammer for a pickup, but only received that she had been engaged and couldn't get to them for a pickup. One of the Marines said something about being trapped and screwed, but Carson wasn't paying much attention; he was too busy up on the command deck collecting supplies, which amounted to one slightly damaged MA5B, an M6D pistol, six fragmentation grenades, twenty clips for the AR, and ten for the handgun.

As he made his way back down to the other Marines, he heard the Captain say something about a drop ship to Cortana. At the moment, Carson neither cared to listen nor cared about any plans; he just wanted to get off of this ship and get some sleep, if that was even possible. The three Spartans had rushed through a door on the right and the Marines began to follow behind them, Carson taking the rear behind the Captain to guard their backs as the din of battle resounded ahead of them, echoing through the otherwise quiet Covenant vessel.

Carson could immediately tell something was very wrong; the sounds of battle had faded, yes, but there was something else…missing. Then, in the next second, he knew it; machinery. The entire ship should be alive with the sounds of machinery operating, systems humming, but there was nothing, no noise at all. They were planning something, the bastards, and Carson knew it, and apparently the Captain did to, for he called for the Marines to stay on their toes. As they neared the end of the several corridors they had come through to get to the bridge/brig area, Carson whispered for everyone to stop suddenly, and even the Spartans did so as he crept toward the door that would lead them into the hangar.

Carson heard voices on the other side of the door, some extremely high pitched, some low bass, and none of which were human. It was most definitely a Covenant ambush waiting for them at the hangar. He crept slowly back to the squad and moved to the Captain. "Ambush on the other side, sir. At least two Elites, several Grunts…not sure of anything else that might be past the door, though." he whispered.

The Captain nodded to Chief, who then turned to his fellow Spartans and said something to them apparently, for they nodded to both the Captain and the Master Chief. The three Spartans produced grenades from various places upon their persons and readied themselves at the door, priming the grenades before stepping forward and hurtling them at the unsuspecting Covenant with all their might. The grenades exploded as soon as they hit the ground, flinging bodies and body parts in every direction.

Carson smiled evilly as he watched the Spartans massacre the confused and surprised Covenant troops. The bastards deserved every single bullet that was put into them in his mind for their slaughters of innocent women and children…for the death of his brother…then, unexpectedly, a surprising amount of rage consumed David Carson at that exact moment. He broke away from the other Marines into a full sprint, past the Spartans and into a crowd of Covenant troops, MA5B blazing the whole way, mowing down a column of Grunts as they advanced, and otherwise scaring the living shit out of the Covenant. As the clip ran dry with a rather irritating 'click', David suddenly remembered the Plasma sword hanging at his side.

He immediately ripped it from his belt, activated it and proceeded to ram it into the gut of the nearest Covenant Elite. The creature roared in pain and anger as Carson twisted the blade to the left and yanked it to the right, effectively slicing the Elite in two and splattering it's innards all over the floor. David spun completely in a circle, arm extended, decapitating several Grunts and catching a Veteran Elite in the side as it jumped back. Immediately, Carson pushed off of his left foot, momentum still moving forward, and rammed the blade into the Elite's chest, and it immediately collapsed upon the blade, slipping down it and onto the floor, cleaved in two from the torso up.

Regaining his senses, Carson began to make his way back to his stunned comrades as they boarded the commandeered dropship. He collapsed into the harness and looked down at his hand, which was still clutching the now extinguished blade. David rubbed his face with his free hand as he mulled over the events of the last minute and a half. What had triggered that massive rage that had suddenly taken control of him? Nothing had ever seemed to do that before, except for his first combat on Jericho IV six years ago…but that was psychological fear, not pure rage. Fear of death.

Maybe that's what did it. His brother…yes, it all made sense to him now. David was now not just fighting for himself, he was fighting for every man, woman and child any Covenant troop had ever killed, whether on the ground or from space. Humanity was on the brink of being wiped from the universe, and he was determined to put everything he had forward in stopping the Covenant's genocidal campaign…right after he got some sleep, which he intended to do on their way back to Alpha.

As the drop ship exited the hangar (Carson didn't notice the whole deal with the Hunter crushing, due to his fatigue/deep thought), he rested his head against the fuselage of the craft and closed his eyes. Not soon after, he was asleep.

A/N: DONE! And not too long of a wait, either, considering my other updates. R&R please!