Six sprinted for the door that was marked with green, praying to his ancestors of spirit, the ancient Spartans, he ducked behind a holographic console embedded into one of the walls. Calming himself and becoming seemingly statuesque, the elite that walked by saw nothing as the door Six himself had been heading towards opened to admit the elite.

Nearly swearing at his misfortune, six pondered what to do next. His first thoughts where to blow through the elites like he had on numerous occasions, but with his armor barely holding together, and an enemy AI aboard the ship, six knew that was no option.

Instead he opted to locate either engineering, or the command deck, so he could sabotage the ship when it moved to jump through slip-space. Chuckling a little he thought to himself, 'Never let it be said that Spartans won't go out with a bang.' That thought brought his heart a small pang of grief as he thought of Jorge.

With a grim smile on his face, Six pinged his AI once again. This time his armors computers responded not with a busy signal, but instead with a system diagnostics. On a different occasion, Six may have smiled at the little glitch, but today, it could mean his death. Thinking on his options, Six realized that he would need to hide his armor while it ran diagnostics for its projected next eleven hours.

Moving away from the terminal now that he thought the coast was clear, Six moved himself towards the door the elite had entered, it opened and was thankfully empty. Quickly moving inside, he looked for an open panel, knowing it should lead to a maintenance access. Not finding one in the corridor, Six moved on, pulling out the last weapon he had access to that would help him should he needed it. It was an old Combat knife, given to him and all the Spartans on graduation day.

Gripping the blade, six moved cautiously down the corridor, before turning a corner and spying the access he needed to enter. Moving to it, he realized it would definitely be a tight fit, but manageable. Slipping into the entrance, six found himself stuck, as either a wire or panel had not moved enough to let him enter the maintenance pathway. Cursing quietly, Six almost turned bone white when he heard incoming footsteps, as his leg was still in the path way. Quickly thinking, he pushed and pulled with all his strength, after grasping the edge of a bar above his head. Puling himself up, he barely fit, leg and all in time for the footsteps to draw near. Silent as a grave and still as a statue, Six held himself waiting for the pounding steps to move by him. As they did, he allowed himself to inch down, shifting his legs so that when he came down, he would slip fully into the maintenance pathway, with enough room to disassemble his pitted, scarred, burned, and melted armor.

Ten minutes past. A second patrol moved by him, as did a third. Twenty minutes went by, and six had stashed most of his armor up high and out of reach. Thirty minutes and he had the final pieces hidden away, even as a grunt moved down the maintenance path and he repeated his performance from earlier.

Finally having divested himself of his armor, Six crept further into the ship, with only standard issue clothing, a small data-pad with which to map his way around, and a knife, the odds against him were stacked heavily.

Fortunately, Spartans enjoy those kinds of odds.

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Yes, I am off Hiatus for this.

its a short chapter, as I am want to do, but I hope you all enjoy it.

Please review if you are so inclined.