Chapter 2

The dull orange sun set upon the horizon and gave way to the crisp cool night, not a sound but the never-ceasing omnipresent trade winds that carried over from the ocean. The roaring waves pounded the solid concrete docks, creating a harsh yet surprisingly soothing sound. Sergeant Major "Cookie" McPeterson dropped down onto the roof of the tall building where Jefferson had originally been standing. He took off his helmet, which released a small breathy sound and a high-pitched whine. He grabbed a small pack from his back and opened it up. It was filled with a couple of ham sandwiches, an apple, a pressurized can of soda and freeze-dried ice cream for dessert.

"God damn. I hate freeze-dried ice cream." He gave a sorrowful sigh. "I suppose this is how I gots to live," he said to himself. "I hate this god forsaken place… I jus' wish I could go back to… to…" He took out a picture frame from the small container. The glass was smashed slightly and the picture had stains all over it. It was hardly something a normal person would want to keep. In the photograph was a younger-looking Charles McPeterson with a lovely young brunette woman huddled close together, holding up wine glasses towards the photographer. In the back, there was a sign that said, "Good luck, Charlie." He took it out of the tarnished steel frame. Cookie smiled a bit as a tear welled up in his eye and dove from it, splashing upon the crumpled picture, adding a new stain to the disgruntled photograph. "Savvanah… I miss ya darlin'…

"Mind if I join you?" Cookie jumped slightly and spun around as fast as he could to greet the visitor. It was Doc.

"Oh, no I don't mind, 'course, why don' you sit right down here." Cookie said, hiding the photo behind his back. The Doc came over to Cookie's side and dropped down next to him. He took out a package as well, identical to Cookie's. The contents were no different. A sandwich, an apple, soda, and freeze-dried ice cream. Cookie began eating his sandwich, crying a bit as he took a large bite. Doc looked over at him. He saw the small, crumpled picture huddled over on Cookie's other side.

"What's that?"

"Oh… er… nothin'… nothin' at all. Go on, eat yur sandwich."

"C'mon, you can tell me. I took plenty of exercises in emotional consulting… or was that just the field trip to the mental hospital…"

"Look, I don't really want to talk about it…"

"Are you sure?" Cookie sighed and gazed at what was once the orange sun, its glowing majesty barely shining on the water anymore, no longer giving of its radiant heat.

"Here…" Cookie passed the crumpled photograph to the Doc.

"Who's that?"

"That's my… my wife… Savvanah Davies McPeterson. We got married not even half a week before I got drafted. I loved her so much…"

"She's beautiful. What happened, didn't you two stay in contact?" Another barrage of tears began to form in Cookie's eyes.



"Well… ya see, 'bout two or three weeks after I was drafted, I received word that… Savvanah had died in a plane crash. She was on her way to visit me too! And in mid-air, her plane was caught in some weird-ass storm that brewed up 'round south of the Atlantic. I never heard from her since…" Doc patted Cookie on the shoulder.

"Y'know, it's not all bad, maybe it's just a sign that you weren't meant for each other or something."

"Maybe. Do ya gots someone back home that ya ever loved?"

"Well, no, I don't. See, my parents came from England not even a week before I was born. And when I was born, they took me all sorts of places, to different countries and what amazing places they were. They were extremely wealthy, so they could afford it. But one day, we were out to dinner and my parents were approached a few men in the middle of a drug deal. Afraid my parents would tell the U.N. Police Force, they shot and killed my parents with me watching behind a trash-can. The police found their bodies and recognized them, but couldn't find me and left me for dead, those bastards. I grew up on the streets, no joke, but I suppose that's why I like to be alone most of the time."

"That sucks, I never knew that about you."

"It's okay, besides, I'm in the army, and now, at least I have some friends, like you and Jefferson."

"Thanks man," Cookie said as the shook hands.

"Sooooo… your name's… Charlie?"

"Yeah, and?"

"No, I just thought it was funny cause…"

"What's so funny 'bout Charlie?"

"Um… n-nothing, nothing at all!"

"That's what I thought."

AT THE ALIEN BASE…

Five Sangheili warriors stood huddled at the center of their base, devising a horrible, devastating plan to destroy the humans once and for all!

"Can we get on with this damn election, Phaetreor?" The tallest Sangheili growled anxiously.

"Not yet, Oris! We still have to select the candidates for Commander of the base! Now, who will be running for command?" The Elite, Phaetreor said. Only one of the five Elites raised their hand. It was Oris, the tallest of the squad.

"Just you? Please, if I weren't a female, I could run for command, and I would, by far, be the best Commander, maybe even better than you two bastards." The female, Reystema laughed. "There is nothing good about you that would make you a good Commander, why the hell are you even bothering to run?"



"Watch it, breeder. You're even lucky you're a Special Operations Sub-Commander let alone a soldier. No one would vote for you even if you were liable to run for command!" Oris laughed.

"Well… we won't know that until it happens, yes?"

"What are you saying?"

"Oris, you're as dumb as an Unggoy! How about you allow me to run for command, and we'll then see who is the better leader." Oris guffawed.

"Very well, breeder, I'll take you up on your little "bet". Just because you are a Special Operations unit does not make me the better candidate."

"We'll just see about that," Reystema sneered. Phaetreor raised his hand.

"We shall now hear the candidates' campaign speeches!" he bellowed. A podium was set up against the far wall of the building. "Up first, we have Sangheili Minor N'lsrath Oris'ee of the 208th Sangheili Minor Combat Regiment, Unit 9,302." The muscular warrior stood up to the podium, towering high over his fellow soldiers. "If you will, Sangheili Minor Oris, please give us your speech."

"What? Nobody said anything about needing to prepare a Campaign Speech! Call the election off!" Oris cried, panicking.

"We can't call it off! Just… say what you will do as commander!"

"God I hate this Army… okay… ahem… as commander of Earth Outpost… how many captured outposts is this?"

"One, sir," Phaetreor sighed.

"Um… right then… as commander of Earth Outpost No. 1, I promise to enforce strict laws, keep the peace, rule with an iron fist, yadda yadda yadda and all that good stuff. I also promise that if we ever have another freaking election, I swear I will shove my Energy Sword so far up all of your asses, your next sons will inherit the blinding pain!" The crowd of three Elites clapped as Oris stepped down from the podium.

"Up next," Phaetreor began, "we have Sangheili Major Domo 1st Class Reystema Yayama'ee of the 12th Special Operations Corps., Sub-Commander of the High Special Operations Legion and Fourth in line of the esteemed Reystema clan on the High Council. Please step up to the podium and present your speech."

Reystema stepped to the podium. "As commander of this base…"

"Excellent speech, Reystema," Phaetreor said.

"But… I didn't even finish."

"Well now you did, please step down from the podium."

"You should all be put in sacks and drowned, jerks."

"Excellent. Now all the candidates have given their speeches. Now it's time to call the election committee together!"

"COMMITTEE!?" Oris shouted. "Oh you've got to be kidding me… by all rights, we don't even have to hold an election."

"Yeah, but it's more interesting."



"By the gods… fine, then I, N'lsrath Oris'ee, do hereby call this committee to order… there, happy!?"

"Very good."

"Finally, let's vote."

"Right. Right after we set up the laws and regulations for voting."

"Oh my gods… very well, How long might this take?"

Three Weeks Later…

Phaetreor spoke up, "We have finally set up the voting regulations, as well as our newly made Constitution of New Deadland. So, let's get the voting started." Oris rubbed his temples harshly. "At last, we can…" Phaetreor cut in, "Right after we set up a voting booth and get the rest of the army… or what's left of it, together."

"Why do we even need to set up a booth?"

"So I can think about my choices."

"Why, there are only two candidates and we're all obviously biased against my only opponent."

"I just don't feel comfortable with allowing my peers to see my selection, whatever it may be."

"GODS DAMNIT, THERE'S ONLY 4 OTHER PEOPLE HERE!!" Oris smashed his fist to the back of Phaetreor's head. "OW! What's your problem!?"

"Damn, that was supposed to knock you out." Three other Elites, one green, the other two, blue, came from downstairs. "Oh, great. The gang's all here," Oris sighed. The green elite, Lieutenant Ambassador Vultramay Setamee, stood confused. "What's going on here?"

"We're having an election!" Grundai shouted proudly. "Election for what?" Vultramay said, a little bothered by the news. "For commander of the base!"

"Oh. Okay then, continue."

"We were just about to begin voting until Oris bashed me on the skull for no reason, then you three showed up. Anyways, let's set up the booth."

"This better be quick." Oris said, angered beyond imagination.

Another week later.

"Now we can vote." Oris growled slightly. "AND?"

"Oh no, that's it." Phaetreor said with a smile. "Oh. Okay then."

"Now, if everyone will form a line behind the polls we can begin. Since I coordinated the election, I will go first."

And yet another two weeks later.

"Okay, I'm done, now the rest of you may vote."



"Oh my gods, I swear I will demote you down so fast when I become commander…" Oris grunted. "Now it's my turn." Each Elite stepped into the voting booth and wrote their decisions down.

"Okay, the results are in, and by a landslide of 7 to 1 votes, Oris is the new leader." Everyone except Reystema cheered. "And now, if you will Oris, as our new commander, you have to give us another speech!"

"Very well. I solemnly swear that once we tear down this god damn voting booth and finish the inauguration, I'm going to kill all of you. Slowly."