Disclaimer: I do not own Halo or Overwatch. Halo rightfully belongs to 343 Industries and Overwatch belongs to Blizzard.

Beta read by: 2 good 2 kill, cheesesack, evevee

"It was like archeology. There was digging and there was dirt. And there was broken things." -Louise Penny, A Great Reckoning

Chapter 2: It was already like this when I found it

Heavy thuds resonated across the dead city at each step he took on the lackluster road. A light breeze blew by, carrying lost sheets of paper with it. While no flashing blips were on his radar John-117 maintained a steady grasp on his assault rifle in case the attackers returned. After all, even machines could be wrong.

The building on his immediate right had it's windows broken on all three floors. An electric sign on the front that must have once displayed the name of the business had long since been destroyed. Colorful letters were shattered beyond readable recognition, not allowing the Spartan to pick up on the local language.

The Master Chief walked towards the entrance and saw numerous shards of glass peppered all over the inside. Peering further into the dark, he could see colorful clothes hung up on racks. He noted the clothes were simple but appeared to fit humans, reinforcing the Chief's assumption that he had landed on a human colony, as this looked like a department store. What seemed odd was how the clothes were still perfectly lined up on the rails. Some were torn, but none missing. The attackers seemed to have had no interest in what was inside.

"Structural damage on the outside, otherside the merchandise is fine. Maybe they didn't have something in their size?" John froze in his tracks at the sound of her voice.

John's head swiveled, quickly doing a double take of the area, as his heart raced. Darting eyes searched for the faintest hint of a blue light, but he found only silence and the same ruined city he had been in. The Spartan relaxed somewhat. His breathing started to steady, but he couldn't shake the uncomfortable stirring in his stomach. A nagging sense of uncertainty. Slowly he reached his hand behind his helmet, pausing mid-stride, second guessing himself, though he had to make sure. His gauntlet caressed the A.I. slot at the back of his helmet, probing fingers confirming it was empty. She wasn't in his head, but her voice was in his thoughts. He knew very well Cortana would make an observational analysis of the area, only to end with a snarky remark. It was how she use to behave. He shook himself of such distracting notions. He didn't need to think of her, reminding himself that there were other things to focus on.

On the other side of the road was a concrete building that told a similar story as the store, but with a different speaker. From where he stood, the Master Chief was able to understand what had happened. Random spots on the face of the building had been blown off, leaving ragged craters. The holes were not deep nor wide, yet the blasts were strong enough to tear chunks off of the masonry. Blackened strips marked several spots from intense heat, though paled in comparison next to the Covenant's usual destruction. All intimations pointed to small explosives. However, the attack seemed arbitrary, the blast had no pattern. Miniature craters were just dispersed among the structure solely for the sake of vandalizing the property, and nothing more.

The Spartan stepped away from the buildings and headed towards the cars. Vehicles surrounded him on all sides, getting close to even one merely took a few paces. Their models were the same from what he had seen on colonial worlds. His eyes traced along the edge of the trunk in the back to the headlights in the front. John was quick to notice that the majority of the automobiles were that of the police variant. Slick black paint completed with the signature red and blue sirens on top.

In the back of his mind he was able to imagine the few pedestrian cars being left behind while their owners hurried to escape. Although, he questioned who really owned them since the wheels were different. Where rubber tires and metal rims were supposed to be, instead there were silver ovals outlined in a blue hue of energy. They were frighteningly similar to that of the Covenant design. If they behaved anything like Ghosts or Wraiths then the cars could hover a few feet off the ground. Nevertheless, without their engines running, they simply sat dead on the pavement. The image was another grim reminder of how innocent civilians struggled to survive during an invasion. Whenever he would had to fight within a city he had learned empty streets usually meant survivors were scarce, if not entirely wiped out.

Was he searching through a joint colony that had been sharing technology? It wouldn't be hard to believe that there would be others against co-existing after years of hostility.

The empty cars were not lined up on the roads, but were assembled in a hastily formed barricade. Local law enforcement had tried to fend off the attackers, whoever they were. Obviously the defense had failed based on all of the damage and how the middle of the barricade was pushed opened ahead of him. It would be child's play for an Elite or a Hunter to brush aside a few tons of metal and carbon fiber. A regular human though would require stronger equipment.

John wandered up to the closest cop car and saw deep slashes carved on the hood. The silver cuts stood out like an eyesore against it's black paint. Gauntlet fingertips ran across one of the many lashes on the hood, feeling the sharp, jagged edges. With no plasma heated residue nor scorch marks eliminated most of the Covenant and the Prometheans out of the equation. This meant there might have been ballistics involved, more than likely humans, possibly Insurrectionists. The eerie assumption poked at his mind longer than he liked. It almost felt odd to see the aftermath of a skirmish that might not be in any form related to an alien faction after combating the Covenant for so many years, and more recently the Created. But the Master Chief could never forget that he was originally bred to eliminate the Insurrectionists.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a pair of legs lying on the ground on the other side of the cop car. Rifle raised, finger set on the trigger, he moved to meet the object, but what he saw stopped him from pressing his index any further. Slumped up against the car was an adult human male. The man had not reacted to the Chief, but instead remained motionless. His eyes were closed, head hanging low, and arms dead at his sides. The Chief already had an idea of the person's condition.

Getting closer, the Master Chief heard something crunching below his feet. Lifting a boot up he saw he had stepped on empty bullet shells. Even more signs of a battle, a losing battle for the humans. It was an uncomfortable, but, again, another familiar sight to him.

Down on one knee, the Spartan examined the person before him. Checking off the dark skin, bushy black hair, and handlebar mustache, the body seemed to be of Indian heritage from what he could tell. Matching the car, the man wore a dusty brown police uniform. His HUD from his helmet did not detect any life signs or heart beats. Like what he thought at first glance, the man was indeed dead, and yet what made the Chief's senses go on high alert was how he noticed a few things about the body. The officer's face still retained some color instead of being ghostly pale, and his chest continued to ooze blood; fresh blood.

John frowned when he got a closer look at what exactly was embedded inside the officer's chest. The spread hinted at a shotgun blast, but the ammunition was not shells. Plucking one of the tiny pieces out from the corpse, he studied the tiny metal between his finger and thumb. It was scraps of sharp shrapnel. He found it odd how one could use junk as a projectile weapon, perhaps indicating that the attackers were low on resources. The body in front of him was clear evidence of how effective it could be. Still, he made a mental note that the kill was recent and the attackers were more than likely nearby, using some sorts of scraps or junk as projectile ammo instead of conventional bullets.

Setting the shrapnel aside, the Chief scanned the body and saw the golden badge on the upper right breast. It read 'Oasis Police Department.' A list of worlds ran through his mind that could possibly have had the name Oasis, but he couldn't think of any locations he had been to or heard about.

From his kneeling position, he studied the neighboring buildings that were hit by more explosives, hoping to find some semblance of familiarity.

City's structures overall are intact. Could be an outer world colony that survived the Covenant's glassing. So far no signs of UNSC propaganda. He thought to himself as he surveyed the area.

He reflected on the name Oasis and the builds of the vehicles.

Most likely not apart of the UNSC.

At least he could take satisfaction by not seeing a Guardian floating above the world or hear the deafening booms it unleashes upon arrival. Maybe this world was missed by the Created?

It was then his enhanced hearing picked up on a sound, a spark or a zap from an electrical current, not too far from his position. Instantly he sat up, with his rifle raised once more. His arms were a blur as he aimed his assault rifle in all possible directions for any targets, but none were there. Still he heard the pickering sound of the electrical jolts. Carefully he treaded towards the commotion, ready to pull the trigger on a moment's notice.

As he moved forward the scenery started to get worse and worse. Every car he passed he saw more bodies of policemen and women laid out on the road. Their corpses showed multiple signs of being shot with scraps or hit with explosives. Their vehicles also bore the same silver lashes of being hit. John's nostrils flared at the pungent scent of gasoline, lines more than likely cut during the firefight. He saw a SWAT van with one of its back doors ripped right off from its hinges. Whatever did it had to have a considerable amount of strength. Judging from the smoke billowing inside the back, he didn't need to sum up what had happened to the officers taken by surprise in the vehicle.

When he reached the source of the sound, what he found made him pause. There on the ground was not a human, or an alien, but a humanoid machine. An metallic chassis pulsed an electrical current at the severed half, sending sparks zapping across the ground. It's torso had been blasted opened, revealing severely damaged inner workings, and scorch marks along the edges of it's chest. A long silver arm composed of the same material had joints in the elbows and fingers, while the other limb was missing. Series of red wires wrapped around the neck and connected to the oval shaped, silver head. Two slit lines, perhaps to be used as eyes, stared back at him with an empty black gaze. Three circular holes were punctured on the top part of the cranium for a purpose he was not entirely sure of. Reading no life signs from his HUD, both his armor and his eyes told him that he was looking at a robot, the upper half of a robot at least.

Just a few feet away was the missing bottom half of the torso and it had one of its metal legs trapped between the sharp teeth of a bear trap. Razor spikes bit into it's robotic appendage, that had gnawed at nuts and wires, and ripping through the fabric of its beige pants. It was well known that the Insurrection would use just about any weapon they could get their hands on, but even a bear trap seemed a bit barbaric for them. The Chief couldn't decide what was more bizarre, the use of a bear trap or that the robot wore a pair of pants.

The robot seemed to had taken the brunt of the onslaught from all of the attackers as there were signs of scraps and blast residue all over the remains. Either this robot was more durable than it appeared or such aggression was emotionally motivated.

Regardless, he had to ask himself, what was a robot doing in the middle of the street? From what he could recall the machines were usually assigned to do manual labor in factories or assembly lines. He hadn't seen one built to resemble something so human in appearance other than the Promethean soldiers he fought.

This isn't right. The Spartan thought to himself.

The Master Chief examined the damage, trying to determine the nature of the aggressor. It wasn't the Prometheans, for as infernal as their weapons were they did not leave such a disorganized mess of destruction.

It also wasn't Covenant. Plasma round damage possessed a fused glass-like crater with radioactive micro pockets from plasma splash damage. Marines and civilians alike would require secondary treatment, depending on if they even survived in the first place, as mutated cells from the radiation would become cancerous. He had often heard Navy Medical Specialists say that if cancer was a dragon then plasma rounds were the dragon's breath. The lack of pink shards were also an indication that this wasn't the Covenant. Those crystals were, if not as bad, arguably worse than plasma rounds. Limbs were torn off and internal organs were liquified or ruptured. Infection rate was high as micro shards would embed themselves in the flesh.

All of the damage pointed to a more human origin. But what was quite curious was, even though it was human, most of the damage seemed explosive in nature. Neither structure or tissue possessed the hole sizes for either normal or high caliber rounds. Fragments of explosive rounds were nowhere to be found and the lack of liquefied organs suggested that shredder rounds were not used either. Also, some of the shrapnel damage appeared conical rather than spherical.

The Master Chief shifted his focal point on the robot. A creeping dread weighed at the possibility of the Created having already arrived at Oasis. Could the robot be the conclusion to Cortana's Mantle of Responsibility? Subversions of Prometheans living alongside humans to help enforce their strict laws while appearing human-like to ease any tension of A.I. superiority?

Suddenly, yellow blips flashed on his radar, and they were gradually closing in on his position. Reacting on instinct alone he spun on his heel and aimed his rifle. Peering through the smartscope he saw, nothing. Nothing happened, there was nothing there but the street and buildings he'd examined. He didn't believe it. Again his mind thought back on how machines could be wrong, that they break like what his instructor Mendez had taught him. He had also taught him to trust his gut for it would never lead him astray, and at the moment it agreed with his motion sensor.

Zooming in with his visor he spotted small fingers gripping the corners of the buildings and alleyways, and partially hidden faces staring nervously back at him, human faces. Actual, alive humans inched their way into the open street. Dirty faces of men and women with grime and soot revealed themselves if only to see what was going on. Underneath the dirt the Master Chief could not mistake the gestures of fear; their widened eyes, open mouths, and ghostly pale expressions.

The Master Chief had seen enough. He knew he needed to get back into contact with his squad. He activated his comms and spoke.

"Blue Team. Report."

Alas, all he got was static in return. The fizzing sound buzzed in his ears.

"Sierra 117 to Blue Team. Report," he tried once more, but the results were regretfully the same. How could he not reach his team or any UNSC force for that matter? He was in a city, a human city with people still alive, there should be someone. Were… were his communications being jammed?

For a brief moment he thought he heard a faint voice through the static saying,

"No me molestes."

"Sierra 117," he spoke more slowly. "does anyone copy?"

"Oi, we hear ya loud and clear, mate!" a voice shouted out in a somewhat high and erratic tone with a distinctive Australian accent.

Within the blink of an eye the Spartan about faced and aimed his assault rifle at the head of the speaker, a wiry man and a living mountain as company.

Around the super soldier, the atrocious stillness of the vandalized city never stood more apparent. The putrid stench of fresh corpses, the knowledge of frightened people staring endlessly at them from a short distance, and hearing the snaps from the burning wreckage of cars. Yet two large men stood before him amidst the chaos in the streets with one wearing a devilish smile on his pointed chin.

To the Chief, the strangers' appearances were odd to take in. He'd seen Jackals more organized in how they dressed. It made sense that the psychopathic-like tone would fit how crazy the men looked.

"We hear ya and we sure as heck saw ya." The smaller of the two began, then he cackled like a laughing hyena fresh from its kill. While he was indeed smaller than his massive 7'3 companion, he was not on the short side at the height of 6'5. "We saw you dropping through the sky like a luggin rock, and I thought to myself that I just had to see this. Now me and my friend here have been around the whole stinkin' world, and not once, not once have we seen a sorry bloke survive the fall ya did. Anyone alive in the city had to hear it."

The odd man literally jumped a few inches off the ground in a very hyperactive mood, his right, robotic peg leg clanking against the scuffed pavement. A safe guess was the limb had been blown off some time ago by an explosive judging how careless, no, insane the man appeared. His other leg was completely covered in black soot along with the upper portion of his chest, just like the ones the Chief found on the buildings. His baggy, sage green shorts were damaged from burns, but the peculiar, yellow smiley face sewed on still stood out with its cheshire grin. Strapped on his belt was a beige pouch, and the Spartan had a clue as to what was inside judging from the handheld detonator in his left palm, where his thumb twitched on the bright, red button on top.

Similar to his leg, from his right hand up to the elbow was replaced by a metal limb, but in his steel grip was a makeshift grenade launcher. The yellow shaded weapon was crude in design, pieced together by what appeared to be common duct tape. Wrapped over his shoulders were grenades and on his back was a truck tire covered along the wheel with spikes. His blond hair kept going like a rising fire, flames coming to mind since the tips of his hair were actually smoking. He showed no suggestions of caring behind his fixed, intense stare.

"Identify yourselves." the Master Chief demanded.

If it were any other situation the Chief would had put them down and moved on. However, he needed answers. Even the crazy could explain a few things.

"Oi, my apologies mate, where are my manners? My name is Junkrat and this here tub of lard is my partner in crime, Roadhog." Junkrat stated while gesturing to his companion, who merely snorted in response through his gas mask.

The man sported arms as thick as the trunks of some trees. And while his legs seemed ridiculously small in comparison to the rest of his body, the Chief could not consider that much of a hindrance if the man was also responsible for the carnage that surrounded him. This man of meat and muscle flaunted an ample, unprotected gut with a tattoo of a flaming hog with engines protruding along its sides. For all that, given the man's muscle, he had to assume that the layer of fat did not run deep. The man must have had a great deal of combat experience and had let himself go at one point before returning back to the field.

The only counter to that theory was that much like his compatriot he was loosely dressed in what passed for armor that must have been obtained at the local dump. Pants that were already bursting under the weight of his gut covered his legs with modified boots covering his feet. The only identifiable armor this beast wore was yellow armor along his right arm that ended in a spiked fist, while the other was completely bare.

As far as weapons, the man hauled a double barrel shotgun which would fit the conical spray of destruction that he had analyzed from earlier, while the other hand held a barbed hook connected to a chain that he guessed was 20 meters long. Weapons that a Brute would have envied to have. Most Brutes however had the decency to wear proper armor at least.

In summary he was dealing with an experienced veteran of battle that had rejected the concept of armor to instead invest in bizarre weapons that inflicted an inhuman amount of damage. This man had dismissed his own life and safety, as his only goal it seemed was to inflict as much damage onto others as possible.

Behind his visor, John frowned. He had a hard time believing that these two could take out so many police officers. Organization and superior numbers should have triumphed over crude weapons and minimum armor. But the evidence behind him, while bloody in its harsh truth, proved him otherwise. Junkrat and Roadhog were something dangerous underneath their outlandish appearance, and he would need to be ready. However what surprised him the most, and easily the most absurd was the amount of radiation his HUD picked up from the duo. Bright red warnings flashed in front of his eyes, exclaiming the hazardous risk within their proxy. Both had enough to kill a full grown man twice over. Yet here they were alive, and clearly insane. Perhaps the levels of radiation itself affected their psyche.

"Now I gotta say the damage you did in the street was a real work of art. That big fresh hole in the road, it adds something more unique to the city. You my friend know how to cause some mayhem. Sure it's not quite as impressive as what we did here," Junkrat held his hands up in the air in a grandiose fashion to behold their destruction of the city, "but it's still a real beauty, mate."

Junkrat dropped his arms to his sides and stared back at the Spartan, seemingly fine with a weapon pointed at him.

"Unfortunately we do have a problem here, well, two problems, really." the Australian man continued nonchalantly, "You see, we were hired to go through town and have a bloody good time. Have some fun with the coppers, smash up a few stores, and paint the town black with my lovely bombs for everyone to see. Easy money, right? Except we don't like it when someone intrudes on our work. I'm sorry mate we can't have someone out shine us with their own work of mayhem, it's just bad business. You drawing all this attention is our first problem. The second is that you look a lot like a big ole green omnic..."

Chains rattled as an impatient Roadhog hefted his makeshift shotgun out and aimed it at the super soldier, while Junkrat brandished the detonator in a brazen display of mockery. Junkrat's tone suddenly became much more serious in contrast to his lips curling back in a psychotic grin, flashing his surprisingly white teeth.

"And we hate omnics."

The wiry man pressed his thumb against the detonator. A subtle click and the Chief was able to hear rapid beeps from underneath the nearby police cars.

Time seemed to slow itself down in the heat of the moment. John knew what the beeps were and what was going to happen next. In the split second that the Spartan's mind had registered the threat it had sent a signal to his neural interface to move herculean muscle and reinforced titanium weave to brace for the coming explosions.

Multiple booms resonated throughout the streets, concussive blasts washed over him like rough waves, but he stood through it all. The super soldier had the chance to see several vehicles ignited in fiery eruptions get launched in the air from the mines below them.

"Surprise! Look at all them bombs I left!" Junkrat cried out followed by more maniacal laughter.

The Master Chief turned and sprinted back, assault rifle still cradled in his arms while his legs were pumping in a frantic rhythm to avoid the careening cars crashing into the pavement. He felt the road tremble beneath his feet as the vehicles slammed into the ground, chips and parts breaking off to flick against his armor from the force as crimson fires sprung up all around him.

"Woah, you're pretty fast for a big guy!" Junkrat shouted hysterically, somehow still audible over the near deafening noise.

Storming through the streets, his energy shields flared around his armor in a golden luminessence as they took the brunt of the damage from shrapnel peppering his back. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder to see a laughing Roadhog cranking his shotgun with a lever, spraying a blinding hurricane of scrap. In his HUD, the Chief watched as his shield bar was slowly eaten away with each passing second. Every metal piece out of the hundreds that was fired stabbed at him, but his shields held and he continued to run back. He needed the distance.

"Oh boy, he's got shields too! He's a fancy omnic!" Junkrat yelled pestering the Chief even more from how much this one person could talk. Junkrat was far more garrulous than a frightened Grunt.

He grunted when a nearby car, one of the few that wasn't sent flying in the air, exploded, adding more shrapnel to the flaming hell storm that surrounded him. Grenades from Junkrat bounced close to cars, destroying them next to the Spartan. A thought then went through his mind; the leaking gas he'd smelt earlier, and all the cars nearby had all been a trap set by the unhinged duo.

The two kept firing at him, not relenting in the slightest, pouring everything they had into their attack. The Chief was fully aware of their simple yet effective strategy; strike first, hit hard, and don't stop within the short distance between them. But that was the key, distance. Their weapons were short range, the farther he got they less harm they could do.

"Hey, where ya goin? We're just havin fun!" Junkrat shouted amidst the chaos.

His boots ran against the black pavement where he passed by car after car with meticulous precision. In a matter of seconds he gained the space he needed to where he was nearing the subway hole. Roadhog's gun did less damage the farther the spread, and Junkrat's grenades were no longer as accurate. Within his HUD he saw his shield bar was at half of being full. Both Junkrat and Roadhog proved they could be deadly when unchecked. The Spartan took comfort he could rely on his MJOLNIR being superior to random scraps of metal.

Having regained his bearings, he was ready to take the fight to them. Before he could stop and face the two deranged men he noticed something that made him grimace in annoyance. The civilians he saw from earlier were still in the alleys, watching the fight go on, and he was inadvertently bringing the skirmish right to them. Even with the minimal damage he took, the people could be hit in the crossfire, and they lacked even less armor than Junkrat.

The Master Chief considered his options. He could keep running, giving him the chance to pick off his foes from afar with his assault rifle, but with the people in the area he would be putting their lives at risk. If he darted for the alleys he could avoid the chance of Junkrat blowing up more cars, except the open space in the middle of the barricade would lead them directly to the civilians. Or he could go back and face the full force of Junkrat and Roadhog's attack and distract them from the people. There was not much he could work with in the area.

Skidding to a halt he turned and ran back.

For the super soldier bred to defend humanity, it was a simple decision.

Regardless how far the Spartan was from them, he could clearly make out the glee of excitement popping up on Junkrat's face.

"Hooley dooley, it's back for more! Welp if at first you don't succeed… Blow it up again!" Junkrat cheered as he happily bounced around with his tongue hanging out.

The two were still a threat to the people, and the Chief needed to act fast. In mid-sprint he brought his assault rifle to bare and let his finger clutch the trigger, spraying a volley of bullets.

"Woah!" Junkrat shouted before he and Roadhog rolled behind the closest car, while the rounds zipped overhead. "That was a close one."

They were never meant to hit, merely force them into cover and tear their attention away from the crowd. As soon as the duo were distracted and the pungent smell of gas ghosted into his nostrils again, the Spartan pressed the advantage. Streets and buildings became a blur when his speed picked up. His momentum continued to build with each passing microsecond as he blitzed through the barricade of cars, easily brushing aside two ton vehicles that were in his way.

Eyes peering up ahead, the Chief watched the two crazed men get back on their feet from behind the car, Junkrat seeming more excited than earlier.

The lunatic who carried a tire on his back aimed his grenade launcher in the air.

"Bombs away!" He announced, firing one grenade at a time.

A cluster of red, glowing grenades soared through the air briefly, only to fall towards the vehicles like earlier.

The grenades hadn't even hit the cars, yet Roadhog rose up and aimed his shotgun at the Spartan. Their actions were nearly synchronized as if they thought the same. Hearing the expected click of a trigger, his ears then honed in on an odd clunk bursting through the weapon. What followed was a ball of scrap streaking across the street, he would had raised a brow at the strange sight until it violently scattered into smaller projectiles. Tiny pieces of scrap tore across the ground at such speed it ignited the leaking gas leaking around the Chief.

The ambient air temperature around him skyrocketed. In an instant a raging inferno swallowed him whole. Through his visor he saw only fire while the thunder of multiple explosions clapped in his ears from the chain reaction of cars and gasoline detonating together. His remaining shields shattered from the blast enabling scalding flames to caress against his olive plates. He should have felt the force from the massive blast. Such a detonation should have toppled him to the ground. Except he was still running. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins and his momentum propelled him forward, ignoring the impact as if it was nothing as he rocketed ahead like an armored missile. In their wild efforts to kill him they also cleared the entire road, giving John a direct opening, and he would be sure to use it. Mind, body, and armor worked as one as he streaked through the blaze to burst through the otherside.

"Wh… What?! Na… No way!" Junkrat cried out, finally his emotions switching from psychotic happiness to utter shock. Obviously not expecting the large titan surviving, let alone still darting at them.

"What?" Roadhog himself even muttered through his gas mask.

Activating his thruster pack the fuel flared behind him to cross the distance. Within the blink of an eye, he closed in on them. The Master Chief shoulder charged into the car, their two ton cover being swatted away like a cardboard box.

"Not good!" Junkrat whimpered.

For John the world slowed to crawl once more as he entered the infamous Spartan Time. Before his boots even touched the pavement, he spun in mid-air to line up his sights at Junkrat. At a snail's pace, the Australian's face twisted from shock to pure horror, his jaw dropping like if it weighed ten pounds.

Finger clutched, the assault rifle kicked against his shoulder. The first few rounds penetrated around Junkrat's lower stomach. A blossom of crimson blood spewed out, followed quickly by a painful scream. The wiry man crumpled to the ground while his hands grasped at his gaping wound.

As his weapon roared a large metal hook flew within his vision and latched onto his right arm. With his armor he felt no pain only a strong nudge when he was yanked back a few feet, dropping his rifle in the middle of it. The flow of time returned to its regular course, and the Chief looked over his shoulder, he saw Roadhog pulling him little by little. Hand over hand the giant heaved, struggling from MJOLNIR's weight. Nonetheless a Spartan…

The Chief turned and coiled the chain around the same arm, securing a tight grip with both gauntlets.

...was far stronger than any human.

With one good yank, Roadhog was flying. He was airborne if only temporarily, until his bare belly skidded across the road, and stopped at the Master Chief's feet. Large hands pushed against the hard pavement as Roadhog attempted to rise, only to be slammed back into ground with the Master Chief's boot pressed against the back of his head. The massive man groan in pain from the intense pressure, and it could be assumed the boot was still scalding hot from the recent explosion.

The Chief knew that in one stomp he could end the oversized scoundrel…

"Hey!" Junkrat called out though the Chief brushed him off for he focused on the current situation.

"Why don't you pick on someone smaller than you!" Junkrat shouted, which then bought the Master Chief's attention.

Even with his torso spewing blood, Junkrat reached over his shoulder to set his oversized tire on the ground. The Chief was taken back to see an actual motor of some human make inside the wheel packed tightly with various types of explosives. On the contraption Junkrat yanked on a cord, revving the engine inside like a lawnmower. And it was directed towards the civilians.

"Fire in the hole!" Junkrat hollered kicking away the tire.

Not sparing a second the Chief broke out in a dead sprint towards the rolling tire. After witnessing Junkrat's barbarism, he knew full well that the deadly contraption would plow into the crowd. The people themselves must've had caught on for a chorus of panicked screams played out, along with the whine of his shields returning. Finally they started to move, scrambling amongst themselves to get away if only futilely. The tire continued to barrel towards the crowd, rolling over dying flames and heated scrap without any cues of slowing down, much faster than the antsy legs of the people.

There was one thing in his arsenal that could safely stop the tire, and he scavenged a couple off a Promethean Knight. Reaching to his side he pulled out a pulse grenade and tossed it in front of the wheel. The second the splinter grenade hit the ground it split and formed into a ionized lattice cloud of several floating sparks.

The tire continued to roll and roll in his view, heading straight for his trap. When the tire was mere feet from the sparks, it suddenly swerved to the right, passing them.

"Look who gets...the last...laugh...eh, ow." Junkrat barely added through sagged breathing.

The Chief forged ahead, he didn't have time to question why the tire moved, he needed know how to stop it.

His thoughts ran alongside him as he moved, his brain working in overdrive to pinpoint the tire's target. The hastily calculated prediction aligned with a lone woman scrambling on her feet.

A terrible scream, one that tore into the heart of the soul, rose above the motorized roar of Junkrat's armed wheel. It was the helpless scream of one who feared that death was before them. The woman muddied, bruised, shell shocked, and emotionally drained rose to flee. Her eyes never left the promise of a brutal demise embodied in rubber and flame. The scrape of her feet on the street irregular as her form was compromised by her attention on what was behind her.

The Master Chief ran as fast as he could. Her scream, one he had heard in bombed out cities and disputed bunkers, burned his ears. His arms pulsed and worked in perfect rhythm with his body as his legs pushed a half ton of machine and nerve. He accelerated to his top speed of 105 kph in an effort to reach the woman first.

Fires fresh from his battle licked at his armor at his passing. A blur of smoldering cars, bombed out stores, and bodies of the dead all littered around him, but he ignored them as his only concern was for the living. He hurdled over the hood of a trashed cop car, his feet quickly under him again as he began to take the lead.

The Master Chief could see the woman's look of terror twinge in distress and surprise as he passed the tire. All she saw was him. His hands scooped and maneuvered her such that her head was against his chest plate. He didn't dare stop for he simply had too much momentum and he wanted as much distance between him and Junkrat's IED. He was mid stride when it detonated.

The explosion rammed into his back depleting the rest of his shields, and then came the clawing flames. The world, to the Master Chief, became a spinning blur as he held the woman close. Asphalt screeched back in protest as he scuffed and skidded along it.

When his spin died the Chief kicked out his leg anchoring himself to a halt. He rose to a half crouch, the woman still held close. Staying low he quickly crouched walk while carrying the woman further away. After a few moments he rounded behind a car that had escaped the deranged duo's wanton destruction, or at the very least wasn't leaking any gas. Gently he laid her on the ground, being sure to keep her head inline with the rest of her body.

Looking over the trunk of the car he tried to discern from the heat and smoke for Junkrat's and Roadhog's next move. Seeing nothing he turned back to the woman, not sure if he could do much. The woman's eyes were open, but they lolled in their sockets. She was most certainly disoriented from the roll and her ears had to be ringing. No injuries could be observed at a surface level, but if there were internal injuries...Then there was no telling what kind of damage had been done.

Knowing that he couldn't do anymore for her he rose back up. There was still the matter of the two terrorists that had started this mess. Both of which could not be in a good position right now. Junkrat had taken a several rounds to the gut. He was bleeding and in pain, but he had seen UNSC soldiers continue to fight despite such wounds. Roadhog was a different matter. At minimum the pig bellied man had a severe case of whiplash, but at worst he had his chain arm dislocated. They were still a threat that needed to be neutralized, with his own fists if need be.

As he moved forward he was able to understand the destructive power that had been leveled against him. The center of the explosion was fused red with black char stretching out in a ten meter radius. Some cars had been flipped, others had their remains scattered about. The Chief was grateful that the maniac hadn't incorporated more explosives, not for his own sake as he could take a bigger hit, but for that of the woman. She might just live.

Moving past the crater, walking through fire and smoke he stepped to the other side to see that Junkrat and Roadhog were retreating. Their bright yellow motorcycle, one with actual wheels, roared as it raced away.

The Chief curled his hands slightly, his targets had gotten away. With the threat gone he looked over to where he had last seen his assault rifle.

Walking toward it he hesitated when he saw it, wondering if the two had left behind some trap as a final gift. Carefully he approached and inspected the surrounding area as well as the weapon. Satisfied that there weren't any traps laid he retrieved the weapon and inspected it. It was still in functioning order.

As he rose to turn back the way he had came he paused as several new blips on his radar appeared. From where he had left the girl. Assault rifle in hand he carried it pointed to the ground with his finger just outside the trigger guard. He passed again through smoke and fire to see a long dark robed figure with an owl mask pointing a short barreled shotgun at the woman he had just saved. She sat in a kneeling position with fresh streaks of tears wiping away the grime that surrounded her face.

Four men stood alongside the masked man. All of them with their guns trained squarely on him.

"Civilians, you think they're in the clear, but then all it takes is one dumb move and the mission is in jeopardy again." The man with owl mask said as he leveled his shotgun at the woman.

That's the end of chapter 2.

Author's notes: I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, it was a difficult one to write. I would like to give a big thanks to 2 good 2 kill for helping me finish the Master Chief vs Junkrat and Roadhog fight. You should check how his Halo/Marvel crossover story "New Horizons." He is an excellent writer and has a knack for telling a fascinating story.

The final chapter will be posted 2-3 weeks from now. In my honest opinion it is the best out of all them, in terms of wrting and story telling. A lot more Overwatch characters will be involved as well.

So Junkrat and Roadhog are Overwatch's first characters the Master Chief encounters, Overwatch the game, not the organization. I wrote them in for a few reasons. With their wild and violent personalities, they would make the Chief's entrance start with a bang. I also wanted to be original as at the time that this was written, which was when Sombra was being introduced, there were only 2 or 3 crossovers between Halo and Overwatch. Now I think there are like to 10? I'm not sure if its original anymore, but given that this been written for awhile, I'm sticking with it.

In the last chapter, I wrote about how Cortana has changed and the Chief is dealing with it by trying to move on. He reflected on it, showing some hints of his human side only to bury those feelings and focus on the mission. In the second chapter the Chief has some lingering thoughts about Cortana, but still pushes forward, and makes decisions on his own. In all of the games and books the Chief has had companions to help him in some shape or form, like Cortana, Avery Johnson, the Arbiter, Thomas Lasky, and Blue Team. Here he didn't and had to do everything on his own. He had to investigate the city by himself and find clues to help him. He debated whether or not to shoot Junkrat and Roadhog at first glance, only to decide to capture them for information. Maybe if he had a second opinion, he would have just killed them on the spot. He also had to protect the civilians all by himself. In this chapter I wanted the Chief to be on his own to reflect how he is dealing with change, by steeling himself and moving on. While there are benefits to being a silent soldier, I was hoping to show that such seclusion has some consequences, that people do need help from time to time. Don't get me wrong, the Chief is more than capable of making good decisions on his own, I just wanted to show how such emotional weight can affect a single person.

Now some people may think that I'm villainizing Junkrat and Roadhog more than they actually are when they killed so many cops in the chapter. Everyone has a right to their own opinion, however I will explain why I wrote them as such. First off in the Overwatch trailer, 'Roadhog and Junkrat Origins' they list off their criminal record, and murder is on them. Next in the Overwatch comic book, "Junkrat and Roadhog: Going Legit", they do kill a lot of people. SPOILERS ahead for the comic. In "Going Legit" the two are faced with the lucrative option to help a rich businessman by blowing up a factory run by Omnics. They are told the Omnics are holding human captives, which Junkrat does say they will try to help, only to forget about the hostages. Junkrat gets reminded of the hostages by Roadhog, only to oh well it since he had already set up the explosives. They later learn there were no hostages, but they disregarded the possibilities of hostages. Later on they find out they have been tricked by the rich businessman, so they go to his skyscraper and hang the man. Brutal, right? That's not even the worst part. After they leave they blow up the entire building. An entire skyscraper in the middle of the day, that has to have people in it. I sincerely doubt they went to the trouble of evacuating the building, if they didn't care about hostages in earlier panels. So while in-game they come off more goofy, they are susceptible to killing.