"Do you believe the 451's testimony?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because there's only one man capable of orchestrating destruction on that scale. And he's one of our own."
- recorded transcript, two months after the Granica V War Tribunal [source unknown – EYES ONLY]
An electronic shriek of scrap-code flooded Damien's ears. Even to his augmented physiology the sound was numbing in its intensity. His knees hit the floor and with a snarl he wrenched his helmet free and hurled it at the far wall. Still the ringing lingered, a deafening-after echo. Not even the loudest, most rib-shaking shellfire compared.
He could still hear the tinny squeal emanating from his helmet's speakers on the far side of the chamber. Damien blinked, clearing tears from his eyes as his body fought to cope with the sudden disorientation. He looked about groggily; ears raw, head throbbing.
Viktorya had opened fire on thin air, as her helmet IFF threw up target boxes around the smallest motes of dust; her muscle-memory murdering the far wall before she even realised what she was doing. Luke for his part shook his head as he watched hostile target markers box themselves around his teammates. His radar suite threw up a wall of incoming hostiles, all imaginary. His rifle snapped back and forth, jumping from phantom to phantom. He snarled in frustration.
Across the planet, the same situation repeated itself on a global scale. In Argjend, traffic signals blinked from stop to go with a moment's notice, causing all manner of pile-ups at major intersections. The stock markets flooded red, as automated trading systems shorted the entire quarter's output to extra-galactic investors and off-planet accounts unknown. In the northern ice-floes, fishing vessels autopilots went rampant, running their charges aground and spilling steaming loads of fish across the fresh snow.
In New Cadiz, automated drones switched targets and blew one another out of the sky; puff-bursts of fiery shrapnel that arced across the sky. Worse still, many turned hostile on the ground units they were meant to support. The men and the ground saw nothing, and felt nothing until it was too late. A sonic boom of sound was the after echo. The explosions and lancing tracer fire was the first thing to announce their presence. Twice the convoy bearing Chidinma and Rashid was strafed It was only by the narrowest fortune that their own truck trundled stubbornly through unscathed. Some drones simply accelerated down into the city, smashing into buildings with explosive impact. UNSC casualties sky-rocketed.
In orbit, the entire life support system of the UNSC Carpathia switched itself off for a terrifying few seconds. Warning klaxons hooted and wailed as emergency respirators sprang down from overhead emergency hatches. The other two frigates in the convoy, the UNSC Hood and Reliant, target-locked eachother, and it was only from the quick reflexes and excellent training of the Navy crews that outright calamity was averted and thousands of lives saved.
Rebecca glanced about, petrified. Eric was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he'd been missing ever since Chimera had moved beyond the Dakhar market. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. Kaizen paid no heed to it, and had assumed mission control without so much as blinking. Such was her programming. Now she too was gone, running rampant in the Nets; laying waste to the entire infrastructure of a planet she had sworn to defend.
Rebecca stared at the pedestal that held Kaizen's central memory matrix. With a clomping thunder of booted feet, a bevy of Navy armsmen flooded the bridge, weapons trained on the A.I.'s pedestal. Rebecca reached over and snatched the matrix free of its restraint, tossing it at the ground before them. The soldiers snapped weapons to bear, as though the chip itself – no larger than a wallet – were some kind of rampaging Flood spore.
The chip lay inert. There was no trace of colour left – it lay burnt out, a smouldering, fizzling ruin.
And yet still the chaos continued. Kaizen was amok in the Net, laying waste to the digital landscape; dancing to a tune that only one man on the planet knew.
Rebecca's professional curiosity had once gotten the best of her, on the long transit from Laconia. She had asked Eric about Kaizen once, about what her original purpose had been. His explanation had been characteristically brief at the time: Kaizen was a systems intrusion A.I.; an ONI operative designed for wet-work operations against Covenant artificial constructs. Unsatisfied with this explanation, Rebecca decided to cut out the middle man. She asked the A.I. herself.
The answer shocked her. Unique for an A.I. Kaizen was capable of transferring her central processor wirelessly, provided the connections used were advanced enough: a high level console, an orbital battleship; a Mjolnir armour suite. The only way to neutralise her would be to trap whichever information node her central processing A.I. happened to be occupying at a given second. The odds of managing this were astronomical.
Now this knowledge terrified Rebecca. The elusive, dangerous A.I. was rogue; unshackled and free to roam the nets and do whatever it wanted, whenever it could.
Rebecca, alone and human and so very frail, could only watch as Granica V came apart at the seams.
By contrast Chimera saw nothing and knew less. They remained trapped underground, surrounded by the heaped bodies of their enemies. Only the flickering wall lights and the continued electronic mewling from Damien's helmet hinted at the wider carnage beyond. The local com pedestal blinked an angry crimson.
Damien spared a glance at his TACPAD. It was a wall of gibberish. The wrist com functionality was operating on local band only, and even that was popped with static. He shook his head.
"Chimera, go dark." Damien croaked, his unamplified voice sounding odd to his still-ringing ears. "Lose the helmets, targeting sights, GPS units; anything electronic. Shut it down."
Luke and Viktorya unbuckled their excess gear and discarded their helmets, blinking as their eyes naturally adjusted to the gloom. Soon there was a small heap of priceless military hardware at their feet.
"What the hell's going on, Chief?" Luke asked.
"Hell if I know, Five." Damien nodded at the glowing pedestal, "But we have to assume our A.I. support has been compromised. We've lost sat-com with the surface. Mission parameters have changed."
"We're on our own now." Viktorya nodded solemly.
"What else is new?" Luke muttered.
Damien ignored the sarcasm.
"Priorities are twofold: first, Al'Hajar does not leave this hole alive. Secondary objectives are to re-establish sat-com with the surface, and exfil the AO. Copy?"
The other two Spartans exchanged a slow nod between them.
"Then let's move."
They advanced up the tunnel. Exposed to the open air for the first time in hours, their nostrils twitched at the invasion of smells swelling from the dead around them. The damp; the tang of blood, and acrid cordite and soiled terror.
They moved deeper. They found a half dozen Insurrectionists rolling numbly around on the ground, eardrums burst; all but defenceless. Chimera kicked their weapons away and moved past, leaving the sorry bastards where they were. There's been enough killing today, Damien decided.
Chimera arrived at three massive bulkheads conjoined in a single annex. Two of the doors yawned open. Foot-steps had tramped through the left door only recently. Military pattern boots; uniformly male, judging by the size, leading down into the tunnels below.
Damien knelt down next to the track. "Seven men, moving at speed." he murmured.
"Our target?" Viktorya asked. Her rifle was up and covering the tunnel ahead.
"More than likely – our welcoming committee back there was a holding action if ever I've seen it."
"And what about Curtain Number Two?" Luke asked, gesturing with his rifle toward the other door. Here the grounded tilted upward.
"Could be misdirection." Viktorya suggested, "Maybe they doubled back?"
"Let's not take that chance; we cover both angles. Vee, take the tunnel leading upward. If you don't find our target, then secure a route to the surface. Find me an exit."
"And me?" Luke asked.
"Hold this position, Luke. I'll find out how deep this rabbit-hole goes. Anyone comes down that lift shaft behind us, or gets past me, put 'em down."
"Copy." Luke nodded, "I have your back, One."
"Wouldn't doubt you for a second, Five. Let's get to it."
Chimera didn't waste further time with formalities. With the briefest exchange of nods they separated; Viktorya sprinting off up the tunnel winding toward the surface, Damien stalking down the descending path after the trail of their quarry, slow and careful.
Luke remained behind, crouched before the cyclopean bulkhead that barred entry to the central tunnel. His comrades' footsteps faded from earshot.
Soon, he was alone.
In something of a contrast to the rest of the planet, Conrad Hedeker was thoroughly enjoying himself.
On the screens he could see it all. The chaos, the riots in the streets; the absolute bedlam he had unleashed with two single words and a single determined plan. Kaizen for her part was shackled to the advanced pedestal in front of him, her avatar frozen; hers arms spread out as though crucified. Her face was locked in silent scream of agony, her head tilted back. She shook, imperceptibly.
It was the audacity of it all that enthralled him. The man who currently went by Conrad Hedeker was a subtle man by trade. For decades he had operated in the murky twilight of the UNSC war machine. A quiet word here, a back-alley trade there. When he had to charm he cajoled, when he had to persuade he seduced. When he had to kill he did so; and ruthlessly. He had changed his face many times, his name even more so; always adapting, always blending: the quintessential grey man.
No longer. All that work, all that anonymity, had come to this. One single master stroke, one monstrous fruition. The UNSC fleet lay crippled in orbit above, an entire world's economic had been brought to its knees. Argjend, the Silver City, tore itself apart as its systems failed, and its newly housed refugee population flooded the streets the city's authorities had fought so hard to deny them. Anarchy reigned.
And yet to Hedeker it was all irrelevant. He paid no attention to the ChatterNet meltdown, to the panicked news reports and unchecked fires that raged rampnt across New Cadiz's surface. His entire focus was on the cameras, on the dim, dank tunnels where the Spartans hunted their prey. He watched Al'Hajar and his minions clawing at a door that was decidedly sealed, far deep beneath the bowels of the ruined city. He watched Damien draw ever closer to them; and marvelled at how much the boy had grown in the many years since he had first inducted him into service. A promising Spartan, but irrelevant to the plan at hand. A failure, like so many of the others.
He watched Viktorya sprint her way to the surface; weapon up, utterly focused. My, how she'd grown as well; every bit the killer her father was. Also, ultimately, irrelevant.
And yet it was Luke he watched the most. The one lone Spartan, the youngest of Chimera by a few short months. The most dutiful soldier; the most loyal son. A smile touched Hedeker's lips. Such irony.
He tapped a control on the command dial. The door behind the Spartan ground slowly to life; a dribble of dust sifting down as its heavy rotors churned to life. The blast door lifted up, revealing the gleaming corridor beyond. Luke had spun to face the new corridor; dumb-founded. This door was far thicker than the other two.
There was a reason for this.
The corridor beyond was a perfect recreation of Laconia. From the floor decking to the reinforced support stanchions and strip-lights above. The only thing missing were the logos.
Luke swept for targets, expecting company. When none was forthcoming, he stole a hesitant glance back over his shoulder, to where he had been ordered to hold position. He hesitated, torn between his orders and his curiosity.
Hedeker leaned forward, on the edge of his seat now. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair. His eyes never wavered from the camera display.
"Go on." Hedeker breathed.
Luke took a cautious step into the gleaming corridor that had defined his childhood. Then another.
Hedeker leaned back in his chair, a tight smile on his face. His finger hovered over the door control; the emergency lock-down switch.
"That's my boy."
Damien flinched back as a snatch of bullets cracked up the tunnel towards him, snapping off the rocks beside him. He suddenly became very aware he was no longer wearing a helmet. He snapped his rifle up and aimed by eye, using the BR's iron sights. It was a very different prospect to using his HUD's SmartScope functionality, but hundreds of hours down-range made it second nature to him. The rifle thundered in the confined space. A strangled yelp told him he'd found his mark. No more bullets came his direction.
He stole forward, picking for targets in the gloom.
Damien's massive shadow fell over the sprawled corpse of his enemy. Damien used the barrel of his rifle to turn the man over onto his back. Unblinking eyes stared stupidly up at him; a pasty man with a shaved with numerous Insurrectionist tattoos snaking across his skull.
Damien's eye twitched in irritation. Negative I.D.
He'd dropped five men before this one. Each had taken it upon themselves to deny him, trying to fulfil some fanatical oath. The first had rushed him with a hand grenade. Damien had simply caught him centre-mass, and let the dead man's switch paint him across the tunnel walls with a decompressive thump. The rest of their attempts had been similarly futile. Damien had counted six kills since beginning his pursuit.
He heard the scraping long before he saw Al'Hajar.
The man was on his knees in the dirt at the very end of the tunnel; clutching a long combat knife out that had been repurposed as a shovel. He was frantically burrowing at the underside of a large sealed hatch; desperately trying to dig his way beneath it. It was a pitiful attempt, scarcely a foot deep.
"Al Hajar."
The Insurrectionist leader stopped and spun about with a start.
The Spartan all but filled the tunnel. Almost eight feet of corded muscle and hulking armour. Back-lit by the spotlights of the tunnel behind him, the warrior's face was cloaked in shadow; his features faintly traced by the light behind him.
Al'Hajar stopped digging. To his credit, he rose to his feet, shoulders back; head tilted in defiance.
"I am Al'Hajar." He said proudly, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"The A.I. I need to know what you've done."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play games, Hajar. The network's fried – tell me how."
"You think I'm in control here?" Al'Hajar snorted a bitter laugh, "Did you think I was ever in control?"
"I will not help you, infidel. We're both just pawns in his game." Al'Hajar spat a wad of dusty phlegm on the ground, "I have no more words to give you, monster. Come. If I am to die, then I die a man. Free."
Damien took a step forward. His face remained a darkened shadow.
"Very well. For multiple acts of terror against the UNSC, for conspiring against the United Earth Government and terrorising its people, you have been marked for the most definitive punishment the UEG can deliver."
Al'Hajar took a step back, half-tripping into the hole he'd dug.
"And that is?" There was a quaver to his voice; a brittle hesitancy. His back met the cold surface of the sealed hatch.
Damien cast his battle rifle aside. He stood with his hands low at his sides; feet planted, fists clenched.
"Me."
With a defiant snarl Al'Hajar lunged at him, knife raised.
On the far side of the hatch, a massive dent appeared in the doorway. Though it would long be forgotten in the aftermath of the catastrophe that was to follow, any casual observer would agree that the impact in the hatch looked unusual; almost curious.
A dent, in the shape of a man's body.
Damien stepped back, wiping the gore from his gauntlets, from his face and matted hair. He tried his TACPAD, where his suit's secondary com unit was located.
"Two, Five; you reading this? Target eliminated."
Nothing but fizzling static answered him. The backup system was notoriously sensitive compared to the main helmet system; the cave walls were playing havoc with its transmission range.
"Bollocks."
Retrieving his rifle, Damien started up the tunnel, beginning the long journey back to the surface above.
Viktorya could feel daylight. It was fleeting; a brief oasis of fresh air in the all-pervasive dust, but her instincts were sharp and the general incline of the tunnel told her enough to know that she was almost at the upper tunnels.
In truth she was glad of the break from the fighting. For all her fighting prowess, the Spartan was not invulnerable. A dozen glancing hits to her armour had pock-marked it, fraying the digital paint at its sharper edges. Damien would finish the mission, and she would see them home. The city was all but broken. Their first mission, a success. It was fitting.
She almost allowed herself a smile.
It was then that she noticed the wires snaking through the shadows of the tunnel wall above her. They were slim filaments; so slim that it was only with an augmented eye that she noticed them in the first place, but Viktorya had spent enough hours to recognise a detonation trigger wire when she saw one.
She tried her wrist-com. A woman of few words, she spoke more words then than she had for the entire mission.
"Damien? Luke?! Come in! Get out of there – it's not just the tunnels; it's rigged… it's all rigged! Respond!"
She hissed in frustration, turned on her heels and sprinted back down the tunnel.
Luke clanked his way up the fresh metal corridor. There was an anti-noise in here, a null space. Every footfall reverberated off the high walls around him. He panned about, rifle sweeping. He could hear his own breath in his ears. The air was fresh too, recycled and clean. Sterile, almost; like a laboratory.
The corridor turned deeper. The walls seemed thicker here, and set into them were large full height windows. Inside was lab equipment. Row after row of container pods; sleeper units. It was all so alien, and yet so familiar.
Behind him he heard a distant clump. Even without seeing it, he knew the entrance door had been sealed behind him. He spied the camera on the wall, watching him. It was a circular orb of a unit, with a rotary lens designed to swivel. It tracked him as he edged forward.
It was an obvious plant. Luke had studied surveillance systems before. Though Rashid was the most technologically gifted of Chimera, they all had put in the hours. In the 26th century just about anything could be made a camera; a button, a lapel pin. Even the most basic hairclip.
Somebody wanted him to see this camera. It was as much a greeting as it was anything else. So he gave it a wave.
"Welcome home, Chimera Five." a resonant voice greeted in return.
Luke arched an eyebrow and looked about. There were no obvious speakers, but then those were easy to hide too.
"Mornin'." Luke replied nonchalantly, his rifle still at the ready. "Nice place you've got here. Very… you know… malevolent."
He moved past the camera, which whirred as it turned to follow him. Another camera was dotted around the next bend. It too focused on him.
"Want to tell me what you're doing here, this deep beneath a shit-heap of a city?" Luke asked.
"You want me to announce my every plan?" the voice chided, with a chuckle, "Come now, that would be telling."
"Figure we may as well pass the time before I find you. Let's be friends, you and I."
"I would like that very much, Luke. We were friends once, a long time ago."
The corridor closed into a small chamber. The walls were much thicker here; the floor a cross-hatching of interlocking cables. More cameras dotted the walls.
"Funny, Rash always said I was crazy. Never knew that I actually made friends with the voices in my head."
"Well let's prompt your memory then, shall we?" the voice asked.
In the centre of the room was a simple metal table. Of the kind Luke had seen a thousand times in Laconia before. On it was, of all things, a decidedly faded teddy bear. It was a battered, sorry thing: one of its button eyes hung loose from its socket, and its belly had been stitched and re-stitched more times than a memorial flag.
The familiarity of the bear wasn't what alarmed Luke.
What alarmed him were the thousand strands snaking down from the roof above, and feeding into the rump of the bear. A hundred different colours, like some technicolour spiders web. Nestled at the teddy's feet was a simple digital clock; one of the old boxy units Luke kept at his bedside locker as a boy.
The digital display timer was frozen at five minutes. As he approached the table, the doors at either end of the chamber snapped shut with a pressurised hiss. Emergency shutter bolts snapped across. One look at them told Luke that he was here for the duration.
"How about we play a game?" the voice asked.
Luke approached smoothly mag-locked his rifle on his back, resigned.
"I'm not sure I like this game."
"It's high stakes I'll admit. Each of the chords you see before you feed into a wider network of detonation triggers seeded throughout the city. Your test scores at Laconia always noted you struggled with this exercise, even until your recent deployment. I want to see if you've improved since I watched you last. I expect you to do better."
Luke knelt down before the table, examining the spaghetti before him. Beside the bear were a simple wire clippers and a scalpel. Standard bomb defusal fare. It was all so monstrously complex.
"So what do I get if I win?" Luke asked eventually.
He picked up the pliers.
"You save the city."
"And if I lose?"
The timer began to tick down.
"You, your friends, and everything in the city will be just this room around you – a memory."