SURFACE OF ATLAS
0951 LOCAL TIME
ECHOLEON PASS
Leaning against his stolen Mongoose, Private Michael Conrad was busy lighting his cigarette. He had judged himself far enough away from his team mates that he would not be discovered, and had turned his radio off. Let them worry if they want, he thought, especially that bitch Fowler.
Conrad, as far as marines go, was an average soldier. Unfortunately, his rebellious streak was detrimental to his promotion likeliness, and explained why he was still a private at thirty-five. In fact, many people were unsure how he managed to get into the UNSC in the first place. He always did only the bare minimum of what he was ordered, and frankly didn't give a damn about what people thought of him. Sure he was likely to get a lot of crap once he returned but, he reasoned with himself, it'd sure piss his sergeant off. He chuckled at the thought.
As he leant there puffing away, he didn't notice the pair of Jackal Skirmishers nearby. One raised its Covenant Carbine to eye level and was about to take the shot when the other held up its hand as a warning. It then whispered something into its comrade's ear, and they both grinned evilly. Silently, the two aliens backtracked the way they came.
Throwing his finished cigarette to the ground and crushing it to put out the embers, Conrad swung a leg over the Mongooses seat. He glanced around him for a moment and then yelped with fright. Only a few dozen metres away stood a huge Brute, a vicious looking weapon in its hands. Conrad's eyes widened in shock at the huge curving blade at the base of the weapon. Meanwhile the Brute just stood there, leering at him, almost daring him to try something.
Conrad quickly started the Mongoose and floored the accelerator. The Brute merely turned slightly and fired a projectile from the weapon. It hit the ground just in front of Conrad's Mongoose, exploding and causing the Mongoose to flip from the concussion. Conrad screamed as he was thrown through the air, and landed with a heavy thud at the base of a tree, cracking two or three ribs in the process. Painfully, he rose to his feet and saw the Brute marching towards him, the fearsome weapon still in its hands.
Can't run, he thought, that thing'll shoot me with its grenade launcher. He felt around his waist, and realised all he had was his combat knife and pistol. Now trembling with fear, he raised his pistol and unloaded an entire clip into the oncoming Brute. He succeeded in knocking off its helmet and causing it to pause momentarily, blood dripping from several bullet wounds. Conrad stood there, gun smoking, hands trembling. 'Th-That's right you Covenant bastard. Not s-so tough now, are you?'
From only a few metres away, Conrad could see every detail of the Brute clearly. Its huge, muscular body, covered with rough hair, arms tensed with the adrenalin of battle. Its gorilla-like face, merciless black eyes dripping with hate. And perhaps worst of all, its smirking mouth with horribly sharp teeth. Hoping for a miracle, Conrad cautiously reloaded his gun and turned on his radio. Suddenly the Brute roared a primeval roar and charged at Conrad, who began firing wildly at the beast.
Three shots and 'Oh fu-' was all Conrad got out before the Brute split him in half from the neck down with the blade on the end of its grenade launcher. The Brute roared with delight, and sickeningly cut off his head as a trophy.
Back at Alpha one, the marines stood in shock at Conrad's final transmission. Bullseye turned to Sergeant Fowler and said, 'What the HELL have we gotten into this time Sarge?'