(A/N) Hey guys! Time for our Monday update, brought to you by both me and Casaric! (I know, a collaborated chapter within a collaboration? Crazy!) Anyway hope you guys enjoy this! It was great fun to write and I hope you all enjoy reading it! Thanks to all those who have reviewed our previous chapters, it means a lot to us, hearing your thoughts on our little collab. It's much appreciated! Next update, as always will be Wednesday, where we get to see what's been going on with the agents on Haven!

Anyways, enjoy!


Chapter Twenty-Six - First Contact

The Director & Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic

Written by NicKenny & Casaric


"War does not determine who is right- only who is left." - Bertrand Russell


The monitor flickered, and a dark haired, middle-aged man in full officer's uniform appeared in front of me. "This is Captain Vasquez of the UNSC frigate Soul of Tranquillity," he said, staring at me with a look of irritation. "I assume that I am talking to Director Leonard Church of Project Freelancer?"

I nodded, smiling slightly. "You're assumption is correct, Captain. It's a pleasure to be joining you today."

The Captain looked at me blankly. "All I've been told is that we've got to cause enough of a ruckus to distract these Innies and get your boys onto the planet's surface. After that my orders become rather vague. Care to shed some light on the situation?"

I raised a hand and slowly took of my glasses, absentmindedly wiping them off my suit's sleeve. "Of course, Captain. Once my 'boys' have landed safely, we are to destroy any and all Insurrectionist ships still in orbit. After that we are to land whatever soldiers we can spare on the planet to support the UNSC forces currently besieged."

Vasquez nodded slowly, a grim look descending over his features. "Then I guess we had better get this party started," he remarked darkly, and the monitor went blank once more.


Killian Jay's occupation often called for him to assess things. Severity of wounds, levels of sanity, levels of stupidity, etc. Killian was currently assessing the blow to the side of the head he received via "ship-quake"... Attempting medicinal practices while your ship is under fire was a hell of a lot harder than it sounds.

Not counting the time it took getting over the blow to the head he received, Killian needed over half-an-hour to get a clean cut into his current patient, successfully removing the afflicted section of tissue. Plasma burns never heal right, so it was best to cut away the affected area before it started to scar.

"Now then, where's that g- oomf!" Killian was unfortunately interrupted by a very mobile equipment rack. To his knowledge, the Mother of Invention was the only UNSC ship that offers Hazard pay to medics that weren't in the line of fire.

"Whoever thought it was a good idea to put wheels on all of the heavy objects in this room..." Killian muttered, heaving the rack away from him, and sending it rattling across the room, "was a jackass."


"F.I.L.S.S. how are our shields holding up?" I asked sharply as the floor shook beneath me after a barrage of missiles crashed into our starboard side. I gazed out from the observation deck, looking in disgust upon the dozens of patchwork crafts the Insurrectionists had formed their blockade from. Already the Soul of Tranquillity had torn its way through the heart of the fleet, and the Mother of Invention was following in its wake, our cannons booming every so often as another Insurrectionist ship got within range.

"Shields are at eighty-three per cent, Director," she replied instantly, her voice as cheerful as ever.

"Excellent. Please keep me informed of our shields functionality at every tenth per cent, if you would be so kind."


Killian spent hours moving from patient to patient, and it slowly became a haze of blood and Bio-foam. The whole process was almost habitual.

Killian might have taken a moment to contemplate on whether this was to be seen as fantastic or highly disturbing, if the amount of people requiring "treatment" didn't continue to climb at such an alarming rate. There were only so many medical staff on hand on board the MOI during an actual battle. While most stayed behind to deal with some of the more grievous wounds, others were sent out into the field to handle the other injuries.

Instead, he contemplated on the fact that there were a lot of hurt people in the room. This made Killian feel restless about his current situation. They were winning...right?


"Shields at fifty-four per cent. I would also like to inform you that both teams have reached their locations and have exited their pelicans. Team B's pilot is making her way back into the city as we speak."

"Thank you F.I.L.S.S. Please inform Captain Vasquez that he has the go-ahead to cut up what's left of them," I replied, smiling as I leant back and surveyed the destruction that lay before me. A stray thought suddenly burst into my mind.

"F.I.L.S.S., can you get a lock onto any of their ships? I mean to test out our…main cannon."

F.I.L.S.S. was silent for a moment, then something in the control platform beeped and she replied: "Target locked, Insurrectionist frigate four thousand yards ahead."

There was another slight pause, accompanied by another beep and F.I.L.S.S. spoke once more, her voice containing a touch of satisfaction. "Firing main cannon."


"...He's gone. Get him out of the operating room."

Killian tried not to look at the corpse. Another failure. Another life lost to their mistakes. ...Killian was pretty sure that he was going to have nightmares long after this was over.


The Counselor gaped as the beam tore through the heart of the frigate, piercing its port side and continuing right through to the other. The ship seemed to collapse into a series of explosions after that, each more violent than the next, until all that was left was metal debris floating through space.

"Target eliminated," F.I.L.S.S. declared, and the smugness could easily be detected in her tone.

I looked out onto what was left of the Innies' fleet and smiled grimly.

It wouldn't be long now.


When he was finally pulled from the operating room, Killian wasn't sure if he felt relieved or scared. Everyone in there had been working for a while, on a lot of patients. Tired doctors leads to sloppy surgeries.

Maybe now they'll listen to his overtime complaints.


"Three enemy ships remaining," F.I.L.S.S. intoned, answering my unasked question.

"Do you want them, or should we deal with them?" Vasquez asked tiredly across the comm-link. He had opened up transmissions again a short while ago, informing us that he had received orders to stand back and allow the MOI to wreak some damage towards the Insurrectionists fleet. We had stepped up to the challenge, our MAC firing again and again, leaving the opposing fleet a collection of burned out metal husks.

Obviously the UNSC wanted to see what we could do. Well, we were up to the challenge, but I was more concerned with my agents down on the ground than a measly few ships.

"You can have them, Captain. Consider it a gift from Project Freelancer. Now I have to check up upon my agents. Hopefully their missions will have gone as satisfactorily as ours."


"...So that's what war looks like..." Killian muttered, staring through one of the ship's windows, eyes locked onto the planet below. He could see New Delphi burning.

Killian sighed, turning away and continuing to walk down the hall. There would be time to bury the dead later, for now he had a casualty report to deliver.