Chapter CVIII: Semilegislative

February 7, 2544 (UNSC Calendar)/two months later

UNSC Inconvenience, edge of Zeta Lupus System

"When in doubt, knock 'em out."- Vinny Girolamo

The sun was hitting me in the face, it was a pretty hot day and I was sweating. Being surrounded by a bunch of people didn't help at all. Fortunately, I didn't care at all. I was too busy cheering on the quarterback. The entire stadium stood up just as the last play began. It seemed like something straight out of a movie.

The quarterback called for the ball and the action started. The two lines met, one doing its best to get through the offensive linemen while the others pushed back at them. The quarterback took three or four steps back before looking for a target, his back was straight and his shoulders squared.

"Come on, come on, come on," I urged silently.

Suddenly, a linebacker broke through the offensive line with help of two linemen, the huge man took two steps before lunging at the comparatively tiny quarterback. But he wasn't taken down so easily, the white 6 in his jersey flashed as he dodged the tackle, pushing the ball against his chest as to keep himself from fumbling it. The linebacker flew over Number 6, his arms only succeeded in grabbing empty air, but his legs hit the quarterback in the upper back and neck, taking off his helmet.

The entire stadium gasped and then cheered when they realized that he was still up and kicking.

The quarterback immediately started running to the right side, two linemen hot on his trail and doing their best to bring him down. He ran all the way to the end of the field, his head snapping left and right while his receivers did their best to improvise new routes to get rid of the cornerbacks and safeties. It was only at the very end of the field that he threw the ball.

It was a perfect pass. A beautiful spiral with a lot of speed and very little curve. Time actually slowed down as I watched the ball fly. It went through the air above the green grass for thirty yards before it finally stopped abruptly. The receiver it had been directed to got a great, almost godly, pass. The leather ball flew just out of reach of the man covering him and right into his hands.

The receiver took two steps before stopping and looking incredulously at the ball. He looked back at the quarterback, now on the ground out of bounds and trying to get back up. He looked at the ball again and then at the grass below him, colored bright with the team's colors. Only then did he realize that he had scored the winning touchdown. The receiver started jumping up and down frantically and the crowd went wild.

"You know," Scarecrow said, "my bro had his number changed to six after I told him I was Reaper-6."

The man had a huge smile on his face, he was very proud of his little brother. I patted him on the back and smiled at him as the background swirled and faded only to be replaced by a beach with white sand and green ocean.

"What? How did we get here?" I asked.

"You say something Sarge?" Scarecrow asked from behind me. "Here, have a beer."

I took the bottle that he was offering me and took a sip from it, looking at the scenery. There were a few beach chairs strewn about and one beach canopy with a cooler underneath it. The beach itself was awfully familiar. The green color of the ocean brought back memories, but I couldn't tell exactly which ones.

"How did we get here?" I asked again, this time addressing my squad mate directly.

"You talked Marina into giving us a ride," he replied, looking at me strangely. "Don't know how you did it, but thanks."

"Yeah…no problem."

I turned around to see a Pelican with red stripes painted all over it. My team was getting out from the cargo bay, each one of them had some sort of beach item with them, Caboose was even carrying a small port-a-grill while Angel heaved a pack of sausages. I smiled at the image, but then realized that something was off.

No, the red paint is off, that craft was destroyed. She painted the new one differently.

"Frank."

I turned around and followed the voice. To my absolute shock, Layla was standing there in full dress uniform, looking as stunning as always.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"You don't want me here?"

I put my hands to my head. "Where am I?"

"You're home," Layla said with a smile, a smile that I hadn't seen in years.

"No, no, no, this place was glassed, I was here when it happened!"

Suddenly the sound of the surf stopped, and I looked around only to realize that the beach was empty, no chairs, no canopy, no Reaper Squad. The entire ocean had stopped moving and it now looked like some sort of mirror, in fact, it almost looked like a pane of glass.

"Why can't you just take this as something good?" she asked sadly, her left shoulder was smoking. "You'd trade it for a life of death and hardship, just like you did me." The smoke from her shoulder had transformed into red-hot embers, I watched in shock as a fiery pattern crisscrossed all over her, burning her skin and dissolving it to ashes.

"Layla!"

"Sarge!" I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned around to see Scarecrow standing amidst a battlefield, human bodies literally carpeted the ground. My friend was standing in full combat armor, one hand on my shoulder and the other holding his rifle. He looked at me carefully before putting on his helmet.

"Let's go."

I nodded instinctively and made sure that my rifle had a bullet in the chamber. I took a step inside a building and darkness engulfed me.

I was out for what seemed like a lifetime, only waking up to the sound of water dripping. The sound of blood dripping.

I opened my eyes and saw Scarecrow just as I had last seen. His helmet was off and his face was badly burned. He glanced up and looked at me.

"You were supposed to lead us out of this alive," he said accusingly. "To get us home!"

"It was not my fault!" I yelled back.

"You didn't have to volunteer! You didn't have to risk our lives."

"That's our job! That's what we do!"

He cackled, blood spurting from his mouth as he did so. "No, it's what you do. You don't give a shit about what we think, you don't give a shit about us, you never did."

"That's a lie," I cried defensively.

"Is it?"

Is it?

Before I could say something my friends legs disappeared in a flutter of black feathers and wings. Crows and ravens flew at me and clawed at my face, hitting me with their wings and forcing me to cover my head and do my best to send them flying away before they scratched me too much. Eventually, the mass of crows gave up and flew away, allowing me to see the blood-red sky that had replaced the dark room.

In front of me were two dead trees, my friend was in between them, his legs missing now that they had become carrion birds. I felt myself throwing up.

I looked in horror at the sight of my friend like that, his hands clapped in chains and hanging from the ceiling. Gore and flesh was hanging from the hole right above his waist. A large pool of blood below him. I stood there, trying to react when Scarecrow lifted his head, sending me back three steps in fright. I tried to say something when I felt myself throwing up. A warm wind hit me and pushed me against a something hard. When I turned I saw that it was a pile of bones, skeletons piled so high that I couldn't see the end of it.

"You let me go," Scarecrow accused.

"You told me to!" I screamed. "It was your last wish!"

"Sarge?"

The entire world seemed to shake with that word.

"Now my family doesn't even have a body to bury," Scarecrow lamented.

I said nothing.

Scarecrow looked up from the ground and at me, the whites of his eyes were red with busted capillaries. "You dropped me!"

I tried to say something, but nothing came to mind. Finally I let myself fall down to the ground. I spread my hands out as the Covenant battlecruiser above me charged its main weapon. I didn't move as the white light became brighter and brighter. It seemed to take forever, but I just wanted it to fire and get it over with. Eventually the whole world had turned white.

"You ok? Wake up Sarge."

I heard the loud noise of a CCS-class battlecuiser grade plasma beam discharging and jerked slightly as I finally woke up.

"Shit Sarge, you ok?"

I instantly brought my hand up and wiped some anti-freeze fluid from my chin and chest. The rest had fallen next to me. I looked up to see Lamberti looking at me with a curious look in his eyes. He had already put on his underwear and had his pants around his ankles, maybe he had stopped putting them on when I realized that I didn't wake up even though my cryo pod had already opened.

"Excuse me," a man in white clothing pushed him aside. "Are you ok Gunnery Sergeant?"

"Yes, yes," I dismissed him, "I'm fine."

"You sure? Your brain waves went haywire there for a second."

"Just a bad dream," I explained, pushing myself outside of the pod, feeling only a little bit self-conscious of my nudity.

"M-hm," the tech replied, still not convinced. "If anything else happens let a doctor know."

"I will," I replied calmly.

After that was done I grabbed the bundle of clothes folded neatly in place next to my cryo pod. I never did figure out who placed the clothing there. I sure as hell didn't when I climbed into the freezer. Maybe UNSC ships had working elves or something that cleaned up for them.

Oh right, the automated drones. I feel sincerely bad that I just thought about that for the very first time.

I dressed myself in silence, thinking about the dream, the nightmare as I did so. I brushed my thoughts away by stealing a quick glance at Camilla and then doing my best not to steal another one. I was used to getting dressed up at the same time with female soldiers and crewmembers, it was part of life, but Cam was Cam, and everything that came with it. I managed to keep a hold of myself and to stare straight at a dull gray wall while getting dressed. I allowed myself to relax after putting my shirt on.

"We reporting anywhere?" I asked Pavel, who was a few pods away from me.

"Not yet, we have a couple of free days," he replied. "Swabbies gotta go to their positions. Someone's got to run the ship."

"I run the ship," Eliza said, appearing in a holotank not far from our pods.

"Hey Liz," Rob greeted. "Stunning as always."

"Thank you Lance Corporal," the hologram replied. Eliza even bothered with making her avatar blush slightly, eliciting laughter from Robert and Lamberti.

I smiled at it, my mind already pushing back the dream into some far-off corner where it wouldn't emerge unless I thought about it on purpose. Pavel was joking around with Snark, getting out a smile from the skinny Indian. I was glad that Pavel was making an effort to cheer up Naveen. He had taken George's death harder than most of us; they had gotten along famously ever since they met. I just hoped he wasn't having any nightmares.

"Frank," Camilla said quietly from next to me.

"Hm?"

"You ok?" she asked, the tone in her voice indicating her concern.

I shrugged her off. "I'm fine. Just a bad dream that's all."

"I understand," Cam acknowledged. "They say that dreams in cryo are the worst of all."

"They also say that you don't dream in cryo," I replied. Camilla looked at me with worry in her eyes before she realized it was simply a light-hearted joke. "I'm fine Cam, honestly."

"Good to know, but still, if you ever need to talk…"

"I'll go to Marina," I finished for her.

Cam smiled and punched me in the shoulder lightly. I doubt that Marina would be inconsiderate enough not to listen to me if I developed further problems, but it would be pretty awkward going to your ex-girlfriend (who you were not in good terms with) for a shrink chat. What was even more awkward though, was that Eliza was probably better than me in figuring things out that didn't relate to artificial beings whatsoever.

The ship seemed crowded, but it was because everybody was headed for their rooms right now. Half of the crew and complement were probably going to brush their teeth and get the lime-tasting anti-freeze fluid out of their mouths. Some lucky ones would be sneaking off to engage in non-sanctioned physical activities with other crewmembers. Said physical activities involved repetitive motions, sweating, and occasionally, grunting.

What I would give to count myself amongst that second group.

I walked towards my room while chatting about trivial matters with Cam. Pavel was joking around with Lamberti and Robert while Grigori and Snark remained quiet and solemn. Snark's behavior was a little unusual, but it was understandable all the same. Grigori, well, he was Grigori.

Myself? Well, I wasn't particularly fond of mint, and there was no better way to wash away the taste of bile than to replace it with something else. I doubted that they would be having real beef, but then again, all of us ate vat grown meat in pretty much every place except for the fanciest of restaurants. Well, frankly, I couldn't tell the difference unless I had one of each next to each other.

Turned out it was spaghetti.

Crappy spaghetti.

Not to worry, it would get better soon enough. Or at least I would get used to the crappy taste out of necessity. The same thing went for the vat-grown fish, or the vat-grown chicken, or the vat-grown beef. The only thing that tasted good here was the mashed potatoes, but it's pretty damn hard to mess those up, only a little bit easier than messing up cereal.

"Hey Gunny," a ranger said as he sat in front of me.

I looked up from my meal and looked at him hard, not to make him leave, but to try and recognize him. It took me about three seconds but eventually I recognized him as one of the only two survivors from Nezarian's platoon. The one with both of his arms still attached to his body. I didn't know his name though.

"Frank," a gruff voice greeted me.

I drew my eyes away from the young ranger and into the older one sitting next to me. Yevgeny looked pretty normal, no different than before. I hadn't seen him for quite some time, but last I saw him he was in a hospital bed, staring at a hospital's ceiling with dead eyes. He looked remarkably improved if I do say so myself.

"Yevgeny," I replied, "good to see you again."

He huffed. "Agreed, I was out of commission for the duration of Lambari, doctor let me out, the shrink didn't."

"Maybe it's for the best," I suggested.

"Lieutenant can fight," the ranger chimed in. "Just needed some time. Am I right el-tee?"

"'Course you are," Nezarian nodded at him. "Oh, by the way, this is Private Hugh Moffat."

"Pleasure," I said, offering my hand to him.

"Likewise Sergeant."

I winced slightly. "Here in the Corps we go by full-rank basis," I explained him. "So it would be Gunnery Sergeant as opposed to just Sergeant."

"Oh, sorry."

"No need to apologize, just letting you know."

"Thanks then."

I turned to the Russian ranger. "How you doing?"

"Well enough," he told me. "it's not the first time I lose someone. It's just the first time-"

"You lose them all," Private Moffat finished.

Yevgeny shrugged. "It's tough, I won't lie to you, but you learn to deal with it, you compartmentalize it, deal with it in time. On the other hand, this kid here, I thought he'd be carving the names of his friends into his arms by now."

Moffat smiled. "Perhaps I have el-tee."

"You're wearing short sleeves, Private," Nezarian pointed out with his fork.

So they deal with it with black humor. Fair enough.

I just nodded at them and changed the topic. "You got replacements?" Well, maybe I didn't change the topic that much.

Yevgeny nodded, munching on a meatball and swallowing it. "Yeah, whole platoon was replaced."

"Prognosis?"

"You and your large words," Nezarian chuckled. "Grass is starting to rub off on you."

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately? I'd give three fingers to have her rub against me. And I'm not the only one."

"Why don't you go for it then?" I asked sarcastically.

"I just might."

I was instantly jealous at that moment. Yevgeny was a good-looking man, even if the scar running across his jaw line was an ugly one, it only added to his military man charm. He was also on a completely different branch of the military, meaning that he could be in a relationship with her without any of the red-tape or being looked 'down upon' by the authority figures.

Huh, look at me, going over all the reasons why another man could be a potential partner for a squad mate I have no romantic interest in. Granted, physical interest is there, but that's a whole other thing.

"Wait, who are we talking about?" Moffat asked.

"Camilla Seppa," Nezarian explained. "The girl Helljumper."

"Never seen her without her helmet," Moffat said simply, going back to his food.

Yevgeny sighed. "I'll point her out to you sometime."

"Well, back to the prognosis," I urged.

"Right. Well, most of them are fresh out of school, none of them are older than twenty-two except for the sergeants, those are the only ones that have any combat experience at all."

"Hmm," I said doubtfully.

"They have the skills," Nezarian tried to persuade me, "they just lack the experience."

"They'll have more experience than they could've wished for in a while."

"I can vouch for that," Moffat agreed.

"Most of them are natives to Reach," the ranger lieutenant went on, "joined the military because they were surrounded with it, but they made it through boot camp, so they're probably good enough for it."

"You ought to drill them some more," I suggested. "Perhaps you can have them run the circuit."

I was talking about the wider-than-usual hallways that went around the ship, close to the very edge of the hull. They were seldom used because there was nothing there that you could use them to get to, so they were usually used as tracks, that was one of its intended designs.

"And run them until they drop? I lost my whole platoon, I don't need them to hate me in addition to the rumor running around."

"What about Moffat here?" I asked. "They look at him weird too?"

"Nah," the man in question said. "I'm enlisted, that makes me innocent on pretty much all counts. Gotta say Lieutenant, I'm not looking forward to having to run a bunch of times around the ship."

"Maybe you could have them do a half-marathon," I suggested. "And then go to the firing range immediately after."

"I suppose that you want me to pit them against you in hand to hand combat after that?" he asked sarcastically.

"Knife combat would be optimal," I shrugged. "But I don't think that a Ranger could handle it."

"You're on," Nezarian suddenly said, fire in his eyes.

Moffat sighed. "You do realize that that's exactly what he wanted you to do, right?"

"Shut up Private, unless you think you can't handle it."

Moffat was still a combat-tested ranger, that meant that he had his pride. Being a member of the 777th Infantry Regiment, 7th Battalion was prestigious enough as it is, all those sevens were as good as a thumbs up stamp in your dossier. And that's not even mentioning the extensive combat record of his company and platoon, whose numbers and designations I failed to remember.

"If you really mean to have a couple of them go against me, then you need to warn me beforehand. So I'm early, you know."

"I will," Nezarian confirmed.

"Are you going to make them all fight me?"

"Nyet, I'm going to make it optional, I figure that they'll give up by the tenth man you slam on the floor."

"Oh Yevgeny, you flatter me," I mocked him. "Say, how's Valeri doing?"

"He got a nice replacement prosthetic, looks and feels pretty much like a regular arm, except that it's black and has a hexagonal pattern on it. He refused to have it painted to match his skin tone, he wants everyone to know what he lost while serving humanity."

I smiled, it sounded like something I would do. I raised my glass of water in a toast. "To Sergeant Valeri and the men of…what was your platoon again?"

Yevgeny rolled his eyes. "1st platoon, 1st Company, 7th Ba-"

"To the men of the first of the first of the seventh," I offered.

"May their names be remembered," Moffat offered as he clinked his glass to mine.

"And their sacrifices never forgotten."

To you Scarecrow, I thought to myself. To you as well.

I found myself in the boxing ring that our ship's gym sported. I had put on a pair of knee-length shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Both black, of course. Yevgeny had given me a call about two hours ago, so I had taken my time and had a healthy (healthy-sized) snack before going to the gym. Right now I was putting on bandages on my hands, spinning them around my wrist for some support and in between every finger. I made sure to pad my knuckles additionally. Once I was satisfied with the result of both hands I squeezed them into a pair of mixed martial arts gloves.

Normally I wouldn't have wrapped my hands when sparring, instead only doing it when working on some heavy hitting on the bag. Not that I planned on breaking any ribs, but I had no doubt that all the rangers knew what the bandages were used for. And an intimidation factor always helped when you were fighting against an elite unit.

I heard heavy breathing and rapid steps. Seconds later an entire platoon piled in through the door. Their gray shirts were soaking wet with sweat. They were shaking.

Huh, might be easier than I thought.

"Ok listen up!" Yevgeny boomed. "This man right here is Gunnery Sergeant Francisco Castillo, a friend of mine and a Helljumper, although the black probably gave that little fact away. You see, I have a bet with him on how many rangers he could beat in hand to hand combat!"

That was a lie, we hadn't made any bets.

"He said twenty-nine!"

I never specified any number.

"I said zero."

Well, he did kind of imply that. I gave him a mock salute.

"Gunnery Sergeant Castillo is an expert in close combat, you'll each be sparring with him in turn."

"Lieutenant," one of the rangers managed out. "You sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is, when you do your first jet-drop you'll be wishing to be getting your ass kicked by him. And you, you're going first."

A couple of rangers chuckled at his friend's fate, but the ranger dutifully erected himself and climbed in between the ropes.

He looked to be reasonably fit, shorter than I was and less muscular, but he would've impressed most people with his musculature. He had a by-the-books Army haircut. What I noticed most though, was that he was sweating like a pig and in no condition to try to spar with anyone with even remote knowledge of boxing. Not to be a self-flatterer, but I am one of the best at this.

"No gloves for me?" he asked.

I smiled. "You won't need them."

"Lieutenant, did you say getting our asses kicked by him? I thought you bet that none of us could beat him."

Nezarian simply gave his soldier an incredibly creepy smile. "I lied."

The first fight was brief, awfully so. The ranger was too tired and barely had the strength to keep his arms up. I nailed him with three straight jabs to the forehead before delivering an uppercut to his solar plexus. That last punch got the wind knocked out of him and forced him to his knees.

"You're going to have to do better than that lieutenant," I informed Yevgeny.

He shrugged and crossed his arms. He looked remarkably rested for a man that had just ran twenty-one kilometers and done some heavy-duty practice at the firing range. Kudos to him.

That being said, the rangers were the best that the UNSC Army had to offer and the second best that the regular UNSC military could pit against the Covenant. Even if they were tired, sweaty, out of breath, dizzy, and not close combat experts, they were still rangers, which is to say that they were dangerous and, in many instances, a bitch to fight with.

At first I relegated myself to using boxing techniques, a square guard with my arms covering me from nose to kidneys. The first few rangers mimicked my position and got into similar stances with few modifications. My main advantage over them was my skill, of course, but I doubt that I could've fought more than five of them in a row had they not been exhausted. I know that I should be the last to admit that they weren't a match, but you probably wouldn't believe that I managed to beat the first few so easily if I didn't emphasize just how tired they were. You try running half a marathon at breakneck speeds and then fighting the best close-quarters-combatant on the ship.

Oh, and my augmentations probably played a part in it as well.

"Get him!" one of the rangers I had already beaten yelled as one of his compatriots delivered a vicious cross to my jaw.

Ok, that's probably a sign.

I changed my stance to one that had me standing sideways and delivered a quick kick to my opponent's left thigh, right above his knee. The pain that shot through his leg was enough to force him sideways. I took advantage of that brief moment to use my left arm to deliver a quick strike to the man's cheek, sending him to the floor. It was the first time that anyone had used a technique that didn't involve punches.

"What are you looking at?" Nezarian asked his subordinates. "I never specified any rules."

I thought the sergeant was supposed to be the nasty one.

The mechanics of the king of the hill-styled training exercise changed suddenly. The rangers realized that they could use all of their limbs to hit me, and for the next two fights I found myself victim of assaults including fists, elbows, knees, and shins. I was faster than them, but I was beginning to tire and my opponents were increasingly well-rested.

After the twelfth fight I received a kick to the ribs, I would've been out for sure had those ribs in question not been titanium prosthetics. At least I could thank that brute chieftain for something.

"Yeah," I said, doing my best to sound bored. "I have metal ribs."

The man in front of me promptly found himself knocked down to the floor.

"That's almost half," I thought out loud. Of course, my introspective thoughts were taken as a taunt by the rangers, which only meant that they would be more eager to knock me out violently.

"Shit you're tall," I noted at the next man that faced me. Not only was he tall, he was also big, like stoutly big.

He just smiled at me and threw a quick punch.

I put my forearms in the way and felt myself being pushed back three steps and all the way into the ropes. I pulled my arms apart just quickly enough to see a wrestling-style clothesline directed at my face. I ducked underneath it and jumped behind the man, delivering an elbow strike to his kidney in the process. The huge man swung wildly with a backhanded punch, making for another easy dodge and exposing himself. I realized that it was best that I end the fight quickly so I jumped on his back and got him in a vice grip. His reflexes were slow from the long run, and I quickly managed to get my arm around his neck.

The large ranger tried to connect a couple of elbow strikes as I cut the blood flow to his brain, but both were mere glancing strikes. I was hoping that he would try and jump on his back, that way I could make us fall sideways and have him on the ground, unable to get up. Unfortunately, he knew better than that and kept delivering elbow strikes even as he fell to his knees.

After a few seconds I let him go, signaling the fight was won by me.

"You guys are good," I heaved in between breaths. "Putaaaa!"

Of course, they had noticed that I was starting to sweat as much as they were, so they got renewed vigor and inspiration.

I should've told them to put on gloves.

I cursed my own stupidity as a little guy delivered three quick kicks to my legs and ribs. Leave it to the guy to be Asian and fill a stereotype to the letter. On the third kick I grabbed his leg, and in a move borrowed from a movie that Rob had put on during movie night, I grabbed him by the shirt's collar, lifted him up and slammed him down on the floor. Unlike in the movie, the little Asian guy actually got the wind knocked out of him and had no strength left to fight. I was starting to abandon finesse for quickness. So much unlike me.

"Is it just me, or are they getting better as they progress?"

Yevgeny smirked.

"You planned for this!" I said accusatorily as I realized why every ranger was more talented than the last. "You told them!"

His smiled transformed into a grin. "A good leader is a good strategist."

I managed to make it all the way to opponent number twenty-seven, third to last.

I raised my eyebrow as a girl in her mid-twenties climbed inside the ring. She took her time to tie her hair into a practical ponytail and stretched her arms a little bit before taking a combat stance, balancing on the balls of her feet.

"Really?" I asked.

"You can't resist the charms of a pretty girl," Nezarian explained. "And she can probably kick your ass too."

I was raised by a comparatively traditional family, and my uncle was a firm believer in chivalry, including the downsides to that. While I wasn't a misogynistic pig that treated women like disposable rags, I did feel a little bit uncomfortable hitting one, especially one that looked like she could faint from exhaustion any second. I felt even more uncomfortable knowing that I shouldn't feel uncomfortable at that. I resolved to finish the fight as soon as possible using grapples and holds.

I got into a boxing stance and closed in on her, taking her in.

Yeah, I know I should've been observing her movements, her guard, her eyes, but I actually dedicated myself to take in all her physical features. Her pretty face, fit body, thin-but-curvy frame, her full lips, her perfect nose, her gray eyes, and her fantastic rack.

Of course, my leering did not go unpunished, as I instantly received a quick jab to the forehead.

I swear, they just keep finding attractive women and deploying them on this ship.

"Don't complain about it," Schitzo said from a corner, unsurprisingly, he was fashioned much like a boxing coach would be. "I mean, there's no downside to that. And remember that you can actually guarantee that your baby will be good-looking with genetic manipulation."

I know that. Idiot.

I tried closing in to get a decent grip, but the girl read my intentions and kept me at bay with quick strikes, jumping inside my guard, punching me a few times, and then jumping back out before I could get a firm grip. I really didn't want to punch her and I felt pain for it. Literal pain mind you.

Eventually she delivered a kick to my knee, forcing me to jump back to avoid a follow-up strike. I wasn't successful.

The follow-up strike consisted of her jumping at me and placing her legs around my head. Ignore the potential for dirty thinking, will ya? Immediately after than she twisted her body and used her own weight as leverage to throw me across the ring. I tried to get my bearings as I flew, succeeding in rolling on my side.

That's right the chick just went all Hurracarrana on my ass.

I got up before she could deliver another strike and took full advantage of my enhanced reflexes. I grabbed her fist as it flew straight for my nose, instead of using her force against her I used my own to stop her in her tracks. I then bent her arm so that her elbow was pointing upwards and her hand was behind her neck. She threw two quick punches to my side while I put my right leg behind both of hers and pushed her backwards. She lost balance and fell to the floor, me following her.

We both slammed down pretty hard, but that was part of the plan. I climbed on top of her (not in that way mind you) and pressed her elbow towards the floor, eliciting a wave of pain. The distraction gave me enough time to secure her other arm to the floor with my knee. She was done and she knew it. The ranger tried delivering a few kicks and attempted to knee me a couple of times before she realized that I was out of her reach and had her at my mercy (no! not that way!).

"Yield," she finally said.

"Yield? Very Middle Ageish," I told her as I stood up and offered her my hand. "What's your name?"

"Winchester, Claire Winchester," she replied as she took my hand and pulled herself up. "Specialist."

"Pleasure to meet you," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "In a manner of speaking."

She nodded, looking at me strangely before leaving the ring, giving me a nice view of her rear as she bent over to climb in between the ropes. Schitzo wasn't nearly as reserved as I was, leering at her and taking in all that he could.

"You know," he said, "Captain Brooks' daughter is named Claire too." He paused for a moment. "You're still missing two opponents," he warned me.

Right.

Two rangers later (I'm not even going to bother anymore) I found myself staring at the ceiling, taking heavy breaths. I put both my hands over my chest and let them rest there after only just beating the last ranger. This time I didn't bother with strength, instead using my speed to cheat and get him in a chokehold. He gave up after thirty seconds, I collapsed as soon as he left the ring in defeat. I started taking heavier breaths, trying to get as much oxygen into my body as I could.

I recoiled when I felt water being splashed on top of me. "So? What's the prognosis?" Nezarian asked, offering me his hand.

"Can't judge their combat skills, but half of them would've had a shot at beating me if they had been breathing normally at the beginning of the fight." It was a white lie, only about a quarter would've had that chance. "How many of them got their black belt in the Martial Arts Program?"

"Well, Specialist Winchester is instructor certified," he informed me. "She's upset you beat her, though she didn't show it. You got on the wrong step with her."

"What?"

"Oh, I saw how you looked at her, if the Lockley thing doesn't pan out you're going straight after Winchester."

"I don't even-"

"Enough," Yevgeny interrupted. "Have some water."

I grabbed the bottle he was offering me and proceeded to empty it while he listed off the members of his platoon that were black belts in the UNSCDF Martial Arts Program. I had little trouble knowing which ones were which, the ones with black belts were the ones that had given me all the bruises.

"…and all the rest are green belt or higher."

"Impressive, if they can shoot straight you might have a decent platoon in your hands."

He chuckled. "You were rather impressive too," he complimented, patting me on the shoulder and then suddenly pushing my head sideways to better examine a growing bruise on my jaw. "Could've used a little bit more finesse if you ask me, but thirty straight rangers? I don't think anyone outside of boot camp CQC instructors has ever done that."

"Well, there's always a first time," I replied, smiling at the compliment.

"Yeah, but I'll doubt there'll be a second," he informed me. "You ought to get yourself checked out on those bruises."

I groaned, the pain already setting in as the adrenaline started wearing off. I hopped out of the ring and limped my way outside the gym. I could only smile as Lieutenant Yevgeny Nezarian started chewing on his new platoon. If they didn't like him before they would hate him for putting them through this. They'd hate him almost as much as I hated him right now for somehow having me end up having to face thirty UNSC Army Rangers in a row.

I arrived at the med bay after a painful walk through the ship. Fortunately enough, some smart soldier had decided that injuries would be common in the gym and placed it nearby. The shooting range was also within close range in case some dumbass accidentally shot himself in the foot. A more common occurrence than you'd think, and not everyone is trying to get themselves discharged.

Unsurprisingly, the med bay was empty at the moment, not many people had the talent to get hurt just three days into our deployment. I was one of those few talented enough to manage that while still being able to look like a badass. A nurse came up to meet me and asked me what was wrong. I gave her an incredulous look at her before I realized that I was supposed to behave more professionally.

"Just finished a pretty tough session in the combat ring," I explained. "Mind calling Doctor Zhivago?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that Commander Zhivago has more pressing matters to attend to than a couple of scrapes and bruises."

I grabbed her wrist lightly, as to not give a threatening signal. "Please," I insisted. "He's a friend and I haven't seen him in a while."

The nurse relented, sighing and shaking her head before looking at me. "All right then, just wait here."

"Of course, miss."

I sat in one of the waiting chairs and examined the bruises on my arms. They looked like red fist marks right now, but in a couple of hours I would be covered by purple and black. I had avoided hits to the face thanks to a combination of bobbing and the rangers unwilling to go straight for the head without gloves. For that, I was thankful for them. Maybe I ought to buy them a round next time we hit the ground.

I looked up when I heard a set of steps entering the med bay. I was surprised to see Specialist Claire Winchester walking inside. She looked around for a receptionist or medical staff before spotting me.

"Gunnery Sergeant," she greeted, her voice neutral.

"Specialist," I replied with a slightly more cheery tone. "What's wrong?"

"Personal matters," she replied coolly.

"All right. The nurse went to look for Doctor Zhivago," I explained.

Specialist Winchester nodded and sat down in a chair opposite me. She sat with her back straight and her ankles crossed while she avoided looking at me, instead focusing on staring at the door from which Doc Zhivago would surely emerge. I took advantage of that to observe her carefully. As I had pointed out before, she was beautiful, had a great body, and gray eyes. Her hair was a dark reddish-brown, although it probably was a little lighter if you accounted for the sweating, and she had a trail of freckles crossing her cheeks and nose.

Yes gentlemen and ladies who are into that, she was yet another perfect ten.

I failed to suppress a smile at that point.

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked irritably all of a sudden.

Shit, I'm made. Think fast, think fast. "I was just wondering, Lieutenant Nezarian said that you were a black belt in the Martial Arts Program, but you obviously know some other martial arts." I didn't have to actually ask the question, she knew what I wanted to know.

"I'm a certified instructor in Karate, Aikido, and Taekwondo. I'm also what you'd consider an expert in Capoeira, Sambo, Jit Kune Do, and Judo. In addition to that I practice Keysi, Kung Fu, Kenpo, and Krav Maga."

"Lucha Libre?" I inquired.

"What? No."

"That leg-throw thing you did, the Hurracarana, is a Lucha Libre move."

"I've never heard of Lucha Libre."

I feigned shock. "No, seriously?"

"Really," Winchester insisted.

"Oh well, it was rather impressive," I complimented.

"What about you Gunnery Sergeant?" she asked. "What do you practice."

I suddenly felt at a disadvantage. Specialist Winchester was an expert in four different martial arts, could instruct in three different ones, and practiced four others that had fancy names and all started with the letter K. On paper, it was a whole lot more impressive than my own repertoire.

"Well, I do, did, Kickboxing, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, and Kali."

"Kali?" she asked. "What's that."

"Knife fighting," I replied simply.

"That's it?" Claire Winchester asked me.

"Yeah, oh, and the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program," I furthered.

The ranger in front of me seemed incredulous. "You're telling me that you're an expert in only four martial arts."

Whoa, talk about an overachiever.

"Well, I never did get my black belt in Kickboxing."

Yeah, I probably shouldn't have said that.

Claire looked like she was about to say something but I interrupted her. "It's all about the experience though, I've been fighting ever since I turned thirteen."

"I've been fighting since I was ten," she spat out.

Ok, I'm trying to help out here, woman!

"Ah, Frank, what is it now?"

Thank God. "Morning Doc," I saluted the man before shaking his hand. "I got beat up by a group of angry rangers."

"I see," Zhivago stated. "Did Miss Winchester have anything to do with it?"

I shrugged. "More than I'd like to admit," I said truthfully.

"Of course, I'll give you something, come with me." He turned around, "I'll be with you in a moment Miss Winchester."

"Commander," she nodded at him.

Doc Zhivago led me to a small room. "Take your shirt off."

I obeyed and tried to look unassuming as he inspected me for damage.

"Raise your arms."

I did.

"Damn Frank," he muttered. "You got one hell of a beating. Where they using gloves?"

"No."

"You're an idiot." He moved towards a cabinet and pulled out a bunch of medicine jars. "Ok, you're probably going to get a huge bruise all over your right side and part of your back. Both your upper arms are going to be pretty beat up, you might get swelling in your jaw, but nothing serious."

"Should I avoid any physical exercise?"

He laughed. "Like whatever I say will stop you. Yes, probably, but don't worry, you have one of the most remarkable healing factors that I have ever seen in anyone. You'll probably be just fine inside a week."

"All right, thanks Doc," I said after popping two capsules.

"Did you undergo genetic modification in-uterus?" he asked me. "Or anything else other than standard military augmentations?"

It was rude to ask. While genetic modification was available for the general public, even if tightly controlled by authorities, it was extremely expensive and frowned upon by a large part of the population. It was also considered pretty tacky. Seeing as Zhivago was a doctor, I decided that his question was purely professional.

"Not that I'm aware off, no," I replied simply as I rubbed some weird salve over the areas that he had told me would look the worse later.

"Hmm, doesn't matter. Just try to avoid getting hit so much in the future."

I laughed and stopped when it caused too much pain. "You don't have to tell me twice." We walked outside the door as I put on my shirt. "Hell, another round of that and I'd probably end up dead."

"Probably," Zhivago agreed with a smile. "Well, off you go Frank, I don't want to see you for a long while."

"Understood."

"Miss Winchester, if you will."

I looked at the specialist and nodded at her. "Specialist," I said as a way of goodbye.

"Gunnery Sergeant," she replied, her voice even colder than before.

How the hell did I manage to piss her off like that?

"You know," Schitzo said, "if you had behaved like your usual charming self you might've avoided coming off as a self-indulging bastard."

I fail to see how I was self-indulging.

"You're probably right, maybe I meant self-centered, showoff, asshole," he suggested. "Take your pick."

I honestly don't know how I should react to my subconscious insulting me.

"Hey, at least you don't trash the room anymore," Schitzo said. He somehow managed to make it sound like a compliment. If I was nearly as smooth with words and body language in real life as Schitzo was with me then I had one more reason to feel proud of myself.

Once I arrived inside my room I found Pavel wrapping up a message home.

"…and again, sorry for not being able to send a message earlier. Love you."

"And Frank says hi," I added.

"And Frank says hi," he repeated. He clicked a button on the datapad and looked up at me. "How'd it go?"

"I managed," I said cryptically.

"Nice, giving us Helljumpers a high name," Pavel complimented as he offered me his fist. I bumped it and let myself fall down on my bed, groaning at the pressure on my bruises.

"I aim to please," I replied, trying to find a comfortable position. "But it did hurt like hell."

"Maybe you should've bet something."

"Maybe I should've." I waited some time to think of anything to start a conversation with. "So, your wife's five months pregnant now. Think you might make your kid's birth?"

"I hope so," Pavel replied. "But I've got no illusions about it."

"Damn, I hope you make it," I said. "I really do."

"Thanks bud, but we both knew what we were getting into when we got married."

"I think you knew, she didn't."

Pavel was about to snap back something when he realized that I meant it as a mostly harmless insult and not as a serious comment. He looked over from his small desk and shook his head.

"Before I forget, you got a package."

"A package?" I asked. "For real."

"Yeah, catch."

Pavel tossed me a box that was perhaps four inches tall and one foot square. I caught it and opened it. I was surprised when I pulled out a piece of heavy wood before I realized what this was.

"What's that?" Pavel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A target, to practice with my knife skills."

He shrugged and said nothing, he was used to me throwing knives all over the place. By this point he barely flinched when I did a behind-the-back throw at a target inches from his face. I don't know what was more impressive, that he didn't flinch, or the fact that I could make the throw accurately.

There was a knock at the door.

"Open," I said lazily as I hung the square piece of wood on the wall.

"Hey Frank, Pavel."

I turned around to see Second Lieutenant Emily Hardwick standing at the door, she was wearing her ever-present aviator sunglasses even though we were inside a ship that was very comfortably lit. She was wearing an outfit that reminded me a bit of Marina, a flight suit covered her bottom half, with the arms tied around her waist in a knot while she had a gray t-shirt on.

"Lieutenant," I greeted cheerfully. "It's been a while Emily."

"Yeah," she admitted. "Do you mind coming over to my room, I need some help."

"Sure," I replied, "what for?"

She gave me a wicked grin. "What do you think for?"

And just like that, my day took a turn for the better.

Thanks to Sniper Fodder for proof-reading this chapter.

Now, before I go into a needlessly long author's note I just want to say that I'm sorry it took so long to update, it's just that I didn't have access to my laptop for the past three days and couldn't finish the next chapter. I stayed up until one just so that you guys could have this. I'm tough like that.

I feel the need to justify that one versus thirty scene. When I was writing it I had a pretty plausible idea in mind, but once I went over it again I realized that the whole thing seems pretty unlikely to happen in real life. I tried fixing it a little bit to make it more believable, but I think that I didn't entirely succeed. Still, just wanted to point out how tired you'd feel after running twenty-one kilometers. Hell, ten kilometers is a horrible thing to go through.

Ok, a few things. Numbah one, if you didn't catch the 117 reference than I am slightly offended, I couldn't have possible made it more obvious unless I put it in bold. Numbah two, I think that all of you can guess who Frank was referring to when facing the small asian ranger with quick kicking skills. Lastly, I just have to say that every new female character that I bring into the story is attractive because it's easier to imagine them like that. Who am I kidding, author appeal for the win! Yay!

One more last thing. Obviously the chapter title has nothing to do with the chapter content itself, it was either that or "Nonacceleratory."

Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

-casquis