(A/N) Hey guys, time for a very delayed update, and I'd like to apologise about that, but hey, at least it's a long one, with plenty of action, right? You may remember Ian Harper from Phase One: Genesis - the evil, psychotic, malicious poster boy of the URF, and Cal's personal nemesis? Well, now we've got a chapter from his POV, letting you know exactly what he did that made the UNSC consider giving the Director all his old powers back. Warning: It gets pretty brutal! Also, to make up for our recent delays, a second chapter will be coming out later today, so keep a look out for it!
For those that don't know this by now, although come on, I'm sure there's precious few of you at this point, we're looking for new writers for OC Freelancers and Wash, the Counselor and 479er at the moment, to take part in the second half of Phase Two: Betrayal, and those interested should either send me a PM or else head on over to our forum and fill out an Author Application Form and then the relevant Character Application Form. Those interested in doing so should note that the forum will be closing for apps on the 1st of January 2014, so get to work!
Enjoy!
Chapter Twelve – Sending a Message
Lt Ian Harper
Written by BrambleStar14
"I should say I am far more cleverer than any of the people who put me here. As a matter of fact, I could leave any time I wanted. It's only a doll house after all. Anyway, I don't mind. I like dolls.
Particularly the live ones."
― The Joker, Batman: Arkham Asylum
Ian Harper had found himself with nothing to do, and as a result, that meant he was bored. He hated a select few things, such as rainbows, little children, and those pictures of "funny cats" that kept appearing every time he tried to access the Internet, but most of all, beyond anything else, he hated being bored. Unfortunately, this wasn't all that new of an experience, as it tended to happen if he hadn't shot anything for five minutes, and he had been cooped up in this dump for days.
He lay back on his bed, which was tucked into a corner of his quarters within the old Insurrection base, which Ark had turned into his personal headquarters, staring at the light hanging from the ceiling, his eyes wide as he focused his breathing to be as slow and controlled as he could make it. There was literally nothing to do. He hated having nothing to do. Ark had informed him earlier that there might be a task for him later, and he was counting off the seconds until his "leader" called. Not that Harper cared about the "rules" or what he was or wasn't supposed to do, but he might as well follow Ark. For now.
At least he got to kill shit.
He wondered briefly if he could actually make himself stop breathing, his loosely connected thoughts wondering if being dead would be more interesting than waiting for Arkansas to make up his mind and call on him. Absent-mindedly, he threw the small rubber ball across the room, catching it without a second thought as it deflected off of the opposite wall. It was all he could do to pass the time. Eventually, he had had enough.
"I hate being bored!" he moaned, sitting up and looking around the room for something to occupy his attention. The second person occupying the room grinned, stifling a laugh at his boss's obvious discomfort.
"Take it easy, you're freaking out over nothing. Ark'll call you in soon. I hope," he ended on a mutter, eyes following Harper as he jumped to his feet and anxiously paced around the room, arms folded.
Harper refused to listen. He really needed to do something, to kill something, or maybe even torture something. That would be fun. Maybe he could head to the brig and vent on whatever riff-raff he found. But there was no one there, he remembered suddenly, his mood souring with the remembrance. Maybe he could take someone to the Brig? Nah, Ark would have him locked up and he'd be back to square one.
"Too long, Falcon!" he insisted, heading over to his desk and searching through the drawers for his handgun. "Far too long! I need something to do. I need somewhere to go! Where is this damn gun?" He turned around to see his second in command, Falcon, twirling it around with a grin. Walking over, he snatched it defensively, walking back to his bed and hugging the pistol tightly.
"Don't touch."
Falcon laughed softly, pushing a hand through dark brown hair that was creeping down towards his dark eyes, shrugging. "Sorry boss. I know you get attached."
Harper growled, cleaning the gun mindlessly. Unfortunately, the gun was in good condition and he was finished in very little time. He stormed around the room, moving things for want of something to do, forcing Falcon off of the chair he was occupying and throwing it to see what would happen. It bounced twice after connecting solidly with the wall. Harper made a mental note to try and beat that record.
Getting an idea, he quickly picked up his data-pad, sending a couple of threatening messages to random people in the address book in an attempt to ruin some days. He felt pretty pleased with himself until he received that very message, having sent it to himself by accident. Frustrated, he jumped back onto the bed, hands buried in the hair he'd regrown after his short stay on the Freelancers' wonderful ship, madness twinkling worse than ever in his deep green eyes.
"Ian," Falcon soothed. "They won't be long. Maybe five minutes. They said around three-" He was cut off by Harper's yell of frustration.
"Five minutes? That's ages! What if I get bored some more? I need something to do, a couple of books, a target to shoot at, maybe a television! Bring me knitting! I want to make a scarf and then burn it!" His rant was cut off by a sharp bleep emitting from his data-pad. Diving off of the bed, and hitting the floor in the process, Harper stumbled to his feet and darted to the desk, shouting with glee as he recognised Ark's number, encrypted as it was.
"That's my cue!" he muttered happily, dancing to the door, trying to dramatically hit the open button and missing twice, hitting his hand against the wall instead and growling. He practically sprinted to the main control centre, popping his head around the door and spying Ark standing by the large array of screens against one wall, still wearing his armour. He never seemed to be out of it, at least, for as long as Harper had known him. Harper walked across the room casually, drawing a few eyes.
"Someone order a psycho?" he half-shouted, drawing Ark's attention as he snapped a half-hearted salute, opting to stare at the screens rather than his apparent commanding officer. "Can I kill something this time? Tell me I can kill something. I haven't killed something for ages and I'm getting reeeeeaaaaally bored here, Ark-"
"Harper," Ark interrupted wearily, his hand raised to his forehead, no doubt suppressing a headache.
"And you get all the cool stuff, this live execution stuff and the whole 'we are justice and I am the leader' stuff and-"
"Harper."
"It's just really frustrating. I'm a combat specialist! I need to kill stuff! Or blow stuff up! Or set stuff on fire, or raze it, or nuke it or even just take a prisoner; I could do with getting blood under my nails."
"Harper!" Ark half shouted, drawing Harper's attention momentarily, before his eyes trailed back to the screens, transfixed by all the moving figures and flashing lights and flames. "You'll get your wish if you'll just shut up for a second and listen. We have a slight problem. The UNSC have finally made their move, sending out several army squads from the capital to search for us and, presumably, to negate the threat we're posing. They've begun tentatively searching the jungle nearest the capital, but if our intel is correct they should come across our facility here by tomorrow. I want you to take your squad topside and…send the UNSC a message for me."
His tone remained low, but the order was easily understandable, even for someone as distracted and as absent-minded as Harper.
"While that sounds fun, but why not do it yourself, Arky-boy?" He smiled innocently, as though it was a simple question.
Ark apparently was not fooled and merely raised an eyebrow. "Because former Freelancers taking down a squad of soldiers wouldn't make the UNSC take note. You're taking this mission because we need to show that the Crimson Sun isn't just a pair of rogue Freelancers. If our men can take down some UNSC soldiers, clean, brutal, and on their own, that'll be a message that they won't be expecting."
Harper rolled his eyes, before nodding."Got it. Boring political stuff. Booooring! I'll just go kill stuff." He turned and practically skipped from the room. Just as he reached the door, he turned slowly, watching Ark with renewed interest. "We don't have any prisoners in the brig, do we? For... informational purposes only."
Ark shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, leaving Harper feeling both disappointed and slightly proud that he seemed to annoy everyone he met. He turned and skipped away.
Though Ark might not realise it, he was sharper then he appeared to be. He knew Ark was keeping him from anything too important, trying to stop any new Innies from becoming just too loyal to Harper. He was attempting to stop him building a power base. Well, Harper had decided, he can think he has. Ark had apparently slightly misjudged Harper, assuming he rules through just fear. In his time, he had saved a lot of Insurrectionists and there was a great many soldiers in the Crimson Sun who owed him loyalty. However, he was aware that it was better to save that influence for later, when he would be dramatic and reveal his power. Maybe with dramatic music and a flash effect, like in all those modern movies. Maybe he could get an exploding building in the background! That seemed to be all the rage at the minute.
He strolled back into his room, whistling a jaunty, uplifting tune and grinning at Falcon, proffering a thumbs up in his deputy's direction. "We're on. Grab weapons and... and stuff that sounds dramatic and awesome and inspiring. We're going hunting."
Harper did enjoy working with his team. Mind you, he enjoyed working in general, as work often involved slowly taking people apart for the sake of it, but what's life without its little benefits? After all, life was pretty much a game, and a game that Harper intended to win at that.
By killing everything else that played.
He glanced over his squad as the UNSC Pelican hovered over its LZ above Haven's lush forests, preparing to land and drop off the squads of soldiers on board, not expecting the welcome that was being prepared for them. Harper had found the perfect location for the welcoming party; it would be quite a lovely ambush. Or a lovely "getting shot at" moment, but either variation appealed to Harper.
Every single one of the underlings that were travelling with him that day had been handpicked by him, his own personal squad, the only survivors of his time from the UNSC, though he loathed that section of his career. Not enough time killing of stuff.
And then there was Isaac.
Scowling, he shook his head, before looking over the team, anger fading as quickly as anyone's impression of his sanity. Each member that sat within the small craft would follow him into hell. They already had on multiple occasions. And they all had lovely little codenames as well, given by the ONI operatives whose job seemed to be giving cool nicknames to enemy specialists.
Falcon, known to the rest of the squad as Phillip Blake, was up front, driving. As his codename implied, he could fly, and damn well at that. Clad in one of the few remaining Advanced Prototype suits they had left, he had painted a blue and gold falcon across his breastplate, over the nondescript grey armour, making him look like somewhat of a resident birdwatcher. Otherwise, he looked like the definition of a psychopath, with his wide, raving eyes and smug smirk permanently decorating his face. Which he was, in a sense, even if he pitied the UNSC far too much for Harper's liking.
Firefly, wild red hair dulled in the low light, was further along the pelican's interior, casually placing a gas canister into his custom flamethrower. As Aaron Paul's codename implied, he put the "maniac" into pyromaniac. He was a brilliant fighter, perfect to have in any situation that was required explosive expertise and Harper had grown to respect this somewhat eccentric soldier, knowing full well that he was worth his weight in gold. Until, one day, he got himself caught within his own blaze and was badly burned. His armour, unfortunately, was more basic than Falcon's, standard Innie gear with a few modifications, such as the gold coloured pauldrons he sported. He was an excellent hit and run fighter, redirecting his fuel into his makeshift jetpack for short bursts, he could allow for launches into the air, past enemies, or down to the ground from his perch. He was also known to continually lament the lack of a properly functioning jetpack.
Mike Baxter, or Crosshair, was the next in line, smirking as he loaded another bullet into his sniper rifle. Mike had been a prolific sniper during the time he served in the UNSC, and Harper couldn't remember the last time that he missed a shot. With a sarcastic, almost uncaring personality, he was one of the deadliest men Harper had ever known. He wore his dark coloured armour, again, standard Insurrectionist gear, but with a white and red crosshairs painted over the heart. Baxter, seeing Harper looking, nodded once, before snapping his ammo cartridge into place, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space, gelled silver hair as dull as Firefly's normally bright mess.
A man was whistling his signature tune to himself as he examined his own helmet, checking his reflection, examining the rust coloured hair and brown eyes with an "it'll do for now," expression. Little was known about Geist, even by Harper, since he'd somehow entered Castle Base and removed himself from the ONI records, expect for the fact that he had some French ancestry. His accent gave it away, though it was usually covered by the whistling that was the last thing most of his prey heard. Harper didn't even know the guy's real name. Wearing another of the Advanced Prototype suits, Geist's had been modified to allow more mobility, at the loss of much of the suit's stopping power. He was an assassin on the battlefield, the stiletto to Firefly's explosions. Harper knew for a fact that Geist found the rumour he had ripped an Active Camouflage from a Sangheili and attached it to his armour hilarious, given that only Spartan and Freelancer tech was anything near advanced enough to make use of the alien tech, though he did nothing to dissuade the untruth.
And finally, the last member of Harper's little gang, Lucas Thorpe, or Circuit. The youngest member, Lucas was a technology wizard, doing miracles such as taking down the Orion Base's defence network for a little under eighteen minutes with only a data-pad, which must have been a source of considerable embarrassment for the UNSC. His red hair was a shorter length than Firefly's, though he often left it untamed, giving him a mad professor look as he showed off his latest act of genius. Wearing the Crimson Sun's version of ODST armour, grey with neon green trimming, an extra power cell strapped across his back, he was fully capable of holding his own in combat, despite his young age and relative inexperience compared to the other squad members.
And then there was Maverick, also known as Ian Harper, now clad in a grey and red replica of his old suit, except now a list of Freelancer states adorned his left shoulder pauldron, with "Massachusetts," "Michigan," "Arkansas" and "Pennsylvania" crossed out. Enough said, really.
Harper strode through the thick undergrowth causally, before sitting on a rock and waiting. Rain lashed down from the dark, stormy clouds above and cascaded from the treetops in which it collected. The perfect weather for a stealthy takedown. Too bad Harper's team weren't gonna be doing the stealthy approach when it came to these soldiers. They were here to execute them, might as well return the favour. And let them know they were returning the favour. Harper currently had his signature combo weapons, a large bowie knife, alongside his pistol, but today was also equipped with some new weapons Ark had "misappropriated" from a UNSC supplier. A smaller and lighter machine-gun prototype. They should actually give it a decent name, Harper mused. Like the Murder Gun, or the Killa Mega Death Bringer of Chaos.
A pity they only had enough ammunition for this mission, but he'd just have to make the best of it.
They had observed the Pelican lift off, presumably having dropped off its "cargo", flying away towards the capital with a shrill drone. Harper was just waiting now, as much as he loathed it. He needed to shoot something; he really needed to shoot something. Any minute now, those soldiers would wander right into the clearing up ahead to regroup and then- his fingers tightened around the knife, though he controlled himself, for once, and continued to wait.
Suddenly, without warning, several squads of army soldiers slashed their way through the undergrowth and burst into the clearing, rifles raised, before lowering them slightly and turning to the man who was presumably their commander, who rapidly ordered a perimeter set up, his eyes sweeping the area as he assessed the situation. Apparently, the Insurrectionist movement they expected to find weren't here. Faulty intel, or something more suspicious? Harper decided to put them out of their misery. He clipped his gun onto the magnetic holding device on his back, and held up his hands, walking out before the soldiers, much to their evident surprise.
"Alright guys?! Hello! Maverick here, just to give you a very warm welcome. You know, here to discuss surrender, that sort of shit?" He noted that every single soldier present had their attention, and weapons, entirely trained on him. Excellent.
The Commander swallowed, his left eyebrow raised, apparently nonplussed by this sudden turn of events. "Ian Harper, you are now in UNSC custody. Surrender yourself and no one has to be killed today." Harper laughed.
"Ah, Commander…I think you might've misunderstood me. I'm here to discuss your surrender."
The Commander barked out a sharp laugh, and shook his head. "The UNSC don't surrender, you scum. And definitely not to you. Now are you going to come in quietly, or not?"
Harper cocked his head, as though trying to decide. "That's a tricky one, Commander. It really is." He spread his arms wide, like a ringmaster, and clicked his fingers. Without warning, gunfire erupted through the hollow, felling several of the soldiers as the survivors fell back in horror, staring at Harper, who hadn't moved through the exchange, except for a rather wicked grin appearing while they had been distracted by their fallen allies. "I guess I'm not going to come quietly after all," he replied, his voice tinged with mocking sadness.
"Welcome to Haven."
With that, the soldiers opened fire, and he grunted as the force of the bullets drove him back a few steps, winded, but his armour had managed to hold up against their assault, and he briefly gave a moment to thank whoever had designed these suits, although they had probably been killed when the URF had been brought down.
The soldiers in front of him began to retreat back into the forest, determined to put some distance between themselves and the ambush site, as he collected himself and drew his weapon, rage sparking up inside him, tinged with excitement. Finally, he'd get to relieve himself of some of the boredom that he'd been tortured with the last few weeks. He opened up radio communications with the rest of the team, giving the order to attack. "They're running. Have some fun. Kill them all."
Bravo 2-3 and 2-4 hurried through the undergrowth, 2-3 supported by 2-4, cursing as his hand clutched at the wound that had punctured his left Achilles tendon. They limped along, heading back towards the Pelican that the Commander had called for emergency evac. These odds were not looking good. If only they could get to the Pelican-
"See, I would let you get there, but my boss's expression of disappointment would be really uncomfortable." A sharp shot ripped through the air and 2-4 fell to the ground with a scream, a bullet being placed squarely between his shoulder blades, severing his upper vertebrae and disconnecting his spine, leaving him paralysed, but still alive. 2-3 turned around slowly to see Falcon perched as a ridge some way behind the, a DMR held between his fingers. Lowering the rifle, he jumped down, walking slowly towards them. 2-3 yanked a pistol from his holster in desperation, breathing becoming more laboured as he tried to aim through his pain.
"Forget it. Save yourself the embarrassment and the hope." Falcon raised his DMR, showing little hint of concern at the other man's actions. "It could have been worse, you know. I could have been one of the others. And I love them, but they are really brutal. Sorry."
2-3 hesitated between attempting to shoot and lowering the gun and the hesitation cost him. Falcon's shot landed between his eyes, felling him instantly. 2-4 could barely register his surroundings through his agony and as Falcon fired another shot, turning away, 2-4 didn't register anything anymore, not even pain.
Bravo 1-7 and 2-5 burst into a second clearing, their guns drawn and observed the area wildly, looking for any possible threats. Unfortunately, they couldn't see the threat posed to them. Circuit sat casually among the bushes, holding his data-pad in his arms and using a rather lovely thermal function to watch the two. He manipulated the camera to zoom in on the outline surrounding one of their belts and raised his rifle as he looked away, the laser sighting soon lighting up his target, just before he pulled the trigger.
The bullet slammed into one of the grenades on 1-7's belt, causing it to explode, destroying the upper half of 1-7's body and the left arm of 2-5 as a large explosion rocked the area, and by the time the smoke cleared Circuit was striding into the clearing, a smile on his face.
Wandering towards the survivor, he casually finished off the struggling soldier with his pistol, with a simple shot to the head, blood spurting through the air as it left the soldier's cranium. He paused, looking at his tablet again, then back at the destroyed wreck of the twitching 1-7.
"I am a genius! A completely unappreciated genius!" Grumbling, he marched off.
Bravo 1-3, 1-4 and 2-1 were quietly moving through the undergrowth, attempting to escape the area that had become a slaughter-zone, watching with mounting horror the dwindling life-signs of their comrades and terrified that they would be next. The pressure was building, but up ahead was a narrow gorge. If they got inside, they might be able to radio for backup. How had the Innies known they were coming? How had everything gone so wrong so fast?
Crosshair carefully and delicately pulled a small metal tab on the side of his rifle scope, rotating the wheel though multiple different options, rotating the centre of the scope itself until he reached thermal, flicking the tab back down to cover the wheel again, looking through the now partially circular scope, easily seeing the three outlines taking cover within the undergrowth. Rotating the switch on his ammo clip, he changed ammo sets to explosive, now aiming at the tree opposite the group. When he was ready, he fired.
The bullet flew through the air at hundreds of metres per second, deflecting from the tree and drilling through 1-3's head, detonating directly as it entered, killing both 1-3 and 1-4. 2-1 flew several feet backwards, landing among the flames and parts of his teammates, stunned. Crosshair, smirking, changed the scope to heartbeat, easily finishing off the stunned trooper with another reflected shot directly through the heart.
Crimson 2-2 and 2-6 were two of the remaining troopers, hiding in a copse of trees, ignoring the rain pouring down their visors from the heavens above in their attempts to remain silent as they could be. They were completely still, meaning that no normal enemy soldier could spot them. They had been trained well and were putting that training to excellent use. Maybe when everything died down, they could escape. It wouldn't surprise them for Harper to forget the number of soldiers that had been sent. It wasn't the first time he had been distracted.
They had forgotten that Harper wasn't the only person hunting the would-be hunters in this instance.
Without warning, 2-2 collapsed to the ground with a thump, a bullet hole allowing a perfect view through his visor to the other side of his head. Before 2-6 could even react other than to squawk in surprise and fear, a familiar whistle caught his attention. Seconds later, the breath was knocked out of him, a blade cutting his throat open as he gurgled, attempting to move, but finding himself unable to.
The next minute, a group of five soldiers were in the copse, alerted by the cries, finding only two dead troopers. Hearing a sound behind the group, one of them spun around to see Geist stood there, holding a silenced pistol in one hand and a blade in the other. He fired five times before they could react, casually stating to himself, "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq." Watching the bodies fall, he turned away, removing his helmet and placing a cigarette in his mouth before lighting it. Grinning, he took a drag on the cigarette, reflecting that he was likelier to be killed by the damn things instead of his job.
The Commander was in shock. His entire team had been obliterated and Harper was closing in on him. He sprinted towards the nearby dropship, surprising Harper with the speed with which he moved. No doubt he was thinking that as long as he could escape, he could return with reinforcements, when the reality of the scenario that they were facing was fully realised, and more importantly, less life-threatening. Well, that wasn't going to happen today.
Behind him, Harper stepped through the treeline, observing the six remaining soldiers that stood between him and the Commander. Smiling absently, he threw a flashbang in their direction, covering his ears and looking away until it detonated, then charged towards them, weapon raised. He fired twice to take down the first two soldiers, and once to his right, kicking that body forwards, which knocked another soldier down. He finished the fallen soldier off and quickly wrapped a hand around the fifth soldier's hand, forcing him to shoot his friend in the head, before Harper forced the gun against his own head, pulling the trigger. Stepping forwards and removing his helmet, a wide grin on his face, Harper laughed, six bodies on the ground around him.
Without warning, a rifle butt smashed into Harper's nose, knocking him backwards in surprise, blood spurting from his now busted nose. Seconds later, a bullet flew past him, creasing his temple and sending more blood. Grinning wildly, he fired his machine gun wildly from the hip, hearing two thuds. He looked up, smirking. Two more soldiers were lying on the ground, clutching at wounds in their stomachs. Seeing that the younger of the two, who couldn't have been more than twenty-two - still a kid, really - had been the one who had shot him, a plan formulated in his head.
He walked over to the Commander, lifting him off of his feet. "There is your dropship, commander. Observe."
Without warning, an armoured blur known as Firefly saluted from the treeline, using his jetpack to burst to the treetops in one swift movement, before using the same manoeuvre to head for the Pelican's cockpit. He slammed into the hull, attaching a small device onto the ship's surface before rocketing away, just before the dropship was gutted through a series of explosions, fragmenting metal falling the ground as any survivors were killed in the crash. Firefly, landing on the upper branches of a monstrosity of a tree, whooped.
Harper looked the Commander in the eye. "So much for the 'hunters'! Thank you, though, Commander. Your example shall light up the UNSC like a beacon of fear. I wonder if it was brilliance, or foolishness of Arkansas to allow me to be the one sending the message."
And he closed his fists around the Commander's neck, feeling the servos effortlessly working in his hand, the mechanical muscles flexing and allowing his hand to effortlessly compress metal, to puncture flesh and to crack straight through the bone until armoured glove met armoured glove and the limply flopping Commander was released, showered by his own falling bone fragments and blood drops. Harper turned to the two wounded UNSC soldiers, the only survivors of this rather one-sided battle. Walking to the one who had shot him, he lifted him up and seized the dog tags hanging around the soldier's neck.
"Kyle Mathesson. Tell me Kyle, do you want to live?" The soldier nodded vigorously. "Why do you fight with the UNSC?" Kyle gulped.
"To k-kill stuff. Everyone was g-going on about it. It sounded f-fun." He looked terrified, and Harper knew his earlier note had been correct. This guy was still just a kid at heart. Soft, terrified and easily impressionable. Harper liked him. Maybe Ark could do a better job of this than Harper could, but if the kid did it for fun...
"Well Kyle, it's your lucky day. We need new blood to replace certain teammates lost over the years." Barb, Trigger, Hunter..."So, we are offering you the chance to live. One test. Have a gun," he placed his handgun into Kyle's hand, helping him to his feet as he did so. "Gun," he said to Falcon, who threw him a handgun, catching it smartly before turning back to the kid.
"Kyle. I want you to execute Mr..." he walked over and checked the other person's tags. "Moran here. The rest of my team is busy stringing the bodies of your fallen comrades up around the forest now, but if you'd rather not kill your teammate, I'm sure they'd enjoy killing both of you. Make a choice."
Kyle turned to face his squadmate. Behind him, Harper raised his handgun to the back of his head, just in case. This would be interesting. Kyle slumped.
"Fine." Moran looked to protest, but Kyle squeezed the trigger and his former teammate slumped back onto the ground, dead. Slapping the new recruit on the back, Harper holstered his gun and began to walk away, signalling Ark to inform him of a successful mission.
"I love this job," he muttered happily to himself.
He looked out at the nearest clearing, were Geist and Crosshair were working hard, stringing the dead soldiers' bodies up in a neat row, a nice present to the UNSC patrol that would eventually find them. A smile lit up his face as he was put through to Ark, and he gave the former Freelancer all the information he needed to know in two simple words.
"Message sent."