It's that time once again! One more massive thank you to the beta team, Minaethiel and BrambleStar14, for their work in helping make this story that much better. Thank you for reading, as always.

Let's see what nonsense Hannah gets up to this time…


Slipping Farther

Written by TunelessLyric

"It's cold as ice

But this kind of fire don't keep us warm inside"

-Hidden Citizens ft. Tash, 'Casualty'

The wind slammed into her face as she stepped down from the Pelican. It was still the height of summer on Byzantium, the valley green and alive and beautiful. But not here. Tantalus was locked into a thin fall that would quickly buckle to winter with enough of a shove. Unfamiliar trees were red and gold, shedding their leaves in each angry gust. And still she stood there, surveying the planet despite the flat slap of cold to her bare cheeks.

The others in the Pelican had gathered their equipment and waited in the troop bay. Nobody moved forward or prompted her to get going. They simply let her stand there, bracing as the wind collided with her smooth chestplate.

Lucas had done a number on her armour. The ruined panels were reinforced with barely a line to show where Covenant claws had shredded it. The streaks of silver looked as if they had been painted on expertly instead of welded into place. Capable of turning Jackals aside without crumpling, he promised.

She wished they had stayed at the Innie base. Wished Falcon had brought her alone and let her drop from orbit. This had nothing to do with them. All of those eyes on her back made her lip curl. It wasn't their business.

Sick of the pressure on the back of her head as the seven members of Fireteam Phoenix waited to see what she would do, Hannah fitted the helmet over her head and strode into the wind.

Mars was here.

The fact rang through her over and over. The one responsible for trying to deny what had happened—the colossal fuckup of ONI that had cost so much—was here. And so was she.

There were grenades and spare magazines packed into the webbing at her belt. A sidearm on her thigh, assault rifle on her back. Combat knife strapped to her left shoulder. But she didn't reach for any of them yet. Instead, she stooped to gather a handful of the loose-packed soil underfoot. It slid through her armoured fingers, feeling buttery smooth. It scattered into the red and gold wind, blowing away as if she had never held it in her hand. But she would always have the memory of holding it.

At least she would always have that.

Just over half a dozen yellow blips trailed her, marked on her motion tracker. Half of a spark, a familiar feeling of team burst into being before it snuffed out in a supercooled steam. The frozen droplet sank back into the blank whiteness that she had discovered in the last weeks.

Harper's men might like to bask in the sun, or soak up the rays of the aurora. She preferred to nestle herself in the cool nothing that had spread from the wall growing in her heart. The core of ice in her stomach. Those had just been the beginning.

It was a research base. Lightly garrisoned. A backwater nothing post assigned to a fumbling set of hands better kept far away from superiors well-practised at askance looks. It was a sweet attempt, but ultimately a useless one. Apparently his oversight had counted too much on obscurity screening their weak link.

Too bad Lucas was more adept at circumnavigating their tricks. Too bad Harper was too doggedly determined to give out bloody noses and black eyes for the sheer hell of it.

Regardless, Hannah was here. She had been honing the taste for revenge the entire journey from Byzantium, doing her best to ignore the distance collapsing between her and Phoenix. She wanted them at arm's length. Did her best to keep that buffer between them as they suited up in the armoury and boarded the URF ship and made the slipspace jump to Tantalus.

It had been almost good to have bulkheads and close ceilings and metal grating floors around her again. Almost comfortable. But tinged with the smallest dose of a claustrophobia she had begun to think she might actually be free of. There were worse things to fear than death.

It was clear that some of Phoenix had felt incredibly out of their element out in the black spaces between the stars. A few had missed solid ground, though they had covered it well enough. She had seen the signs, having spent so many years sharing space with swabbies and ground-pounders alike. Hannah, for her own part, loved the cold vacuum.

Seven phantoms followed in her shadow. All held back by a gesture from their leader, though their desire to scout ahead curled off their bodies. She idly wondered if she had imagined the lingering blue stare, burning with dislike, watching as her body heat dropped. Adopted ambient air temperature, plummeting with each passing second they spent out in this wind.

She spotted the entrance to the base atop the hill. That was when she reached over her shoulder for her rifle, checking the weapon over automatically as she walked. Hands moving on their own, echoing with satisfying clicks and snaps as she methodically tested each function. The weight was comfortable as it came to rest snugly against her shoulder.

Harper halted at her elbow. His helmet on for once, he looked down at her flat visor. "Have some fun, Steele." He leaned on one foot, thumbs hooked in his belt, and stared at the base.

The image of relaxation.

She didn't reply, simply approaching the squat, flat-topped building, scanning for threats. There was one floor aboveground. Three below.

"Hey!" shouted a voice from the roof.

Rifle snapping up, her finger squeezed the trigger. The wind caught the red and swept it away, leaving gouts radiating out, unseen, across the concrete surface. Hannah kept walking, searching for any other scouts. Nothing. Embarrassing on ONI's part, really. But then, they were too full of their own cleverness to truly assess threats.

At the keypad interface at the main entrance, she briefly tilted her head back to stare at the blinking light on the security camera. Let them see her. Let them watch, barking orders for the security detail and emergency procedures. Her eyes dropped to the pad itself. Only one way to find out if Thorpe was as thorough as he was touted to be.

She typed in the code he'd supplied. The display flashed green once before the door slid open. Hannah stepped through without waiting to find out if Harper was going to trot along after.

Red emergency lights flashed, bathing every room in a sickening feeling of motion. Sweeping her rifle across the entryway, she let off a quick succession of controlled bursts. Armoured bodies hit the deck, crouching behind the cover afforded by doorways and supply crates.

Such a small target she made, even in the crowded room where space was at a familiar premium. She slid in behind one of the crates, rolling a grenade down the hallway practically overflowing with ONI operators.

"Scatter!" someone had time to order.

A few alarmed shouts escaped before the explosion rocked the floor beneath her boots. Time enough to check the results after. For now, she traded fire with a pair of nobodies until she finally caught them out.

A cool, calm, collected killing machine. That's what she was. That's all she ever was. Courtesy of the UNSC and ONI, now turned against them. Just a vessel for the swirling wind that had seeped through the gaps in her armour as she stalked over the surface of the planet outside.

A red dot shifted on her tracker, practically atop her. Ice blue eyes narrowed as she swapped to a fresh magazine. Vaulting over the crate, she slammed her boots into the operator's shoulder. They rolled, Hannah wrapping her legs around his waist in his split-second of uncertainty. Her rifle forced space between them, muzzle kissing the joint in his armour between chest and helmet. His blood splattered against her visor before she shoved the corpse and rolled away.

It took a swipe of quick fingers to clear her vision, but that was all it took for bullets to ping off her thigh. A growl rolled through her chest, turning to a frosty cloud before her. Still only aiming to disable after the way she barged in and began slaughtering? Only ONI would be so arrogant.

Uncaring, the assault rifle barked again, painting the wall a jarring scarlet as the body dropped. She was already turning back to the hallway she had been neglecting. The team of operators had regrouped, a bouquet of weapons pointed in her direction. She flicked another grenade their way and fired in an arc around its path. She tagged several of the half-dozen as they scattered again.

Stupid to not learn from their mistakes.

Moving with that same cool calm, she dispatched the injured targets methodically. Her attention shifted to the live ones scrambling farther down the hall. One stood his ground, DMR levelled at her head. She kept walking, simply pulling the trigger as he waited to see if she would chicken first.

Big mistake.

But he gave his comrades just enough time to find the weak spots of her ODST suit. Through the burning sensation of her second skin of hoar frost, she felt a jolt of pain. Her left hand went nerveless, grip slipping on her rifle before it tumbled to the floor.

In a heartbeat, her sidearm was up and firing. Holes punctured visors and punched through armour at the close range. Efficient. Controlling. An ODST lieutenant facing multiple contacts without any backup.

She turned down the next hallway, it was deserted. Lucas' code worked on each door she found. Nothing around was worth her time. Just vacant workshops, a couple of closet-sized offices. A stairwell.

Nobody in the stairwell.

It was almost disappointing. Twelve men guarding the place? She felt as if she'd barely gotten to stretch her legs.

The door above her head opened. Whirling, she had Harper in her sights, finger against the trigger.

His head cocked like an inquisitive dog. Silently watching her.

They stayed like that, visors locked, for several long seconds where she evaluated the choice. Finally, biting back the whistling, blistering chill, she kicked the bottom door open.

Harper and the team at his heels didn't lift their weapons when she did. They remained at the top of the stairs. They let her dismantle the trio of operators stacked on the other side of the door in a few spare shots. Kneecaps to drop them. Double-taps to the chest to keep them down. They only moved when she did, sweeping into the first and second subterranean floors as she made a beeline for the third.

Gunfire exploded overhead and the screaming started soon after.

Blocking it all out, placing it beyond the wall of solid ice, she simply moved into the bright corridor she had just cleared. There were fewer rooms down here. Thorpe had supplied her with the blueprints the day they left Byzantium. Ground floor: offices and labs. First floor: barracks. Second: mess, utilities, a vestigial armoury. Third: a stunted growth off the others. It was a glorified hallway with two rooms. One was a saferoom. Just in case. The usual ONI paranoia. The other was a cramped boardroom.

Phoenix could have the death and destruction on the other levels. She didn't care. They came all this way. She had no claim over those lives. Only one here.

Eye on her motion tracker for any final surprises, she knocked firmly on the boardroom door. No answer, but she hadn't expected one. Testing the keypad, it accepted Thorpe's code as they all had so far. The door slid open.

A dark shape lunged out. Arms wrapped around her shoulders and a greater bulk twisted them to the ground. She landed heavily, awkwardly, the sidearm spinning out of her grip. The figure was dressed in a uniform. Unarmoured. Still, a fist impacted her gunshot wound, sending dots of light spinning before her eyes.

Blinking to clear her vision, she answered with a headbutt to his unprotected forehead that sent him reeling. Pain was a welcome visitor. A close friend through her long years of active duty. He was used to a comfy desk job of logs and lab testing and data entry. With a side of espionage and murder.

A magnum pressed to her brow. Steady.

"Don't move again," warned Marcus Graham. Agent Mars.

One hand splayed in the universal signal for surrender. Her other hand refused to respond, flopping to the floor as her shoulder wound throbbed from the punch.

"Good. Now who the hell are you?" he demanded. He sounded pretty authoritative considering this was the first time he had ever held someone at gunpoint.

Her mouth twitched into a hidden smile.

A beat of silence passed. Her arm throbbed twice more.

Her open palm shot upward, heel of her hand slamming into his chest. Gritting her teeth against a cry of pain, she used her bad arm to shove off the floor. In a blink, she straddled his chest and had her combat knife drawn, point at rest below his chin.

The barest flicker of fear rippled through his brown eyes. The sinking feeling that maybe he had misread her. Maybe he really was beaten.

Her voice oozed out from her helmet, cold and steady and not-quite-hers. "Someone you killed, Marcus, back because you didn't finish the job."

He managed to wrench his attention from the blood-splattered visor to the orange shoulder pauldron. "Your unit is dead." He frowned in confusion, examining this curiosity, this puzzle his brilliant egg of a head was trained to unravel. "You survived somehow. Linked up with somebody who could point you in my direction."

She didn't relieve the pressure on his chest, at his sides, beneath his chin. Didn't let him lull her into relaxation.

"You killed them. Then tried to cover it up. You didn't think nobody noticed you erasing them?" she hissed.

He swallowed. The only hint of his guilt that slipped through the flat mask that slammed his expression shut. "No digital trail. Programming shredded that. Just a hesitation in logging the appropriate transfer."

It was practised. Natural-sounding. A smooth liar like the rest of the organization.

"Still left a paper trail behind," she pressed through clenched teeth.

The sensation within was getting difficult to ignore. Pressure building. Pent up energy swirled on the frigid wind. In the ice crystalizing in her blood. It blocked out the pain. There was nothing left but the crushing guilt.

I should have gone, too.

I should have died with them.

Understanding, a wry smile and a cautious nod. Marcus Graham tried to find her eyes behind that polarized visor. "So revenge, huh?"

There wasn't anger left to uncoil at the attempt to provoke it. Nor was there grief. Just the awareness that she was alone in the universe. Untethered. Drifting like a dark cloud over a wasteland littered with dismantled bodies. A corpse removed from its resting place.

Hannah's face was blank as she brought the blade up to trace a thin line on his cheek. Not with much pressure. At first there was a tug on his skin. Then the searing cold stung along the careful incision.

His body tightened under her. A final door closed in his eyes as he locked himself deep within his mind. It didn't matter what she did to him. He wouldn't say anything. Wouldn't react beyond the odd involuntary jerk.

But she could make it hurt.

"Why?" she asked.

His eyes shut. Blocking her out as well as he could.

She stared down at him, thinking quickly. Her knife flashed, severing a tendon in each wrist so he wouldn't be able to close his fingers. Useless if he ran.

"Why?"

The base, she realized, was silent except for their breathing. Except for near-silent boots on the concrete floor. A glance over her injured shoulder, and her suspicion was confirmed.

Harper stood at the head of the wedge, thumbs hooked into his belt as if they had been strolling leisurely through the halls all this time. Blood smeared across his chest. On one shoulder stood Falcon, weapon stowed and hands loose at his sides. On the other, Hunter, his own knives dripping. Behind them, Circuit with his humbler still humming. And Firefly, barely holding himself still. And behind those two, Geist with his sword sheathed. Crosshair aiming his sniper rifle at the floor. All eyes on her. Nobody stepping forward.

She turned back to the ONI agent. There were no questions. No answers that would make the nightmares go away. Nothing he could say to bring her family back from beyond the grave to wherever they had gone without her. She knew why. Because human lives, as far as ONI was concerned, were cheap. To be spent and traded as they saw fit. They were not worth double-checking reports or math. Simply sent into the breach with a pat on the head if they returned.

Dom and Pascal and Theresa had all relied on her. White had relied on her to get them home safe. Hannah had relied on her. And she had let them all down as surely as ONI. It was her fault. She had not done enough to save them. To kill enough Covvies to let them walk off the battlefield. To take their places and die their deaths.

To claim her own death when they fell.

One final thought exploded through her mind.

She didn't deserve the peace they now knew.

Like flicking a switch, the roiling storm surged out of her. Fury, pure and simple, the likes of which she had never felt. Hatred and shame and guilt rocked the foundations of the ONI base until she thought it would collapse into the hillside. Her every breath hung in the air like a fog, condensing and clinging to her armour until she was covered in the sparkling frost. Until it smothered every spark Phoenix had to offer.

Crosshair backed off a step without a word as Hannah Steele bent over Mars. Over the man who had tapped a few keys and denied her failure's existence.

Now she pressed hard, putting her weight behind each touch of her knife to his flesh. He shivered at the bitingly cold metal skimming through skin.

"Why?" she asked again, desperate. "Why did you do it?"

He coughed, blood spotting his teeth, and flinched. She leaned even closer, breathing hard. She shook him roughly.

"Tell me why!"

"Routine," he whispered, eyes fluttering shut. "I-it's standard operating procedure."

"Like hell it is," she snarled, shaking him again.

"I swear it's true. Give the Covenant an Outer Colony when they get too close to Earth. Distract them long enough."

Each death relived. Each moment she chose to act one way instead of another and someone else's life had paid for it. Every snapped order and split-second decision. He was covered in them. She had so many sins. Had accumulated them so quickly over her career.

And none of them had ever meant anything. Not when she had always been a chess piece to sacrifice at any time. When the people she'd given her soul to protect were worth less than the dirt they lived on. Just so long as the king and queen at the centre of UNSC space got to enjoy safety and security as the rest of the pieces bought them a few more minutes.

"You gave the Covvies a colony. And then sent us to make it convincing."

It sounded impossible, like someone else was using her voice to tell lies.

Mars nodded.

She lost herself. She fell to carving him apart, piece by piece, mechanically.

Mars had long since stopped flinching at each cut. There was little more left than raw meat and congealing blood pooling, sticky, beneath her.

And she was panting, hands shaking, with the violent release of that energy. That ice storm of hail and freezing rain and greedy gale that flattened everything in its path. That left nothing but devastation in its wake. There was a hole in her heart, torn and jagged where it had all come rushing through.

"I should have died, too," she breathed haltingly. Afraid the words would burn too cold in her mouth to ever be heard. "I don't deserve to be here. To outlive. To survive."

Hannah turned away from the corpse of Marcus Graham. Her bloody blade lifted in its direction briefly before dropping back to her side, so heavy. "That should be me."

Hunter was holding himself very still. Crosshair had ceded that one stride. But they had all watched. Had all stayed to see her confessional.

Harper shook his head. One of his hands lifted, palm up, like he was asking for something. "You can't do anything useful dead. Who do you want to be?"

She pulled her helmet off. For a long moment, she stared blankly at his face. His hand. Her head turned, gaze dropping to Graham. Silence rang through the hall. Stark white light shone down on all of them.

They burned so brightly. Turning back to the team, she saw it. The fire and fury that raged within them. For a heartbeat, her mouth hung open as she tried to say so. Tried to tell them all that she was different. Those flames that lived in their skins, they didn't touch her. She didn't know that feeling. She realized that she didn't want to douse those smouldering points of light.

Neither did she want to melt in their heat.

Sensing the reason for her hesitation, six hands lifted, one at a time. Offering. Reaching for her as she stumbled.

She laid another searching look on Graham. She didn't have to carry that guilt anymore. There was a monument, lasting, enduring, made of volcanic glass to them. A permanent memorial. Here lay a fifth life to fill the fifth grave. She didn't have to leave that corpse in her own hole forever. Just to keep it warm until she iced herself in.

Besides, there was still the question of Irons.

Her head turned back to Harper.

And she took his hand.

"Welcome to Phoenix, Blizzard," he said.