Chapter 1: The Proposal
With the rain pouring relentlessly, tapping against the slanted roofs and casting the world in a watery curtain from the obsidian sky, a solitary figure emerged onto the side path, their footsteps echoing softly against the wet pavement.
As the shimmering streetlights cast an occasional glow alongside the individual's path, it was the passing vehicles that momentarily lit up his figure. Walking tall and steady, his muscular frame revealed broad shoulders and bulging muscles beneath his tightly fitted clothes.
If that wasn't evident enough, the scars etched onto his weathered skin lined up across his arm and face clearly spoke of the individual's disciplined routine.
His deep-set blue eyes, the color of stormy seas, held an unwavering gaze as they pierced into the set of traffic beside him, as if searching for something. With each deliberate step, he continued his walk down the path, his determination unwavering.
Eventually, the man stopped walking, standing by a nearby streetlight, and faced the road. He continued to observe the bustling street closely, his eyes darting between the passing pedestrians and the cars driving by. The pedestrians, like characters in a lively play, moved with a variety of purposeful strides, each carrying their own stories and destinations. Some hurried along, clutching umbrellas tightly against the relentless rain, while others strolled leisurely, seemingly unaffected by the inclement weather.
Impatient and slightly irritated, the man's sharp gaze scanned his surroundings. In a deliberate motion, he reached under his jacket, his fingers encountering the cold texture of the M6C semi-automatic Magnum. The familiar touch of the weapon brought him a small measure of comfort as his right thumb tapped along the grip, an unconscious gesture of familiarity.
His gaze softened with satisfaction. Among the array of sidearms available, he held a fondness for the M6C Magnum. While others might prefer its more powerful counterparts like the M6H or even the ancient M6D with its superior firepower, he personally favored the compact size and reliability of the M6C. It may not be as effective, but it had proven itself to be a trustworthy companion in his experiences.
Lost in his contemplation, he didn't have to wait long before a HuCiv Fossa emerged from the traffic, pulling up beside him. The door swung open from the inside, inviting him to enter the passenger seat.
"Do you have a habit of standing out in the rain like you're a main character staring in a melodrama?" the voice spoke sarcastically.
Shaking off the raindrops from his hat and brown hair the man outside grabbed and pulled open the passenger door. "Well, you caught me red-handed. I must admit, I have a penchant for adding a touch of theatrics to my daily life." He replied equally sarcastic.
The driver's voice carried a mischievous tone as he continued, "Ah, so you're that kind of person. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Zackary, but I'm not chauffeuring you to the local theater for your dramatic pursuits. Get in."
Accepting the invitation, Zackary opened the passenger door and settled himself inside the car. The HuCiv Fossa, a two-passenger sedan native to the planet of Andesia, was a reliable and modest vehicle that most people could afford. However, compared to the luxurious Uberchassis, it was rather unremarkable.
But this was Andesia, and driving around in such a vehicle could quickly land you in trouble.
As Zackary settled into his seat, the driver didn't bother asking for a destination. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the vehicle back into the flow of oncoming traffic, seemingly well aware of their intended path.
"Why are you using my full name? Just call me Zack, like in the previous pickups," Zackary questioned, however, he didn't dwell on the matter, quickly dismissing it, as he shifted his focus to the conversation at hand.
"Any updates on insurrectionist movements?" Zackary asked patiently, though he was well aware that the question might seem odd to others.
In the eyes of anyone else, this may have appeared to be a rather stupid question. Afterall, from its inital establishment as a colony Andesia, situated in the Touchstone system has always had a heavy presence of insurrectionists and they've held a powerful stronghold on the planet for a long time setting up shop in every major city. You can even spot 'em handing out recruitment flyers on the downlow. It's just part of everyday life here.
Asking for updates on insurrectionist movements without being specific? It's like asking about the UNSC's moves on Earth. The insurrectionists have dug themselves in deep, and they weren't going anywhere. Without any specific direction of what information you wanted it was simply a fool's errand to ask.
It wasn't like the UNSC, or the United Earth Government enjoyed their presence on Andesia and didn't try to eliminate them, afterall Andesia exports high-quality pharmaceutical and exotic foodstuffs, not to mention their medical and tech research. Despite the efforts of the UNSC and the United Earth Government to suppress their activities, the insurrectionists persisted. During the human-covenant war Andesia was quite important to the UNSC and so the planets had strategic importance for many years, rather it was the simple but avoidable fact they couldn't.
Insurrectionists were deeply ingrained within the very fabric of Andesia's society, occupying influential positions both politically and within law enforcement agencies. Zackary couldn't help but find it amusing how the UNSC paraded around, claiming to be the guardians preventing Andesia from descending into civil war. In reality, it was the contained turf wars, rival factions vying for power, and a web of corrupt politicians that maintained a fragile semblance of peace in the major cities.
How such a city continued to thrive was something that always puzzled Zachary, the planet was like a ticking time bomb, teetering on the edge of chaos, yet somehow maintaining a precarious underground equilibrium.
The driver remained silent, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, as if contemplating how to respond. "They've been busy," the driver finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "Recently, they dissolved again and reformed under the leadership of the United Rebel Front, led by some asshole called Mattius Drake."
Zackary slowly nodded as he pieced together the unfamiliar name
"Not much for reformation," Zackary remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism. "The URF has never been a proper insurgent organization. It lacks a chain of command, actual sponsors, and any viable military resources. It's nothing more than a badge of honor that any small and newly established insurgent group can slap onto a white flag, a desperate cry for attention to make their existence known." His words carried a note of dismissiveness
"But that's precisely why the UNSC has had such trouble dealing with them," the driver explained, his voice laced with a touch of exasperation and frustration evident by the clicking of his tongue. "Insurrectionist groups claiming allegiance to the URF operate as network-based organizations, consisting of small cells of insurgents that function semi-independently from one another, with a decentralized leadership structure."
He continued, "It's not like the New Colonial Alliance, where decapitating the organization by capturing its leadership can cripple their operations. The URF's strength lies in its ability to adapt and endure. No matter how many cells are destroyed, as long as the UNSC continues to exert control over the outer colonies, they'll find new recruits and continue their resistance, proudly displaying their bloodied flags."
Zachary nodded his head in agreement. "So whats this got to do with Mattius Drake?"
The driver chuckled, as if finding the situation amusing. "Ah, that's the thing. He's the new visionary, hehe... he's gathering them all and aiming to transform it into a proper hierarchical organization. No more loose strings."
Zachary's interest piqued at this, "Does he have the backers to support such an undertaking?"
"Apparently so. The UNSC has him on their wanted list, believe it or not. The fellow's ex-admiralty and has strong ties to the New Colonial Alliance"
"What led to his removal from the UNSC?" Zachary probed
The driver grinned mischievously. "Oh, here's the kicker. He orchestrated an attempt by a team of insurrectionists to seize control of the UNSC Infinity."
Zachary's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're kidding me. Are we really talking about the same flagship? The Infinity? The largest and most technologically advanced supercarrier in the entire UNSC fleet?"
"What did they get stopped in the hanger bays?" Zachary mused.
"Not quite," the driver chuckled. "Believe it or not, his little gang managed to take control of the bridge. But I heard that one of those newly produced Spartans subdued them and regained control shortly after. Heh, can you imagine the terrified expressions on those insurrectionists' faces when the nearly 3-meter hulk of emotionless metal burst through their door and manhandled them all?"
'Even the seasoned elite warriors of the covenant felt fear in facing a Spartan, ordinary men like them? They'll need to pray to God just to not have sleepless nights for the rest of their life. Zackary concluded.
"Well, regardless. Ignoring the UNSC for now If he's trying to bring the loosely and isolated insurrectionist groups into the New Colonial Alliance as a splintering organisation the other factions like the Secessionist Union won't enjoy it."
"Why is that?" the driver enquired
"It will jeopardize the delicate balance of power on the planet, or they may choose to relocate them to the outer colonies," Noah summarized succinctly before addressing another pressing question. "Is this related to my assignment?"
The driver's smile widened, knowing he had a more intriguing piece of news to share. "No, that's just idle chatter. My boss, on the other hand, has something much more captivating for you. It's directly tied to your assignment, my friend."
As another brief silence settled, the driver sensed the need to change the subject. "How's your daughter doing?" he inquired, hoping to shift the conversation onto a more personal note.
Zackary's tone left no room for further discussion. "Enough talk," he declared firmly.
The driver gazed upon Zackary, but upon noticing he had touched a soft spot he obliged Zackary's request.
The driver maneuverer the vehicle skilfully, as if he had travelled this route countless times before. Finally, he pulled into a secluded alleyway in Sector 7 and parked the car, the engine's quiet hum fading into the background.
"Thanks for the drive as always, Benly," Zackary acknowledged, expressing his gratitude
Benly tipped his hat in response, a gesture of farewell. "It's three knocks for entry this time," he reminded Zackary, tapping on the dash. "I've been asked to wait here and take you back as well."
Zackary nodded, acknowledging the arrangement.
"You can repay me by buying me a glass of Zantelle," Benly teased
A chuckle escaped Zackarys lips "I think we both know that's not happening," he retorted playfully, aware of Benly's discerning taste.
"Cheap bastard," Benly jested, his smirk growing wider as he remained in the car.
As Zackary exited the vehicle the raindrops cascaded down welcoming him, as he glanced around, ensuring no prying eyes were present. Satisfied with the solitude, he approached the nearby door, hidden within the shadows.
With a composed demeanour, Zackary raised his hand and rapped on the door three times, the sound reverberating through the quiet alley. The echoes faded, and in response to his signal, the door creaked open, revealing a sliver of warm light spilling into the darkness.
Stepping across the threshold, Zackary entered the hidden bar, leaving the rain-soaked alley behind. The atmosphere shifted, enveloping him in a blend of lively chatter and subdued music. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and aromatic drinks, inviting him further into the establishment.
The bar was a hidden gem, not only did information flow as freely as the drinks it held a warm atmosphere with an eccentric mix of patrons occupying the worn, yet cozy, booths and stools. Soft lighting bathed the space, casting warm hues upon the exposed brick walls and vintage décor. The ambiance was a fusion of nostalgia and modernity, where the past and present converged seamlessly.
Behind the well-stocked bar, bartenders skillfully crafted intricate cocktails, their movements a graceful dance of precision. Conversations hummed throughout the room, occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter and clinking glasses. While the drinks here were delicious, Zackary came here for one and one reason only
To find or accept jobs for mercenaries like himself.
Zackary found a vacant seat at the bar, but he didn't take it and instead leaned across the bar to the bartender.
"Is the boss in? Heard he had a job for me," Zackary inquired, his voice carrying a sense of familiarity.
The bartender nodded, acknowledging Zackary's question, and gestured towards a corridor. "In his private office. It's rare for him to request someone."
Zackary glanced at the corridor, his hat firmly in place as he prepared to embark on his meeting. A subtle flick in his eyes. "That's what I'm worried about," he muttered under his breath, aware that such requests often came with significant risks and challenges.
Walking down the corridor, Zackary's gaze wandered to the side doors lining the hallway. These rooms were reserved for private transactions and missions, spaces he had frequented in the past. However, it would've struck him as peculiar had the boss choose to use one of these rooms, opting out of his personal office. It still left an odd taste in Zackary's mouth, a sense of unease that he couldn't quite shake off.
Reaching the end of the hallway, Zackary stood outside the boss's personal office. Flanking the door were two imposing bouncers, each armed with an AR6A Assault Rifle. The civilian counterpart to the traditional MA6A Assault Rifle, the AR6A was a semi-automatic weapon,
'Still illegal though' Zackary thought to himself,
The bouncers, upon hearing someone approaching, straightened their posture and adopted a professional demeanor. However, as they caught sight of Zackary, their demeanor softened, a sign of familiarity. One of the bouncers knocked on the door before entering, while the other remained outside, maintaining his post.
"Know anything?" Noah probed, turning his attention to the remaining bouncer upon his arrival.
The bouncer shrugged, his gaze drifting down the corridor. "Not much, but he's been getting visited by people all month. I've heard it's something big, but even this level of activity is unexpected for a large-scale operation. We've been doing bodyguard shifts all week, and it's quite exhausting not knowing why."
Noah nodded having read in-between the lines, "I'll fill you in under the assumption that I'll keep my head after doing so."
The bouncer scoffed "If you wouldn't keep your head, I'd rather not know. I'd rather live to see my next bodyguard shift."
As the door cracked open, revealing the returning bouncer, he held it ajar. "Mr. Spectre is ready to see you now."
Noah silently nodded in acknowledgement, stepping forward and entering the room. The bouncer closed the door behind him, sealing the space from prying eyes.
"Ah, Zackary, please come in. Thanks for coming on such short notice," Mr. Spectre greeted, gesturing towards a seat.
"No worries, Mr. Spectre, and please call me Zack," Noah responded politely, looking around the room.
Zackary glanced around the extravagant room that belonged to the tycoon. The walls were adorned with exquisite artwork that Mr. Spectre collected from different colonies, carefully curated to reflect the tycoon's discerning taste and satisfy his collecting cravings. However, one of the walls was absent of artwork and instead held three-dimensional images that rotated to display live footage of various points around the city. Zackary wasn't sure of the purposes behind these rotating images.
Soft, ambient lighting bathed the room, casting a warm glow upon the elegant furnishings. Luxurious leather sofas and armchairs were strategically arranged, most likely for business dealings or mission discussions. Although Mr. Spectre was sitting at his desk, Zackary's attention was drawn to the high-shelf behind him, which showcased top-shelf spirits, rare bottles, and gleaming glassware delicately crafted for refined tastes.
Zackary recognized a few familiar brands among the collection, such as Tennessee whiskey, Titan Smoke, and Mokyshan Red Ale.
'Yep that's a tucoon for you.' Noah mused inwardly
After being asked to sit, Zackary didn't stand on ceremony as he walked to the polished conference table standing at the centre of the room, its sleek surface reflecting the subdued lighting above.
Placing his hand on the top of the chair, Zackary was momentarily taken back
Seeing Zackary's stiffed reactions, Mr. Spectre smirked.
"I see you're a man of taste," Mr. Spectre remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. "These chairs are of Sangheili craftsmanship. Their intricate carvings claim to depict scenes of honour and victory from their culture."
Zackary nodded appreciatively. It was rare to come across Sangheili-made furniture designed for human proportions. The war may have ended, but the lingering tensions between the two races remained.
"I'm afraid I'm not one for admiring furniture, sir," Zackary replied, maintaining his professional demeanour. "Although I'll admit it makes for good cover."
Mr. Spectre chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "As a self-appointed historian I prefer mine without any bullet holes, but I suppose that's a matter of personal collector's taste. I apologize once again for calling you abruptly, but I thought you would be interested in a mission that has recently become available."
Zackary nodded appreciatively, silently acknowledging his own inclination for direct and efficient communication. Mr. Spector was a man of business and time and rarely created unnecessary dialogue, Zackary admired this component of this mysterious business tycoon.
"Who's the dealer?" Zackary inquired
In response to this question, Mr. Spectre lips curled "That would be myself, however there are other parties involved."
This response puzzled Zackary slightly,
Mr. Spectre was a wealthy tycoon who typically acted as a broker, assigning missions to local mercenaries and insurrectionist groups. He had entire networks of officials in his pocket and undoubtedly had many groups of private mercenaries on his payroll. He had never issued missions himself because, if there was anything he needed to manage, he could do it privately and more discreetly.
However, now wasn't the time to question the details.
"That saves me time. A credible dealer like yourself makes for a smooth and positive negotiation of terms," Zackary commented, his tone laced with a hint of satisfaction.
''and pays a lot more'
he inwardly added
Smiling at the compliment, Mr. Spectre leaned back in his chair and tapped the table rhythmically. "Tell me, Zack, what do you know about the Forerunners?"
Zackary's brows furrowed at the question. He didn't immediately respond as it had taken him off-guard, taking a moment to recall what little information he knew about the ancient alien race before answering cautiously.
"Admittedly, not very much. The Forerunners were an ancient race that possessed technology far superior to any other known sentient race in the galaxy today," Zackary began. He paused briefly, his tone turning slightly more emotional. "They were also the objects of worship by the Covenant, particularly the San'Shyuum."
Zackary firmly believed there was much more to the Forerunners than what was publicly known, but the limited information he possessed was what had been made available to the colonies by the Office of Naval Intelligence and, by extension, the UNSC.
"That's correct. You have more knowledge than you initially appeared to have," Mr. Spectre acknowledged. "In addition, the Covenant's worship of the Forerunners played a significant role in their decision to wage war against humanity."
"Some fucking reason to start a war," Zackary muttered with disdain.
The human-covenant war ended officially on March 3rd, 2553, after the official end of war ceremony was conducted. That was little over 6 years ago. The war and the unspeakable devastation it left behind were still fresh in everyone's minds.
"Thankfully, we won the war. But there is more to the Forerunners than their connection to the Covenant. It is their legacy that is truly intriguing. I assume you are aware of the existence of Forerunner artifacts?" Mr. Spectre continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
"That depends on what you mean. If you're referring to any objects left behind by the Forerunners, then yes. They were the focal points of key conflicts during the human-Covenant war and were highly sought after. Hell, New Mombasa in Africa was glassed shortly after the Covenant's arrival, killing millions of people, just to access one of them," Zackary replied, his disdain evident in his voice.
"If you mean something else, then I'm afraid not."
"No, you are exactly right. You are quite informed, and that will make this proposal that much easier," Mr. Spectre responded, reaching into his pocket.
Zackary felt a sudden cause of nervousness, an instinctive warning that caused him to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't like where this conversation was heading and decided to cut to the chase.
"What's the mission?" he asked, his voice betraying his apprehension.
"And your one to get to the point, I also like that part of you" Mr. Spectre placed a piece of folded paper on the table
"I want to hire you for an assignment to capture, retrieve and extract forerunner artefacts."
Those words hung in the air, a palpable tension settled within the room. Instantly, it felt as if the temperature plummeted by a few degrees, causing a shiver to run down Zackary's spine. The weight of the proposed mission's gravity was undeniable, for the acquisition of Forerunner artefacts was basically unheard of for mercenaries.
The tycoon continued, his voice low and laden with caution, "These artefacts hold immense power and value. They are coveted by factions across the galaxy, including hostile forces willing to go to great lengths to obtain them.
Faced with a surge of emotions, Noah had to hold out his hand to stop Mr. Spectre from speaking as he taken control of his chaotic thoughts, "Im sorry, I truly am but I cannot accept this assignment."
Zackary abruptly rose from his chair, his face pale. "Forerunner artefacts? They're practically mythical, nearly impossible to find. And you're telling me you not only discovered multiple of them, but you want me to transport them? Do you realize the consequences? Just coming into contact with one of those things, assuming it doesn't obliterate me, will immediately put me in the crosshairs of the entire UNSC, ONI, the Covenant, and who knows what other factions," Zackary stammered, his words pouring out rapidly.
Zackary couldn't bear to hear Mr. Spectre's response. With a sense of urgency, he hastily made his way to the door, his mind reeling with the gravity of the situation. These weren't ordinary black-market items; they were Forerunner artifacts. The UNSC maintained strict control over such relics, and he had never even heard whispers of them being traded on any black market across the galaxy. The mere thought of getting involved sent waves of panic coursing through his veins.
Getting involved was an instant death sentence for countless reasons.
Mr. Spectre voice trembled with panic as he scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to halt Zackary's departure. "A-ah! Wait, it's completely safe!"
Zackary's stride remained unyielding as he continued to push forward, determined to distance himself from the treacherous proposition that lay before him.
Desperation filled the room as Mr. Spectre pleaded, "We'll pay you 250 million credits!" His words echoed, attempting to entice Zackary with the allure of immense wealth.
Zackary's footsteps faltered, his attention caught by the weight of the offered fortune. He slowly came to a halt, glancing over his shoulders.
"Yes... yess, 250 million credits," Mr. Spectre reaffirmed, catching his breath before motioning towards the table. "Please, sit down. At least let me explain."
Zackary's eyes darted as he envisioned the potential repercussions. He weighed the credits against the risks, but quickly brought himself back to reality.
'I suppose hearing him out can't hurt..' he thought reluctantly.
"Don't waste my time and get to the point. We both know the risks involved in what you're asking," Zackary warned, his tone firm, before taking his seat in a more relaxed position.
"Thank you. You're a man of great insight," Mr. Spectre praised, briefly coughing to compose himself. "We've been preparing for this mission for several months now. An informant within the UNSC provided us with slipspace coordinates to a large Forerunner artifact. We have confirmed this intelligence and believe there are also numerous smaller Forerunner artifacts at the site."
"What kind of Forerunner artifact are we talking about exactly?" Zackary interjected, his caution evident in his voice.
Mr. Spectre didn't mind the interruption and appeared thrilled that Zackary was asking questions. "Unfortunately, we don't have that information. The informant couldn't retrieve it, but the risk of the unknown is factored into the final payout."
Noah nodded, encouraging Mr. Spectre to continue hastily. "The mission is as I mentioned. Using the slipspace coordinates, you and a team assembled by the other involved parties will head to the site and retrieve as many physically possible Forerunner artifacts. If possible, prioritize the smaller ones to make the best use of the available space."
"What about the possibility of leaks? And if this site is as significant as you claim, wouldn't the UNSC already be there?" Noah questioned carefully.
"No, the UNSC hasn't touched it yet. They've been occupied with other matters and are waiting until they have the necessary manpower, following protocol," Mr. Spectre explained rapidly. He paused briefly, having spoken so quickly, before continuing, "We've received word that the UNSC is almost ready and will depart within the month. That's why we had to expedite our plans to stay ahead of them."
"I can personally guarantee that no one else has these coordinates except us and the UNSC. We've thoroughly checked," Mr. Spectre added.
"So the assignment is to link up with the other parties, use slipspace to reach the coordinates, secure the Forerunner artifacts, and then leave before the UNSC arrives?" Zackary summarized.
"Yes, that's precisely it. If our intelligence is correct, there will be a considerable number of artifacts, and the UNSC won't even notice that some have been taken," Mr. Spectre concluded.
"And who are the other parties involved?" Zackary inquired.
"Ah, some private forces from our investors and one or two mercenary organizations," Mr. Spectre answered.
A silence settled in the room, and Zackary's mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. The weight of Mr. Spectator's offer lingered in the air; 250 million credits was an astronomical sum that could change his life forever. For context a marine was paid anywhere from 60 to 90 thousand credits per year and potentially more as an officer.
As a mercenary, Zackary hadn't been enjoying financial success lately, struggling from commission to commission and constantly battling poverty since he wasn't paid by the hour and instead by the requirements of the commission. The possibility of securing such a fortune stirred within him, not for his own sake but for someone he cared about deeply.
However, Zackary was not easily swayed by material wealth. He was a seasoned mercenary well aware of the risks and dangers that came with high-stakes assignments. The very nature of this mission, centered around Forerunner artifacts, couldn't be underestimated. These ancient relics would attract attention from every major race in the galaxy, and no matter how safe the mission appeared, nothing was certain when it came to the Forerunners. But it would undeniably be the most valuable cargo he had ever dealt with.
Still, the offer seemed to guarantee a certain level of safety. His mind continued to calculate the potential repercussions of accepting. The credits, tempting as they were, were debatable in terms of outweighing the potential risks.
"...I'll need some time to think about this," Zackary hastily spoke, breaking the silence.
Mr. Spectre appeared to lose some of his enthusiasm, but he didn't seem particularly disappointed. "No problem. How should I contact you?"
Getting up from his seat, Zackary didn't hesitate. "I'll contact you."
As he walked towards the door and opened it, Zackary turned his head to face Mr. Spectre.
"Also, as a self-appointed historian, you were wrong about one thing."
Mr. Spectre, still seated, turned to Noah with a puzzled expression. "What was that?"
"Humanity didn't win the war. The Covenant simply lost it," Zackary stated with conviction.
Leaving those words hanging in the air, Zackary exited the room.