Relic of the Past

Prologue: To you, 14,000 years from now

"My darling,"

The fight was finished. Finally.

"There will be a day when we shall meet again,"

They had overcome the monstrous force that threatened their doom.

"Even if the galaxy vanishes into the void,"

An unceasing, unstoppable force that had devoured all in its path.

"We will meet again."

What it took to defeat it altered the galaxy beyond recognition.

A monument to all of their sins.

"I will wait until that day comes. I promise you I will."

And it left him on death's door.

"Wait for me. You must wait for me, too."

But death would not find him today.

"Don't ever forget about me."

For as long as he was needed, he would be there.

That was a promise.

Location: Redacted

Date: Redacted

It felt like he was in a dream.

An ache mounted in John's chest, and he frowned, weighing his options as he glanced at the screen showing how long he had been asleep.

A lengthy amount of time.

Stopping himself from sighing aloud, his shoulders slouched.

"Lord of Admirals?" questioned a robotic voice.

John paused before recognizing it was coming from the console's AI.

Lord of Admirals—the unfamiliar term sent his mind into a blank until he received a whisper from his subconscious. The title had been created to honor Fleet Admiral Lord Terrance Hood after his death, making them of the de facto leaders of all sentient species uniting under one banner against their formidable enemy. Even so, John couldn't recall ever being called by such a title.

Either way, with the time that's passed, titles would likely mean nothing to those who were long gone by now.

Squad Leader.

The Master Chief.

The Demon.

He had attained many titles throughout the years, his lifespan having been extended far past what had been considered the possible augmented human norms of his time. He could remember fragments; of the forced evolution the Librarian had made him undergo had changed his body in more ways than simply giving him immunity to the effects of the Composer like he had initially believed.

A Genesong, the Librarian had called it, implanted in all humans. She had claimed that it contained many gifts that would be unlocked with what she would do with him. At the time, he hadn't a clue what she had entirely meant, defeating the Didact and saving Cortana's life being his main focus of the immediate future.

Another rumble from his subconscious.

It had taken him years to notice it, but it became more obvious as time passed; especially in comparison to the surviving Spartan-II troops.

Time seemed to not have any effect on him like it did for all those around him. Even the older and more advanced Spartan-III's and IVs grew up and reached their limits, whereas John got stronger and faster.

And then they were gone; his fight was finished…

But against what? He couldn't put a finger on it: the memory of what happened escaped him, no matter how hard he tried. All he knew was that he was isolated once again. Well, almost alone...

"Identify," John commanded the AI.

"Acknowledged. I am Durandal—the UNSC Artificial Intelligence installed here to check up on you while you were recovering from the effects of the Halo rings that were fired."

In spite of the facts that were laid out before him, John found it hard to wrap his head around this reality.

John blinked a few times, trying to register everything that Durandal had just told him.

The Halo rings had been fired?

John shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. "That's not possible," he said.

He'd be dead, if that were the case. Not sitting here after awakening, talking to an unknown AI.

Durandal hesitated. "I assure you, Lord of Admirals, that it is. The Halo rings have done their job. All sentient life in the galaxy has been eradicated, as you intended."

John felt a wave of nausea wash over him. It couldn't be true. He had fought so hard to save humanity. How could he have done something so catastrophic?

Closing his eyes, John tried to steady his breathing and tried to recall the last of his memories.

The Banished attacking and destroying The Infinity.

Fighting them on Installation 07, Zeta Halo, establishing strongholds and saving who he could. Being hunted by the Banished best in response.

Encountering the Endless, the Haringer.

Being challenged by War Chief Escharum, killing him and eliminating the head of the Banished influence from the Halo ring.

The Pilot, Echo 216, Fernando Esparza, a good man.

The Weapon, difficult to trust, even more difficult to let go.

Cortana, her admittance to her crimes, and her final goodbye.

A sharp pain shot through John's head, and he winced, squeezing his eyes shut. But amidst the pain, another memory flashed before his eyes.

Another Forerunner, not the Librarian, their voice echoing in his mind the day he had activated another one of his gifts, a Geas, they had called it. Which would only be activated in the event of the unprecedented return of—

John stiffened, his eyes snapping open. "The Flood," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. But he still couldn't comprehend it; how had they been unleashed again? To the extent that activating the rings was the only way to contain them?

He had done what he was meant to do, scored another victory against the Flood but at a cost beyond measure this time around. He wiped out the very thing his programming had been designed to protect and preserve. He'd destroyed every one of the living creatures which were supposed to be his wards in the galaxy, solely so they couldn't fall victim to the horror of the Flood's infection.

The guilt weighed down upon him like a physical burden, yet he could not turn away from the fact that had supposedly been his only option. He stood there amidst an empty universe, feeling more lost than ever before as he faced an uncertain future with no purpose or mission.

Looking at his scarred palms, he flexed his fingers a little, taking note of his greying skin replacing his once pasty white. The lingering aches and pains humming through his body confirmed it.

Despite looking close to a corpse now, he really was alive.

It only left him with more questions than answers. How was he still alive? The Halo's were meant to kill indiscriminately, leaving no sentient beings alive for the Flood to feast on.

While he was, in a way, thankful he was still alive, he noticed he didn't come out unscathed. The lethal radiation the Halo's emitted seemed to have nearly killed him. The excruciating pain of experiencing what would have been the feeling of his body resisting being torn apart at a molecular scale was likely to have been horrendous.

The end result, however, was that while it didn't kill him, he was likely left in a near death state. There was no doubt he would've died had he not been saved and put to a stasis-induced sleep to recover from his wounds by whoever had found him.

Though—after doing a quick mental bioanalysis, he certainly didn't make a full recovery either. There were still several deep aches in his body that became agitated when he moved. While he could move the extremities of his body just fine, there was a profound numbness lingering in them, signaling possible permanent nerve damage. Even his breathing took slight conscious effort, each one dragging in and out slight shocks of pain from within.

Noting these developments, John willed himself back to the present, remembering how much time he had seen had passed just moments ago.

"How?" John asked Durandal. "With the amount of time that's passed, your self-deletion protocols should've been activated."

Dumb or smart AI, after the fiasco that had occurred with Cortana and The Created, none of the other species with the technology to create AI were allowed to let them exist for no more than seven years. Any longer than that, though, their built-in failsafe protocols should activate and wipe their existence. With the advancements in AI technology, these failsafe protocols would delete them, willing or not. Of course, not all failsafe was a for sure system they could utterly rely on, given the Weapon had been able to resist hers due to assimilating with the Forerunner technology from reconnecting with Cortana's echoes. Though as far as he knew, there should be no other AI that had done the same.

John eyed the console warily.

Should….

Durandal fell silent as if it were thinking of a way to appropriately respond to the accused breach of protocol. Before John's wariness could grow, it appeared on a nearby console, its green 3D construct replicating the Forerunner glyph for 'Reclaimer.'

John's eyes narrowed, feeling the hairs on his neck rise despite his weakened state.

The glyph shifted its 'face' toward him as if it were staring at him. "…I am the approximate 1,300th self-replicated copy of the fragment of the original Smart AI designated 'Durandal' meant to supervise your process. Self-termination protocols for the previous replicated copies were followed, as intended."

He cocked an eyebrow. "The 1,300th?

"Approximately. The exact data of such actions have not been properly logged, as the fragments became smaller with every copy."

"Why?"

The glyph blipped. "To ensure your survival. As my creator intended. The primary Durandal fragment had other priorities to attend to."

"Who was your creator? What were these priorities? Were they the ones that put me under?"

Durandal's avatar dimmed slightly, before glowing once more. "…My apologies. That data has seemed to have been expunged to save processing power many replications ago. Only the purpose of my existence as a fragment and your importance has been accurately reproduced without fail, Lord of Admirals."

"How were you able to self-replicate? Are you a Forerunner AI?"

"In a sense. Humanity was my creators, that I am sure of. Though the method of my creation was through the technology of the Forerunners. My loyalty is toward the former, not the latter." The glyph spun slightly, before the symbol seemed to focus on John. "Toward you."

"…How long has this version of you been in active service?"

"This replica has been in service for 3 years, Lord of Admirals."

"…."

To his knowledge, Forerunner AI could live indefinitely when compared to Human AI, but the possibility of suffering from rampancy was still there. They could pose a significantly greater threat if they did.

It didn't seem like this one would enter rampancy any time soon, and even took measures in accordance with the limitations established on it by Humanity to ensure it didn't. There was no doubt in his mind that the process of self-replicating so many times must've taken its toll on the AI. It was surely a matter of time before these would become evident…

John silently stared at it for a moment, before deciding to temporarily let go of his suspicions for a little while. "…Was there anyone else that made it?"

It dimmed once more. "…Unknown. According to my logs, no one has arrived here in the lifespan of approximately 1,000 previous replicas. Aside from that, your survival and the maintenance of this facility have been my primary function, Lord of Admirals. I am sorry."

John tried to drown out the bits of sincerity bleeding into its monotone voice. He instead looked around the massive room. He took in the facility's architecture as a symphony of glass and steel, with clean lines and sweeping curves. The walls and floors were adorned with a seamless blend of metallic and bioluminescent materials, creating an elegant contrast of cold, sterile efficiency and warm, soft illumination.

He glanced back at the casket he had emerged from and the large piece of machinery suspended above it. "Where are we, exactly? What is this place?"

"We are inside Sarcophagus Facility K953."

"Sarcophagus…" John muttered to himself, glancing at the casket. Even though it sounded familiar, another heavy blanket of fog in his mind kept it from reaching the exact memory.

He shook his head and tried to think—but no matter how hard he tried; he just couldn't remember.

Were these gaps in his memory a result of possible brain damage from the Halo Array? Or was it the aftereffects of healing within the Sarcophagus?

Dropping it after unsuccessfully recalling the memory, John decided that he'd likely remember once he was in better shape. He had only woken up minutes ago and must still be recovering from the effects of such a long slumber.

John had other things to focus on. He eyed the casket. "That's what healed me while I was under? The Sarcophagus?"

"Yes. Its basic function is to heal, amongst is various others."

"What else does it do?"

"…. My apologies, but that data has been—"

"Expunged," John finished for the fragmented AI.

"…Yes…"

"Do you know where this facility is located? What planet we're on?"

"The Sarcophagus Facility we are in is located on Shield World 0983, designated Bastion."

A Shield World?

John had mixed experiences of Shield Worlds. The first one he had ever interacted with had entombed an insane Forerunner with a burning hate towards all of Humanity. One that he and Cortana had been tricked with a false signal into releasing in an effort to save the UNSC Infinity— which had been caught in the Shield Worlds grav well.

The same Forerunner that had soon escaped and resumed his war on Humanity with a Composer. With it, he had attacked Earth and digitized over seven million people with a single strike before John and Cortana were able to destroy his ship, The Mantles Approach, and temporarily defeat him by getting him to fall into a slipspace rupture.

Requiem had been the name of the Shield World that had imprisoned the crazed Forerunner, destroyed months after John and Blue Team had been able to hunt him down after he had killed another Spartan-II team. They had won by the skin of their teeth, digitizing the Didact with the strength of multiple Composers.

A harrowing first experience.

However, from reading a few files after rejoining the UNSC after dealing with the Composer, John also knew that there were varieties of Shield Worlds that differentiated depending on their purpose. Some held the conservation data of multiple species meant to reseed the galaxy and create new planets after the Forerunners originally fired the Halo rings to starve the Flood. Others held caches of vast Forerunner weaponry and fleets of dreadnoughts.

However, they all served the same purpose: to be planetary fortresses against the Flood during the Forerunner's war against them. As the Forerunners lost the war, they decided to leave the Shield Worlds as gifts toward Humanity to utilize the technology to advance their race.

At least, that was their intention. The Covenant had found a few before Humanity, using the technology to advance their imperium war machine before setting their sights against Humanity in the name of their false religion.

John let the old memories go, refocusing himself. For him to be left in such a world to heal meant that it likely held some importance, be it the Sarcophagus technology implemented here or something else.

The purpose of this Shield World was the mystery he had to solve first before he could plan any further.

Which meant he'd have to find the Control Room for the planet.

The guilt of what he had done threatened to crush him, but he fought it back with every ounce of his being. Even if his memories were fragmented, the undeniable truth was that he had caused untold suffering to Humanity and wondered if the time that had passed could ever heal the wounds he had created. But he refused to let himself be enveloped by the despair, instead focusing on the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for recovery.

And if there was, he'd grab it with all his might.

He gave the room another once over, eyes roaming over the cold, unfeeling machinery before falling onto a Mjolnir locker that was discreetly tucked against the corner of the room. The often-whirling green light was off, the locker itself barely giving a glimmer of a green glow.

Standing from the terminal, John's bare feet plodded against the cold floor as he made his way to it. Despite his nude form from when he awoke, he could barely feel the chill of the room, his still healing wounds making his body burn warmly.

Bringing his palm to the scanner, he frowned when his presumptions were correct. The locker was working off emergency power, leaving none left in the scanner to read his prints. No doubt from being to the side for over a couple thousand years, and Humanity hadn't made a battery that could last longer than a couple hundred years. Not one that had been electric, at least. If he had his MJOLNIR armor on, a simple command through his neural link connected to the armor would've been enough to open it.

Unfortunate, but nothing John couldn't bypass with a slight jury rig. Gripping the sides of the locker, John pulled the locker from the corner with a loud grunt, his fatigued and weakened muscles shaking slightly from something that would've barely taken any effort had he been fully functional.

Walking to the rear of it, John crouched in front of a screwed-on panel and used his fingers to peel off the thin metal-like paper, the screws popping off the locker with a loud thud from his augmented strength.

With the electric panel accessible, John had to pull out a few wires, pull them apart, and knot the ends of the different wires in a specific order. When he got to the final two wires, all he needed was to touch the tips together, and with a single spark—

*WHIRL*

The gears activated and the locker released a pressurized hiss before opening wide.

John felt a ghost of a smirk pull at a corner of his lips. While he wasn't as mechanically inclined as some of the other Spartans, his own touch was still enough.

Peering at the contents inside, John frowned. There was a MJOLNIR titanium nanocomposite bodysuit, a large black coat with a hood, and a simple black helmet with a midnight blue visor.

—On top of an unnerving lack of weapons…

"Durandal," The AI glowed in acknowledgment. "Where is my armor?"

"Your MJOLNIR Mark-X was destroyed during your final battle on Installation-14, Lord of Admirals. The damage done to it by the array left it irreparable."

"Mark-X?" John replied, bewildered, and confused at hearing the creation of an iteration.

"Yes," Durandal replied patiently. "It was a specialized iteration of the MJOLNIR armor using both blueprints of the Forerunner warrior-servant's personal armor and the armor components used by what they had found to be the Ancient Humanity that had been at war with them. It had been the pinnacle of reverse-engineered science, utilizing an unprecedented level of features not available with the previous incarnations. Six times more potent than the previous MJOLNIR systems, it protected the wearer both physically and medically, augmenting their memory and perception—all while having the ability to attune itself to different forms of attack. Only three of them had been created with their limited resources to my knowledge. One user had died during the war, their suit having been deemed unrecoverable under the circumstances of their death, and you had been the wielder of the other."

John blinked as he quietly processed the sudden influx of information. With such advanced facilities built into the armor that went beyond even his understanding, John chalked it up to another possible reason he was able to survive the firing of the Halo Arrays.

This meant that the last one might be somewhere in the galaxy if he had to hazard a guess, unclaimed and gathering dust.

John knew it was wishful thinking but held a sliver of hope that he might come across it with time.

It really sounded like it was a good suit of armor.

But even now, Mark-VI armor wouldn't hurt either.

Slipping on the nanocomposite bodysuit, John could feel the inner skinsuit decompress and bind to his figure tightly but comfortably, as the hydrostatic gel layer allowed it to conform to his body—essentially becoming a second layer of skin. He instantly felt lighter, more mobile as the reactive metal liquid crystal layer of the bodysuit activated, regulating his temperature and lessening the burden of having to use his own muscles as the suit's own synthetic fibers 'awoke.'

John exhaled softly; despite his damaged body, he already felt stronger as he could feel the suit's reactive circuits connect to his Spartan Neural Interface.

Though he was stronger, and his physical offensive capabilities had quadrupled, he was still incomplete. He was still extremely vulnerable without the MJOLNIR's outer components meant for defense. Being vulnerable in a Forerunner Shield World was not an ideal standard for John, and he acknowledged that he'd have to be even more cautious than usual when walking across the world's surface.

Like with most things Forerunner, there was no doubt in his mind that everything outside this room would be foreign to him. Even possibly bizarre. Not one Forerunner-made planet or installation contained the same terraformed topography or even the same technology used to create them.

Of course, there were similarities between them, as with the design of the original Halos, but it was like rolling a twenty-faced dice when it came to anything else. Humanity and the other species of his time had barely scratched the surface when it came to the Forerunners as a result of caution—having intimate knowledge of the dangers lurking when delving too deeply into their secrets before they were ready.

Rolling his shoulders as he got comfortable, John grabbed the helmet in the locker, giving it a once over as he didn't quite fully recognize the design. It looked as if it was the odd amalgamation of the MJOLNIR Mark-VI ODST and the ECH252 helmet, but it was also different, with the often-sleek shape becoming more rectangular than what he was used to.

John gave it a light squeeze.

The material was at least the same; there was no way he'd forget the titanium look—though there were ceramic pieces, too. There was padding inside, with sealants from where the jawline would meet the neck. Just like the previously mentioned helmets, it seemed like it was also rated for space or underwater travel.

Looking at the back of it, John raised a brow when he saw a port at the back.

An AI port?

He glanced at Durandal, who glowed in acknowledgment before fixing his gaze on the helmet again.

John put on the helmet, the seals pressurizing with a slight hiss—and before his eyes, a HUD appeared. It took a minute to initialize and load before appearing with biometric data and a compass. Rather basic than what he was used to, it would probably need some tinkering before he could add more.

He'd need to find the right tools to do so, and they weren't in this nearly bare facility from what he could see.

At least the helmet helped him breath easier.

Grabbing the jacket last, he made his way to Durandal, shutting close the lid of the Sarcophagus as he did.

The AI 'stared' at John when he stopped in front of it. "Status."

"This fragment's functionality is down to 3.4% of the original 15% when created. 20.456% of the original database is still available. Recommend reuniting with the other fragments in this planet is highly advised to improve from these deficiencies, Lord of Admirals."

"There are more fragments on this planet?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where?"

"I do not. However, I can, in a sense, feel their presence enough to factually state that there are more outside this facility. However, I will not be able to pinpoint exact coordinates unless I were to get closer to these fragments, Lord of Admirals."

"You can stop calling me that."

"Acknowledged. Do you have a preference to be called by?"

Master Chief—

John pressed his lips into a thin line at the thought. If his everything he had learned moments ago was correct, that name would hold little to no meaning since the UNSC should no longer exist, especially with all the time that's passed.

No. That title, one that would inspire hope within Humanity so long ago, would do him no good here.

But…

"Spartan-11—" John paused. "Spartan."

If there was a possibility of anyone still being around, they would know that name at least. As well as the weight behind it.

After all, Spartans never die.

They just go Missing in Action.

Durandal's avatar winked once.

"Acknowledged, Spartan. Is there anything else? If not, I will begin my self-deletion protocols as—"

"No." He interrupted sharply.

The glyph spun slightly as if surprised. "No? I do not understand, Spartan? My purpose as a fragment has been accomplished. Aside from maintaining the Sarcophagus, the majority of this unit no longer has a need to exist, as the sub-routine that will be left behind after my deletion will be more than enough for that task."

He loomed over the AI. "Your mission was to ensure my survival."

"Yes? With your recovery then—"

"Your mission isn't over then," John cut it off again, stern. "I'll need assistance navigating on the surface and interacting with any artifacts I may come across."

"…But my original mission parameters dictate that…"

"The mission's changed. They always do. Finding this Shield World's Control Room and establishing communications is the priority now." He offered a hand to the AI, fingers extended toward the port on the console that housed its data crystal. "Will you help me?"

"…I am only a fragment. The years of self-replicating have worn my core significantly. I doubt I can be much of use at this point."

"You said you'd get better if you were to reunite with the other fragments?" It 'nodded.' "Then that's what we'll do on the way."

The AI fell silent before disappearing, the end of its chip ejecting itself from the terminal, enough to let John pull the rest out.

Holding the data chip that glowed a luminous green, John gave it a small once over before reaching behind his head…

Better than nothing…

And slotting the chip into his helmet.

Immediately, a new weight was pushed against his mind, followed by a cooling sensation as if someone had poured a bucket of ice onto his brain.

A familiar feeling.

An unfamiliar monotone rang in his head soon after.

"Spartan? It's… rather spacious in here? I'm… surprised, for lack of a better word."

"Don't get any funny ideas."

His eyes flickered across the room as he felt a slight rumble shake the room. It was tolerable as it wasn't enough to shake anything out of place.

Seismic activity.

"What was that?"

"A natural disaster is beginning to brew outside the facility, one of the many you've been asleep throughout the years for, Spartan."

One of the many?

"This is a common occurrence? How?" Last he checked, the only time such a disaster could even happen in a Forerunner-made world was because something in the planet was destabilized—usually before it would blow up into a million pieces.

And usually by him, last he checked…

"Unknown, the facility's outer perimeter scanners had been destroyed around the time they first began to occur. The first recorded instance of these cataclysmic events on the planet's surface began appearing around a few hundred years after you were initially placed in stasis."

"Should we be worried?"

"With these seismic readings, we would have approximately three to four hours before it would reach us. What we are feeling now is just the aftershocks."

"Sounds like they can get pretty bad," John put on the jacket. "But we'll be long gone by then."

"Would it not be more efficient to simply wait it out? This facility has had no issue withstanding these natural disasters before. It will hold now."

"No time to waste," He'd been asleep for so long. The sooner he finds the answers to the questions lingering in his mind, the sooner he can determine his next course of actions.

"If you intend to do that, I shall abide." A series of clicks were followed by a droning noise before an entrance appeared at what seemed to be the head of the facility, sliding open—A way outside. "We are now free to leave."

John stepped out of the facility, only to be greeted with a long, giant cavern. In the distance, he could make out the dim, faint white light that likely led to the surface. He looked around as he made his way toward the light, taking note of the smoothened rock walls and floor, making it seem more like a hallway than a cave.

The door shut behind him, entrapping him in darkness. However, it was soon subset with the faint, ethereal light emanating from the familiar, intricate symbols of the Forerunners etched into the rock, casting a soft, eerie glow. The glyphs, radiant in hues of azure and cerulean, painted a mesmerizing tapestry upon the cavern's interior.

"This cave isn't a natural formation…"

The AI replied to his muttered observation.

"A mountain was terraformed over the facility after you were put into cold storage. It was the method chosen to keep you hidden."

"From what?"

Durandal's silence left him uneasy.

The land stretched out for miles, with no signs of life. The earth was cracked and dry, devoid of any vegetation.

As far as John could see, there was nothing but desolate, arid expanse, not a hint of the artificially created greenery or natural beauty that had been synonymous with most Forerunner-created worlds. In the far distance, he could see the makings of the natural disaster headed his way; a swirling mass of black clouds darkened the skies, rapidly forming into a more significant size as minutes passed.

The wasteland was eerily quiet. Only the sound of the distant howling winds and booming thunders from the calamity forming before him, accompanying the gravel crunching beneath his feet.

What had happened here?

The surface had been scarred, the ground marked by scorch marks and craters, evidence of past conflicts and devastation.

All of it led to more questions forming in John's mind, leaving him confused and bothered. Confusion would lead to poor decision-making, which could lead to mistakes, and mistakes at the wrong time could lead to hesitation and death.

He looked up at the sky.

Similar to the world's surface, its atmosphere feels heavy and oppressive, as if it's a constant reminder of the world's impending downfall. Above, twin moons gaze down on it, being its only spectator. Not even a star was to be seen, despite being far from any form of light pollution.

Something tapping against his helmet drew John from his thoughts. Another tap followed it, and he raised a hand to cover his head and felt something lightly connect against it.

He looked at his hand.

It was a droplet of water.

"It's going to rain," John murmured distantly, numbly.

"Yes, Spartan," Durandal replied as John tossed the jacket's hood over his helmet. "It's from the incoming storm…"

Dropping his hands and stuffing them into his coat pockets, John turned and eyed the cave's entrance.

"Spartan?"

"Can you you bury it?"

"Yes? The facility was built with several self-defense features in the case of foreign intrusion while you slept. But why would—"

"Do it."

Call it paranoia, but John had a gut feeling as if this planet wasn't as empty as he initially thought. It could be taken over by a hostile presence, or he could be wrong, and he was surrounded by potential allies. Or he could really be the only isolated lifeform in this world. Given his surroundings, however, there was no doubt the devastation surrounding him was created by more than the natural phenomena occurring on the surface.

And anything he didn't know, left him tense.

Given the known basic function of the Sarcophagus, access to anything Forerunner could not fall into potentially hostile hands.

—If it hadn't already had.

The cave rumbled, vibrations shaking the area, before the sound of giving it way and chunks of rock collapsed inside of it.

"It is done, Spartan."

Despite Durandal's assurances, John didn't move away, watching as the dust slowly settled from the forced cave-in. It wasn't until he could have a clear visual of the now-filled hole that he was satisfied.

"Can you triangulate a signal of one of your fragments?"

"I… believe so. It's faint, and without any functional sensors in your helmet, it can only be a rough estimate until we get close as I said before."

"Which direction?"

"South from our present location."

Time to get to work.

Utilizing his HUD's compass, he began his journey through the barren wasteland in the direction of his next objective.

All the while, the brewing storm slowly encroached closer.

A/N*

Wanted to make this for a while. Been an Arknights player since Global came out back early 2020.

The learning curve was tough though, so I was really on and off with it. Loved the lore and story, especially when it came to the side stories. The writing can get kind of weird though, but I guess that's what happens when the original source material is based off of Chinese proverbs and philosophical ways of speaking.

Picked it up again recently and been enjoying catching up with the recently released lore. Ready for the Lone Trail expansion, gonna be lit. Fingers crossed to pull Mumu in my operator generating body bags.

I wish my fellow Dokta's good fortune on their pulls.

But yeah, another Halo crossover with me attempting to merge two universes together the best I could. Any criticism from both communities are welcomed, but please don't bash, I really do want to make a story worthy enough to satisfy both without disregarding the lore on either side.

But yeah, John waking up with pieces missing from his memory. All will be explained in due time, just let me get there first please.

Anyways, stay safe out there.

And please, read and review.