Well, here we are with another chapter, this time not taking over half a year to complete. Heh. Here's to me actually getting out a chapter with some relative efficiency. Here's also to hoping I can get these chapters out with relative speed, just so you all don't wait too long and lose interest. I hope you're finding this exciting or, at the very least, interesting.
New Blood
Location: UNSC All or Nothing, In Orbit Above Falaknuma
Time: 0933 Hours
Date: July 11, 2557
The All or Nothing came out of Slipspace seamlessly. Alarms blared as the frigate detected lock-on signatures from a number of ships and defense platforms, yet the crew paid them no mind. Such was standard procedure when it came to UNSC forces post-War. Even though the Covenant had been defeated and shattered, there were still a number of pirates and splinter groups wandering in the outer reaches. And with the resurgence of Insurrectionist attacks, that meant they wouldn't let their guard down in the face of human ships either, no matter how friendly they looked.
On the bridge, Agent Washington stood on the command podium, his armor in as pristine condition as he could manage. There were still dents and signs of weathering on the chest and gauntlets, things that would require a blowtorch to fully buff out. Although the All or Nothing had been well-stocked, especially for a ship of its size and tonnage, much of it had been eaten up in the aftermath of the battle of Praetor.
The ship itself was transmitting its identification codes and made no attempt to close on the defensive cluster, instead doing its best to look passive and compliant.
"Station Argus, this is UNSC All or Nothing," the Freelancer said into the ship's radio. "Transmitting I.F.F. codes on an open frequency, over."
"Roger that, All or Nothing," a young man's voice answered through the speaker in front of him. "We've been expecting you. Make your way to Docking Port 11 for cargo loading and unloading. A team will be awaiting your arrival. Acknowledged?"
"Affirmative, Argus," Wash told them. "We'll be sending some of our guys to monitor the transfer of troops and supplies."
"Roger that, All or Nothing," the radioman confirmed. "We'll see you down there. Argus over and out."
The line went dead and the weapons' lock warnings with it. The engines of the frigate fired as it propelled itself to the largest of the many defense platforms orbiting Falaknuma. It passed by ships of various sizes, from miniscule Pelicans and Broadswords to massive cruisers and carriers, even passing by a converted colony ship akin to the lost Spirit of Fire. Off in the distance, a small handful of red CCS-class Covenant cruisers could be seen as well, confirming the presence of the Swords of Sanghelios among the fleet.
Even further off into the distance, closer to the planet itself, they could see the remains of Habitat Exodus scattered across the planet's upper atmosphere. Apparently the station had originally come from the Rubble, one of the main HQs for the Insurrectionists before the Human-Covenant War. Now it was little more than debris over the planet, a navigational hazard that ships needed to treat with utmost care if they were to pass through. Still, the UNSC was doing its best to clear out said hazard in hopes of allowing greater traffic between the surface and orbit. The possibility of an orbital elevator was still a ways away for its inhabitants, however.
As they continued to near the Argus Defense Platform, Wash continued to glance at the array of firepower. Falaknuma hadn't been a remarkable planet before the war started and hadn't had much use afterwards either. However, it was one of the only planets in that sector of human-controlled space that hadn't been completely decimated by the Covenant, thus turning it into an important staging ground, even despite the orbital debris.
Agent Washington's eyes wandered down to the manifest of equipment that he had requested. It was far more than when they had stocked up for Praetor, but things had been different there. He had underestimated just how many munitions, personnel, and tertiary equipment had been needed for the fight. Not only that, but with the goldmine of information they had gathered from Praetor, they now had enough intelligence to gauge at least a rough concentration of Insurrectionist forces on several fronts, including Zeta-Phi II.
Based on what UNSC and ONI sources had gathered, it was far greater than what they had encountered on Praetor, so they would be replenishing their losses with a joint taskforce of UNSC and Sangheili forces, hopefully making up the difference for the hundred soldiers lost. Once they had restocked and been reinforced, they would rendezvous with another UNSC battlegroup in the Zeta-Phi system before continuing their search. They would need the extra eyes and ears to monitor an entire active warzone.
He knew next to nothing about these two teams he was picking up, only that one of them was UNSC and the other somehow knew Tucker. He prayed they were dependable…
… and up to the task.
Special Operative Jane Olsen had never considered herself to be the cooperative type, especially among large groups. This went doubly so when it came to two or more units intermixing. This, in turn, went triply so when one of those units were aliens. She had always worked better with a smaller team, where the skills of the individual soldier could actual shine.
It's also why she chose to work Special Operations back in her heyday with the UNSC. Working under brigade or division-level units never sat well with her, where the orders trickled down at a painstakingly-low rate. Worse yet, it also meant she tended to get micromanaged by some of the more incompetent leaders she'd come across.
Now she was here, hired out by Charon to assist what could only be described as a lowly group of grunts with another task. Oh, how the universe loved being ironic in the moment, especially at her expense.
Still, at least she was getting paid more now than her time as a simple leatherneck.
She had been watching out of the viewport for the last hour, waiting for their ship that would take her and her team to their next job. She was aware that the ship wasn't particularly large, no bigger than a frigate, but she had nothing better to do with her time.
Alarms began blaring as a Slipspace rupture appeared out in the distance, barely perceptible to the naked eye. All defensive turrets swerved to face it, moving in unison as they acquired a lock. Must be them, she surmised.
Only a few seconds went by before the alarms ceased and the turrets went back to their original resting postures. The crew aboard the station hadn't stopped their duties, practically aware that there was no need for alarm. Slightly foolish and lax behavior, perhaps, but ships had been coming and going for weeks at this point.
Her eyes continued to scan the ship as it drew closer to the docking station. She could now see the decals on the side of the frigate. UNSC ALL OR NOTHING. Yep, that was her ship. Honestly, even though she didn't have high hopes for the force she was meeting up with, at least it beat out the monotony of waiting on a dull-as-hell space station for over a week.
Docking clamps came into view as they latched onto the hull, pulling the ship close enough for the pressure seals to connect between the two objects. A hiss of pressurized air could be heard as the seals became airtight.
A body came into view, snapping her out of her trance. She looked down at the man before her, sporting a completely dark-grey set of armor, just like her. It covered him head to toe, with an Enforcer-class helmet over his head, silver visor staring back at her. "You ready?" he asked in a low voice, duffle bag in one hand, his MA5D assault rifle in the other.
She nodded, pushing herself up from the crate she'd been leaning on. "Been ready for a while," she said.
The man stared up at ship as it finished its docking procedures and trollies of supplies began lining up before the main cargo hatch.
"Here's to hoping these so-called Reds and Blues will be more entertaining than our previous hosts," he noted absentmindedly.
"I'm not hoping for much from these… simulation troopers," she admitted, her brow scrunching in disgust as she went to retrieve her bag and helmet.
"Anything is better than here," he told her. She had a feeling he was getting his hopes up at the prospect of a change of scenery, a feeling she didn't share.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Miller," she cautioned. He always seemed to get like this whenever they went anywhere remotely new. Maybe it was the prospect of a paycheck that was getting to him. She, however, was always prepared for failure, had been since she'd lost her whole squad during the war. She was confident that most of the others in her current company were as well. They'd all lost something during the war: family, friends, homes. Jobs like this helped keep their minds off of the loss, try to move on in the face of peace with the very aliens that had almost driven their race to extinction.
Olsen glanced across the cargo bay, seeing the other team that was accompanying them. They were Sangheili, six in total. However, compared to her team, they seemed to lack much in the way of uniformity. One was clearly analogous to a Zealot, draped in gold armor. Two were Spec Ops Elites, one in silver armor and the other sporting a salmon-and-yellow paintjob. The same odd color scheme could be seen on the single Ranger with them. The last two stuck out just as much as the first. They were both Minors, but wore a mix of green instead of typical red or blue, one with lighter shades while the other had darker tones.
She sneered at the thought of working with them. They hadn't been part of the plan, not in the least bit, but their decision to come hadn't been up to her. It's not like they could say no to the Arbiter without causing unnecessary tension.
"Why not?" Miller asked.
"These are grunts we're working with," Olsen pointed out. "I'm sure they'll be up to the same bullshit they usually are." Just because she'd gotten used to working with normal grunts, from Army to Marines, doesn't mean she liked them any more than before. They always seemed to be circle-jerking each other, doing stupid competitions, or butting heads out of sheer boredom if nothing else.
"I don't know about that," he disagreed. "They are former Simulation troopers. There must be some reason they were selected as literal cannon fodder, something the UNSC didn't like. And the fact that they are still alive must mean something too."
Olsen merely grunted. "I'm still not convinced," she told him, reaching down to grab her helmet leaning against a crate. It was the same color scheme as Miller's, but was Recon Generation 2 instead. Her dark-grey armor left little to the imagination, purely practical and professional in appearance. It was just the way she liked it.
"But, it doesn't matter," she continued, "we have our orders. And we will carry them out, no matter the attitude of our hosts." She scrunched her hair up and slipped her helmet over her head, seals closing around the skinsuit on her neck.
"Let's go give them a good first impression."
The Reds and Blues stepped out of the ship as the airlock opened, eager to get away from it, even if only for a few hours. Although some took to the relative isolation well, there were a few that needed some time away from staring at something that wasn't the same monotonous steel halls for several days. The station wouldn't be that much better, but it was at least something.
Agent Washington was at the head of the pack, showing their new troops just who their commander for the mission was. It was still a strange feeling, having to lead a force substantially larger than whatever small team he'd been put in to from Project Freelancer. He'd talked with, even swayed, teams of soldiers in the past, but actually leading a whole ship's worth of people was something else. He hoped he was doing right by everyone else.
As they stepped down the ramp, he saw two different groups approaching him, one in dark grey UNSC armor and uniforms while the other was made completely out of Sangheili. They couldn't be more different if they tried. While the humans looked cold and professional, like a unit, each with the same uniform dark grey armor with silver visors, the Elites were the complete opposite. Each wore a different combination of brighter colors, albeit not of Covenant designation or even that of the Swords of Sanghelios. Of the six, only two of them would've fit into original Covenant color designations: the silver Spec Ops Elite and the gold-and-silver Zealot.
One of the UNSC soldiers, wearing a Generation-2 Recon helmet, stepped forward. If he were to guess, the soldier was female based on size and body composition. "Agent Washington?" the soldier called out, solidifying his assumption with her feminine voice.
"That's me," he affirmed, walking over to her first. "To whom am I addressing?"
"Special Operative Jane Olsen," she greeted. "I was told we were to be reassigned to you and your team."
Washington nodded. "That's right." He looked over the two or three dozen or so other soldiers that were assembled. "Is this everyone?" he asked.
Olsen nodded back at him. "This is about the extent of my unit. Why?"
"I just thought there'd be more," he shrugged. "We lost about a hundred guys during our last engagement." To emphasize his point, a long train of caskets could be seen leaving the ship, with former Freelancer crew flanking the convoy of the dead. They held their weapons at the ready, prepared to repel any who dared to disturb their fallen comrades.
"Well," she said, "my guys will be sure to make up for anything your… troops… may be lacking in."
The operative looked the Reds and Blues up and down, being careful to not let her body posture betray her emotions. She didn't like what she saw. Just like the Elites, the Reds and Blues were a plethora of different colors, though at least they were thematically closer to what their team names suggested. They also largely had the same set of armor, the only exception being the cyan female and the teal Sangheili that was with them. Just about everyone else, Washington included, had some sort of Mark VI armor.
Olsen got an immediate reading on everyone's personalities based on body posture alone. For the Red team, she could see the bright red one, central to the group, was the most alert, paying attention to the conversation and carrying himself professionally.
The brown one stood stock still, not betraying any movement besides when being addressed to. There weren't even any subtle movements from fidgeting, shifting of the feet, or even just breathing. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he was robot.
The maroon one seemed somewhat fidgety, shifting on the balls of his feet, holding a datapad in his hands. This told her that he wasn't much of a leader and didn't like to stick himself out there. A nerd, she surmised.
However, of the Reds, the pink one was the most interesting one. He seemed light on his feet, like he was capable of ballet dancing, and had an airy persona about him. But she could see it. He was looking them up and down, observing them while appearing to be unobservant himself. She would have to keep an eye on this one.
Her eyes shifted over to the Blues. The cobalt one stood straight and stiff, giving off a professional, leaderlike appearance. Nothing special. There was no need to be wary of him.
The teal one, the one with the cast on his right arm, looked like he was nodding off, suggesting he had no bearing on leadership amongst the group. However, the energy sword hilt at his hip was unmistakable: he had somehow obtained a Sangheili weapon from somewhere. She didn't know how, either through combat or scavenging, but she knew he was either dangerous or resourceful.
The blue one was staring off into space. This gave her the impression that his mind wasn't that particularly sharp, something she wasn't super-fond of, but could at least handle. Any question he asked likely wasn't going to be that deep, which would make her job easier.
And the black one and cyan ones, they'd both been staring into Olsen's visor the entire time. Unlike the pink one, there was no attempt to hide their intentions either. They weren't afraid to show just who they were and what they were doing. They were confident, aggressive, with how they held themselves.
At the same time, she noticed they were both female, or at least of a more feminine figure, if their body shapes were any indication. Sure, they were still built extremely well, perhaps even better than her, but they were still females overall. Considering how they held themselves, it was pretty easy to assume they were Freelancers, or at least Special Forces of their own. She had a feeling she would be seen as competition to them, one way or another.
"Shahlee!" one of them yelled. Everyone turned just in time to see the teal one suddenly push his way past his team, beelining it straight towards the aliens that had formed up to her right. He ran up to the silver Spec Ops Elite and clasped his left hand with the Elite's.
"It is good to see you once again, Lavernius Tucker," the Sangheili spoke, it's warble slightly distorting it's voice. Olsen noticed this one was also female, the voice being a higher pitch than any other Elite she'd heard.
They released their hold on each other and Tucker stepped back. "Man, it feels like it's been forever since I've seen you all."
"It has only been a month," the salmon-and-yellow Spec Ops Elite pointed out.
"Yet he survived, Retam," the Ranger Elite pointed out. "Considering what he told us before he left, it must've been a great boon to his skill and the training Master Kaida put him through."
"To be completely fair, Sesa," Tucker admitted, "I was left in good company. My former team grew in skill just like me over the years."
"Judging by the casualties your forces sustained the last battle, I believe it," the silver Elite, Shahlee, said.
The rest of the humans stood by silently as they watched Tucker interact with the Sangheili, no one choosing to interrupt what sounded like a joyous reunion. Shahlee, however, noticed the UNSC and Freelancer soldiers simply standing by and decided to briefly halt the conversation Tucker was starting up.
"Greetings, Agent Washington," the first Elite said, "I am Special Operations Officer Shahlee 'Chava, leader of the Unity Blades Spec Ops Team."
She swept her arm out to the rest of the team. "With me is Zain 'Voro," she gestured to the gold Zealot. He nodded in return, doing his best to appear as nonthreatening as possible even despite his armor.
"Retam and Sesa 'Orokai," the salmon-and-yellow Spec Ops and Ranger Elites nodded in greeting as well.
"And Zal and Xytan 'Nadam," the light green and dark green Minors waved back gingerly.
"We will also be accompanying you on your mission," she finished.
Wash nodded. Though her team was even smaller than the one Operative Olsen was bringing, he was quite aware of the strength the Sangheili could provide. Each one was worth the weight of three to five soldiers in combat prowess. There was a reason Marines had nicknamed them 'Elites' in the first place. He hoped they could prove their worth in the fights to come.
"Welcome aboard, both of you," he looked between the two teams, noting that their crew seemed to get just more and more diverse with each planet they came across. First they had the Reds and Blues with all of their individual oddities. Then there were the Freelancers, who remained stoic and professional among the former Sim troopers, even despite past grudges and sins committed against one another. Now he had a band of colorful Elites and uniform UNSC Spec Ops troops. The Elites seemed to show no real uniformity but would ultimately be the strongest combatants on the ship, likely even surpassing the Freelancers themselves save perhaps Illinois. The Spec Ops troops were a mystery at the moment, one that he hoped to solve. Perhaps they could fill in the gaps in their roster via experience or specialization.
Agent Washington faced the Reds and Blues. "The equipment transfer will take some time, probably the rest of the day. We'll rest here until tomorrow. In the meantime, Donut, Simmons, Tucker, would you mind escorting our guests to the their rooms? I'm sure they'll want to find a space to get comfortable. Give them a quick tour of the ship while you're at it. As for the rest of you, feel free to explore the station. Keep your radios on and be alert in case of a recall. I don't care too much what you do as long as you don't get in trouble and it doesn't delay our departure."
With that out of the way, the teams dispersed. Donut, Simmons, and Tucker did as instructed, bringing the two teams onto the ship. The teal soldier went back to chatting with his Sangheili friends and let Donut lead the tour, much to the Red's cheery delight. Simmons was by his side, remaining strangely silent. Meanwhile, Sarge, Carolina, and Washington went about making sure their new equipment was properly stowed. Caboose and Lopez returned to the ship, disappearing to do who-knows-what. And Church and Tex left to explore the station. No one was quite sure if they were going to get something specifically or if they were just taking time to get away from the crew. Tucker secretly suspected they were going somewhere more private for some hot, steamy sex.
As Tucker, Donut, and Simmons escorted their new teammates down the hall, Olsen noted just how talkative the pink trooper was. Every time she thought he would end his conversation, he seemed to find some sort of tangent to keep going. It didn't help that at least one or two of her teammates kept on answering him when he asked a seemingly harmless question.
"So, how do you guys keep from chaffing out in the field?" he asked nonchalantly. "I always bring extra pairs of socks and underwear, even my tights, but none of them seem to actually stop chaffing altogether."
"I'm usually fine with just socks and undergarments," one of her men called out. Several of the others nodded their head in agreement.
"See, I would agree with you if it wasn't for the fact that my skin still gets flaky, even with those on."
"Have you considered trying different brands?" another one of her teammates asked.
"Yeah, but I always run into the same issue…"
She rolled her eyes. Jane couldn't believe they were actually entertaining his ramblings. It was mostly pointless jargon anyway, about personal glamor and skincare, stuff that is rather superficial in a military environment. It was stuff she would normally hear women, civilian women, talk about.
She never thought of herself as a typical girl when growing up, even a typical woman. They tended to talk about making themselves look pretty, either for themselves or for unassuming jocks. Sure, they also had aspirations to become business women, actresses, or models, but that tended to be very stereotypical in her experience. She stuck out from the crowd in that sense, choosing to actively participate in a mix of nerdy and athletic extracurriculars. She liked sports, shooting, reading, and even video games. It was these things that led to her career in the UNSC.
And now things seemed to come full circle. One of her guides was acting just like those girls she disassociated herself from.
And he just kept going.
His partner, Simmons, remained relatively quiet in comparison to the pink trooper. He continued to fiddle with his datapad, only chiming in to correct Donut once or twice. In fact, it looked like he didn't want to be there at all. She understood that feeling.
Olsen drifted over to the maroon soldier. "Hey," she greeted.
Simmons jumped, fumbling with the touch-screen in his hands. Once he had gotten a hold of his device, he nervously faced her. "Oh, uh, hey, hi," he stammered. "Is there, uh, is there something you, uh, need?"
"Just trying to get away from your friend's incessant yammering," she told him.
"Yeah," he sighed, "once Donut gets going with anything related to self-care or beauty sleep, he never shuts up. It's easier to just tune him out most of the time."
"Yeah, well, easier said than done," she muttered.
He said nothing, instead going back to his pad. As they continued on, she found that his words were harder to follow than she though. Donut just loved to continue going on tangents. And he just kept going.
It was getting irritating.
"Hey," she called to the other Red again. "Simmons, was it?"
Just like last time, he seemed startled, although not as severely as before. "Y-yeah," his voice cracked.
She found it odd that she still managed to scare the Red even though she hadn't left his side the entire time. He must've been really into whatever he was reading.
"Am I interrupting your reading?" she asked.
"Not really," he said, his voice cracking slightly again.
"Then why is your voice cracking like a nervous teenager?" she wondered curiously.
"Oh," Simmons said, only seeming to just notice that his voice was. He let out a nervous chuckle. "Sorry. It's just that I, uh, I'm not that good with talking to people like you…"
She noticed how he trailed off. "Like who?" she questioned, more curious than offended. She wondered if her more tomboyish mannerisms were leaking through her neutral stance somehow. They usually put people off. Well, civilian women at least.
"Like, uh, other girls…" he trailed off. One of his hands went up to rub the back of neck.
She gave him a curious look. "I see." Wow, he's a real nerd, she thought to herself. Probably a virgin too.
For some reason, the second thought made her chuckle. Finding a soldier that hadn't gotten laid at least once in their career was like finding a needle in a haystack. In her experience, a man in uniform was always bound to attract women. Hell, women in uniform attracted men too, though none that found that attractive were of interest to her. They always sought her out as a challenge, a way to inflate their ego. If they could bed a female soldier, they would prove just how much more dominating they were compared to their peers.
Jane Olsen never put up with any of their crap. She saw right through their act every time. They always had the type of personality she hated: brash, egotistical, too big for their britches. That's not what she was looking for from the few times she had tried dating. She wanted someone who would actually support her, who could balance her already unusual life and personality, not someone who made her life a competition. She already had enough of that with her work as it was.
The group suddenly halted, snapping Olsen out of her thoughts. She looked up, noticing that they had finally arrived at what appeared to be the ship's sleeping quarters. Doors lined both sides of the hall, stretching down before disappearing around the corner.
"Well, here we are then," Donut announced. "It's no spa, but it's something. Make yourselves at home. If you need me, just ring me up. I can provide a few services: nail polishing, massages, a bit of yoga too. Call me, and I can make your stay here nice and spicy."
Olsen raised an eyebrow. Did he just make a sexual innuendo? If so, was that on purpose or merely an accident?
Either way, she knew she would turn down his offer. Didn't want him poking around her stuff. She hoped the rest of her unit did the same.
Location: UNSC All or Nothing, En Route to Zeta-Phi II
Time: 1407 Hours
Date: July 12, 2557
True to Washington's word, the All or Nothing departed the next day, disengaging from the station's dock at around 0900. It dropped into Slipspace ten minutes later. Everyone had been accounted for before they had left, with Church and Tex appearing last, only twenty minutes before they left. Neither said what had taken them so long. Tucker continued to suspect that they had rented out a room away from prying eyes and had long, steamy sex.
It wasn't like he could blame them. Considering they had all been confined to a ship less than a kilometer in length, finding any real privacy ended up being a harder task than one thought. Sure, they all had their own rooms, a blessing in and of itself, but the walls weren't so thick that they couldn't hear their neighbors, even just a little bit. And Tucker could hear them play grab-ass next door. As much as he wanted to jerk himself off to the sounds of other people having sex, he couldn't keep the fact that they were coming from two of his friends out of his mind.
That was disgusting and he'd never stoop so low as to fantasize about them. He had standards too, damn it!
So, instead of staying in his room while he heard them making out again, he decided to don his armor and go for a walk. Maybe he could talk to Grif or Simmons. They usually had something at least mildly amusing going on. Hell, even Wash or Carolina would be good choices. Their conversations wouldn't necessarily be entertaining, but it was good to get in their headspace every now and then.
As he passed by one of the nearby observatories, he caught a glimpse of a figure standing in front of a glass window, gazing at the blue streaks of Slipspace. Upon further observation, he realized it was Zain, the gold-and-silver Elite.
He walked up to the Sangheili warrior. "You doing alright, Zain?" he asked.
The alien snapped his head to Tucker in surprise, only registering a second later that it was the aqua swordsman and not any of the other humans aboard the ship. "Yes," he replied. "Just thinking about my family back home, that's all."
"Ara?" Tucker questioned.
Zain nodded. "And Neith," the Elite added.
Tucker understood. He had met the two individuals Zain was talking about before, interacted with them a few times. Ara Telkin, Zain's best friend and closest thing to a brother he had, had been a passionate and loyal comrade to all of his friends, including Tucker and his son. He had suffered extreme injury at the hands of a Storm Covenant assault force, injuries so severe it was doubtful he would ever be able to truly recover back to his prime.
Neith, on the other hand, was Zain's wife, someone the Elite had gotten to know before the end of the Human-Covenant War in great detail.
Though it was rarely brought up among most, not everyone on Sanghelios was happy with the way the war had been progressing. Some among the leading military species of the Covenant wondered why humanity hadn't been accepted into their religious coalition with open arms. Sure, they had been declared heretics meant for extermination by the Prophets, but they hadn't done anything to really earn their ire, not in the way the Grunts or Brutes had before. A few, including the clans and keep Zain and his friends came from, decided to rebel against the Prophets' will, smelling something fishy about the logic behind the conflict.
Though they didn't know it at the time, they would be among the first Sangheili to see that the Prophets were little more than petty despots and selfish madmen, liars corrupted to their core.
Unfortunately, because the rest of Sanghelios didn't see the way they had seen, the clans were decimated, Roc'nam Keep destroyed, it's survivors forced to flee into the wilderness or otherwise disappear among crowds of those still loyal to the Covenant.
The conflict lasted for a year, with the beginning marked by the death of Zain's father and the end by the eventual destruction of Roc'nam Keep. Neith's village had been among those destroyed in the early months of the rebellion, and she and what remained of her people decided to side with the Roc'nam resistance, embittered by the Covenant's callous attitude and lack of tact. She came into contact with Zain and they formed a strong bond through the fire and fury, one that outlasted even the destruction of their clan and home.
Tucker remembered vividly how Zain had described Neith, her peculiarities, physical traits, how he admired her. She was fierce, not afraid to stand up to those that threatened her or her family, protective, but also supportive of Zain's choices. She claimed she would follow Zain no matter what choices he made, a claim she ultimately fulfilled when she decided to follow him into hiding in the wake of his home's destruction and the ruination of their rebellion.
Tucker remembered how fondly he spoke of his time with her, how grateful he was for her presence. He remembered being told that she and Ara were just about the only things keeping Zain's sanity in check. The civil war, one that had predated the current conflict between the Swords and Storm Covenant, took most of his village and clan, his parents, and his uncle, all of whom loved and cherished him. He could tell just how deeply Zain loved Ara and Neith.
"Do you want to be back home, with them?" the Blue asked.
Zain let out a breath. "Yes," he answered.
"Then why are you here, man, with us? This isn't your fight."
"No," the golden Elite agreed, "but it is yours. And I owe you for saving their lives."
Tucker shook his head. "You don't owe me anything."
"But I do," he told the human swordsman. "From what the Arbiter told us, this man, this Director, is both a threat to the UNSC and a ghost of your past. He is someone who hurt you and your friends, lied to you, made you little more than a tool. I understand that feeling far too well, so I want to help you get rid of him. We all deserve to leave our pasts behind and step forward into the future without the weight of our ghosts dragging us down."
Tucker nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, wanna take some time moseying around the ship?"
"'Moseying'?" Zain asked in confusion.
The Blue raised an eyebrow before realizing that the word likely wasn't a part of his human vocabulary. "Yeah, moseying. It mean to go somewhere, but leisurely. Just, you know, chilling, relaxing," he clarified.
"I see," the zealot said. He straightened himself up, well, as much as an Elite could considering their forward-leaning posture. Zain stood over Tucker, his lower mandibles coming up to the Blue's forehead. To those unfamiliar, he would've been an intimidating sight, his size dwarfing almost every human alive. Yet Tucker remained unperturbed. It took some getting used to, but he eventually got the hang of being around a species of large, civilized, predatory aliens.
Zain gestured with his hand to the door leading out of the observation deck. "Lead the way."
The pair made their way out into the hallway, Tucker beginning to walk down towards the training arenas. Zain followed, his longer legs easily catching up with the human. In fact, he had to actually slow down his normal pace to keep at the same speed as his companion. This was one of several areas he would need to adjust himself with them. As much as he had advocated for the humans to join the Covenant, he admittingly knew little about many of their cultural terms, their mannerisms, and, until recently, just how their stuff was scaled. He felt slightly cramped in some spaces, the hallways and corridors of the ship clearly not designed for easy traversal to anyone of his size.
Everything felt foreign to him, yet it was exciting at the same time. He hadn't spent much time off of Sanghelios before this mission, only going once or twice to Suban for Needler ammo resupplies. He was also very young by the standards of his species, being only 26 years old, barely above a child in many respects. He had been old enough to join the ranks of the Covenant military, but his home's rebellion prevented that.
All of the human stuff he had encountered so far was fascinating. Most of their equipment was grey or green, camouflaged or some sort of khaki. Their military equipment had a robust, utilitarian aesthetic to it, a sharp contrast to the sleek purple designs of the Covenant. The ships and weapons of his species were elegant, proud, stood out, but were mighty. Human ships and weapons were much more subdued, uniform, hidden. Just from color alone, he could tell the differences between a plasma rifle and a carbine or a ghost and a wraith. With humans, however, the weapons looked far too similar. Aside from really obvious ones like their rocket launchers, sniper rifles, and pistols, it was hard to tell just what type of small arms they had. He couldn't immediately identify the difference between an assault rifle and SMG or a battle rifle and DMR.
Maybe that was the strength of their species, he thought. It was perhaps that even though everything was uniform on a surface level, they were all distinct when one looked at the details. Humans were all relatively one species, with only minor changes in skin tone differentiating them. They couldn't be more different in terms of personality. The few interactions he'd seen with the other human team, or Donut, Simmons, and Tucker was proof enough.
His thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a series of gunshots followed by a cacophony of guttural shouts. Both the human and Elite turned towards the shouts, noticing some of them were in Sangheili. Giving each other curious looks, they moved to the end of the hall.
Reaching the end, they peeked around the corner. Inside were several rows of large, cylindrical-like metal machines, all of them taller and wider than both Tucker and Zain, even with arms outstretched. Cords and wires were sticking out of the bottom, snaking away to a series of server stacks.
One of the pods was closed. Projected on a screen above, they could make out what looked like the inside of a Heads-Up Display, a sniper rifle in the user's hands. The man, or woman, was firing off shots at team of grunts and an Elite. Tucker could make out a score of other bodies composed of various races from the Covenant. Most of them were Unggoy, but he saw a few Kig-Yar and at least two other Sangheili among them.
The screen flickered slightly. Tucker and Zain looked up just in time to see the user had thrown a frag grenade. Before it had detonated, the user fired a shot with the sniper rifle, doming the Elite. The grenade detonated before his body had hit the floor. Most of the grunts went flying, leaving only two stragglers left. They fired their plasma pistols in retaliation, one or two stray bolts of plasma hitting whoever they were watching. Unperturbed, the user closed the distance, quickly swapping to a shotgun on his back before blasting one of the smaller aliens in the face. He immediately followed up with a strike from the butt of his weapon to the last grunt, finishing off the group.
All of it had taken less than three seconds to accomplish.
Zain watched at how seamlessly whoever was in the pod had dispatched the squad. This person must've had some great skill in combat to kill them as quickly and precisely as he did.
"Game over," Sheila announced. The screen went black and air could be heard being released from the pod. The door slid open several seconds later, revealing just who had been inside.
A human male stepped out of the door, his entire body covered in green-and-blue armor. A gold visor stared up at them, revealing no emotion.
"Tucker," the man nodded in greeting, his helmet speaker giving his deeper voice a slight metallic edge.
"Illinois," the Blue returned, a bit surprised to find who had been in the simulation pod. "What've you been up to here, man?"
"Just using these bad boys for practice, that's all," he said, patting the pod with one hand.
"What are they exactly?" the Elite besides Tucker asked.
"Training simulation pods," Illinois answered. "They're some of the newer tech the UNSC has been developing to better train soldiers. Not quite as visceral and real as live-fire exercises or paintball training, but they take less time to set up and are significantly more flexible when it comes to configuring new maps, layouts, and scenarios."
The man looked the Elite up and down, as if suddenly realizing something. "Are you one of the replacements that we picked up yesterday?"
"I am," Zain nodded. He scrunched his brow in confusion. "And who are you? I don't believe I recognized you among the crew when we boarded."
"That's because I wasn't there," Illinois clarified. "I felt that my presence might've created an… unwanted disturbance… for lack of a better word." Tucker noted that his answer seemed strangely cryptic. He wasn't sure if that was normal, especially in the face of strangers, or not.
The green-and-blue man approached Zain. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced. I am Agent Illinois, formerly of Project Freelancer."
Zain watched as Illinois stood next to Tucker, his hand outstretched in greeting. It was then that he also noticed that the Freelancer was about as tall as himself, standing a head taller than the Blue swordsman. He had no idea if he was genetically enhanced or just abnormally tall for his species. However, for once, he did not need to crane his neck down to address who he was speaking to.
The Elite clasped the Freelancer's gauntlet firmly. "I am Zain 'Voro, second in command of the Unity Blades Spec Ops Team."
"How many are there in your team?" Illinois questioned.
"Well, including me, six in total," Zain answered honestly. "Every one of us is a Sangheili. Not only that, but, apart from our leader Shahlee 'Chava, we have all fought together in numerous battles before."
"I see," the Freelancer said, his voice becoming neutral upon hearing he had combat experience. "How many campaigns have you been on?"
"Campaigns?" Zain asked in confusion.
"Yes," Illinois affirmed. "Campaigns, planets, conquests. How many battles have you participated in against the UNSC?"
The young Elite shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He was unsure of what to make of the question. Was he trying to get a rise out of him, get him to reveal that he had been a killer of humans like many other former Covenant Sangheili? Was he trying to make him seem cold-blooded or merciless before joining them? It was hard to gauge him based on his completely neutral posture. Even his voice betrayed nothing, seeming almost cold and robotic.
"Actually," he answered, "all of my combat experience was against the Covenant, not for them. I haven't killed a single human before, nor have I engaged any conflict revolving around humans until now."
Illinois nodded as he pondered the information. "In cases like this, that might not actually be a good thing."
"What?" Zain asked in surprise, almost taken aback by the Freelancer's statement. "Why not?"
The taller human let out a snort. "In case you haven't noticed, we are going to be fighting against other humans. You might not be aware of this, but humans can be rather crafty creatures. Highly adaptable, intelligent, and courageous, we are rather difficult to put down without the necessary tools."
Zain's face went from surprised to confused. This conversation went to exact opposite way he thought it would. He was expecting the taller human to accuse him of being a murderer, to make him guilty of his specie's crimes against the human race.
Illinois raised an eyebrow under his helmet. "You seem a bit confused," he pointed out. "Why?"
He catches on quick, Zain thought before saying, "I thought you were going to try to accuse me of the sins my people have committed upon yours. The Covenant did kill billions of your kind because of the Prophets' misguided attempt to retain power."
"That fact doesn't bother me," Illinois told him plainly.
"How so?"
"We're not exactly much better," he shrugged indifferently. "Throughout our history, humans have been led astray by charismatic leaders, many of them scheming, conniving madmen. They convinced people to do horrific, monstrous things to one another. Millions of people have died because of men like them. Of all of things your kind has done to us, I am confident those insane men and women would've done the same thing if given the exact same technology."
Zain's eyes lit up in understanding. "It seems our species may not been so different after all then."
"Indeed," Illinois nodded. "Both of our species' have been led astray by charismatic snakes. And both of us are suffering from the strife of civil war."
"Then it is good we are united in a common cause, is it not?" Zain asked hopefully.
"It is," the Freelancer agreed. He smiled at the Elite. "Just to be clear, I wouldn't have been angry or xenophobic towards you even if you did tell me you had killed humans. I have met a few friendly Elites before, many of which have also killed humans. I don't judge anyone by the actions of their race as a whole, but by how they act within their respective organizations."
"And the Insurrectionists, how do you feel about us fighting them?" Tucker asked quietly from the side.
Illinois looked at the Blue, becoming silent as he pondered the question.
For a second, Tucker was worried he had struck a nerve with the question. He didn't know virtually anything about Illinois or his past, what he was before he joined Project Freelancer. He had seen him briefly in combat on Praetor, his marksmanship, but he had been too busy fighting his own battle against the Meta to see anything else. Apparently Tex held him in very high regard according to Church, which was unusual considering he'd never seen her hold anyone highly. Well, at least as not as highly as Church himself.
Luckily for him, the Freelancer answered a second later. "That… is a pretty difficult question." He let out a breath. "I'm not sure you've caught on to this, Tucker, but I'm not just a Freelancer. There's a reason Tex and I are friends beyond being her mentor-"
"Wait," Tucker interrupted, "you mentored Tex?"
Illinois raised an eyebrow. "Yeah," he said, "wasn't that obvious?"
"Hell no, dude," the Blue told him. "I just thought you were that one weirdo that somehow managed to get past her bitchy attitude and actually befriend her. I didn't think you'd actually taught her how to be a Freelancer."
"I didn't teach her how to be a Freelancer," corrected the green-and-blue Freelancer. "I taught her how to be an effective soldier, a borderline hyperlethal vector."
"That's the same thing," he deadpanned.
Illinois shook his head. "No, it's not. Tell me, Tucker, do you know what the purpose of Project Freelancer was originally?"
"Create an army of badass supersoldiers to stop the Covenant, right?" the Blue swordsman guessed.
"Not quite," he said. "The original purpose was to create and test field equipment and artificial intelligences for UNSC forces, specifically the Spartans. It specifically required genetically augmented soldiers to as closely match the parameters of a Spartan as possible without siphoning resources away from the creation of more Spartans, hence why the Freelancers are stronger than your average soldier, but not quite the same quality of Spartan-IIs or IIIs.
"As to why they chose to field test against simulation troopers instead of dummies or virtual targets, they were supposedly on a time-crunch. The Office of Naval Intelligence, who had funded the project for Director Leonard Church, needed results. Hundreds of planets had been glassed by the Covenant, so they were willing to ignore ethical boundaries instead."
"But things didn't exactly go as planned," Tucker surmised.
"Indeed," Illinois nodded. "Project Freelancer had only been granted one A.I. for testing, codenamed Alpha, which was a problem considering the crunch and multiple agents. Still, they worked with what they had. That was until the creation of Beta."
"Beta?" Zain asked curiously. The young Sangheili was doing his best to follow along with the man's historical information, but it was a lot to process. He was aware that Tucker had been a test dummy for Project Freelancer, but he hadn't been told about what exactly they did. Most of the names were unfamiliar to him.
"Yes, Beta," Illinois continued. "The first fragment of Alpha, and probably the most psychologically-important one, both to Alpha and the Director."
"Well, that makes sense," Tucker said. "Church always did get antsy whenever Tex was in trouble."
"Wait, Agent Texas is Beta?" Now Zain was more confused than anything else. He remembered how Tucker had described his teammates: Church, Caboose, and Tex. They were all friends to him, family. However he failed to mention that one of his friends was an artificial intelligence.
"Eh, kinda," Tucker told him. "See, we met Tex a while ago, the first version of her anyway, back when we called for backup when our team was down a man, that man being Church. Alpha. Church-Alpha. Alpha-Church. Look, point is she came in because of him. A messy series of confusing events later, including the involvement of another dickwad Freelancer called Wyoming, kinda-not-really time travel, me finding my badass sword in a random hole in the ground, and giving birth to Junior, and she tries to steal my kid, wanting to use him to manipulate and enslave your species. Luckily we stopped her, but only at the cost of her ship blowing up and getting captured by the Meta. Oh, you're welcome for that, by the way.
"Anyway, the first version of Tex and Church get killed in an EMP, which I sadly wasn't there for. The version you see now was created by the mind of Epsilon, who is pretty much Church 2.0 minus a few details. He too is a fragment of Alpha, so that makes her a fragment of a fragment."
"At some point they managed to find and absorb the memories of the original Alpha and Beta," Illinois added, "which is why they are able to recall much of their time at Blood Gulch with such accuracy."
"Honestly, that probably wasn't much use," Tucker noted dryly. "We spent most of our time stuck in a box canyon, just talking."
"But there were a few things that they found useful, especially Tex, such as her finding out she was an A.I. and that the Director had been torturing him to create fragments like herself." He could see that the Elite had a perplexed look on his face. "Does that all make sense to you?"
"I think so," Zain said. "So both Church and Agent Texas are, or at least were, artificial intelligences. You apparently trained Tex, who is and isn't the same Tex on this ship right now. She tried to steal Junior as a tool to somehow enslave the people of Sanghelios, which I don't understand how that would work. Now we're here, all on the same side, trying to take down the Director."
Illinois nodded. "It is a bit of an oversimplification, but yes."
"Okay, then," the Elite said. "So, what happened between her creation and her arrival at Blood Gulch?"
"Like I said," Illinois continued, "I trained her. As someone who worked under the Office of Naval Intelligence and is a Spartan, I was the most qualified for the job-"
"Dude, you're a Spartan?" Tucker interrupted once again.
If the Freelancer had seemed irritated by the constant interruptions, he didn't show it. In fact, on the contrary, he seemed amused by the fact that the Blue hadn't caught on to what he was earlier. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, "wasn't it obviously?"
"I mean, kinda," Tucker rubbed the back of his head with his left hand. "I had a feeling you weren't exactly a run-of-the-mill Freelancer like Wash, Tex, or Carolina."
Illinois raised an eyebrow at him. "Tex and Carolina aren't exactly 'run-of-the-mill' Freelancers. You're looking at the only two Freelancers to consistently stay on top of the Project's leaderboard."
"But still, you give off a vibe that's weirdly distinct, even compared to them," he told him. "I just didn't think you were a Spartan."
"I agree," Zain added, "you are certainly more physically imposing than any of the other Freelancers here. But I also hadn't seen enough of your species to ascertain that you belonged to your species' warrior class. Although, that might have more to do with the fact that, besides Laverius himself, I have only a few days of experience with other humans."
"Well, you'll have plenty of time getting to know about our race through the foreseeable future," Illinois said.
"As I was saying," the Freelancer continued, "I trained Tex for several months before her introduction to the rest of the Project. She was revealed to the others via three-on-one impromptu fight against Agents Maine, York, and Wyoming. She beat them soundly. However, in the last round, Maine and Wyoming cheated by bringing live ammunition and a grenade to the fight. She escaped mostly unscathed, but York lost an eye due to friendly fire." He smiled beneath his helmet. "He always was trying to help, always knew what was right. I sometimes wish he would've been here with us. Probably would've gone along rather well with you, Tucker."
"What happened to him?" asked the Blue, now curious more than anything. Most of his experience with Freelancers were with the ones on the ship. He was aware that there were a lot more, but he didn't know anything about them.
"I am not entirely sure," he said. "All I know is that sometime after the UNSC confiscated most of Project Freelancer's assets, they had found his body on a remote peninsula."
His smile fell. "Such a shame. He probably could've helped deescalate all of the fights between Tex and Carolina."
Tucker cocked his head curiously, his interest piqued. "Why do you say that?"
"He was the only other person Tex would've called 'friend' among the Freelancers." He looked into Tucker's eyes, his gaze piercing through the Blue's visor. "He and Carolina were close."
Tucker shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I see how close you are getting to her," he continued to stare at him. "Tread carefully, Lavernius. I won't discourage from being her friend, maybe something more. But know that you are dealing with a woman with a lot of baggage."
Now it was Tucker's turn to frown. "I'm not trying to get in her pants, dude, if that's what you mean. I'm not that guy anymore."
"We'll see," the Freelancer said neutrally. He breathed out. "Anyway, after Tex's introduction to the other Freelancers, she got involved more openly with their missions, which included some rather… illegal activities… including the acquisition of a Covenant engineer from Charon Industries. Unfortunately, I was pulled off the line by ONI and redirected to another mission before I could find out what happened next. Maybe if I had stayed I could've changed what happened next, could've prevented the deaths of so many people, so many Freelancers."
Illinois looked away. For the first time, Tucker saw something other than Spartan stoicism or harsh logic on the larger man, even with his helmet obscuring his face. He seemed almost… regretful, ashamed.
Tucker was surprised. Just like everyone else, he had assumed he had little more feeling that a robot, that he was incapable of being anything other than a hardened soldier, unflinching, unfeeling. However, the fact that he showed regret proved that was not entirely true. Now… now he didn't know what to think.
"You asked how I feel about us fighting Insurrectionists," the Freelancer said quietly. "This information is highly classified, but you need to know this to understand why I feel the way I feel. Spartans were originally created to suppress human rebels. We have been around several years before the Covenant first glassed Harvest. The Spartans I trained with were specifically designed for infiltration, deep cover operations, and assassination. I've killed many humans as a Spartan ONI operative. However, when the Covenant arrived, my mission set changed and I was given new purpose. I fought them for twenty-seven years. Killing aliens became the norm. Now, so many years later, I have gone back to killing other humans. It's… not something I feel comfortable with, even though I was trained for it."
"I understand this struggle," Zain said.
Illinois looked up at him, almost surprised.
"Though it is not exact the same as your situation," the young Sangheili continued, "I understand the stark contrast of having to change to fighting what might as well be a new foe. I have never fought humans, as you quickly figured out, so this environment is new. However, just like we are about to fight your race, I fought my own kind, something I'm not proud of. I was never comfortable with it, but I fought against the Covenant regardless because I knew the extermination of your species was wrong. When they eventually threatened my home and my family, I found other reasons to keep going. I learned that, so long as your reasons are just, you can make it through anything."
Illinois nodded solemnly, silence reigning in between the three of them. Tucker couldn't tell what he was thinking. That was the unfortunate part about covering one's body in armor: it made it exceptionally hard to read a person's emotions without explicitly stating them. He and the other Reds and Blues had always expressed, mainly through bickering and complaining, how they felt about a given situation. Illinois seemed the opposite. During nearly their entire conversation, he had spoken very plainly, very matter-of-factly. He had shown very little emotion beside the amusement of Tucker's revelation about who the Freelancer was.
Luckily, the silence didn't last long. "How old are you, Zain?" Illinois asked.
"Roughly twenty-six of your human years, barely a young adult by the standards of my culture," Zain answered honestly.
"Considering I've heard records of your species living up to three hundred years, I agree," Illinois said.
"Why do you ask, anyway?"
"You are much wiser than your years would suggest," Illinois nodded. "I have met few people, let alone Elites and humans, who have spoken with such a combination of wisdom and conviction. The fact that you are little more than a young adult makes this even more impressive."
A surprised look overtook his face. "That is high praise, especially coming from someone as knowledgeable and experienced as you."
"But it is one I believe you deserve," the Freelancer continued. Beneath his helmet, he smirked. "Now the question is this: can you transfer your combat experience to fighting humans?"
"I… I'm not sure," Zain hesitated. "Humans are generally smaller and more frail than Sangheili. However, that hasn't stopped them from killing many of my kind. I don't have a good idea of how your people think or react in battlefield situations."
If he was smirking before, Illinois was absolutely grinning now. "Well," he chuckled, "I believe we have the perfect equipment to test you, as well as your friends, now."
"How?" Tucker asked.
The larger man gestured to the room around. "These machines," he answered. "They can make excellent battlefield simulations and are capable of testing a wide range of combat scenarios from basic wave defense and house-clearing CQC to small arena and large battlefield environments. It is even possible to pit us against each other. Anything from simple sparring to complex gunfights can be simulated here."
"Why haven't we used these before?" Tucker asked incredulously. This seemed like an awesome way to train with guns without the danger of personal injury or the armor maintenance required after a paintball simulation.
"They are brand new," Illinois told him. "And they are also incredibly expensive. Only the most well-funded and elite organizations can hope to get their hands on this cutting-edge technology. You also need a suit with neural implants to run it. Luckily, all Spartans and most Freelancer personnel have them. It's why you were all able to be 'possessed' by artificial intelligences like Omega."
He looked over to Zain. "It even works on Elites combat harnesses, provided you have a helmet or something that goes over your eyes. The system requires a full projection of the environment to be effective."
"All Sangheili combat harnesses come with fully-sealed faceplates," the young alien said. "The vast majority of us just don't use them outside of hazardous or zero-gravity environments since they tend to be suffocating and obstruct our more natural senses. Instead, we rely mostly on the holoprojectors built into our helmets to provide us with tactical information. I don't know how Retam and Sesa are able to function as well as they do with those things on."
"Good," Illinois said jovially. "Then we can see what you're really made of. Hell, you know what? I may as well send a general invite to everyone on the ship too. We should all use this time to get to know each other. What better way to do that than with a bit of friendly competition?"
"That doesn't sound half-bad, actually," Zain replied with interest.
"Dude, you can totally style on all of these guys with your awesome moves!" Now Tucker seemed to be getting excited.
Zain looked away bashfully. "My skill is nothing to write home about."
"Oh, don't sell yourself short, man," Tucker encouraged. "You're a way better swordsman than me. Who knows, you might even be a better shot than me too."
Zain's cheeks were starting to turn red with embarrassment, only this was the type of embarrassment a kid felt when being shown about by a proud parent. Tucker really did make a better father to Junior than he thought.
"So it's settled," Illinois continued, "we'll send out an open invitation to everyone on the ship to join us in some friendly combat simulations. It should be a good time for all of us."
Zain felt good about this whole thing, strangely enough. Where before he seemed distant, almost melancholic, thinking about the family he had left behind, now things seemed lively, exciting, welcoming. And this was coming from a man who, by all accounts, had probably killed way more Sangheili than he ever did.
He only hoped that he could prove himself to be useful to Tucker's friends for however long this mission would take, that he could make his friends and family proud in the process and prove he was a true warrior of Sanghelios.
Hope you all enjoyed what ended up being a chapter almost completely devoted to talking as well as fleshing out our plethora of new characters. This chapter ended up being relatively therapeutic to write, a far cry from the constant action I've been writing for most of this series. I hope you all find my take on these beloved characters interesting. I simultaneously aim to pay tribute to everyone in Red vs Blue as well as expand on them while staying true to them.
Jane Olsen and Shahlee 'Chava are OC's that belong to yours truly. However, Zain, Retam, Sesa, Xytan, Zal, Ara, and Neith are all characters imported from another Halo machinima series that I've fallen in love with recently called 'Clans of Sanghelios', a series that is part of the ongoing 'Mythos Universe'. The creator, INSPECT0R BARY, has given me explicit permission to use these characters. I am also assisting in the production of other entries of this machinima universe. Please give this amazing series a watch.
