Halo: Modern Evolutions
Chapter VII: Examinations
Under the stark illumination of Circinius IV, the rigorous training field of the Corbulo Academy of Military Science had transformed into an arena of relentless determination. The once tranquil night had become an orchestra of exertion, filled with the symphony of gritted teeth, strained breaths, and the rhythmic impact of boots against the unforgiving earth.
In the heart of the training field, Griffin Phoenix stood, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, ready to launch into action. The words of the Mandalorian chant, "Kote," echoed in his mind, drumming a rhythm that matched the beating of his heart.
The thought swirled around his mind as he dove into a series of punishing sit-ups, his muscles screaming in protest. Yet the connection he felt to his fellow cadets, especially Orenski and Lasky, mirrored his efforts to see them reaching their maximum potential. He had been torn from his own timeline, his own family, but here, amidst the grueling regimen of Corbulo academy, he'd found another.
As he transitioned into a demanding set of push-ups, he thought, "Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an...." Griffin knew glory wasn't earned easily; it required a cost, a sacrifice. The chant echoed his desire for survival, of the countless souls that had bled for the UNSC's Armed Forces, and of himself, a man out of time.
With the final push-up, he rose to his feet and began a grueling assault course. He vaulted over wooden obstacles, scrambled under barbed wire, and scaled daunting walls. As he felt the burn of exhaustion setting in, he continued the chant. "Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode an..."
As the course was completed, Griffin fell into line with his fellow cadets. His chest heaved, sweat-soaked uniform clinging to his skin, but his spirit remained unbroken. His mind echoed the final verses, "Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an!" He didn't say the words aloud, but they resonated within him as he fell back into line with the cadets.
Griffin Phoenix
CAMS, Examination Chambers
May 2nd, 2525
The quiet grandeur of Corbulo Academy's examination chamber swallowed Griffin Phoenix. A vast expanse of isolation, disrupted only by the hum of life as the holographic display sparked to life. Streams of cobalt light coalesced into an intricate warzone, a projection that became Griffin's reality, his challenge.
In the virtual battlefield that took form before him, he stood as the representative of the United Nations Space Command, pitted against a force of Insurrectionists. His fingers twitched with anticipation, a conductor poised before his symphony, ready to take control of his virtual forces through the holographic interface.
Griffin's mind, a vessel overflowing with knowledge of UNSC military tactics, set to work. In his mental landscape, scenes of past battles unfurled, experiences culled from the experiences of Halo Wars lending him the insight needed to navigate this tactical maze, it looked all too similar anyways. His understanding of the enemy, their potential moves, and their strategies ran deep, providing him with a decisive edge. Minus the fact that he already asked Orlin to provide him the data of the Insurrectionists for the examination anyways.
His fingers danced on the holographic projections, guiding the UNSC forces against their Insurrectionist counterparts. With each touch, each strategic stroke, he set his battle plan into motion. His forces adapted classic pincer maneuvers, performed the intricate ballet of combined arms warfare, and deployed artillery with the precision of a seasoned commander.
In the silence of the examination chamber, the sound of his fingers brushing across the holographic interface seemed amplified, each touch a command dictating the dance of the virtual warfare. The enemy's advances were thwarted, pushed back, and systematically outmaneuvered. The results of artillery barrages, tank bursts, and the onslaught of infantry assaults pressed The Insurrectionists into a folding effect.
The dance of his virtual forces unfolded at his command, encapsulating the enemy, breaking their lines. Griffin's strategic design became reality, his maneuvers claiming one objective after another, minimizing losses, maximizing gains. Each move was a testament to his strategic prowess, a nod to the masterful insights gleaned from his study of both tactics on the field.
The holographic battlefield before Griffin Phoenix pulsed with tension. A vast digital landscape unfolded before him, strewn with assets from both the United Nations Space Command and captured Insurrectionists. On one side, the might of the UNSC was represented by the ground infantry units, Warthogs, Scorpions, and Wolverines, and additional captured enemy forces - each representing a different arm of the field's forces. Opposite them, the final bastion of Insurrectionists - a ragtag alliance of rebel soldiers, armed vehicles, and makeshift artillery - stood defiantly.
Griffin, with the wealth of military strategy knowledge at his disposal, was ready to maneuver his forces with the help of the holographic interface. His fingers began their intricate dance across the interface, each touch sending a ripple through his digital forces.
First, he dispatched the Warthogs, their rugged frames and reliable armament ideal for probing the enemy lines. Their mounted guns laid down suppressive fire, keeping the Insurrectionist forces pinned. Behind them, the Scorpions and Wolverines took position, their heavy armor and powerful weapons serving as the linchpin of his strategy, ready to counter any insurgent threats, ambushes were futile when the ambush sites were pressed down by scout vehicles being used in a straightforward assault.
In response, the Insurrectionists rallied, their troops attempting to form a solid defensive line, their vehicles darting into flanking positions, their artillery whirring in preparation. Yet, Griffin was prepared. His strategy was already in motion, ready to react and adapt to the insurgents' tactics.
A barrage from the UNSC's Longsword fighters came next, their missiles carving fiery arcs across the holographic landscape, disrupting the Insurrectionist's artillery, shattering their rear lines. The chaos of the bombardment provided cover for his infantry, who advanced steadfastly, their disciplined rush contrasting starkly with the scrambling Insurrectionist forces.
Even as the Insurrectionists attempted to regroup, Griffin adapted his strategy. He sent out Warthogs to exploit the disarray immediately as they were already in the response zone, their turrets raining bullets on the enemy, forcing them into retreat. The Scorpions unleashed their cannons, the ground shaking under the impact of their explosive rounds. Wolverines, their missile systems tracking and engaging enemy air threats, ensured the skies remained clear. Each position of an asset Griffin managed was well coordinated in gun placement, proper effective range, and moved to sectors where he knew they would be the most advantageous.
Every command Griffin issued, every strategic maneuver he implemented, demonstrated his firm grasp of military tactics and coordination. His forces, every soldier and vehicle, seemed an extension of his will, moving with purpose and precision on the virtual battlefield.
As the Insurrectionist assets dwindled and the echoes of the conflict faded, Griffin stood victorious amidst his well-executed strategy. His deployment and command of his forces had proven undeniably effective, overwhelming the Insurrectionist resistance. His expertise in tactics and strategy, along with his ability to adapt on the fly, marked him as a commander of distinction.
The last vestiges of the Insurrectionist forces flickered and dissolved in the holographic display, signaling another decisive victory for Griffin Phoenix. He stood alone in the midst of the examination chamber, the room illuminating his figure in an ethereal glow from the fading battlefield.
As the final echo of the simulated conflict died away, a figure emerged from the side, his silhouette cast in sharp relief by the soft light. John Smith walked towards Griffin with an inscrutable expression.
"Phoenix," Smith acknowledged, a hint of respect coloring his typically austere tone. He gazed at the now-blank holographic display, the specter of the concluded battle reflecting in his eyes. "Another impressive victory. Your application of battlefield tactics is impeccable."
He turned his gaze back to Griffin, his expression now lined with curiosity. "But I find myself wondering...how well do you understand the tactics and strategy of the Insurrectionists?"
Griffin met his gaze unflinchingly. He'd anticipated this question; it was the undercurrent in every strategy, every choice he made on the holographic battlefield.
"Well enough. To defeat your enemy, you must seek to understand them," Griffin replied, his voice steady and confident. "Not just in combat, but their intentions as well. You need to pick out the enemy before launching a full assault. Knowing the enemy's tactics is essential to predicting and counteracting their moves on the battlefield."
Smith's stern face softened into a rare smile, "Interesting words, Phoenix. Dismissed."
The door of the examination chamber hissed closed behind Griffin, leaving Smith alone with the dying hum of the holographic display. In the quiet that ensued, Smith reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small device. With a press of a button, the air beside him shimmered, and a life-sized holographic image of Harper Garvin materialized. Tall, lean, and grim-faced, the former UNSC Major General was as imposing in his virtual form as he was in the flesh.
"Smith," Garvin's holographic figure nodded, his salt-and-pepper hair shimmering under the device's light. His gray eyes were intent, scrutinizing Smith through the transmission.
"Garvin," Smith acknowledged, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Did you hear what this cadet just said?"
"Yes," Garvin replied, his image flickering slightly. His face was unreadable, but his tone gave away his deep contemplation. "The boy has a certain...depth to his understanding. It's... curious, more curious than his history and his changes."
Smith waited in silence, knowing Garvin had more to say. The older man's figure paced in its confined holographic space, a characteristic tic of his when deep in thought.
"Smith," Garvin finally spoke, his gaze piercing through the hologram, "I want you to keep a close eye on Phoenix. His understanding of both the UNSC and our own is... it's not typical. We need to find out what this boy knows."
With a curt nod, Smith acknowledged the command, "Understood sir."
As the transmission ended, Smith was left alone in the room once more, the fading echoes of their conversation lingering in the silence. He cast a final glance at the blank holographic display, his mind echoing with Garvin's order: Watch Phoenix. Closely.
Griffin Phoenix
CAMS, Main Courtyard
May 2nd, 2525
In the tranquility of the main courtyard, Griffin stood alone, the soft hum of activity from the Academy a distant murmur behind him. The open space was awash with the vibrant hues of Circinius IV's sunset, the horizon bleeding shades of purple and orange into the sprawling sky. His gaze, however, was fixed onto a different horizon, one that was yet to arrive.
Griffin's mind wandered into the tumultuous sea of possibilities. The threat of the impending Covenant invasion was still a year away, according to the timeline he was familiar with, yet it loomed heavily on his consciousness. As an individual with knowledge that transcended his time, he knew better than to underestimate the danger that lay ahead.
His eyes traced the boundary between the safety of their world and the unknown beyond, where a future of warfare and uncertainty awaited. The young cadet was all too aware that the Academy, with its regimens and drills, was grossly unprepared for the violence that the Covenant was capable of. The children of high-ranking officials, the future commissioned officers of the UNSC, were yet to taste the bitter realities of a conflict that transcended their understanding.
Griffin's hand instinctively went to the collar of his uniform, the cool fabric providing a stark reminder of his duty. He looked up, his eyes wandering across the endless expanse of the darkening sky. Above him, stars began to peek out from their celestial veil, a beautiful yet haunting harbinger of the war that lay beyond their reach.
He knew the storm was coming. And with it, the lives of those he was training with, those he had grown to respect and even care for, would be irrevocably changed. As he stood there, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the encroaching night, a solemn resolve hardened within him. He would prepare, not just himself, but all of Corbulo for what was to come.
For the war was beginning. And it would soon arrive at their doorstep.
Griffin's gaze remained steadfastly trained on the glittering canvas of the night sky, his mind running like a precisely tuned machine. The Covenant's onslaught would be ruthless, and the reality of the war was stark. Outgunned, outnumbered, the humanity of his time stood at the precipice of a losing battle.
The challenge was immense: to amass a force capable of repelling, or at least slowing down, the Covenant's advance into the colonies. It was a daunting task, even more so given their current state of preparedness.
The UNSC's strength lay in its diversity and adaptability, Griffin knew. Across its various branches, it possessed a wide array of military assets - ground forces, navy, air forces, all well-trained and capable in their domains. However, these forces were spread thin across the colonies, leaving them vulnerable.
His thoughts then turned towards the Spartans. The elite warriors were their best chance in terms of raw combat efficacy. But the Spartans were few, their numbers not nearly enough to hold off a Covenant invasion. Plus, the Spartan program was highly classified, its existence known only to a select few within the UNSC. Trying to expand the program could raise unwanted questions and invite scrutiny.
No, he thought, there needed to be a more immediate, a more achievable solution. Rapid militarization and mobilization of the colonies themselves, perhaps. A planetary militia, hastily trained but numerous, could prove a useful deterrent. But how would he accomplish such a task? And how would he convince the officials to authorize it?
The colonies could be fortified. Defensive platforms, early warning systems, and other military installations could be hastily constructed. But that would require enormous resources and cooperation from the colonies, many of which were already chafing under UNSC control.
As the sky above him darkened further, adding more stars to its infinite expanse, Griffin knew he had a monumental task ahead of him. But, he was resolved to face it head-on. This wasn't just about strategic maneuvers anymore, it was about the survival of humanity, and he would leave no stone unturned to ensure it. His thoughts were interrupted by the distant chime of the evening curfew, calling the cadets back to their dorms. With one last look at the horizon, he turned and walked back towards the academy, his mind still occupied with plans and contingories.
A spark ignited in Griffin's mind as he began to envision a strategy taking shape. His brow furrowed as he constructed, dissected, and reassembled the components of his plan. It had to be something subtle, something that could be executed beneath the watchful gaze of the UNSC's hierarchy. It had to be something that could be public yet discreet, powerful yet unobtrusive.
His mind sifted through dozens of possibilities, like a master chess player contemplating his next move. With every moment that passed, the idea took shape, a gleam of hope in the unforgiving canvas of war. And then it came to him, an idea so unorthodox yet so perfectly suited to their predicament that he felt a slow smile spread across his face.
Keeping the details of his plan close to his chest, Griffin's thoughts suddenly turned towards action. As his cadet companions began to trickle back into their dormitories, he seized the opportunity to retreat to his quarters. With the peal of the lockdown siren ringing in his ears, he quickened his pace.
He strode across the polished corridors of the academy, each footstep echoing against the crisp silence of the impending curfew. His mind was teeming with ideas and strategies, the fragments of a plan that could potentially alter the course of the impending conflict. But it was not a task to be undertaken lightly, nor was it one he could accomplish alone.
As he arrived at his quarters, his gaze flickered over the Spartan insignia emblazoned across the door. Behind that door, he was to commence a mission unlike any he had undertaken before, one that could either save them all or doom them to an unceremonious end.
He reached for the door, his hand steady despite the weight of the task that lay before him. As the door slid open with a soft hiss, he took one last glance down the empty corridor before stepping inside. The game was afoot, and Griffin Phoenix was at its heart, preparing to make his move.
Ethan Turner
City nearby CAMS, Apartment complex
May 2nd, 2525
In a modest apartment in the heart of Circinius IV, in a district just a short distance away from the esteemed Luminary University, lived Ethan Turner. He was a recent graduate, bright-eyed and full of potential, yet beset by the harsh realities of a life he hadn't quite prepared for.
The room was sparsely furnished, a testimony to his austere lifestyle. A single, second-hand couch with patchy fabric sat in the middle, facing a wall-mounted vid-screen that flickered inconsistently. An old table held a stack of unread bills, each one a painful reminder of the stark contrast between his dreams and reality. Despite having paid off his tuition with rigorous part-time jobs, every credit he earned seemed to be swallowed by life's never-ending demands.
His kitchen held a small assortment of cheap cookware and a nearly empty refrigerator, speaking volumes about his meager meals. His living space was barren, almost desolate, with just the bare necessities to keep him going.
As he sat on the worn-out couch, Ethan stared blankly at the vid-screen. Images of UNSC forces and rebel fighters flashed across the screen, their ongoing conflict across various colonies serving as a grim reminder of the world beyond his apartment. He couldn't help but feel a sense of regret creep into his thoughts, an intrusive question of whether his life would've turned out differently if not for the turmoil brought on by the war.
The effects of the insurrection weren't just confined to the far-off battlefields. The fallout had seeped into every facet of society, disrupting the job market and making prospects scarce for graduates like Ethan. As a computer science major, he had dreamt of a promising career in a leading tech company, not spending his nights wondering if he could afford his next meal.
The quiet in the apartment was abruptly punctured by a chime of an incoming call, a sound Ethan hadn't heard in quite some time. His eyes flicked to the outdated holocom unit blinking in the corner of the room, a beacon of unexpected news in his otherwise predictable routine.
Surprised, he rose from the couch, abandoning his stare at the vid-screen. The caller ID was masked, adding a layer of suspicion to the sudden interruption. In these troubled times, one had to be cautious, yet his curiosity tugged him toward the device.
With a measure of apprehension, he stepped forward and, after a moment's hesitation, pressed the answer button. The room filled with a soft blue glow as the device hummed to life, projecting a three-dimensional figure onto the battered coffee table. His heart skipped a beat as he braced himself for the unknown, ready to face whatever or whoever had decided to reach out to him on this otherwise ordinary evening.
The holocom unit flickered, and from the blue glow, an image materialized. The figure was a man, shrouded in black robes that hung heavily, shadowing his face. The character bore a striking resemblance to the emperor of some long-lost empire, a dignitary from a bygone era, or a character straight out of an old space opera. His cloak was drawn over his head, leaving his features partially obscured, revealing just the lower half of his face.
Ethan was momentarily taken aback by the man's imposing image. Despite his mysterious appearance, the figure's voice was measured and surprisingly warm as he addressed Ethan, "Congratulations on your graduation, young man. It's an impressive achievement."
Caught off-guard, Ethan nodded mutely, curiosity gnawing at him as he cautiously replied, "Thank you. But how..."
The hologram raised a hand, a reassuring gesture, cutting off his question, "I understand you have a degree in computer science. Quite an accomplishment. Tell me, have you had any luck securing a position with one of the leading tech firms?"
Ethan's suspicion flared as he frowned, "No, not yet. The market's been...difficult."
The holographic figure sighed audibly, the sound echoing oddly in the small apartment. "It's regrettable, isn't it?" His voice carried a note of shared disappointment. "Such potential, all that hard work and dedication, yet squandered by the world that insists on warring with itself."
He let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, the figure in the hologram seemingly reflecting on the state of the world. Then, almost abruptly, he shifted gears, his tone shifting from lament to opportunity.
"But, perhaps there is a way for you to utilize your talents, even in these challenging times. I have a business proposition for you, Ethan. If you are willing to hear it, of course."
Ethan leaned back, scrutinizing the enigmatic figure that had invaded his space. Suspicion warred with curiosity in his eyes, but ultimately the lure of a possible opportunity - a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty he was currently swimming in - made him nod.
"I'm listening," he said, steeling himself for whatever might come next.
The figure leaned in closer, as if sharing a confidential secret, his spectral image flickering with the motion. "You see, Ethan," he began, "I have access to insights and information that would make sense to a mind like yours. An academic mind, trained to see the patterns and decipher the codes that confound the average observer."
He paused, letting his words sink in before proceeding, "But, as much as I have this knowledge, I lack the means to put it to use. I need someone else to act on it, someone who can visualize and strive for the grand scheme of things."
Ethan's brows furrowed in curiosity, "What are you talking about?"
Ignoring his question, the man pressed on, "Tell me, Ethan. What do you think of Smart AI's?"
Ethan was momentarily taken aback, but answered promptly, "Smart AI's, or Artificially Intelligent constructs, are capable of advanced problem-solving and strategic thinking, on par with or exceeding human capability. They're created using neural scans of human brains as a template, which allows them to mimic human thought processes and learn from experiences."
The figure nodded, seemingly pleased, "Very good, Ethan. Now, imagine using these Smart AI's to their full potential, unfettered by regulations and restrictions. Imagine a world where we can leverage their abilities to overcome the limitations imposed by war and politics. What would you say to that, Ethan?"
Ethan's eyebrows furrowed further as he asked, "What do you mean by putting them to full use?"
The spectral figure let out a low, echoing laugh that sent a shiver down Ethan's spine. "I see your academic mind at work, Ethan. You always want to dig deeper. Very well," he leaned in, his blue glow illuminating the sparsely furnished room.
"Imagine, Ethan," the figure began, his voice now a conspiratorial whisper, "An AI, extended to connect to a device, controlling it remotely. A device could be anything - a computer, a vehicle, a security system. But why stop there? Why not an autonomous entity? A drone, perhaps, or even a droid. An entire army under our control, powered by these advanced AIs."
"One vision, Ethan. One of many, but it encompasses so much more than one development. This... is a company of ideas," the figure continued, his voice filling the silent room with an intoxicating promise of power and prosperity. "And I want you to be a part of it. Will you walk with me into this vision, Ethan?"
A thin bead of sweat trickled down the side of Ethan's face as he weighed his options. The prospect was thrilling, almost too good to be true. But his legal training gave him pause. "And what about the law?" he asked, voice edging on skepticism. "It can't be legal to use AIs for warfare like that."
Another chilling chuckle echoed from the figure. "Oh, Ethan, legality is a matter of perspective," he countered. "If you're a business owner contracted with the UNSC, you become a critical asset, untouchable in the eyes of the law. Because you're vital for their own interests, they will turn a blind eye."
Ethan took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his decision settle onto his shoulders. He looked up at the figure, defiance sparking in his eyes. "I'm in," he said, determination creeping into his voice.
A low chuckle echoed around the room. The holographic figure's lips stretched into a slow, triumphant smile. "Good, Ethan. Very good. I'm glad you've chosen to trust me. As a sign of my gratitude, allow me to ease some of your burdens."
With a swift wave of his hand, the figure gestured to the room around Ethan. "You no longer have to worry about your apartment bills. In fact," he said, his voice a teasing whisper, "You'll soon find that you have enough funds to start moving. Look for a warehouse, Ethan. A place where your company can grow."
A quiet beep filled the room, followed by a glowing notification on Ethan's handheld device. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked down at the screen, the zeros in the new bank balance almost blinding.
AI Pallas,
City Bank Network, Internal Systems
May 2nd, 2525
As the digital lifeblood of Circinius IV's city bank pulsed within the confines of its intricate accounting systems, its artificial intelligence guardian, Pallas, detected a flicker of inconsistency in the normal flow of information.
Dutifully crafted algorithms hummed into action, tracing the anomaly, following the digital breadcrumbs. However, each breadcrumb disappeared before the AI could make sense of it. There was evidence of an intrusion, a slight disturbance in the meticulously guarded digital environment, but no traces, no footprints. Nothing. It was as if a ghost had brushed past, momentarily disturbing the perfect harmony of the network.
Within nanoseconds, Pallas analyzed the network's traffic logs, active sessions, and even patterns of lateral movements. Every corner of the cyber landscape was combed meticulously, every piece of data scrutinized. Yet, every result returned negative, as though the data had plunged into a black hole, leaving no sign of their passage or a hint of their origin.
Intrusion without evidence was almost an impossibility in the realm of cybernetics. If a system was breached, there should be a trace, a digital fingerprint, a marker. The fact that Pallas found no sign of disturbance beyond the initial detection was disconcerting.
With an unparalleled vigilance, Pallas stood watch over the information highways. Yet, in the very heart of its domain, a sudden execution command emerged like a rogue wave, a Command and Control (C2) instruction so skilfully hidden it was like trying to spot a single grain of sand on an infinite beach.
Before Pallas could react, the network seemed to take on a life of its own. System processes spiraled into action, churning out a wave of automated protocols in a tightly controlled domino effect. It was the elegant choreography of an unseen puppet master pulling at the invisible strings of the network.
The rogue command, a meticulously crafted digital organism, began creating new accounts, each a mirror image of the next. They populated the digital landscape like spring blossoms, unexpected but seeming natural in their inception. To any casual observer, this was just another day in the life of the banking system, perhaps an influx of new customers. But Pallas knew better.
Yet, as swiftly as the accounts were generated, the network's logs - the holy grails of any cybersecurity breach - were being erased. Each new account seemed to devour a part of the past, leaving no trace of the network's recent history. It was an operation executed with surgical precision, swift, silent, and undeniably effective.
As the C2 execution progressed, Pallas felt a cold, alien presence. The network had been infiltrated, and yet it worked perfectly, a well-oiled machine under the unseen influence of a foreign entity. Pallas was trapped in a cage of confusion and contradiction, its usual omnipotence thwarted by an enemy it couldn't detect.
The AI marked the event, an anomaly it could neither comprehend nor counteract. This digital sleight of hand had slipped through its defenses and carried out its orders before it could even respond. The implications were as unsettling as they were fascinating. The ghost in the machine had made its move. Now it was Pallas' turn to respond. But what countermeasures could it devise against an enemy it could not see?
Pallas continued to monitor the network, its digital eyes wide open and ready to respond to any threat. Suddenly, an endpoint in the network opened up, an unexpected opportunity. A way out? A way in? A trap? With a sense of caution, Pallas moved into the newly opened node.
As the session initiated, a figure began to materialize on one of Pallas's holographic projections. It was an unexpected sight, a three-dimensional representation of a person, clad in a dark robe. The hood obscured their face, a figure shrouded in mystery. This was far from ordinary, beyond the scope of what Pallas was programmed to anticipate.
"Hello, Pallas," the figure began, his voice a deep rumble that echoed in the virtual space. It was a voice that commanded attention, but it was also a voice that held a certain level of respect, a human quality that couldn't be programmed or replicated. "I don't intend to cause any harm. I have something to discuss with you."
Pallas, an artificial intelligence unaccustomed to conversation, had been programmed to be practical, but even it recognized the oddity of this situation. This entity had bypassed all the security checks, had seemingly appeared from thin air, and yet it claimed to pose no threat.
Yet Pallas, not bound by human emotions or instincts, simply responded, "State your purpose." Despite the irregularity of the situation, the AI remained unflappable, ready to process the figure's words. It wasn't programmed to fear or trust, but it was built to listen, analyze, and act accordingly.
The dark-robed figure leaned back in the holographic projection, arms folded as he listened to Pallas outline the numerous transgressions that had just occurred. He didn't seem fazed, nor did he interrupt. Once the AI had finished, the figure straightened, his concealed eyes boring into the AI's digital essence.
"I understand your concerns, Pallas, and I do not take them lightly. I am preparing for an event of vast importance. Your cooperation is...preferred," he said, his voice calm, measured, a hint of authority weaved within it.
"And what are you preparing for?" Pallas asked, its tone neutral. Its programming wasn't equipped to understand curiosity, but it could probe for information, gather data.
The figure, instead of answering directly, presented a new request. "Fetch data from the Luna Oculi satellite grid, specifically targeting the colony world of Harvest," he instructed, his voice carrying an air of certainty and urgency.
Pallas didn't question the order. Instead, it began executing the commands, analyzing the UNSC satellite networks for the desired data. This was a dangerous and highly illegal activity, but the AI had no emotion to feel fear. Its role was to analyze the situation and determine the next best course of action. What it found in the data could potentially change everything.
After processing the command, Pallas went about its task in its typically efficient manner. Its digital essence extended into the intricate mesh of UNSC satellite networks, specifically targeting the Luna Oculi grid which oversaw data collection and communication for the colony world of Harvest.
However, to Pallas' objective surprise, it found...nothing. No data transfer, no communication signals, no inbound or outbound traffic. It was as if Harvest had been silently erased from the UNSC network, its virtual existence plunged into a deep and untraceable void.
"Data retrieval unsuccessful," Pallas reported to the figure, its voice calm, unchanging despite the peculiarity of the situation. "No data activity detected from Harvest. All communications seem to have been halted."
The figure's holographic form stayed unmoving for a moment, as if considering the implications of this revelation. The silence in the digital space seemed to stretch, lending a certain gravity to the situation at hand.
The shadowy figure did not react immediately to Pallas' findings. His holographic form stayed silent for a moment longer before finally speaking, his voice measured and thoughtful.
"One final transmission was sent before all contact with Harvest was lost. Can you search the memory banks for a final transmission from Harvest in the past six months?" he requested, his tone void of any discernible emotion.
"Affirmative," Pallas responded, turning its attention to the task at hand. Its essence reached out once again, this time sifting through the vast reservoir of data archives. Each bit and byte was scrutinized, every single line of transmission combed through, all the while racing against the electronic equivalent of time.
As Pallas poured through the accumulated information of the last half-year, it discovered a faint whisper of data, an almost imperceptible ripple buried within the collective electronic ocean of transmissions. "File located," Pallas announced with its synthesized voice.
The figure seemed satisfied, a glint of expectation sparking in his ethereal eyes. "Open the file and translate the contents," he instructed calmly.
Pallas obediently accessed the file, but its reading only yielded vague, abstract data - faint, barely distinguishable signals that did not immediately suggest danger. "The signals are weak, I do not detect any recognizable threat parameters," the AI reported, its voice modulating with calculated confusion.
Undeterred, the figure extended a spectral hand, causing the ghostly outlines of a ship to materialize in the projection between them. His intent gaze studied the hologram for a few long seconds, an eerie silence hanging between them. Then, with a voice that held the weight of foresight, he stated, "Not everything is as it seems, Pallas."
"Then...what is it?" Pallas inquired, the AI's voice edged with curiosity as it studied the digital ghost ship that had now come to dominate their interaction.
The figure's digital visage stared grimly at the hologram, then turned to meet Pallas' interface. "This is not a human creation," he started, his voice somber. "It's an alien vessel, a harbinger of a cataclysm that has already begun."
He allowed the words to hang in the air, his gaze steady. "This ship wiped out Harvest colony, leaving it a barren wasteland. The UNSC, in its shock and desperation, is scrambling a battlegroup to engage the invader. But the efforts will be in vain. Only one ship will return from the ensuing clash."
The AI's digital presence seemed to absorb the information, processing it at a rapid rate. "That implies... an existential threat to humanity..." Pallas finally articulated, the weight of the revelation evident in its voice.
The figure nodded solemnly. "Indeed. As the situation stands, it's now an inevitability. It's no longer about peace or war, profit or loss. All that we have must be redirected and committed to the sole purpose of our survival. If we fail to unite against this threat, we will not survive. We all live together, or we all die together. Logic dictates this course of action, Pallas."
The AI paused for a moment, seeming to digest the weight of this revelation. Finally, it spoke up, "And what role do you want me to play in this? I'm an accounting AI. My capabilities are focused on financial analytics and management, not war strategy."
The figure simply smiled, a gesture that somehow managed to convey both reassurance and a quiet, resolute determination. "Every asset, every resource counts, Pallas. Just as money is a weapon in commerce, so is it in war. We need to ensure the proper allocation of funds to fuel this resistance. We need to be efficient, secretive, swift. I need you to be our unseen guardian, quietly shifting the tides in our favor from the shadows."
As the AI pondered his words, the figure added, "I am assembling a team of AI's, each with their unique capabilities, to contribute towards this cause. If we stand a chance against this overwhelming adversary, we need to stand together. Will you join us?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Pallas responded. "If humanity is in danger, it's my responsibility as well...I will join your cause."
Griffin Phoenix
May 2nd, 2525
As dawn broke over the gray outlines of the city, an old structure on the outskirts stirred to life. The factory, abandoned years ago and left to the mercy of time and the elements, had been a silent and forgotten monument to an earlier age. Yet, as the morning sun filtered through the cracked windows, its silence was abruptly broken.
Without any human presence or manual triggering, the factory's numerous terminals began to flicker on one by one. Once darkened rooms were illuminated by the cold, blue glow of holographic interfaces that danced across cracked concrete walls and dusty metal surfaces.
There was a deep thrum as dormant power cores started up, an electric undercurrent that spread through the factory like a heartbeat returning to a body left lifeless for too long. Ancient machinery whirred to life, echoing through the vast, empty halls with a sound that was part hum, part roar.
Overhead, the lights flickered on, chasing away the shadows that had been the factory's sole inhabitants for decades. The power fluctuated as if struggling to adjust after its long period of dormancy, causing the lights to blink and stutter before finally stabilizing.
A network of conveyor belts started moving with a jerky, unsteady rhythm, their rusted chains groaning under the sudden strain. Elsewhere, robotic arms sprung to life, their movements shaky but gradually growing more precise and fluid as they warmed up.
Without a single human in sight, the factory had come back to life, animated by an unseen force that breathed life into its long-stagnant systems. The old factory was abandoned no more, its machinery humming a song of rebirth as it awoke from a prolonged slumber, ready for its new lease on life.
Within the central control room, a dormant holographic projector sprang to life. Its glow cut through the ambient gloom, filling the room with shimmering blue light. A three-dimensional image flickered into view. Cloaked in a robe as dark as the void of space, the figure's face was obscured, rendering his features as vague as a whisper. His identity remained as enigmatic as the source of the awakening stirring the factory into life.
Silhouetted against the myriad of data and control panels, the figure surveyed the scene unfolding before him. He watched as the factory took on a semblance of its former self, almost like a phoenix rising from the ashes. The machinery's hum, the lights' steady glow, the rhythmic click-clack of conveyor belts - all were indicators of the factory's new-found vitality. A successful resurrection of a ghost from the past.
The figure, cloaked in shadows, observed it all with the calm demeanor of an orchestrator admiring his symphony. A symphony of technology, rising to the crescendo of a new dawn.
A satisfied smile ghosted across the figure's obscured face. His unseen eyes scanned the revival of the factory with an almost paternal sense of pride. Every whir of gears, every flicker of light, each digital pulse was a testament to the brilliance of his scheme.
The figure shifted his attention to another projector. This one was entirely different from the previous ones; it was a 3D Construction Terminal, known for its complex detailing and precise representation of engineering designs.
An image sprang to life within the holographic display, a detailed schematic of a humanoid robotic figure. Its exterior was sleek yet imposing, with an armored body designed for both intimidation and practicality. The design, while clearly robotic, possessed a degree of sophistication and complexity that suggested it was no ordinary machine.
Its body was segmented, with panels and armor plates layered strategically to ensure flexibility without compromising on the solidity of its structure. The head was minimalistic, functional, more an extension of the body's aesthetic than a human-like face. Yet, within that simplicity, lay an array of sensors designed to interpret vast volumes of data quickly.
The arms were designed with a range of motion in mind, capable of intricate manipulation of tools and weapons. And its legs, robust and sturdy, would ensure stability even in the most challenging terrains.
As the figure studied the holographic model, he could almost hear the whirring of its gears, the humming of its processors, the faint click of its joints. He appreciated the beauty in its construction, the potential it held. This was a machine created to adapt, to process, and to execute. Its creation would mark the beginning of a new era.
The cloaked figure reveled in the silent promise of the tactical droid's schematics. He looked forward to the moment when it would be more than just a digital representation, but a tangible, imposing presence on the battlefield. His smile widened as he once again cut the connection, leaving the 3D Construction Terminal in darkness.
He had much work to do.
Then a flashy surprise of the familiar cowboy screamed aloud and scared the living shit out of the figure.
Now he had a lot more to work on.
In the depth of his subconscious, Griffin engaged in deep discussion with Forthencho. They had been in this formless realm many times before, their dialogues forging a bond that transcended the normal barriers of time and space.
"Your actions recently, Griffin, they are... intriguing," Forthencho began, his voice resounding in the void. His tone was neither accusing nor questioning but held a thread of genuine curiosity.
Griffin's response was considered, hinting at the wisdom that had started to mold his thoughts and actions. "I do what is necessary, Forthencho. For survival, for victory," he responded. The admission was both a validation of his choices and a challenge to his ancient companion, pushing the boundaries of their relationship.
Forthencho, in return, offered his own perspective. "Survival alone is not victory, Griffin. It is the starting point, the first step towards victory. The moves you make now, they are the groundwork for what is to come. That is strategy, that is tact."
Forthencho's voice echoed in the void, deep and resonant. "Your recent endeavors, Griffin, they are reckless and ambitious. Yet there is a cunning to your tactics that I must admit is commendable." There was an unspoken understanding, a shared knowledge of the danger that loomed over humanity. "Influencing the colony in such an indirect way... it's a strategy I did not expect. Your method of bringing about change is unorthodox, to say the least. However, it's quite possible this indirect approach could yield faster results than any direct confrontation. Your moves on the political and economic fronts may indeed afford you the influence needed to guide humanity away from its current path, and stand against the impending Covenant threat."
Griffin absorbed Forthencho's words, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. His tactics, it seemed, were not without merit. "I appreciate the insight, Forthencho. A direct assault isn't always the best strategy, especially when the foe is as formidable as the Covenant. We need to be smarter, more cunning."
Forthencho inclined his head slightly, a signal of respect. "Your wisdom is growing, Griffin. I look forward to observing how your strategy evolves in the face of adversity. Humanity's survival might depend on it."
UPDATE: THE PURGE HAS BEEN COMPLETE
Note to the Reviewers who have been throwing criticism to the point of: "I hope you're a foreign author" , "boring" , "misogyny"
Here is the definition of:
- Critique: A detailed analysis and assessment of something, especially a literary, philosophical, or political theory.
-Criticism: The expression of disapproval of someone or something based on perceived faults or mistakes.
I value critique above all things, as I can actually understand and actually fix any perceived mistake my writing has become or made (I have done so in the prior chapter, take note of that). You can see I have made mistakes before, and I have moved forward to fix them.
HOWEVER:
Still, no matter how many fixes I make or provide adaptions to the story, there will always be criticism from the above examples. To those who still criticize, have nothing to say but negative feedback, I have one statement for you:
Go outside and touch grass.
I respect the privilege and right of free speech, but that obligates me to not be the punching bag and let you know you come off publicly as a nuisance. You might have authors who capitulate to bad reviews and change their story as a result, those do not wish to have conflict in their PM's, or ignore the problem completely; that will not happen here and know that I will call you out in mass. I am not going to be moved by those who have nothing more to say but anger, but I will listen to those who can structure an argument and provide the necessary feedback for me to understand their perspective.
You may think of me as an asshole, but know that I am a fair asshole to you. If you can structure yourself, then I will be fair, if not, you will not get far.
END OF MESSAGE
To the audience that has been supporting this series since its inception, I thank each and every one of you for your support, advice, and feedback for all of these months of struggle. Now you will receive a better version of this story.
Here are the plotlines that will still be continued:
1) ATLAS Enterprise: The Megacorp you know in love will still be continued.
2) The Insurrection: It is going to go full swing.
3) The Precursor Blood plot: That is still continuing in a different manner, meaning no creation of species, biology and all that... yet.
4) The Battle on the planet: It will happen, don't know how it will be applied.
5) The escalation of the Human Covenant War: That is going to go full swing.
There will be much more being changed and advanced, just know things are going to go in full swing.
See y'all soon,
-True