Chapter 1
The memory came first, unbidden and vivid. A figure stood amidst the carnage of a battlefield, the air thick with smoke and the acrid tang of burning metal. UNSC Warthogs lay overturned, their frames twisted and scorched. The bodies of Marines and ODSTs were scattered like discarded toys. Fires raged uncontrollably, their glow casting long, flickering shadows across the charred earth.
The sound was deafening—the roar of Covenant artillery and the high-pitched whine of Banshees strafing the ground. The air rippled with the thud of plasma mortars, each explosion sending shockwaves that rattled the very ground beneath their feet. A Spartan-III, their armor blackened and cracked, valiantly tried to hold the line against an advancing wave of Elites and Brutes. The figure raised a rifle, firing into the mass of alien soldiers, but for every one that fell, three more seemed to take its place.
In the distance, a UNSC frigate—the Courageous Dawn—hovered low over the battlefield, its MAC cannon firing desperately into the Covenant's ranks. Its hull shuddered with every shot, each burst of fire a brief flicker of hope amidst the chaos. That hope was shattered as a bright beam of energy erupted from a Covenant cruiser above, cutting through the frigate's hull with surgical precision. The Courageous Dawn groaned under the strain before erupting in a fiery burst, pieces of its hull raining down like molten meteors on the battlefield. The shockwave knocked the Spartan off their feet, their shields flaring as debris pelted the ground around them. The explosion lit the night sky.
The Spartan staggered up as more explosions thundered behind them. Wounded Marines screamed for medics that would never arrive. An ODST crawled across the ground, blood trailing behind him as he reached out for a sidearm just beyond his grasp, only for an Elite to crush it underfoot and deliver a merciless killing blow. Above, a formation of Pelicans soared in an attempt to evacuate survivors, but Covenant Banshees descended on them with terrifying speed. One by one, the Pelicans erupted into fiery plumes, their debris scattering across the battlefield.
Amid the chaos, the figure's visor picked up movement—a young Marine, barely out of his teens, dragging a wounded comrade toward the cover of a smoldering Warthog. The Marine's face was streaked with soot and tears, his determination etched in every strained step. He looked up, locking eyes with the Spartan, a silent plea for help conveyed in that fleeting glance. The armored soldier raised their rifle, firing relentlessly to keep the Covenant at bay, their shots precise and unyielding. The effort was in vain. A Brute Chieftain emerged from the smoke, its gravity hammer raised high. With a guttural roar, it brought the weapon down, the impact tearing the ground apart in an eruption of dirt and blood. The Marines were gone.
Through the haze of battle, the Spartan caught sight of a field hospital on the far side of the chaos. Its white tents were collapsing under the relentless bombardment, flames consuming what had once been a bastion of hope. Medics scrambled to save the wounded, their desperate cries drowned out by the wail of plasma fire. A lone medic stood over a wounded soldier, their hands shaking as they tried to apply pressure to a mortal wound. The Spartan knew they wouldn't make it, but still, they fought to save lives.
The Spartan's breathing grew heavier, each intake of air filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh and metal. The battle raged on, the hopelessness of the situation weighing like a crushing tide. The UNSC forces were being torn apart, their lines shattered, their courage fading in the face of overwhelming odds. Elites barked orders, Grunts swarmed like locusts, and Brutes waded through the chaos like juggernauts. The figure watched as a squad of ODSTs made a desperate last stand, their weapons blazing until they were silenced one by one. And yet, they fought. Every Marine, every ODST, every Spartan who stood their ground knew they wouldn't survive. They fought anyway.
Then came the moment that burned deepest into the figure's mind. A child's voice, barely audible through the carnage. "Help us..." The Spartan turned to see a small group of civilians, hidden amidst the rubble. They clutched each other, wide-eyed and terrified as the Covenant advanced toward them. The Spartan moved without thinking, throwing themselves between the civilians and their attackers. Rifle fire rang out, shields flared, but the alien tide was relentless. Still, the Spartan held their ground, buying precious seconds for the civilians to escape. It wasn't enough. A plasma grenade landed at their feet, and the Spartan's vision was consumed by blinding light.
The memory lingered, each detail searing itself into the figure's mind before it ended as abruptly as it began. The battlefield faded, replaced by the roar of the Falcon's engines and the rush of cold wind. Their grip tightened on the DMR as the wind whipped around them. They carried it with them every day. The faces, the screams, the losses—they were etched into their very being. This time, they told themselves, it would be different. It had to be. The wind howled through the open troop bay of the Falcon as it cut through the skies over Epsilon Eridani II, better known as Reach. Seated on the edge, one boot hooked under the bay's railing, Spartan-B271—"Prophet"—methodically checked his Designated Marksman Rifle (DMR). The faint vibrations of the aircraft blended with the rhythmic clicks of his weapon's components as he cycled the bolt, inspected the chamber, and adjusted the holographic sight.
Prophet's armor gleamed under the flickering interior lights of the Falcon, a dark green with angular streaks of silver running along the chest and shoulders. His visor was a mirrored gold, giving his helmet an almost ethereal glow against the twilight backdrop of Reach. The armor's custom modifications reflected his role as a precision operative: reinforced plating along the arms for stability, a data uplink module mounted on the shoulder, and a knife sheath built into the forearm for close encounters. Etched into the right pauldron was a small emblem: an ancient oracle's eye surrounded by a halo of stars—a nod to the nickname he'd earned within ONI.
He paused, resting the DMR across his knees, and let his gaze drift across the landscape below. Rolling hills stretched into the horizon, dotted with the lights of settlements preparing for the night. It was beautiful. Peaceful. And fleeting.
No one else saw it, but Prophet did. Beneath Reach's calm surface was the tension of inevitability, a storm building on the edges of reality. He'd dreamed it. Night after night, the same visions—burning cities, orbital bombardments, Spartans falling one by one. Prophet had shared his most recent set of visions with ONI High Command. They had learned to trust his unique ability, a strange gift he'd gained after being exposed to a Covenant artifact on an operation years ago. That artifact had put him into a coma for eight months, and when he awoke, the visions had begun.
At first, Prophet hadn't understood the significance of his dreams. He had dismissed them as the byproduct of his coma, nothing more than eerie coincidences. But then, the patterns began to emerge. Ambushes played out exactly as they had in his dreams, Covenant kill teams struck in the same formations he'd foreseen, and critical events unfolded like echoes of his restless nights.
It had taken time, but eventually Prophet realized the terrifying truth: he was seeing the future. When he finally revealed his visions to ONI, their initial reaction was one of doubt and skepticism. His claims were almost dismissed outright until a breakthrough: he pinpointed the location of a hidden Covenant supercarrier lurking in a system, forcing ONI to reconsider his abilities.
ONI had attempted to remove Prophet from the field once they realized how important an intelligence asset he had become. However, they quickly discovered that for his ability to work, he needed to be where the action was—on the front lines. His visions were tied to proximity; they revealed future events connected to places he was near or had recently visited. This limitation placed Spartan-B271 in a very unique position as a Spartan. He was not just a soldier but an active instrument of foresight, forced to walk the razor's edge between battle and prophecy to uncover the critical intelligence that only he could provide.
Still, the weight of it gnawed at him. They were all so confident, so certain that Reach—the heart of the UNSC—was untouchable. But Prophet knew better. The Covenant was coming, and this world was not ready. Prophet also knew that Noble Team would be the first to confirm the veracity of his visions. Their boots on the ground, their firsthand encounter with what lay ahead, would solidify the warnings he had given. Thankfully, even with their confidence and doubt, ONI knew better than to leave it to chance. In addition to stationing three quick-reaction fleets on standby in case of the worst outcome, they fortified critical planetary installations, enhanced orbital defense platforms, and increased Spartan deployments across key locations. These measures were intended to buy time and mitigate potential catastrophic losses, acknowledging the gravity of Prophet's warnings while preparing for the unthinkable.
"ETA, five minutes!" the pilot's voice crackled over the Falcon's comm system, jolting him from his thoughts. Prophet nodded to himself and began reassembling his focus. The weapon's weight was reassuring in his hands as he completed the check and locked it into place on his back. A faint hum indicated his armor's shields were fully charged. The HUD within his visor pulsed with mission data as the Falcon began its descent.
In the distance, he could see the silhouettes of Noble Team's outpost against the horizon. He'd been briefed on each member of the squad: Carter, the stoic leader; Kat, the tactical genius; Jorge, the heavy weapons expert with a heart of gold; Emile, the silent blade; and Jun, the unseen hunter. Prophet had requested to shadow Noble Team, knowing they would be in the thick of the action and central to the battle for Reach. He wouldn't be directly embedded with them but would follow their movements from a distance, supported by a team of ODSTs.
As the Falcon banked toward the landing zone, Prophet's thoughts lingered on Reach's future. Prophet's reluctance to intervene directly stemmed from a fundamental limitation of his gift. His visions predicted future events, but they were not absolute. Any significant deviation from the course of events he foresaw could render his visions unreliable. He didn't control when the visions came or what they showed, and if he altered too much too quickly, he risked losing the only tool that gave him an edge.
More importantly, Prophet knew very little about the full scope of what was to come. He only knew that Reach would be attacked by the Covenant and that Noble Team would be at the heart of its defenses. This made them a focal point for his gift—their actions would shape the unfolding battle, and being near them would give him the best chance of receiving further visions. Yet, the scale of the Covenant's invasion made it impossible to act on any single foreseen event without risking the broader picture. To ensure he could gather intelligence effectively, Prophet decided to follow Noble Team at a distance, watching and waiting for moments when his intervention could improve their odds without disrupting the flow of events entirely.
The landing gear touched down with a metallic thud. Prophet rose, the DMR's strap sliding into place over his shoulder, and stepped into the cool evening air. Whatever fate awaited Reach, he would meet it head-on. At this moment, Prophet knew Noble Team was meeting their newest member—Noble Six. A true monster of a Spartan, formidable in combat but not yet accustomed to the dynamics of working within a team. Prophet had foreseen that Noble Team would soon be sent out to investigate a downed communications relay, initially believed to be the work of insurgents. But this mission would lead them to the Covenant— the beginning of Reach's fall.
Prophet reflected on the small but crucial change he had already made. Noble Team would not be walking into their mission blind, believing it to be a simple insurgent operation. Instead, they would be armed with the knowledge that the Covenant was involved, giving them the opportunity to prepare themselves more effectively. Prophet knew this preparation could mean the difference between survival and annihilation, and while it was a deviation from his usual approach, it felt like the right decision. After all, the survival of Reach depended on every advantage they could muster.
Prophet turned his gaze to the five ODSTs seated across from him. These soldiers were not just any drop troopers; they were elite even among their ranks, handpicked to help Prophet mold events to humanity's favor. Each one had been briefed on the critical nature of their mission, though none fully understood the weight of Prophet's foresight.
Activating the comms, Prophet's voice broke the quiet hum of the Falcon. "Alright, listen up. I'm going to go over the mission once more before we land."
The ODSTs straightened in their seats, their helmets reflecting the dim interior lights as Prophet's voice filled the troop bay. "While Noble Team executes their mission, we'll stay out of sight but close enough to provide support. Our primary objective is to eliminate any Covenant forces we encounter without drawing attention to ourselves. Think of us as a rearguard."
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "This positioning isn't just for their benefit; it allows us to adapt on the fly and provide critical support. If I receive any actionable insights from High Command, they'll help us refine our strategy and improve the odds of success. Remember, every Covenant soldier we take down increases the chances of Reach's survival."
What Prophet didn't share was the true nature of his "insights." Only ONI High Command knew the full truth about his visions, a secret tightly controlled to prevent panic or misuse. These visions, unpredictable and deeply personal, had earned Prophet the rare authority to veto or alter high-level orders when a better course of action presented itself. Yet, this extraordinary privilege came with a heavy burden. Prophet avoided using it whenever possible, knowing the questions it always caused.
The ODSTs, unaware of the true nature of his abilities, took his words at face value. For them, his explanations were simply another layer of operational secrecy—a necessary barrier to keep them focused and free of distractions.
As the ODSTs nodded in silent acknowledgment, their professionalism unshaken, Prophet allowed himself a brief moment of reflection.
The Falcon's engines whined as it descended into a clearing near the edge of the mission area. The pilot's voice crackled through the comms, "Touchdown in thirty seconds."
Prophet stood, gripping the handrail for stability as the drop ship prepared to land. "Remember the plan," he said, his tone steady but firm. "We disembark and spread out to secure a perimeter. Once I confirm Noble Team's position, we begin shadowing them."
The ODSTs nodded again, their readiness palpable as they checked their weapons and gear. The Falcon settled with a metallic thud, its side doors sliding open to let in the cool night air. Prophet stepped out first, his visor scanning the surrounding terrain. The ODSTs followed, quickly fanning out to establish a secure perimeter.
"All clear," came the report from one of the troopers over the comms.
Prophet activated his HUD, cycling through the tactical overlays until Noble Team's last known coordinates appeared. They were already on the move, heading toward the downed communications relay.
"Noble Team's location confirmed," Prophet said, his voice calm and measured. "We're moving to shadow them. Keep your spacing tight and your movements quiet. Any Covenant you encounter, eliminate discreetly."
The squad acknowledged, and Prophet began leading them through the terrain, his focus split between the unfolding mission and the ever-present anticipation of a vision that could shift their course. As the group moved into position to follow Noble Team, Prophet's mind raced.
An hour later, the forested terrain remained eerily quiet as Noble Team meticulously combed through the area surrounding the downed communications relay. So far, nothing significant had occurred, and the faint crackle of Noble Team's comm chatter suggested only routine observations. Prophet and his ODST squad held their positions at a cautious distance, their movements silent and deliberate as they shadowed Noble Team's progress.
Then, Prophet's comm channel came alive with sudden urgency. "Covenant!" a voice from Noble Team shouted, the distinct tone of Carter's command cutting through the static.
Prophet's HUD lit up as enemy markers began appearing across the map—Covenant forces, more than he'd anticipated, moving to engage Noble Team's position. But his attention quickly shifted to a secondary threat: a flanking Covenant force advancing from the rear, their path cutting dangerously close to Prophet's squad.
"We've got a flanking party," Prophet murmured into his team's comms, his voice low but firm. "Everyone, hold position and stay hidden. Let them walk into the kill zone. Wait for my signal."
The ODSTs immediately complied, finding cover and steadying their weapons. Prophet crouched behind a fallen tree, his DMR steady as the faint hum of Covenant chatter grew closer. The tension in the air was electric, every breath measured, every movement deliberate. Through his visor, the hostile markers came alive with detail—Grunts moving in disorganized clusters, Elites leading with predatory grace, and Jackals scanning with their shielded arms raised.
The lead Elite stepped into the ambush zone, its energy sword flickering faintly in the darkness. Prophet's crosshairs aligned with the alien's head, and with a precise squeeze of the trigger, the DMR barked once. The Elite dropped silently, its shields flaring briefly before extinguishing entirely. The sound was a cue, and the ODSTs opened fire in perfect unison, their suppressed weapons tearing through the disoriented Covenant ranks. Grunts scattered in confusion, their panicked shrieks cutting through the night as precise bursts of gunfire picked them off. Prophet switched targets seamlessly, lining up headshots on Jackals as their shields crackled and failed under the barrage.
A hulking Brute emerged from the rear of the formation, roaring as it charged forward, its gravity hammer raised high. Prophet's HUD flashed warnings, identifying the immediate threat. Before the Brute could close the distance, one of the ODSTs lobbed a grenade into its path. The explosion engulfed the creature in a fiery burst, sending it stumbling as its armor smoked and cracked. Prophet capitalized on the opening, a precise shot from his DMR punching through the Brute's exposed throat, dropping it with a thunderous crash.
As the battle raged on, plasma bolts illuminated the dark forest like chaotic flashes of lightning. Prophet spotted a trio of Jackals attempting to flank their position. With swift movements, he signaled to an ODST, who quickly adjusted to intercept. The sharp crack of suppressed fire echoed as the Jackals fell, their shields flickering out one by one. Meanwhile, Prophet turned his attention to a squad of Grunts scrambling for cover. His shots were precise, each one dispatching a target before they could regroup.
A second wave of Covenant reinforcements appeared, including a squad of Skirmishers darting through the underbrush with unnerving speed. One ODST fired a burst that clipped a Skirmisher's leg, sending it tumbling. Prophet followed up, his DMR cutting through the remaining threats with mechanical precision. The remaining Grunts panicked, retreating blindly into the darkness, only to be picked off by suppressive fire from the ODSTs. Prophet adjusted his HUD, catching sight of an Elite Major directing the chaotic retreat. He shifted his aim and fired three quick shots, the last one breaking through the Elite's shield and piercing its skull.
The Covenant force faltered, their cohesion shattered under the relentless assault. Prophet's squad pressed the advantage, moving with lethal precision to finish the stragglers. Plasma fire whizzed dangerously close, forcing Prophet to duck behind a fallen log before returning fire. His armor's shields flickered as a plasma bolt grazed his side, but the ODSTs quickly suppressed the source, silencing the shooter with a well-placed grenade. Prophet switched to his sidearm to handle a wounded Grunt attempting to activate a plasma grenade. A single shot neutralized the threat, the grenade falling inert at its side.
The forest erupted briefly as the last surviving Covenant fighter—a Jackal sniper perched high in the trees—fired wildly. Prophet adjusted his aim, spotting the faint shimmer of its cloak through his enhanced optics. With practiced ease, he fired a single shot, sending the sniper crashing to the ground in a heap of shattered shields and broken limbs.
Within moments, the engagement was over. The forest fell silent again, the acrid smell of burnt plasma and charred foliage lingering in the air. Prophet lowered his weapon, his visor scanning for any remaining hostiles. A Jackal lay twitching on the ground, its shield generator sparking erratically. Prophet strode forward, a single round from his sidearm ending its struggle.
"Clear," Prophet signaled, his voice calm but sharp. The ODSTs confirmed with quick nods, already repositioning to avoid detection from other Covenant patrols. Their discipline and efficiency left no room for error, ensuring they remained ghosts in the forest. Prophet inspected the area, noting the effectiveness of their ambush—it was surgical, leaving no opportunity for a distress signal to escape.
Prophet's visor flickered with new data. Noble Team was still engaged at the relay, their comms alive with the sounds of a fierce firefight. Quickly assessing the situation.
"Listen up," Prophet said through the comms, his voice sharp and commanding. "One of you with the sniper rifle—take your spotter give Noble Team overwatch. I want precise fire on anything threatening them."
One of the ODSTs, nicknamed "Raven" for her expertise with long-range engagements, nodded and moved with her spotter toward a ridge overlooking the battlefield. Her steps were silent, her focus absolute as she ascended into position. The spotter began calibrating the rangefinder and feeding target data as Raven adjusted her scope, scanning for high-priority targets amidst the chaos.
Prophet turned to the remaining three ODSTs. "The rest of you, follow me. We're clearing out fringe Covenant forces. Anything not directly engaging Noble Team is our responsibility. Keep it clean and fast."
The small squad moved with disciplined precision, darting through the underbrush as they approached an outlying group of Covenant soldiers. Prophet's HUD lit up with enemy markers—a cluster of Grunts guarding what appeared to be a mobile plasma turret, flanked by a pair of Jackals.
The ambush was swift and brutal. Prophet gestured for the ODSTs to fan out, each member picking their targets. A suppressed burst from an SMG tore through the Grunts, their panicked cries cut short as they crumpled to the ground. Prophet dropped the nearest Jackal with a single DMR shot, its shield flashing momentarily before the round punched through its skull. The second Jackal barely had time to raise its weapon before it too fell, the spotter's precise marksmanship ensuring its demise.
The team moved fluidly, dismantling the turret and clearing the area of any remaining hostiles. Prophet kept his visor trained on Noble Team's position, noting how Raven's sniper fire was thinning the Covenant ranks encircling them. Plasma bolts flew in all directions, but the ODSTs worked tirelessly to eliminate threats on the perimeter, allowing Noble Team to maintain their focus on the primary objective.
The firefight raged on as Noble Team pressed forward, their movements coordinated and relentless despite the chaos around them. Prophet observed as Carter and Kat led the charge, their calculated orders guiding the team like a well-oiled machine. Jorge's heavy machine gun provided suppressive fire, mowing down waves of Grunts, while Emile moved like a ghost, cutting through Jackals with brutal efficiency. Jun's sniper fire from a distance was a deadly reminder of the Spartans' precision.
Prophet and his ODSTs continued to shadow the battle, carefully eliminating stragglers and potential reinforcements. They approached a small Covenant resupply cache, guarded by a handful of Elites and Grunts. With silent gestures, Prophet directed his team into position. The ambush was swift and decisive—grenades arced through the air, detonating amidst the Grunts as the ODSTs focused their fire on the Elites. Prophet's DMR barked twice, and another Elite fell with a flickering shield and a collapsed torso.
As Noble Team reached the relay station, Prophet watched from a nearby vantage point. The structure loomed ahead, battered but still standing, its exterior scorched with plasma burns. The team moved inside, sealing the entrance behind them. Prophet knew this would give them a momentary reprieve, but the Covenant wouldn't let up for long.
"Noble Team is in," Prophet murmured into his comms. "Raven, keep eyes on the perimeter. The rest of you, fall back and hold position. We wait."
The ODSTs acknowledged without hesitation, their movements swift and practiced. Prophet lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the relay station before motioning for his team to retreat further into the forest. As they moved, he scanned the terrain, choosing a spot with natural cover and a clear line of sight. "We're holding here for now," he said, his tone calm yet firm. "Take a breather and check your gear."
The squad spread out across the defensible area, each ODST finding cover that offered concealment and firing lines. Prophet crouched behind a large fallen log, his visor sweeping the surroundings for signs of movement. The forest was quiet save for the distant crackle of plasma fire.
"Status check," Prophet ordered, his voice low but authoritative.
"Raven here. Ammo's good, sniper's calibrated. Spotter and I are in position and scanning. No injuries," came the first report, crisp and efficient.
"Smith reporting. SMG's at full capacity, two frag grenades left. No hits taken," another voice followed.
"Hale here. DMR's solid, shields intact, and one plasma grenade in reserve. I'm good."
"Torres reporting. Assault rifle's green. One frag, shields are stable. No issues."
Prophet nodded to himself, noting the readiness of his team. "Good. Keep your weapons tight and your eyes sharp. The Covenant isn't far, and if they catch wind of us, we won't have much warning."
He leaned back against the log for a brief moment, allowing his mind to center. His HUD flickered as he cycled through tactical overlays, keeping tabs on Noble Team's progress inside the relay station. From what he could discern, the Spartans were making steady headway, their comms filled with terse but coordinated chatter. Prophet's focus remained split between monitoring his own team and anticipating any shifts in the battlefield.
"Prophet," Raven's voice crackled over the comms, "perimeter's clear for now. We've got a solid overwatch, but no visual on additional hostiles yet."
"Acknowledged," Prophet replied. "Stay alert. If anything moves, I want to know immediately."
The team settled into a disciplined rhythm, their movements minimal and their positions secure. Prophet took another moment to reflect, the weight of his decisions and the unfolding battle pressing against him. Each choice felt like a thread in an intricate web, one wrong move risking unraveling the delicate balance he was striving to maintain.
The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional rustle of foliage and the distant hum of combat. Prophet's instincts kept him on edge, knowing the reprieve could end at any moment. For now, though, all they could do was wait and be ready.
Inside the relay station, Noble Team moved with precision, their boots echoing softly against the metal floor. The interior bore the scars of plasma fire—charred walls and consoles melted into unrecognizable shapes. Noble 6 lingered near a fallen Jackal, its shield emitter still faintly sparking.
Noble 6 paused near a doorway, scanning the area before glancing at the team. "Did anyone come across already dead Covenant during our fight on the way here?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Jorge tilted his head, considering. "Now that you mention it, I did see a couple of Grunts down. Didn't think much of it at the time, but it wasn't us. Clean shots, though."
"Same here," Emile chimed in, his tone edged with suspicion. "A Jackal, precision hit straight to the head. Looked like Jun's handiwork."
Jun's voice came over the comms, steady and clear. "Not me," he confirmed. "But whoever did it was damn good."
Jorge grunted in response, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the room. "If that's the case, why don't they make themselves known? We're all fighting the same war."
Emile scoffed, adjusting the blade on his shoulder. "ONI doesn't care about teamwork. They care about results."
The tension in the room thickened as the team exchanged glances. Carter's jaw tightened, his gaze briefly flicking toward the doorway they had entered through. "Focus up," he ordered firmly. "We don't have time for speculation. Kat, give me an update."
As Noble Team pressed forward, unease shadowed their movements. Each member remained vigilant, scanning for any signs of movement, unsure whether to expect allies or adversaries in the shadows.
At the central console, Kat worked furiously, her fingers flying across the keys of her hacking tool as sparks occasionally flickered from the damaged system. Carter stepped behind her, his arms crossed.
"How long?" Carter asked.
"Question of my life," Kat replied dryly. She glanced briefly over her shoulder. "If the question is when will this station be back online, two weeks at the earliest. This is plasma damage. All major uplink components are fried."
"Two weeks is too long," Carter said, his voice firm.
"Which is why I'm splicing into the main overland bundle to get you a direct line to Colonel Holland," Kat shot back without looking up. She suddenly paused, her fingers still. "You're in my light, Commander," she added sharply, shooting him a pointed look.
Carter stepped aside, muttering something under his breath as he activated his comms. Noble 6 caught part of the conversation as Carter's tone turned grave.
Carter turned to the rest of Noble Team, gesturing toward the woman they had found earlier. "Jorge, find out what she knows," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for discussion.
"On it," Jorge replied, stepping forward with his usual calm demeanor. He motioned for the woman to follow him, his large frame towering over her as they moved to a quieter corner of the station. Despite her obvious fear, she squared her shoulders and followed, though her nervous glances betrayed her unease.
As they walked away, Emile let out a quiet scoff.
Before anyone could respond, Kat's voice cut through the tension. "Signal!" she announced, drawing everyone's attention. She tapped a few more keys on her device and continued, "It's patchy, but it's there."
Carter stepped closer to the console. "I'll take it," he said firmly.
Kat stood and turned to him, a faint smirk on her face. "Best not touch anything, Commander. You wouldn't want to ground this place."
Acknowledging her point with a brief nod, Carter waited as the rest of Noble Team stepped away, giving him the privacy he needed. The screen flickered, and moments later, the image of General Holland appeared, static disrupting the feed intermittently.
"I'm barely getting you," Holland said, his voice strained through the interference. "What's your situation? Over."
Carter straightened. "Colonel, this is Noble One. The Covenant are on Reach. Acknowledge?"
There was a long pause before Holland's voice came back, disbelief evident in his tone. "Come again, Noble One? Did you say Covenant?"
"Affirmative," Carter confirmed. "It's the Winter Contingency."
Another heavy silence followed before Holland responded, his tone grave. "May God help us all."
Author Note: Howdy! This is a side-fic I started on the side to get my creative juices flowing while I'm working on my main story "Through The Rift", a Young Justice Fanfic. Sometimes I like to work or write other things, but I don't really plan to update this story often or too consistently. Sorry about that! But this short story falls in with a couple others I've written or added too while I'm bored.