Chapter 1: Matthew Svenson

Slipspace was boring.

An entire galaxy was open to exploration, an infinite amount of sights to see. Everything out there was an entirely new experience, but getting there was the worst part. An infinite void of nothing. No life, no planets, nothing at all to see, but Svenson stared into it anyway.

When Svenson was a kid he imagined vast streaks of blue around him, seeing stars and planets stretch out before his eyes as he was propelled across the galaxy. The movies and TV programs made it seem so flashy and ethereal. Every kid's dream was to travel to other worlds, to experience all the galaxy had to offer firsthand. His first ever transit through slipspace was the most disappointing day of his life.

The destination was never very pleasant either. Fumirole was a hellhole complete with all kinds of horrendous creatures that killed every human they saw. Every squad he had been a part of was cut down by Covenant infantry, he barely even made it out alive. The horrors of that battle couldn't even be compared to Reach.

Maybe he didn't even survive Fumirole. If he found out that he had been in Hell for every day since, he wouldn't be surprised; somehow it seemed like the preferable outcome. The only thing that sucked about Hell so far was that he didn't know anyone there. The only friend he made was dead and turned to ash, but at least he didn't have to worry about anything anymore.

Or maybe there was some kind of super Hell, a place for people to go when regular Hell wasn't enough. Naughty was too good of a person anyway, that wasn't a place he'd be.

I better see lots of hinge-heads when I get there.

Svenson got up from his bunk, turning the screen off to prevent the growing insanity that staring into slipspace caused. The barracks were empty while the rest of the Marines had breakfast, choosing to be together in these dark times. He would have considered joining them if he was hungry. The void of slipspace was the only thing to look at outside the barracks too, there weren't any Marines or crew walking around the halls. Everything was silent.

The Pillar of Autumn was a huge ship, capable of crewing a thousand navy personnel with enough room for over a thousand more soldiers. It had several mess halls, firing ranges, and an entire section of the ship dedicated to housing all of the personnel. In the weeks since Reach's fall, Svenson still ran into people he didn't recognise.

"Hey there," someone said, the voice coming from behind him and startling him.

Svenson almost reached for his gun, which he wasn't even carrying. It was an instinct.

"You're pretty stealthy," Svenson said, turning to see two Marines in their un-armoured fatigues.

One of them was a man with brown skin, black hair, and a full beard; for some reason he hadn't been forced to shave. The other was a woman with short blonde hair, and green eyes. Their shirts were tagged with their names: J. Kamal, and A. Faraday.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that, partner," Kamal said, his friendly grin looking more like a sign of embarrassment. "Didn't mean to scare 'ya."

"We've been looking all over for you," said Faraday. "Searched every mess hall on the ship."

"I'm not hungry," Svenson said. "What did you need?"

"Wellsly's finished sorting through the unassigned forces," Kamal explained. "We wanted to bring you the good news in person, you've been assigned to Fireteam Delta."

"It's about time," Svenson said. "I was beginning to think they forgot about me."

"Yeah it's just been a rough couple'a weeks, hasn't it?"

"Only if you make it rough on yourself," Svenson shrugged.

Everyone and their mother was devastated by the loss of Reach. As far as Svenson was concerned, he was surprised it hadn't happened years ago. The Covenant was unstoppable, all the UNSC could do was throw themselves at them until they won. No matter how hard they fought, there was no future where they could win. Worrying about it wasn't going to change anything.

"We'll be reporting to Sergeant O'Hale at 1200," Faraday said, both Marines brushing his comment aside. "It'll be on the starboard hangar deck, bay seven. Until then, we're all having breakfast in the mess hall on deck three. If you want to join us."

"I'm good," Svenson said. "The only way I'm going down there is if they're serving steak."

"Yeah sorry, they don't serve that until dinner," Kamal said.

"Then I'll stay up here, if you don't mind."

"Alright, suit yourself, partner," Kamal said. "We'll see you on the hangar deck."

Svenson walked away, not bothering to say goodbye. Whether he came off as a lunatic who hated food, or as someone who just wanted to be left alone, he didn't care. Those Marines seemed way too nice to trust anyway, and making friends wasn't something he was interested in.

He decided to spend half an hour walking up and down the corridors of the living quarters, taking advantage of the absence of people to aimlessly wander around like a zombie. The barracks on deck four were one of the few places on the ship where Marines and crewmen didn't stand at every corner, guarding the ship's compartments from who-knows-what. The most dangerous thing they could face on a long trip was a group of drunk Privates trying to touch things they shouldn't. If some kind of Covenant spy had gotten onto the ship without anyone knowing, at least it would be some action.

"God damnit," Svenson cursed to himself when he realised he had no idea what he was doing. The mess hall was the only place to go, there wasn't anything to do anywhere else. He made his way to the nearest elevator, and descended to the lower deck.

Svenson hadn't been in the service for long; the Autumn was the first Halcyon-class cruiser he'd served on. Studying the ship's layout was the only interesting thing he found to do in their weeks-long journey, he already knew all the ins and outs of the ship's interior. He could even use the maintenance accessways to take shortcuts around the ship if the crew allowed him to.

When he arrived at the mess hall, he hoped no one from Fireteam Delta was there, not that he knew anyone other than Kamal and Faraday. After a brief glance, he didn't spot either of them. The room was filled with dozens of Marines laughing and eating with each other. A group of ten soldiers sat in a corner, two of them arm wrestling while the others cheered them on and placed bets on who would win. It was hard to find an empty table, but at least there wasn't a line to wait for food.

A team of dedicated chefs prepared every meal on the Autumn, it was a luxury not every UNSC ship could afford. The bacon and eggs they served Svenson were some of the best he'd had in his life. Nothing they served held a candle to their steaks, they were way too good for being tank-grown.

Someone eventually made their way to Svenson's table. He didn't look to see who it was, but he recognised Faraday's voice when she spoke.

"Svenson, right?" Faraday asked. "Mind if I sit down?"

Svenson wanted to find any reason he could to say no, but his mind went blank. He glanced between her and his half-finished food, letting out a sigh.

"Sure, go ahead," he said. "But I'm almost done."

Faraday shrugged and sat down, taking a bite from a muffin that looked deceptively edible for being navy food. She didn't seem much like she wanted to talk either with the way she looked everywhere around the room except for at him. When she spoke again, she sounded like she was probing him for information rather than getting to know him.

"What ship did you come in on?" Faraday asked.

The question startled Svenson, no one had talked to him about the battle yet, he hadn't been prepared to dredge up the memories of what happened down there.

"The Last Train Home," Svenson said. "We showed up right when the Covenant fleet did, I'm sure you know the rest."

The only thing he remembered from the Last Train Home was rushing to strap an oxygen mask to his face while the ship was cut in half, hoping the vacuum of space wouldn't kill him as he ran for a lifeboat. Explosions rocked the ship, bodies drifted into space. He'd seen a crewman hanging from the ceiling, a sheet of metal going through his chest.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," she said, showing genuine emotion this time. "How many of you got off?"

"Five others," Svenson said. "But we were ordered to New Alexandria, and they didn't make it out."

Faraday nodded solemnly, quickly taking more bites out of her muffin as if to distract herself. Most of the Marines on the Autumn had already been on the ship when it landed on Reach for an emergency pickup. Svenson and a handful of others were only there because it was the last ship to get off the planet. He could tell just by looking at her that she was there for the same reason.

"I was on the Zhang Fei, I think we showed up around the same time you did," Faraday said, it was a name he recognised.

"The corvette… you came in with us," Svenson recalled. "We watched you go down."

"Yeah, only half of my team made it to the surface. The rest of us were gunned down by shade turrets."

"Damn, I'm sorry to hear that."

Everyone on the Autumn had similar stories, Reach was a nightmare for them all. What Svenson didn't think about was how many of them fought beside him without him knowing. He couldn't help but feel connected to Faraday in a way, but he pushed the feeling down. I can't lose anyone else, not again.

Svenson's watch buzzed, letting him know it would be time to meet Sergeant O'Hale in an hour. It would take half that time to get to the hangar from where he was, and probably not more than ten minutes if he used the maintenance ducts. Faraday got the same alert, looking at her watch with a sigh. Neither of them finished their food before they threw it in the recycler.

"I guess it's that time," Faraday said. "I heard something big is happening soon."

"Whatever that means," Svenson shrugged with his hands. "If we're leaving slipspace we'll probably have the Covenant right on top of us, doesn't sound exciting to me."

"As long as I can get payback for my squad, that's all the excitement I need."

"You know what? I respect that."

Svenson went back to the elevator, this time with Faraday behind him. The ride to the hangar deck was extremely awkward, neither Marine saying a word or even looking at each other. They both stood with their hands clasped in front of them, their feet placed shoulder-width. Svenson couldn't tell if Faraday was copying him, or if somehow they were the same person split between two bodies.

The corridors outside the hangar were a little more interesting than the barracks. Crewmen rushed around the halls, stopping at terminals and displays all around the ship. Bridge officers were escorted to the elevators by armed Marines in case someone stepped in their way.

Dozens of Marines stood in groups around the hangar, recon pilots inspected their Longswords in preparation for leaving the ship. Faraday was right, they would be exiting slipspace soon. Svenson led her to the seventh vehicle bay, the one she said they'd be meeting in. Two Marines stood alone, deep in conversation with each other. One wore a Sergeant's cap, her unnaturally white hair flowing out of it and to the base of her neck. Svenson had to assume she was O'Hale. The other was a bald man with inset eyes that made him seem permanently tired.

Svenson and Faraday waited patiently for the two to finish their conversation. The man was the first to notice them, and pointed them out to the Sergeant. O'Hale turned to see them with what almost looked like an evil grin.

"Well, aren't you two here early," she said. "I should start lettin' you two set the example, the rest'a these jarheads better start showin' up early too."

"If you let me set the example, everyone would be having steaks for breakfast," Svenson shrugged.

"That's exactly what I like to hear, soldier," O'Hale said. "Sounds like a balanced breakfast to me."

The Sergeant's accent was familiar, it was almost aggressive in a way. A lot of people in Svenson's home town talked the same way, she was definitely from Draco III. He would have been comforted by a familiar voice if he wasn't so anxious about getting attached to his team.

"Feel free to stand around and look pretty," the Sergeant said. "We've got time before everyone else gets here. I'll be back by then."

O'Hale and the man she had been talking to left them to wait in the vehicle bay, finding somewhere else they could talk after having their privacy interrupted. Faraday sat on top of a packing crate while Svenson found a support column to lean on.

"Seems like we're in good hands," Faraday said. "Maybe you two can fix up that breakfast menu."

"That's too big of a dream," Svenson said, shaking his head. "Let's try beating the Covenant first."

"Like that's any better."

"It is when you've got a rifle," Svenson shrugged.

Faraday rolled her eyes, her lips curling like she was holding back a smile. Svenson couldn't remember the last time he made someone smile, all he could think was: that wasn't even funny.

The Marines of Fireteam Delta eventually found their way into the vehicle bay. Svenson endured the same thing over and over from each one. 'Hey, I'm your teammate. Let's shake hands and kill some Covenant together. We should meet by the firing range, oh hey you should come have lunch with me.' Sure, why don't we give each other a blow job too while we're at it?

At least he had already been introduced to Kamal and Faraday. The only other person he recognised was a man named Gerrel, who was among the soldiers arm wrestling in the mess hall. Aside from Kamal and Faraday, there were twelve other Marines, all either the rank of Private, or Private First Class. Sergeant O'Hale and the man she had been speaking to returned, meaning he was part of the Fireteam too.

"Alright jarheads, listen up," O'Hale said, gaining the attention of all the Marines as she spoke. "We just got our asses handed to us on a colossal scale, we're all feeling broken and defeated deep down, but our spirits have never been stronger. We've seen what the Covenant is capable of, which means we know exactly how to kick them back where it hurts."

O'Hale paced back and forth in front of the Marines, looking each of them in the eye as she passed. They were her soldiers, her responsibility. Already she was better than most of the Sergeants Svenson served under.

"Whenever they knock us down, we hit them back ten times as hard," she said, smashing her first into the palm of her hand. "Why? Because we remember! We don't forget those we lost, we don't forget what we've left behind. Our hearts are engines for the deadliest killing machines in history, each Covenant attack adding fuel to that fire. My blood is boiling to take the fight back to them, to rip apart those alien bastards with my bare hands for what they did to Reach, to our people. I see that same ferocity in all of you.

"You're all here because you're the best, because you made it out of that hellhole they turned our planet into. Every one of you that stands here represents a victory in the face of defeat, and the courage to continue the fight for as long as we're still breathing.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, we've got no clue what the hell's waiting for us out there, but we'll be prepared for every possibility. If it's an alien, we shoot it. If it's human, we politely ask them to shoot the aliens with us. With each hinge-headed, split-lipped piece of shit we cut down, we'll teach them that they made a mistake when they fucked with the human race. You hear me, Marines?"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am," they said in unison.

"Damn straight," the Sergeant said with an approving nod.

She gestured to the man beside her, and introduced him. "This is Corporal Arceneaux, my second in command. You'll report to both me and him for this mission. You got any questions? He's the person to ask."

"We're on track to exit slipspace in ten hours," Corporal Arceneaux said. "You better be here, and combat ready by 2100. You're dismissed."

O'Hale and Arceneaux stepped away, leaving the Marines of Fireteam Delta inspired, and ready for the fight ahead of them. They began to converse with each other, discussing whatever they thought the mission was gonna turn out to be. None of them went to Svenson right away, it was the perfect time for him to slip away and go back to his bunk. He didn't like where this was going, and talking to people about it wasn't going to change that.

There were too many unknowns, and they were just one ship. The Covenant knew about Reach's importance to the UNSC, they wouldn't have made such a violent display of its destruction otherwise. The Autumn had barely even made it off the planet, having to escape an entire fleet that chased them. There wasn't anything they could run into that wouldn't lead them straight to their deaths.

Or maybe it was just as simple as the Sergeant said. All they needed was payback for Reach. That was something Svenson could get behind, but the price they would pay would be considerable. There was nothing they could do to truly get payback. The Covenant were simply too strong. What really worried him was that he would end up alone again in the worst case, and dead in the best case.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he would at least get to take his anger out on some aliens.

The recently-assigned Marines aboard the Pillar of Autumn began moving their belongings between barracks, relocating with their fireteams. Dozens of soldiers jogged between hallways, some of them armed and ready for a fight that still wouldn't be coming for six hours. Svenson would have figured there was an emergency if it weren't for the alarms staying silent.

There was no official directive for them to move; everyone decided it was a good idea to do it at the same time. Navigating anywhere outside was surprisingly hellish, Svenson couldn't imagine many people getting personal items off Reach. He was starting to regret not grabbing a few souvenirs, it was a little too late for that now.

Svenson stayed in his bunk, waiting for everyone to calm down before finding something else to do. He had gotten several 'Hey, are you Svenson?'s from Marines passing by. Some of them were fireteam members, others letting him know where Delta would be moving in. He had hoped they would forget about him until it was time to meet up again.

He didn't know why he was absorbed by the view of slipspace, he couldn't stop himself from staring at it again. It was still boring, but so was everything else. Every so often there was a flash of light, or what looked like clouds. Maybe it was some kind of energy he didn't understand, or maybe they were Covenant ships travelling the slipstream with them. With how long he'd been staring, hallucinations weren't out of the realm of possibility.

A deep sense of dread set in the longer he looked. It was like a vision of the future, like this was what he would see when he died. Absolutely nothing. After this mission, he might never see the stars again.

The black began to call his name, beckoning him to come forward and let himself go. To be absorbed and never be seen again. Svenson… Svenson… are you awake? Hello? Are you deaf?

Those weren't the words he expected to hear from the void, probably because they came from behind him. A Marine stood over the bunk, staring at him like he was a lunatic.

"Svenson?" she asked again when he looked at her.

"Yeah, sorry, what's up?" he asked, pretending nothing was wrong.

"You gotta head down to 3C," the woman said, speaking to him like she was his commander. "Delta is askin' for you, and you're in my spot."

He peeked through the door to see how much activity there was outside, but he didn't see any movement. A glance back at the screen told him that he had zoned out for over an hour. Whatever, I'm probably not the first crazy person she's seen, he told himself, to keep from feeling embarrassed.

"My bad," Svenson apologised, and climbed out of the bunk.

The only possession he had was a framed picture of his home on Draco III, which he usually kept in his backpack. It wasn't a place he had liked being, but it was all he had left of it. He pulled it off the wall, and brought it with him to the lower level. When he found the barracks he was told to go to, the only person in there was Faraday. She waved to him, giving him a look that asked 'where the hell have you been?'.

"Am I late?" Svenson asked, preferring not to tell her he'd spent the past hour going insane.

"Yup, you're late," Faraday said. "Only got one bunk left open."

She pointed to one at the end of the room, the only one that didn't have someone else's bag on it. Svenson shrugged, and stuck the picture to the wall of the open bunk. It didn't matter which was his anyway, he didn't care who he slept next to. Faraday looked through her bag on the other side of the room, pulling out a protein bar from an assortment of boxed food stolen from the mess hall.

"A Marine just told me Delta was asking for me," Svenson said. "How much did I miss?"

"I was asking for you," Faraday said through a mouthful of protein. "Nobody has seen you around. You're like a ghost."

"Yeah, I'm real scary," Svenson said with a shrug. He turned away from Faraday, setting his eyes on the picture of his home. Looking at it just made him sad.

"I just want you to know we're here for you," Faraday said. "Or at least I'm here for you. We all went through the same shit, we don't have to shut ourselves out from each other."

"And we don't have to be nice about it either," Svenson shrugged. He understood why she wanted to get to know him, but he couldn't take it. "I'm sorry, but I'm not here to make friends. I'm just here to fight Covenant, that's it. The only way I'm talking to someone is if we're shooting jackals together."

"You don't think getting to know your team helps with that?"

"Not if we're all doing what's asked of us. If somebody's pinned down by an elite, and I'm ordered to save them? I'm getting it done regardless of if I know who they are or not."

"But that's only if you're ordered to?"

Faraday's expression was one of confusion, Svenson couldn't see how he might've said anything wrong. "If we gotta leave someone behind, we leave them behind. End of story."

"Whatever," Faraday said, shaking her head. She knew he was telling the truth; she could see right through him, and he didn't like it.

There was nothing Svenson could stare at without either going insane, or feeling sad, so he decided to sleep. He set an alarm to wake him up thirty minutes before it was time to meet back in the hangar, and closed his eyes.

"I'm gonna head to the firing range, get some shots in," Faraday said. "Wanna come with?"

Svenson shook his head, and let her go. Another hour passed, he still wasn't asleep. When his muscles ached from staying still too long, he turned on his side. His pillow got too warm, so he flipped it over. He tossed and turned, growing increasingly pissed off at his bed for the whole time until he cursed to himself again, and looked for Faraday.

The firing range was packed. Every booth was full, the sound of weapons firing could be heard from outside the room, which was impressive for guns using training rounds. Marines wore sound-proof headphones as if they were using live bullets. They were attached with microphones, so they could speak with each other, but some of them still shouted over the sound of the guns.

"Eat it ya' bloody alien!"

"This is for Reach!"

"That one's for my mama!"

Soldiers cursed at the targets in all different languages and accents, imagining they were cutting through Covenant soldiers like butter. He watched a particularly aggressively-Australian Marine pour an entire magazine of an MA5B into a metal target in the shape of a jackal. Svenson had to push past other Marines that cheered their friends on.

He found Faraday in a booth next to Kamal and Gerrel, who laughed each time they hit a clean headshot. Faraday wielded a variant of the M392 rifle, modified to fire training rounds and produce extra kick, emulating the feeling of a real rifle. The gun's stock was marked with orange stripes to signify it was for use in the firing range only.

She tracked a moving target in the shape of a grunt. It frantically danced from side to side, as much as it could with the limited space in the lane. She squeezed the trigger three times, hitting each shot in the grunt's head.

"It's kinda funny that it's easier to hit these guys in the head than anywhere else," Faraday said, loading a fresh magazine into the gun. "I guess they were just born to lose."

"The Covies ain't sendin' their best," Kamal said.

"Until they throw an elite at you," Svenson said, leaning on the wall behind Faraday who smiled at him. "Those things are nasty bastards."

"Split-lips are nothing," Gerrel said. "Half the time they're tripping over their own guys tryna' chase after you, you just gotta finish it off from there."

"I watched one grab a jackal by the neck and snap it for no damn reason," Kamal said, speaking like he was telling a horror story. "Good thing we ain't servin' under them."

"You think that Spartan's gonna start killing us if we do a bad job?" Faraday asked before firing three more shots into another grunt target.

"Hey, he doesn't have to kill us," Kamal said with a shrug. He fired a training variant of the MA5B, striking the chest of a jackal target. "Maybe he just breaks my arm, gives me an excuse to hang around the mess hall for a bit. I hear they're gonna be serving lasagne next week."

"Yeah, have fun eating with a broken arm," Gerrel said.

"I wouldn't let a needle to the head stop me," Kamal grinned, lowering his rifle.

"Here, Svenson," Faraday said, stepping back from her booth.

She offered him the training rifle. The M392 wasn't his kind of weapon. It was a Designated Marksman Rifle, and he always preferred a fight at close range. The MA5B was what shone in his hands, but he didn't have the heart to take it from Kamal. He shrugged, took the rifle, and traded spots with Faraday.

The training DMR was lighter than the regular weapon, but it was heavier at the foregrip. The ammo counter glowed green, displaying that he had 12 rounds in the magazine. A control panel at the booth allowed him to configure the target, but he decided to use the same one as Faraday.

The target began to move from side to side, mimicking the motions of a panicked grunt. Svenson could imagine the alien flailing its arms in the air, screaming and pleading for its life in an alien language. Or in English, which somehow a lot of them could speak.

He looked through the DMR's scope, and lined the reticle up with the alien's head. It was an accurate recreation of a grunt. The sharply pointed exoskeleton, the huge forearms, they even got the shape of its head and gas mask perfect, both almost perfectly round. Grunts rarely wore helmets, leaving their heads exposed for all to see, their methane-filled backpacks were perfect targets for soldiers aiming to take out a squad of them in one shot. They certainly weren't the Covenant's best.

Svenson squeezed the trigger, the gun popping as it fired three rounds. He turned the safety back on, and lowered it to see how he did. Each shot had hit, spread out across the alien's chest.

"Close one," Faraday said.

"Hey, I still hit it," Svenson replied with a shrug.

"Definitely would'a killed it," Kamal added.

Svenson reset the target, and fired three more shots. Two shots landed in the chest again, the third hitting the base of its neck, barely missing the mask.

"You don't spend much time at firing ranges, do you?" Faraday asked.

"Not really," Svenson said, setting the rifle down. "Not unless they're using live rounds."

He ejected the magazine, and pulled another half-empty mag from the table next to him. The training rounds were smaller and thinner than bullets, and the magazine could technically hold thirty rounds. Most soldiers only put fifteen in, to match with the standard issue DMRs. Svenson pulled the rounds from one mag and slid them into the other.

"Training rounds move slower than real bullets," Faraday said. "It's not super noticeable, but it takes some getting used to."

"This ship is tough, don't see why we can't use live rounds," Gerrel shrugged.

"The ammo is better spent on real aliens," Svenson said, sliding the magazine back into the rifle. "I can get used to it, it's just not my kind of weapon."

"I'll trade 'ya," Kamal said, holding up his assault rifle.

Svenson eagerly took the MA5B, handing him the DMR. Holding the rifle always felt like he was holding a piece of himself, like the weapon was designed specifically for him. No matter what situation he found himself in, that gun always got him out of it. "This is my kind of weapon," he said.

Usually the MA5B would be linked with the targeting systems on his helmet, but he hadn't thought of retrieving his armour. It was a challenge to line up a shot without the assistance, but he fired, and cut through the grunt with five shots to the chest.

"Nice one," Faraday said. "You'll send all the little guys running scared."

"Not when there's a squad of them," Svenson said, inspecting the rifle after firing it.

Kamal had changed his target to one of a jackal wielding a shield gauntlet, and he fired at its exposed hand with surprising precision. Gerrel cheered him on as he landed another shot to the jackal's head, and Kamal brushed it off with a shrug and a humble smile.

Svenson switched his target to the same one, and put it at the same distance as Kamal's. Mechanical arms whirred as they replaced the target, removing the dumb grunt and replacing it with an angry looking jackal.

The alien crouched behind its shield, sneering at Svenson while it raised its plasma pistol to fire. The weak spots on the target disappeared, all he could see was an alien that wanted him dead.

He fired first at the ground beneath the jackal, staggering it with debris and exposing its arm. A second shot went through the jackal's hand, followed by a barrage of bullets to the chest. Svenson could see troopers all around him falling to plasma fire, he watched another jackal leap over their corpses.

The rifle's ammo counter told him he had 35 shots left, and it was more than enough. He killed the next jackal by landing a lucky shot on its feet, and cutting its head off with another stream of bullets. Another jackal approached, but it suffered the same fate.

"Damn, Svenson," Kamal said, breaking the haze he had entered. "Glad you're on our side."

The target hadn't been moving at all, and Svenson realised he had forgotten to reset it. A display in the booth showed him where his shots had landed, covering the jackal's body with bullet holes. Only four shots were missed, and he had gone through a whole sixty-round magazine.

"It's not gonna be that easy when we're shooting at real targets," Svenson said.

"That's for sure," Kamal said, cleanly taking down another jackal. "But we'll have our fireteam behind us. Bein' a good shot is only half the battle, watchin' each other's backs is what really matters."

Svenson sighed, and loaded a fresh magazine into the rifle. Keeping his fellow soldiers safe was the one part of combat he wasn't good at, not with how many teammates he lost.

"Eh, I don't care who's back I'm watching," Gerrel said with a shrug. "All I need is a hinge-head to shoot."

"Come on then," Svenson said, offering him the assault rifle. "Go wild."

"My pleasure," Gerrel said with a toothy grin. He happily took the rifle from Svenson's hands, and changed the target to an elite.

The elite target was huge, filling the entire lane with a visage of the most horrifying creature Svenson had ever seen. It towered over Gerrel, even from the opposite end of the firing range, bearing rows of jagged teeth with its jaws spread wide open.

If there was a God, he definitely wouldn't have allowed such a being to exist. Gerrel was not threatened by the scarily accurate visual of the elite, but instead he was excited to shoot at it. The Marine unloaded the rifle's magazine into it, putting rounds into it even after the display told him it was dead.

"Guess Sarge wasn't lying when she said we were the best," Faraday said. "We get through this, and we'll be on the fast track to leading our own teams."

"In your dreams, Fairy!" Gerrel shouted, amped up after brutally murdering the elite target. He slapped a fresh mag into the rifle. "You gotta actually be good at giving orders."

"Like you are?" Kamal asked with a chuckle.

"I don't care about all that. I'd rather shoot first, and ask questions never."

"How you've even lived this long is beyond me," Faraday said.

"Hey, I just live by the grace of God, and the MA5B," Gerrel chuckled.

"How 'bout you, Svenny?" Kamal asked. "Think you'd be a good leader?"

The nickname caught Svenson off guard, as well as the question. Don't call me that, he wanted to say, it seemed like a harsh response. As for the question, he never considered it. There wasn't a world where he made it past the rank of Private First Class. Whether he would be a good leader or not wasn't something he knew for sure, but he was certain anyone serving under him wouldn't like it regardless.

"I'm with Gerrel on this one," Svenson said. "All I need is someone to tell me where to shoot."

"Amen, brother," Gerrel said before pouring another magazine into the elite target.

Kamal took down two more jackals, and Gerrel happily blasted as many elites as he could. It was almost comforting watching them, seeing how eager they were to fight the Covenant, watching them hit their targets with precision. As much as Svenson wanted to deny it, he was in good hands.

Several hours passed without the Marines realising it, each of them taking turns firing their training weapons at the alien targets. Eventually Svenson even thought he was having fun when they pretended the targets were real Covenant, using the opportunity to learn how to communicate with his teammates.

"Gators in front," Faraday would say every time they fought elites. Gerrel always referred to them as either split-lips or hinge-heads, and Kamal just called them elites.

"We've got two birds coming up!" Svenson called out as their jackal targets approached them.

Kamal was always calculated with his shots, no matter what gun he used. Svenson didn't see him miss a single shot the whole time they were there, and he was somehow always calm about it. The man didn't yell at the target once, Svenson wondered if he was even capable of raising his voice.

"Think you'll still be a good shot when they're firing back at you?" Svenson asked.

"For sure," Kamal said. "Hell, I think real targets are easier in general. There's a lot more angles to shoot from."

Svenson and Kamal both wielded MA5Bs, and they took to competing with each other for who could land the most shots. They were tied for most of the competition, until Kamal passed him by taking another jackal down clean. Svenson rushed to catch up, not noticing the buzzing of his watch through the kick of the rifle while he gunned the next target down. Faraday called for them to pause when their timer eventually went off; Svenson in the middle of pulling the trigger and hitting the bird's foot. They lowered their rifles at the same time, and read their scores. Kamal laughed, not to put Svenson down for losing, but because he was proud of himself.

"I almost had you," Svenson said, loading a fresh magazine into the rifle and handing it off to Gerrel.

"Almost, but not quite," Kamal grinned. "Better luck next time, sailor."

The other Marines in the firing range had mostly cleared out. Only a couple of booths were still active, Marines firing away to their heart's content. Gerrel went on to compete with Kamal while Svenson and Faraday watched.

"I don't think he's beating Kamal," Faraday said quietly so she wouldn't hurt Gerrel's feelings.

"That guy's a genius," Svenson agreed. "Nobody's beating him."

Svenson noticed that the few other Marines there were armoured up, and they seemed to be there to kill time rather than to practise their aim. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't place what it was until Faraday's radio went off.

Faraday picked the radio up from the table, and gestured at the other two Marines to lower their weapons. When she answered the call, Svenson could hear Sergeant O'Hale's voice clear as day.

"Where in Heaven's name are you?" the Sergeant asked. "I've been trying to reach you for half an hour. Haven't been able to get Svenson, Kamal, or Gerrel either."

"They're with me, sorry ma'am," Faraday cringed as she answered. "We got a little carried away in the firing range, it won't happen again."

"I sure hope not, I had high hopes for you. If you suckers showed the Covies half as much rage as those damn sheets of metal, we wouldn't have lost Reach. Get yourselves to the armoury on deck three, arm up, and get the hell down here."

O'Hale dropped the connection before anyone could oblige, and Faraday put her radio back on her belt. Gerrel and Kamal set their weapons down on the table, figuring they would put them away later.

"Well this is a bad first impression," Kamal said, embarrassment creeping across his face.

"Hey, it won't happen again, right?" Faraday asked. "Let's go."

"Right behind you," Svenson said.

The ship vibrated under their feet as they began to move, the sound of machinery whirring echoed through the walls; they had just exited slipspace.

"Ah shit, we really got carried away," Gerrel said. "We gotta go."

The Marines rushed out of the firing range, almost sprinting to get down the hall. If Svenson was right, the Covenant would be on top of them at any minute, and they weren't ready. He berated himself in his mind, calling himself stupid in a whole assortment of ways. Of course everything's starting to go wrong. Why did I have to follow her?

They passed several windows, each giving them a look outside the ship. Svenson could only see glimpses, the only thing he could make out was a gas giant glowing orange in the light of the sun. It wasn't a view he'd seen before, he couldn't help but wonder where the hell they were.

"Guys, hold up," Gerrel said, motioning for them to stop with his hands.

"We can't hold up, what is it?" Faraday asked, reluctantly stopping with the others.

Gerrel pointed to a screen in the wall next to them. It displayed a view from the ship's bridge, a closeup of the gas giant. Something sat in front of it, something Svenson couldn't immediately make out. As the Autumn drew closer to it, they got a clearer view.

A perfectly circular ring sat in front of the planet. Svenson assumed it was some kind of weirdly shaped asteroid at first, but he could see bright lights symmetrically lining its outside, and what almost looked like the surface of a planet covering the inside. Vast stretches of land, deserts, foliage, even oceans and mountains. The four Marines stood still, staring wide-eyed as they questioned what they were looking at. They forgot all about the fact they were about to fight the Covenant with no weapons or armour. Faraday turned to Svenson as if he was supposed to know what that thing was.

"What the fuck is that," Gerrel said, making it more of a statement than a question.

"I have no fucking clue," Svenson shook his head.

He still couldn't tell what he was seeing. If it wasn't for Gerrel pointing it out first, he would've assumed it was a hallucination, or some kind of dream; staring into slipspace might have fully driven him mad. The only other thing he could think of was the bridge crew playing a prank on them, this couldn't be real. It certainly wasn't a planet, but it was a world of some kind, just not in a way the human mind recognised.

"This jaunt just got a whole lot more interesting," Kamal said.

Svenson nodded, he couldn't tell if it was for better or worse. The only thing that was certain now, was that the universe wasn't as boring as he first believed.