Mass Effect: The Flood - Phoenix_T70 (2024)

Chapter 1: Preface

Chapter Text

Timeline of Events

1,000,000,000 – 150,000 BCE

The Precursors are the preeminent species in the galaxy, moving beyond sentience into practical godhood. They can traverse galaxies in seconds, control evolution, and create life. They reach an advanced understanding of Mass Effect physics and are responsible for the development of the Mass Relay network, known to them as “Star Roads.” At its heart is the Citadel, the Relays’ hub and the heart of the Precursor civilization.

The Precursors seed the Milky Way with life, looking to raise a species worthy of carrying on their stewardship of the galaxy: The Mantle of Responsibility. They create the Forerunners and seek to elevate them to rule the galaxy, but eventually deem them unworthy of the Mantle. They prepare to elevate humanity over the Forerunners to claim the Mantle. Enraged, the Forerunners attack their creators.

The Precursors, driven insane by the Forerunners’ rebellion, create the Flood as a last-ditch bid at vengeance against the Forerunners.

150,000 BCE: RISE OF THE FORERUNNERS

The Forerunners have colonized much of the Milky Way thanks to Precursor technology. They are now a peaceful race and help elevate undeveloped races.

The first generation of humans begins colonizing the galaxy using more technology left over from the Precursor era. Their civilization grows to rival that of the Forerunners.

109,000 BCE: THE FALL OF MAN

Humanity and the San’Shyuum make first contact with the Flood. Desperate, the allies destroy several Forerunner worlds in the hopes of creating a “no-man’s-land” between them and the Flood. The Forerunners mount a counteroffensive. Humanity retreats from Forerunner space, leading to a Forerunner invasion.

The Forerunner general known as “The Didact” leads his people to victory against humanity after the Human-San’Shyuum Alliance is betrayed. Humanity is devolved into several different subspecies and landlocked to its cradleworld, Erde-Tyrene—what later generations will call Earth.

Unbeknownst to the Forerunners, the human-San’Shyuum alliance had successfully driven the Flood from the galaxy at the expense of victory against the Forerunners.

BETWEEN 109,000 AND 101,300 BCE: THE PRELUDE TO WAR

The Forerunners learn of the Flood and begin planning construction of the Halo array as a weapon of last resort. The Didact opposes construction of the Halo array and is sentenced to imprisonment on the newly-primitivized Earth where his wife, the Librarian, makes her home. Construction of twelve Halo rings begins, together with Shield Worlds intended to protect organic species from the Halos’ devastating firing effect. The Librarian begins archiving species from across the galaxy, placing samples of every species in sarcophagi on the Ark, far outside the Halos’ effect.

100,300 BCE: THE FORERUNNER-FLOOD WAR

Forerunners make first contact with the Flood on planet G617g1. The investigating team are killed and the Flood escapes. The Forerunner-Flood war begins. The Librarian hastens her work.

100,043 BCE: MENDICANT BIAS

Forerunners create the ancilla Mendicant Bias to combat the Flood. It is placed in command of Halo 07 and tasked with hunting the Flood Gravemind. Halo 07 is test-fired, freeing the last surviving Precursor sealed away millennia earlier by Humanity. He is recaptured and imprisoned on Halo 07. Mendicant Bias begins questioning the last Precursor on Halo 07. Their conversation lasts 43 years.

100,000 BCE: THE BEGINNING OF THE END

The Didact is freed by the Forerunner Bornstellar after 1,000 years of imprisonment. Manipulated by the last Precursor, Mendicant Bias returns on Halo 07 and turns on its creators, smashing the Forerunner capital. The new Didact takes control of the Forerunner military. Mendicant Bias seizes control of five of the twelve Halos. The Forerunners destroy them, leaving only seven. A Forerunner artifact bridging Earth and the Ark is buried in Africa by the Librarian. The Forerunners create the ancilla Offensive Bias to counter and fight Mendicant Bias.

100,000 BCE: THE END OF EVERYTHING

The following plays out in hours:

Mendicant Bias and the Flood fleet breach the Forerunners’ defensive line and move against the inner Forerunner colonies, with the majority of their forces sent towards the Citadel. Mendicant Bias commands a fleet of almost five million ships against Offensive Bias’ tens of thousands.

The Didact fires the Halos. All sentient life within three radii of the Milky Way’s center dies.

Mendicant Bias’ organic Flood ships are destroyed by the Halo array. Offensive Bias now outnumbers Mendicant Bias 6-1 and the battle swings in Offensive Bias’ favor. Four minutes later, the Forerunner-Flood war ends. Mendicant Bias’ AI is shattered by Offensive Bias. Parts are hidden on the Ark and on the San’Shyuum home-world.

SOON AFTER 100,000 BCE: A FRESH START

Species archived by the Librarian on the Ark and various Shield Worlds are returned to their home planets by the surviving Forerunners. The Forerunners exit the galaxy. Humanity is given the genetic ‘key’ to the Halo Array in the Forerunners’ absence, in the hopes that they will be able to improve upon the technology to avoid another complete holocaust should the Flood ever return. Specimens of Flood subtypes are secured aboard all surviving Halo installations, their Monitors charged with researching the parasite to potentially develop a less destructive means of destroying them.

30,000 BCE: HUMANITY RETURNS

hom*o sapiens rise to become the dominant human species, eventually killing off the other reseeded human species on their journey out of Africa. The Neanderthals are among the last to die out.

13,000 BCE

The turians of Palaven begin to develop civilization around this time.

8,500 BCE

The second generation of human civilization emerges on Earth.

2100 BCE: CIVIL WAR

The San’Shyuum fight a bloody civil war over the Forerunner Dreadnought. The Reformers defeat the Stoics and retreat to the stars in the Dreadnought.

1900 BCE

Tuchanka, the krogan homeworld, enters the nuclear age. In a global conflict, weapons of mass destruction are released, triggering a nuclear winter. In the resulting devastation, krogan society devolves into a collection of warring clans.

938 BCE: THE SANGHEILI-SAN’SHYUUM WAR

Elsewhere in the galaxy, the Sangheili already have vast interstellar empires thanks to knowledge inherited from the Forerunners. Following contact with the San’Shyuum, their differing beliefs regarding treatment of Forerunner artifacts leads to war.

876 BCE

Through the Forerunner dreadnought, the San’Shyuum gain numerous victories over their foe. Preferring abnegation to annihilation, the Elites abandon their beliefs and begin studying Forerunner artifacts, accelerating their technological development.

852 BC: THE COVENANT

The San’Shyuum/Sangheili War ends, and the two species form a union named “The Covenant.” The Covenant adds further races over the next millennium as they colonize the galaxy, in search of Forerunner artifacts-in particular, the Halo rings.

580 BCE

After developing Slipstream Space capabilities based upon Forerunner technology, the asari begin to explore the Mass Relay network, and eventually discover the Citadel at a hub of many Mass Relays.

520 BCE

The salarians discover the Citadel and open diplomatic relations with the asari.

500 BCE: THE COUNCIL IS FORMED

The Citadel Council is formed. The asari and salarians together colonize the Citadel and establish it as a center of the galactic community, led by the Council. This year is also known as 0 GS, the beginning of the Galactic Standard (GS) timeline. As a gesture of openness with their new asari allies, the Salarian Union opens the records of the League of One. Under threat, the League responds by assassinating every member of the Union's inner cabinet; Special Tasks Group operatives then hunt down and eliminate the League.

~300 BCE

The volus begin exploring and colonizing the stars shortly after discovering Slipspace travel. First contact is made shortly thereafter. Eventually, the Citadel Council commissions the volus to draw up the Unified Banking Act, which establishes a standard galactic currency known as the credit and links all galactic economies.

The turian Unification War occurs. The increasingly isolated and xenophobic colonies on the frontiers of turian space go to war with each other. After years of fighting, the turian Hierarchy sweeps in and pacifies the remaining factions. Animosity between turian colonies continues for decades.

The Council grants the volus the honor of being the first non-Council species with an embassy at the Citadel, rather than a Council seat.

First contact is made with the batarians. They are granted an embassy a century later.

The asari discover the elcor home system and help the elcor locate and activate their nearest mass relay. “Within one elcor lifetime” they establish a regular trade route to the Citadel and are granted an embassy.

First contact is made with the hanar and the quarians. Both races are later granted embassies.

1 CE: The Rachni Wars

The rachni, a species of highly intelligent hive-minded insects, are discovered when a Citadel expedition opens a dormant mass relay leading to their star systems. The rachni prove to be hostile and begin a war with the rest of the galaxy. Negotiation with the rachni queens is impossible because they cannot be contacted in their underground nests on the toxic rachni worlds.

80 CE

The Rachni Wars continue. The salarians make first contact with and uplift the primitive krogan, manipulating them into acting as soldiers for the Citadel Council. The krogan prove able to survive the harsh environments of the rachni worlds and pursue the rachni into their nests, systematically eradicating queens and eggs.

300 CE

The rachni are declared extinct. In gratitude for their aid during the Rachni Wars, the Council rewards the krogan with a new homeworld. Free of the harsh environment of Tuchanka, the krogan population explodes.

300 - 700 CE

The krogan begin to expand exponentially, colonizing many new worlds. Growing concerns about their expansion lead to the founding of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance (Spectre) branch of the Citadel government.

693 CE

Beelo Gurji, a salarian STG operative, is appointed the first Spectre by the Citadel Council.

700 CE: The Krogan Rebellions

Krogan warlords leverage veterans of the Rachni Wars to annex territory from other races in Citadel space. Eventually the Council demands withdrawal from the asari colony of Lusia, but the krogan refuse. A preemptive strike is made on krogan infrastructure by the Spectres. The Krogan Rebellions begin.

The Citadel Council makes first contact with the turians around this time and persuades them to aid in the war. After the krogan respond to the initial turian offensive by devastating turian colonies with weapons of mass destruction, the turians vow to stop the krogan from ever becoming a threat again.

Some time after the turians join the galactic community, the volus are accepted as a client race of the Turian Hierarchy.

710 CE

Realizing that the krogan will never give in as long as they can replenish their numbers, the turians unleash a salarian-engineered bio-weapon known as the genophage on the krogan. The krogan population starts to decline.

800 CE

The Krogan Rebellions end, though scattered krogan insurgent actions continue for decades. The turians fill the military and peacekeeping niche left by the decimated krogan. The Citadel Conventions are drawn up in the wake of the conflict.

900 CE

The turians are granted a seat on the Citadel Council in recognition for their service in the Krogan Rebellions.

1380s CE

Extensive and unchecked industrial expansion on the drell homeworld Rakhana begins taking a significant toll on the planet's environment.

1776 CE

The United States Marine Corps is founded. It will be the precursor to the UNSC Marine Corps.

1858 CE

The oldest geth log is time-stamped around this time, on quarian creator year 2463, third day of Fal'tash, Waxing Moon.

1873 CE

The oldest geth audio-visual log dates from approximately this time, 15 years after their oldest log. On quarian creator year 2485, 18th day of Lun'shal, New Moon, the geth record the first instance of their creators growing frightened when a unit inquires if geth have souls.

1895 CE: The Geth Revolt

The geth become self-aware. Fearing a geth uprising, the quarians begin dismantling them. The geth revolt against their quarian masters. In the resulting conflict—known to the geth as the Morning War—the geth systematically drive the quarians from their own worlds. The surviving quarians are reduced to living as spacefaring nomads aboard the Migrant Fleet. Contrary to expectations, the geth do not venture outside the former quarian systems into wider Citadel space, instead isolating themselves from the rest of the galaxy behind the Perseus Veil. As punishment for creating the geth, the Citadel Council closes the quarian embassy on the Citadel.

1914-1918 CE: THE GREAT WAR

Humanity’s first industrial World War is fought. It results in casualty rates unlike any previous conflict in recorded human history.

1921 CE

The geth begin construction of a megastructure designed to house and simultaneously run every geth program in existence. Completion of the megastructure, which would allow the geth to maximize their collective processing capacity, is the long-term goal of geth civilization.

1933-1945 CE: WORLD WAR II

Humanity’s second industrial World War is fought. It results in unprecedented death tolls, and is one of the few conflicts in recorded galactic history where the civilian death rate is higher than the military death rate.

16 JULY, 1945 CE: THE NUCLEAR AGE

The first human atomic bomb is exploded in Los Alamos, Nevada, the United States of America. The Cold War between communist East and capitalist West begins shortly after.

1961 CE

April 12: Soviet cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin becomes the first human in space in 100,000 years.

1969 CE

July 20: Apollo 11 lands on Luna. American astronaut Neil Armstrong becomes the first human to walk on Luna, and the first human to walk on an astronomical object other than Earth, in 100,000 years.

1980s CE

The hanar make first contact with the drell. With their homeworld Rakhana severely depleted and no spaceflight capability, the drell were poised for a massive population crash by 2025 CE. Agreeing to help, the hanar mount a large-scale rescue operation and evacuate approximately 375,000 drell to their own homeworld, Kahje, over the following decade. The remaining 11 billion drell on Rakhana gradually perish, warring over the last reserves of food and water.

1985-1992 CE

The Cold War concludes.

Giotto — First European Space Agency deep space mission; first ESA mission to intercept an asteroid (Halley & Grigg-Skjellerup).

1990 CE

Launch of the Hubble Space Telescope.

1997 CE

Sojourner touches down at Ares Vallis, becoming the first rover to explore Mars. During its three months of operation, the rover captures more than 550 images of the Red Planet.

2015 CE.

SpaceX successfully lands and recovers the first stage of its Falcon 9 rocket after delivering 11 communications satellites to orbit. This represents the first-ever orbital class rocket landing, and humanity’s first major shift towards sustainable space travel.

2069 CE

July 20: Armstrong Outpost at Shackleton Crater is formally founded as the first human settlement on Luna, on the 100th anniversary of the first lunar landing.

2070 CE

Billionaire Victor Manswell, frustrated with the pace of official human space exploration, begins funding his own private spaceflight expedition.

2075 CE

The Manswell Expedition successfully launches from Earth en route to the Alpha Centauri system with 300 colonists aboard in cryogenic stasis. Communications with the vessel are lost soon after.

2080-2140

The Sol system is extensively colonized under the purview of the United Nations, which is granted extraordinary powers by its member states following the loss of the Manswell Expedition.

2140: THE JOVIAN MOONS CAMPAIGN

United Nations peacekeeping forces clash with separatist Friedans, a neo-fascist movement centered on Europa, and the neo-communist Kosloviks. The conflict is then the largest spaceborne military action in the recorded history of the Sol system, and demonstrates the inability of Earth’s divided nation-states to maintain an cohesive interplanetary empire.

FEBRUARY 2142 - SEPTEMBER 2143: THE RAINFOREST WARS

A nineteenth month long conflict in South America between the United Nations, the Friedans, and the Kosloviks leads to dramatic death tolls and a major famine on Earth.

2144

Humanity forms the United Nations Space Command.

A UNSC expeditionary force puts down Koslovak and Friedan rebels on Mars. This marks the first offworld deployment of the UNSC Marine Corps.

2148 CE: Humanity Discovers Mass Effect Physics

A UNSC exploratory team discovers a small cache of highly advanced Forerunner technology hidden deep beneath the surface of Mars in the south polar region of Promethei Planum. Building on the remnants of this long extinct race, humans quickly explore the science of Mass Effect fields and other technology, leading to the development of early Slipspace travel and beginning detailed exploration of the Sol system.

2149 CE

Following information from the translated data cache on Mars, humans discover that Charon, Pluto's moon, is actually a massive piece of dormant Forerunner (in reality Precursor) technology, a Mass Relay, encased in ice. Once activated, Jon Grissom leads the first team of explorers through the relay, which instantaneously transports them to another relay in Epsilon Eridani, 36 light-years away. The explorers discover that the Relays are part of a vast network, making travel across the galaxy possible.

2150 CE

The Colonial Authority begins the first surveys for colonization prospects outside the Sol System. One of these surveys discovers the planet Reach.

2151 CE

To defend its expanding territory, humanity begins constructing a massive fleet and space station in Epsilon Eridani, the nexus of several key Mass Relays, even though they have yet to encounter another intelligent spacefaring race.

An accident at Singapore International Spaceport exposes hundreds of humans to dust-form element zero. Roughly 30% of the children born in Singapore after element zero exposure suffer from cancerous growths.

2152 CE

The Colonial Administration begins settlement of humanity's first extrasolar colony on Epsilon Eridani II—the planet Reach. Later that year, additional colonies are founded on Eden Prime and Terra Nova. Reach becomes the founding world of the Inner Colonies.

2157 CE: THE FIRST CONTACT WAR

Humanity makes violent first contact with another spacefaring race: the turians. The turians observe human explorers attempting to activate a dormant Mass Relay, a practice forbidden by galactic law after the Rachni Wars, and attack. Over the next three months, a brief but tense conflict known by humans as the First Contact War and by turians as the Relay 314 Incident ensues.

The First Contact War culminates in the turian siege and occupation of Shanxi, the first human world to fall to an alien race. Admiral Kastanie Drescher leads the UNSC Second Fleet in battle against Shanxi's occupiers one month later, catching the turians by surprise and evicting them from the planet.

The turians prepare for a full-scale war against humanity, but this draws the attention of the Citadel Council. The Council intervenes before hostilities escalate further, revealing the existence of the greater galactic community to humanity and brokering a peace between them and the turians.

2161

The Mortal Dictata Act is passed by the UEG Parliament.

2162

Humanity is inducted as an official member of the Citadel Races.

2170

Humanity is granted a reprieve of the AI ban, citing ongoing peaceful coexistence between humans and AIs. Human AI technology allows mankind to become a major superpower in Citadel space.

2276

The Skyllian Blitz. Batarian slavers strike the human colony world Elysium in the Skyllian Verge. They are fought off by planetary militia forces, Colonial Military Authority peacekeepers, and off duty UNSC Marines, but large numbers of human civilians are taken as slaves. At the urging of human diplomats, the Council disbars the Batarian Hegemony from the Citadel.

2278

The Battle of Torfan. Forces belonging to the UNSC and the Turian Hierarchy attack the batarian colony world Torfan in retaliation for the Skyllian Blitz and more recent attacks against human and turian worlds, bombarding it with nuclear weapons. Ground operations result in total human victory, with Marine Captain Jonas Heller being awarded the Colonial Cross for Valor due to his actions against batarian ground forces. Stories that Heller’s unit committed war crimes against the batarian population are suppressed by ONI, but Heller earns the nickname “The Butcher of Torfan.”

2278-2283: THE TERMINUS CONFLICT

Following the Battle of Torfan, the batarians launch assaults on dozens of human and turian worlds in the Terminus Systems. The Citadel alliance responds, launching a major invasion of batarian space. The effort is spearheaded by the UNSC Fifth Fleet. Dozens of batarian worlds are taken in months, and those which are deemed too difficult to take are subjected to nuclear bombardment. The Hegemony agrees to an armistice in 2283, and is forced to emancipate all slaves, pay an indemnity of nine trillion credits to all races affected by batarian piracy, and confine its borders to systems already controlled by the Hegemony. The baratians initially refuse the peace, but a nuclear strike launched by a force of UNSC prowlers on Kar’Shan’s naval foundries forces the government’s hand. Batarian slavery continues within batarian space, but no government-sponsored raids are launched again.

2292: REPRESENTATION

Humanity is granted a seat on the Citadel Council with the support of the turians as recognition for their service against the batarians. This is strongly protested by the krogan and several other races.

2300-2490

Tensions between Earth and the colonies slowly begin to grow.

2490: EMPIRE

Humanity has colonized over eight hundred worlds, including the planets Reach and Harvest.

2492

The human colony world Far Isle is razed by nuclear bombardment following a major revolt. Tensions between Earth and the Outer Colonies are strained to the breaking point. The UNSC is condemned by the asari and salarians for their overreaction.

2494: INSURRECTION

The Colonial Insurrection begins in earnest. Large numbers of human biotics are noted among Insurrectionist forces.

2496-2497

Operation CHARLEMAGNE results in UNSC victory, retaking Eridanus II from Secessionist Union forces under former Marine Colonel Robert Watts.

2506

The UNSC abandons Project Orion – the first generation of super soldiers – because of expense and time.

2511

The future Master Chief Petty Officer John-117 is born.

2513

Operation TREBUCHET is launched in the Eridanus and Epsilon Eridani systems.

2517: THE SPARTAN II PROGRAM

75 children are abducted and conscripted into the UNSC’s Spartan II program. John is among them, and becomes a squad leader shortly after training begins.

2525: THE COVENANT WAR

The fourteen year-old Spartan IIs undergo extensive cybernetic and genetic modification. Thirty die, twelve are disabled.

SPARTAN Blue Team is deployed for the first time and successfully captures Colonel Watts aboard the Insurrectionist freighter Laden.

The human agricultural world Harvest is glassed by a Covenant warship. Humanity is informed that the Covenant intends to wage a war of annihilation. All UNSC and CMA assets are called for service. The Citadel Races are obliged to join the war, but are unable to curb the might of the Covenant. The Citadel-Covenant War begins.

The Spartans, newly equipped with MJOLNIR Mark IV armor, engage the Covenant above Chi Ceti IV, boarding and destroying a Covenant capital ship with the loss of only one man.

Operation TREBUCHET is indefinitely suspended.

2526

March 1: The Second Battle of Harvest. The lone Covenant battleship orbiting Harvest is destroyed, in exchange for thirteen UNSC ships. Vice Admiral Preston Cole is hailed as a hero for his victory, and the casualty reports are hidden by ONI.

Amasa, Asmara, Bliss, and Circinius IV are glassed.

2526-FEBRUARY 5, 2531: THE HARVEST CAMPAIGN

UNSC and turian forces engage Covenant troops on Harvest. The campaign lasts five years and ends in a pyrrhic Citadel victory. As the Covenant continues to push through the Outer Colonies, Harvest loses strategic value and the Citadel military pulls out.

2529

Madrigal and Hat Yai are glassed.

2531

Troops from the UNSC Spirit of Fire engage Covenant troops on the partially-glassed planets Harvest and Arcadia. A Mass Relay opened from Arcadia leads Spirit of Fire to an isolated Forerunner Shield World where humanity makes first contact with the Flood. Sergeant John Forge detonates Spirit of Fire’s slipspace drive and destroys the planet. The Spirit of Fire escapes and begins its long journey home, with her crew in cryosleep. The ship and crew are listed as “Missing, Presumed Lost.”

2532: SPARTAN III

The first 300 volunteer Spartan IIIs enter training. Cheaper and weaker than Spartan IIs, the IIIs are to be produced in much greater numbers with far fewer training casualties.

Selvos, Cyone, and Rocam are glassed.

2535

Jericho VII is glassed.

2536

Gellix and Xerceo are glassed.

2537

Sanctum, Terra Nova, and Demeter are glassed.

2540

Horizon, Eden Prime, and Bostra are glassed.

2542

Palaven, Alluvion, Irune, and Phoros are glassed.

2543

18-year old John Shepard enlists in the UNSC Navy.

APRIL 18, 2543: ADMIRAL COLE’S LAST STAND

Vice Admiral Cole, the hero of Harvest, is presumed dead after detonating one hundred SHIVA-class nuclear warheads in the core of the gas giant Viperidae. Over three hundred Covenant ships are destroyed.

JULY 9, 2544

Ilium is glassed.

February-July, 2545

The Batarian Hegemony is destroyed. Few batarians survive the campaign, and are reduced to begging for Citadel aid. Most surviving batarian soldiers blame humanity for alienating them from the Council and begin a campaign of terrorism against the UNSC.

2546

New Llanelli is glassed.

2547

Desperate for a propaganda victory, the UNSC makes the Spartan II program public. Spartan IIs become legendary. When killed, they are listed as Missing in Action to maintain the image of their invincibility.

2550

Thessia, Tevura, Magna, and Minab are glassed.

The quarian Migrant Fleet is discovered by the Covenant Fleet of Particular Justice in the Kepler Verge. Nearly all quarians in the galaxy die during the two hour-battle. Only a handful of surviving ships manage a blind slipspace jump in accordance with the Cole Protocol; less than 4,000 quarians remain alive in the whole Milky Way galaxy.

September 9-22, 2550: THE CITADEL FALLS

The Citadel Defense Fleet is unable to defend the Citadel and is defeated by a Covenant fleet ten times its size. The Citadel is occupied by the Covenant, who consider it a “holy relic.” A month-long ground war between the Covenant and Citadel Security follows, resulting in the total extermination of the Citadel’s population of 13.2 million beings. Humanity becomes the de facto leader of the Citadel Alliance.

2551

MOST CITADEL COLONY WORLDS HAVE BEEN GLASSED BY THE COVENANT. TRILLIONS OF BEINGS ARE DEAD. HUMANITY IS THE LAST CREDIBLE MILITARY POWER LEFT IN THE CITADEL ALLIANCE.

August 2552: THE FALL OF REACH

The Covenant discover Reach, humanity’s last remaining stronghold before Earth.

August 14: SPARTAN Noble Team destroys a Covenant Supercarrier at the cost of Chief Warrant Officer Jorge-052. It is immediately replaced by hundreds more.

August 23: Noble Team helps evacuate the city of New Alexandria. The city is subsequently glassed. Lieutenant Commander Catherine-B320 is killed by a Covenant sniper in the midst of the bombardment.

August 30: Lieutenant B-312, Warrant Officer Emile-A239, and Commander Carter-A259 die evacuating Cortana’s AI core to the UNSC Pillar of Autumn. The Pillar of Autumn, joined by the Prowler UNSC Normandy, makes a slipspace jump using secret Forerunner data entrusted to Cortana. No one besides Cortana is aware the jump is not blind. Reach is subsequently glassed.

SEPTEMBER 19, 2552: HALO

Cast of Characters

• UNSC Pillar of Autumn (C-709)

Captain Jacob Keyes, UNSC Pillar of Autumn commanding

Major Antonio Silva, Autumn ODST contingent, commanding

Lieutenant Melissa McKay, ODST

Cortana, CTN 0452-9; Autumn shipboard AI

Master Chief Petty Officer John-117

Staff Sergeant Avery J. Johnson, UNSC Marine Corps

Private Wallace A. Jenkins, UNSC Marine Corps

• UNSC Normandy (SR-1)

Commander John Shepard, Normandy commanding

Lieutenant Charles Pressly, Normandy XO

Edie, EDI 0927-2; Normandy shipboard AI

Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, helmsman

Marine Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, Normandy Marine contingent commanding

Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams, UNSC Marine Corps

Garrus Vakarian, turian Commander, acting gunnery officer

Tali’Zorah nar Rayyah, quarian civilian refugee, acting engineering officer

Liara T’soni, asari civilian refugee, acting science officer, UNSC Normandy

Urdnot Wrex, krogan Battle Master; attached to Marine contingent, UNSC Normandy

Chapter 2: The Fall of Reach

Chapter Text

Mass Effect 3 Soundtrack - Leaving Earth

30/08/52

Aszod Breaking Yard, planet Reach

The sky was red with ash and fire, long pillars of smoke rising into the stratosphere, broken only by the Covenant ships that cruised overhead. A beam of plasma linked each to the surface of Reach, superheated gas burning the surface and vitrifying sand, clay, and loam into dark, molten glass. Each beam covered tens of kilometers, the ships moving in concentric rings across the planet to cover the whole of the surface. The air smelled of fire and death. Aszod hadn’t been glassed yet; in fact, the breaking yard was the only place left on Reach where people could be evacuated. It was also the target of a Covenant battalion that had landed to stop the outgoing ships.

“Move! Run!”

Liara T’Soni’s boots crunched on the loose stones that carpeted the ground. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she sprinted away from the advancing Covenant ground troops. She had a Magnum pistol she had taken off of a dead soldier back at CASTLE Base with one magazine of ammunition, enough to either deal with a few Grunts or to avoid capture by the enemy. She, and the handful of ONI staff that were with her, were desperately trying to make it to one of the few ships still evacuating the planet. Being seconded to ONI, Liara knew that a human Prowler was still trying to get away, along with a cruiser. They had to make it to one of the ships.

Banshee fliers screeched by overhead. One was blotted from the sky by a GARDIAN laser, but the others rolled in and smashed the emplacement with fuel rod guns before turning to strafe the fleeing people below. Several troopers were cut down by plasma bolts, and a shot from a fuel rod cannon killed the three analysts in the rear of the group. Heat washed over Liara, and when she looked back, nothing was left of them. She kept moving—no time, no time, no time—cresting a hill to see, in a small clearing, an unusually designed Prowler sitting on its landing legs. The main airlock was still open, and a few troopers were ducking inside.

“Wait!” Liara cried. As she did, the engines of another ship, the cruiser, fired, lifting it into the ash-streaked sky. When the roar died down, she shouted again, still running as fast as she could. One of the men spotted the group and shouted into the ship before bringing up his rifle. He fired a few bursts past them, and Liara whirled to see an Elite Zealot with an energy sword roar his anger before cutting down Dawkins and Hudson. Liara turned and ran. She was all that was left.

Two more men with rifles stepped out of the ship's airlock and opened fire. Liara didn’t have the time to see if they were able to kill the Elite or not before the hatch was secured and a Marine shouted “Go! Go!” Liara looked back at the hatch door and realized that she was the only one who had gotten inside. The soldiers were still out there. One banged on the hatch. “Get out of here!” His voice barely carried through the metal.

The ship’s engines lit and carried it into the burning sky of Reach. Covenant ships fell into the atmosphere everywhere across the planet, plasma beams scorching the surface of humanity’s last stronghold. Streaks of fire from satellites and human ships trailed down to the planet below as smoke from the thousands of roaring blazes that spanned the planet belched ash and smoke into the heavens. As Liara felt the Prowler jump into Slipspace, a feeling of terrible despair washed over her.

Back on the dying world’s surface, a lone wolf was fighting for his life, and losing. His team was destroyed, his last lifelines had been exhausted or cast aside so others might survive. Noble Six fought to the death with rifle, pistol, blade, and fist, but fell beneath the tide of Covenant bodies sent against him. He fought until an energy sword ended his life, content in the knowledge that he had taken his vengeance on the Covenant and that he had completed his mission. The sky above ran red as the last surviving human ships were blasted from space, even as two faint blots of purple opened—the telltale sign of a slipstream space translation. Above the sky, the Pillar of Autumn and Normandy had escaped.

As they ran, Reach burned behind them. Humanity’s shield had been destroyed.

Nothing could stop the Covenant now.

Chapter 3: Exodus

Chapter Text

18/9/2552 (UNSC Military calendar)

UNSC Normandy (SR-1)

“In order to be a good leader, you must love the men and women under your command. In order to be a good officer, you must be willing to destroy that which you love.”

-Colonel Samantha Christie, to a class at the UNSC Military Academy at West Point, 9 June, 2482

FLASH: ONI Secure Band 971-5.

Originating station: Prowler UNSC Normandy (SR-1). Logging station: Io Listening Post 3.

Message reads:

Reach has fallen to overwhelming Covenant forces. Minimal survivors anticipated. Be advised: Majority of UNSC assets in-system destroyed. Numerous SPARTANs confirmed KIA. Covenant in process of glassing planet prior to Slipspace jump. Epsilon Eridani Relay confirmed disabled. Surviving vessels: UNSC Normandy (SR-1), UNSC Pillar of Autumn (C-709). Cole Protocol is in effect.

Message ends.

The fusion reactor of the prowler UNSC Normandy thrummed through the nanosteel deckplates as Tali’Zorah nar Rayyah checked and rechecked her math. She had to be sure when she had gotten a problematic answer for some calculation, particularly here. The human’s Shaw-Fujikawa Mark 9 slipspace drive was so unlike any of the models the Migrant Fleet used-had used, she thought with sudden stab of grief. The Fleet had been ambushed by Covenant raiders two years ago and cut to pieces. Most of the ships were ancient, and armed with little beyond point-defense Mass Effect accelerator guns. Her species had died in a day, excepting the few like her that had been on Pilgrimage when the battle occurred. Too few to sustain a population. The quarian race was finished.

Pulling her mind from that particular rut, Tali returned to her borrowed tablet. She was used to maintaining the FTL drive on her home ship, but the human brand was very different. There was nothing like familiarization by total immersion, though; each of the few civilians the Normandy had rescued as she made her final, desperate flight from Reach had been told to pitch in. With Chief Petty Officer Adams dead, Tali had stepped in as acting Chief Engineer; “Head Snipe” as the bridge crew called her. The sailors under her had initially balked at answering to a civilian, but she’d proved that even without working on a human Slipspace drive before, she could outrepair the best of them. There were no further complaints.

Today, there was something new wrong with the drive. Tali sighed aloud, her visor partially distorting the sound into an electronic crackle. The Normandy could jump a good way on her own, but for long-distance trips, a Mass Relay was preferred. Of course, the UNSC crews had locked down the only Mass Relay in-system when the Normandy and the Pillar of Autumn escaped in accordance with the Cole Protocol. “Okay, girl,” she spoke to the engine as she would a beloved pet, “what has the Commander done to you today, eh? Tell me what ails you.” The snipes studiously ignored her diatribe, well used to her… eccentricities. Tali clambered towards the drive core. Normally a highly forbidden activity, it had become necessary to hold the Prowler’s abused element zero core together. “Ah, I see…” Looking over her shoulder, she called, “Yeoman Sprauge, I need a socket wrench.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.” Retrieving the aforementioned tool, the Yeoman handed it up to her.

“Thank you.” Speaking as she worked, Tali explained, “One of the capacitor junctions is loose. Uneven fuel flow, causing vibrations that should not be there.” She sighed again. “Not surprising…”

They’d been on the run for almost three weeks now. The Covenant had never discovered how the Mass Effect worked, but they had learned so much about Slipspace that the rest of the galaxy simply never bothered to. Sadly, this gave the Covenant much greater flexibility and freedom of movement, where Citadel fleets were tied to the immense (and vulnerable) Mass Relays. All of this meant that there could be no stops for midflight repairs, or to change course. The Covenant would swiftly overtake them, if they hadn’t already, and the Cole Protocol was clear; no Citadel ship, civilian or military, could risk leading Covenant forces back to Citadel space. Navcomps were wiped and Mass Relays were shut down, with their guidance software disabled. Any ship capable of intersystem travel was to be wiped and scuttled.

In other words, they were stuck in the middle of nowhere, running themselves and their ship ragged. Tali didn’t mind going without rest; staying alive was quite the motivator. She did, however, mind Commander Shepard refusing to listen to her perfectly sound advice when it came to stopping the bloody ship!

Normandy could not sustain the kind of prolonged jump that Shepard needed. If she went any further than a few thousand more AU, her jump drive would either permanently fail—stranding them in the uncharted Black—or explode into a relativistic cloud of particles that would atomize the ship and everyone aboard her. If they didn’t drop into realspace soon, it wouldn’t matter if the Covenant found them or not, because they’d be too dead to appreciate it.

Tali sighed for a third time. “Mind the shop, okay?” she said. “I’m going to see the Commander.”

Ensign Lockett shook his head. “Good luck, Chief,” he said.

“I’ll need it,” the quarian agreed as the lift doors closed behind her.

In Normandy’s Combat Information Center, Commander Shepard stood, leaning against the star chart podium that defined the bridge structure. A turian design, the Normandy-class of Prowler was a joint effort between the two species. Sadly, the only ship of her class was the Normandy; no others had been built before Reach was hit.

Shepard was a hardened combat veteran; he’d cut his teeth over Ilium as an eighteen year old recruit aboard a frigate. He had earned a shrapnel wound across the face and a Bronze Star there. Shepard climbed the ranks faster than should have been possible by virtue of surviving, until he was captaining his own Prowler as part of Operation: RED FLAG, a black op intended to capture a Prophet to force the Covenant to make peace. Of course, RED FLAG was defunct now, by virtue of the fall of Reach.

Shepard had the 1800 to 2200 watch, one of the least desirable watch postings there was. He rubbed his eyes. It was nearing the end of his watch, and he was getting by on coffee alone. God help them if they ever ran out; the Navy lived on coffee.

“Commander Shepard.” An alien accented voice, modulated by a respirator, came from behind the weary Naval officer.

Shepard turned, bleary eyes focusing on his quarian Engineering Chief. “Tali,” he said. “I’ll take a guess; you want me to drop into realspace.”

“Yes, Commander. The strain the engine is under, she just can’t take it.” Like many quarians, Tali referred to machines as effeminate. “Commander, if we do not drop out of Slipspace, we will either die when the core explodes or be stranded and then die. I know why we have to run,” she said, “but the Normandy can only take so much.”

Shepard frowned. “How much more can you get out of her?”

Tali shook her head. “Perhaps a day. Maybe a few hours more if we’re very lucky, but no more than that.”

Shepard nodded. “Good. We only need a few hours more time in the Slipstream before we reach our drop point.” At Tali’s slumped shoulders, he said, “I know I’ve been asking a lot of you. My crew is one thing, they know the score, but you’re a civilian. If you can’t handle it, come talk to me about it, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you, Commander, but I’m alright. I like being alive as much as anyone else, and if Normandy can’t jump, the Covenant will find us. I can handle it. It’s just good to know we won’t die in Slipspace.”

“Stick around for a second.” Shepard turned to the Officer of the Deck. “OD, shipwide.”

“Yes sir.” The OD pulled up the Public Address system. A simulated Bosun’s Pipe trilled.

“Now hear this!” Shepard said. “We are due to translate from Slipspace sometime tomorrow. I know we’ve all been run pretty ragged. The supply situation isn’t good, and we don’t know if we’ve lost the Covenant or not. For all we know, they’ll be waiting for us when we drop.

“It doesn’t matter where you came from, who you are. Most of you are sailors or Marines. Some of you are civilians. I expect you all to do your duty to the best of your abilities. I won’t sell you a line of bullsh*t about Earth, or your own homeworlds for that matter. The war won’t be decided by a couple of ragged ships in the middle of border space. This is about survival.

“When we drop, be ready for anything, and I mean anything. Get some food in you, sleep if you can. I don’t know what we’ll walk into, but I want to be in fighting trim when we do.

“Lieutenant Alenko and Commander Vakarian, report to the bridge at your convenience. That is all.”

Shepard looked back at the engineer. “Will that be all, Tali?”

The quarian nodded vigorously. “Yes- I- I should get back to work.”

“Alright, dismissed. Keep her together, okay?”

“Of course, Commander.”

Not three minutes had passed before Marine Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko strode onto the bridge. A career Marine, he was also a biotic. He was accompanied by Garrus Vakarian, a turian soldier. He held the equivalent rank to Lieutenant in the turian Defense Forces, and had been one of the few turians on Reach when it fell. Along with a few others, he’d made it to the Normandy before they evacuated, and he was now the acting gunnery officer, owing to Chief Crowder taking some titanium-A spalling through his left pectoral.

“Captain,” Alenko said, saluting.

“Commander Shepard,” Garrus greeted. He imitated the gesture, none too well.

“Alenko, Garrus. Good. What’s the status of your Marines?”

“We’ve only got a few, plus Garrus and Wrex. We’ve still got plenty of ammo for the rifles, and if we run out we can use shaped chunks of metal from the machine shop.” Mass accelerator rifles used blocks of high-quality steel for ammunition. A microprocessor in the weapon would break chunks from the block, sized depending on the local gravity, atmospheric pressure, and air composition, jacket them in copper to reduce wear on the barrel, and fire it using magnetic coils, with a mico Mass Effect field used to reduce the effective mass of the projectiles. If they had to, they could resize spare metal in the machine shop and shoot that. “But we’ve only got so many rockets and rounds. Once they’re gone, we can’t replace them. Same goes for thermal clips.”

Misriah Armory’s MA5B was an old-style manual cooling rifle. Most modern weapons used disposable heat sinks called thermal clips, and had since the geth pioneered the technology in the 2100s. The MA5B broke that trend. Mostly issued to expeditionary forces that could not count on a steady supply of ammunition, the weapon was far less controllable, but hit like a bus and never needed to be reloaded. Other human weapons, like the M6 Magnum, still used chemical propellent and jacketed shot. The justification was simple; Mass Effect weapons were expensive, and you could get similar destructive force of a Carnifex heavy pistol with a Magnum round. The same logic applied to shotguns, and in part to the human sniper rifle. An added benefit was the ability to adequately suppress firearms. Mass accelerator weapons were difficult to optimize for suppressed shooting, being set for specific velocities. Gunpowder weapons just needed subsonic ammunition and a “can” for a threaded barrel.

“That’s fine. All I need is for you to be prepared for counterboarding operations. If the Covenant come aboard, Edie’s standing ready to wipe our nav computers.” Shepard looked around before lowering his voice. “I don’t expect to hold the ship if we’re boarded. We don’t have the numbers. All I’ll need is time to wipe the drives and get as many of the crew off the ship as possible. Can you do that?”

“Yessir,” Alenko confirmed.

Garrus shook his head. “I will never be used to your AI constructs, Commander,” the turian said. “No other Citadel race is allowed to construct them. It still amazes me you were allowed to keep building them.”

“Be glad we were,” was all Shepard had to say on the matter. Human AIs were the only Citadel technology that was superior to the Covenant brand. AIs consistently defeated Covenant computer probes and could react to enemy actions far faster than an organic being. Whenever human ships were present, Citadel fleets performed better than normal against their adversaries.

Garrus bowed his head slightly, conceding the point. “Do we have an exact destination, or are we just stopping for repairs?”

“As far as I know, Captain Keyes selected this datum point as a blind jump. It’s within range, but barely. We’ll probably dock with the Autumn before jumping again. It’s easier than repairing in flight, and I’m working Tali hard enough as it is.”

“Alright. I assume you’ll advise the crew when we arrive?”

Shepard crossed his arms. “A Slipspace translation is kind of hard to miss, Garrus. Dismissed.”

Below decks, Urdnot Wrex sat on a small crate. Slowly, methodically, he ran a bore snake down the barrel of his borrowed human assault rifle. While modern mass weapons were pretty good, the krogan found that he liked not needing to worry about swapping thermal clips. With the ship being so far from the lines of supply, the old krogan knew it was safer not to need to worry about ammo.

“Hey, Wrex,” a human voice said, pulling him from his calming reverie, “mind shifting your ass? Other people need that bench too.”

Turning slightly—krogan couldn’t exactly look over their shoulders—Wrex rumbled, “There’s other seats, y’know.”

“I know,” Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams said. “That one’s just closest to the lockers.” She unslung her weapon and cleared it, pulling the ammunition block out of the weapon and disabling the mass accelerators. “Come on, big guy, move a bit.”

Wrex made a rumbling noise in the back of his throat. “You are particularly annoying, human,” he said while shifting his bulk. He was almost finished anyway, but it never hurt to make one’s displeasure known.

“So I’ve been told, repeatedly.” The Marine began breaking down her weapon with a professionalism that Wrex begrudgingly appreciated. “Has that asari been up to anything lately?”

“Who, T’Soni?”

“Is there another asari on this tub I don’t know about?”

“No,” Wrex said, answering the first question. “She stays holed up in the medbay, the best I can tell. Between you and me, I don’t think she took Reach very well.”

“Between us and everyone else, you mean,” WIlliams scoffed. “She’s about as subtle as a brick.” Liara T’Soni was an asari xenoarchaeologist, specializing in the Forerunners. She’d been on loan to the Office of Naval Intelligence for reasons Wrex neither understood nor cared about. One of the few survivors of CASTLE Base, she’d made it to the Normandy as Reach finally fell. She looked to have fallen into a deep depression from it. Wrex huffed. It didn’t matter to him. His war wasn’t over yet, and wouldn’t be until he was dead.

Wrex was one of the only Battle Masters left alive. He lived for war. He hadn’t heard much from Tuchanka since the war had reached it, but that didn’t bother him that much. The krogan homeworld was a nuclear wasteland. There weren’t many better places to fight an enemy like the Covenant. If it had been glassed, it might have actually improved the state of the planet. Like all krogan, Wrex loved to fight, and it was always best to fight an enemy you could viscerally hate. The Covenant were fanatics that had killed millions of krogan; when yours was a people afflicted with a genophage, still paying for the actions of ancestors millennia old, you felt each loss keenly. Well, Wrex had a gun and he had his skills. He’d make the damned aliens pay in blood.

Wrex had lost any hope he’d had for the krogan as a race a long time ago after his pyjak of a father drew a gun on him; they were shortsighted and far too battle-hungry for their own good. The krogan had once valued honor, strength, and courage in battle. Now, all they valued was violence, violence for its own sake. It was pathetic. In his darker moments, Wrex wondered if the krogan deserved what they’d gotten, if they wouldn’t even try to save themselves.

The Battle Master snapped his weapon back together. “I’m gonna get some sleep,” he rumbled. Dealing with obstinate humans bored him.

“Fine by me. Just be ready tomorrow like the Commander said.”

“You don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

Williams shook her head as the krogan stalked off towards the segment of the cargo bay he called his own.

In the small space forward of the medbay she’d been allotted aboard a ship where volume was already at a premium, Liara T’Soni tapped away at a borrowed datapad. She’d lost her own in the hectic evacuation from Reach, but she had managed to save a memory stick with her research into the object beneath SWORD Base, current as of twenty-one days ago. Doctor Halsey had been convinced that their findings were potentially war-winning. While she didn’t particularly like Halsey, she did respect the woman’s skill in her various fields and understood that despite certain… moral lapses, she was an indisputable genius. Most of her activities were classified behind Section Zero-level clearance levels, but Liara was a smart cookie. She’d picked up enough chatter from other Doctors who’d been at ONI longer, and from Halsey herself, to piece together quite a bit. Halsey was known to have worked on the SPARTAN-II program, spearheaded it, really, but Liara had learned enough to not want to know more.

What they had found under the ice… Liara knew it could be very, very important. As far as she knew, Noble Six had delivered Cortana to the Pillar of Autumn personally, which meant that whatever Halsey had known, Cortana knew. That was comforting, but Liara believed in redundancy, hence why she had the data stick and her own memory.

Many asari remained skeptical of the war, even now. They thought it a human conflict that they just should have ignored. Liara knew better. The Covenant were aggressive recruiters, and their pitch was simple: join or die. The only species that probably would have agreed were the hanar; they already worshiped the Forerunners, after all, and they were just big, stupid jellyfish, as Commander Shepard had once referred to them. Of course, no one cared about the hanar anyway.

Liara didn’t pretend to be a soldier, even though she knew her way around a gun; ONI made their researchers requalify on a standard service pistol every year. She knew that the war was going badly, though. Reach had always been touted as the lynchpin of the UNSC’s defense perimeter; with mankind the largest remaining military power in the Citadel Alliance, the UNSC had taken an unprecedented role in the organization and direction of the Alliance’s defensive efforts. With Reach fallen…

“We can’t win,” Liara said aloud. Just thinking that defeat had been likely had been enough to deflate her once. Now, she knew it was inevitable.

Chapter 4: Interlude

Chapter Text

RED FLAG Personnel File: Shepard, John (99785-33412-JS)

Rank: Commander, UNSCN. UNSC Normandy (SR-1) commanding.

Psychological Profile: Shepard’s parents were career military. His father served ten years as a Marine, his mother twenty years as the captain of a frigate and retired as a Rear Admiral. He grew up in a disciplined household aboard one ship or another, which likely influenced his worldview. Shepard responds well to authority, but once his trust is broken, it takes more than an apology to regain it. By the same token, he is known to be willing to put his comrades’ lives before his own and is remarkably selfless, even by the standards of the Navy. However, he is entirely capable of putting the mission before individual considerations, as his record demonstrates.

Service History: Enlisted at age 18 in 2543 as enlisted personnel, and was assigned to the carrier UNSC Fistful of Silver. He was promoted from the ranks directly to Lieutenant Junior Grade in 2546 after taking command of a damage control effort in hard vacuum during action. During the Siege of Madrigal, Shepard took command of a company of Colonial Militia and held out against superior Covenant forces for nine hours, saving more than 4,000 civilian lives; he was promoted to Lieutenant and recommended to NAVSPECWAR-N7. Shepard passed N7 training on 5/9/2548. During a NAVSPECWAR operation against an Insurrectionist force on █████ six months later, Shepard lost three-quarters of the Marine company at his command, but captured a key Insurrectionist Archer missile platform that was impeding fleet assets from providing orbital support. A board of inquiry cleared Shepard of any wrongdoing; he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander shortly thereafter and assigned to the Navy’s prowler fleet.

After several years with N7, Shepard was promoted to Commander and given command of the prowler UNSC Charon’s Fare, and took part in several behind the lines operations against the Covenant, such as [FILE DATA LOST — CLASSIFIED NAVSPECWAR-N7] He was transferred to command the UNSC Normandy as part of Operation RED FLAG, effective 04/07/52.

Personal Remarks: Commander Shepard is a remarkably dedicated sailor. He earned a Colonial Cross for his actions at Madrigal, and his courage has never been in doubt. He has a commanding presence under fire and the ability to make difficult decisions in the heat of battle, often in situations with no projected positive outcomes. While a highly competent naval officer, Shepard’s talents were assessed to lie in the more unconventional side of the Navy’s business. Shepard has received training in naval warfare, infantry combat, asymmetrical warfare, and various other tactics and techniques. He has been noted to command impressive personal respect and loyalty from any crew he commands. He is also noted as being highly loyal to the UNSC, and was vocally critical of the Citadel Council. This “perfect storm” of an officer could win us the war if competently employed.

Filing Officer: Lieutenant Commander ███ ██████, Ph.D, M.D. UNSCN Medical Corps (Cleared, Level III.)

Chapter 5: The Pillar of Autumn

Chapter Text

19/9/2552 (UNSC military calendar)

“What is the point of colonizing worlds beyond what we need to survive? Simple. Mankind is not the only species in this galaxy. As the nation-states on Earth once competed for resources, land, and prestige, so now does the human race with the other races of Citadel space. Most already do not consider us as anything more than interesting pets, and many hold outright hostility towards us for our abnormally swift ascension to Council status. Everything humanity has achieved is due to our speedy expansion and constant military presence, along with good old-fashioned human ingenuity. Most of the Citadel races patterned their technology on Forerunner designs. Everything we have achieved, bar the Mass Relays, we have done ourselves. Slipspace, mass accelerators, artificial intelligence, even space travel itself, humanity developed all of it alone. We had no ruins to learn from, no leftover technology to build from. We were creative, and we took this galaxy by storm with that creativity. Alone, we are a threat. The Council knows that we are needed to keep their hold on the Milky Way because we are independent of the Forerunners. They believe they own us, and there may be truth to that perspective, but there will come a day that the galaxy is protected by human warships, not turian. Those who failed to understand humanity’s strength will rue that day, my friends.”

-Excerpt from a 2219 lecture series by former UNSC Admiral Nathan Prescott on humanity’s place in the universe—and only partially exaggerating.

Captain Jacob Keyes looked out the windows of the cruiser Pillar of Autumn’s bridge. “Cortana, all I need to know is did we lose them?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” a tart female voice replied, slightly distorted by the telltale warble of synthesized speech. The blue hologram of Cortana, the Autumn’s shipboard AI, floated in the holotank next to the main data screen.

“We made a blind jump. How did they-”

“Get here first?” Cortana interjected. “The Covenant’s ships have always been faster. As for tracking us all the way from Reach… at lightspeed, my maneuvering options were limited.”

A lie. Cortana had fed in deliberate coordinates—random enough to the causal observer, Threshold was a decidingly uninteresting world, but the choice was not uninspired. She’d elected to use coordinates gleaned from the Forerunner site beneath SWORD Base, both out of curiosity and out of the hope they would find something, anything, to turn the tide. Keyes, however, did not necessarily need to know that.

“We were running dark, yes?” Keyes asked, crossing to the ELINT console.

“Until we decelerated,” Cortana confirmed. “No one could have missed the hole we tore in sub-space. They were waiting for us on the far side of the planet.”

Keyes returned to the main screen. Pulling his pipe from his fatigue’s pocket, he lit up. Normally, he would never commit to such a breach of regulations, but they were well off script now, so why not? “So where do we stand?”

“Our fighters are mopping up the last of their recon pickets now, nothing serious, but I’ve isolated approach signatures from multiple CCS-class battlegroups. Normandy is in silent running and has confirmed three capital ships per group… and in about ninety seconds, they’ll be all over us.”

“Well, that’s it then,” Keyes sighed. “Bring the ship back up to Combat Alert Alpha, set Condition One. I want everyone at their stations.”

“Everyone, sir?”

“Everyone. And Cortana.”

“Mmm?”

“Let’s give our old friends a warm welcome.”

Cortana projected a predatory grin. “I’ve already begun.”

Wakefulness crept in slowly, painfully, as John’s eyes began to open. Cryogenics was an old technology, achieved before the discovery of slipspace but with a far too niche application to be realistically useful, and so remained little more than a scientific curiosity until the realities of long-distance space travel became obvious. Slipspace, and eventually the Mass Relays, made things easier, but cryo remained a staple technology of human military and civil astrovation. He found a naval rating in his field of vision as both his vision and the frosted over lid of the cryopod cleared. The clear glass lifted away.

“Sorry for the quick thaw, Master Chief,” the sailor said. The name tape on his fatigues read Shephard. His rank was Chief Petty Officer, based on his stripes. “Things are a little hectic right now. The disorientation should pass quickly.”

In the observation theater, another rating waved. “Welcome back, sir,” he said over the intercom. “We’ll have you battle-ready stat.”

The tech said something about “freezer-burn” as Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN-117 pushed himself out of the cryotube and onto the deckplates of the Pillar of Autumn. He stood at 218 centimeters in full armor and weighed 130 kilos without it, the weight of the suit adding 321 kilos to his weight. His boots clanked on the steel deck as the tech stared up at him in awe.

Normally, personnel went into cryo naked; covered skin reacted poorly to the cryo process. Short on time as Reach was abandoned, he had been frozen in full armor, and his skin burned and itched. He banished the pain from the front of his mind, a skill he had gained through experience and training.

The PA crackled. “Bridge to Cryo B, this is Captain Keyes. Send the Master Chief to the bridge immediately.”

“Captain, we’ll have the skip the weapons diagnostics and I-”

“On the double, crewman.” The Captain’s voice left no room for argument.

“Aye aye, sir.” Shephard turned to the Spartan. “The Skipper seems jumpy, we’d better get moving. We’ll find you weapons later.”

The Master Chief nodded. It didn’t concern him. He’d taken weapons from Covenant troops before.

The sound of plasma fire. “They’re trying to get through the door!” the tech in observation shouted. “Security! Intruders in Cryo B! No, please don’t-”

An Elite Major burst through the hatch and fired three pulses into the defenseless sailor’s chest. The Master Chief’s fists clenched. A fellow soldier was dead. The enemy was nearby, and he could not reach them.

“Sam! Sam!” the tech Chief shouted. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get the hell out of here!” Turning, he ran towards the hatch out of the cryo bay. The non-com had little choice but to follow. They ran down the corridor to another hatch. The sailor stood in front of it as the proximity sensor opened the door. Moments later, an explosion shredded him and drained the Master Chief’s shields by half.

MJOLNIR armor, the trademark of the Spartans, was part armor, part mech suit, part point defense system. Each suit was protected by a personal shield system reverse-engineered from the Covenant brand. Most soldiers had personal kinetic barriers, but that only worked on physical objects. Most Covenant weapons were energy-based, and their shields worked on energy weapons as well as kinetic weapons. In space, their shields were impervious to all but the heaviest mass accelerators, while their plasma torpedoes ignored kinetic barriers and burned through Titanium-A battleplate like tissue paper.

The Master Chief was very familiar with the design of a Halcyon- class cruiser. He reversed course and vaulted over a set of pipes set as a maintenance point along the bulkhead. As he moved through the hatch on the opposite side, he saw sailors trying to escape the Covenant. An airtight bulkhead closed across the corridor, locking the Covenant out as well as acting to compartmentalize the ship. Any depressurization would not spread.

The Spartan kept moving. Still lacking a weapon, he made his way from firefight to firefight, moving towards the bridge. Cortana was constantly giving orders over the PA, coordinating the counterboarding effort. He stopped before a hatch to allow it to open. As it did, he saw the light blue armor of an Elite Minor.

The alien roared a challenge. Lacking a weapon and knowing the range was too short for the alien to use his own, the Spartan prepared to meet the Elite’s attack. Before it could charge, a storm of 7.62mm bullets rained down on the alien’s shields and forced it back behind another hatch, which sealed behind it. “Chief, Cortana says get to the bridge, double quick!” a Marine shouted to him. The Spartan nodded his thanks and went on his way.

He came to an intersection where a group of Marines and a few sailors with pistols were engaging a group of Covenant in a firefight. “Sir!” a Marine PFC called. “The Captain needs you on the bridge ASAP! Better follow me.”

Grateful for the escort, the Spartan nodded and kept his head down. No sense getting shot at all, even if you had shields. The PFC led him through a makeshift CCP that the Marines had set up in one of the mess halls. They moved fast, staying out of the overworked corpsman’s way as he moved from man to man. The opposite door opened into another firefight, the Marine calling, “Get clear, Chief!” and firing a long burst from his rifle. The Spartan moved, somehow avoiding being hit and reaching the bridge. “Captain Keyes is waiting for you, sir,” the Marine said before jogging back towards the fight.

The Spartan walked up the left hand bridgewing and came to attention behind the Captain. “Captain Keyes,” he said.

Keyes turned around. “Good to see you, Master Chief.” He shook the Spartan’s hand. “Things aren’t going well. Cortana did her best, but we never really had a chance.”

The holotank flickered back to life, and Cortana’s avatar blinked into existence. “A dozen superior Covenant battleships against a single Halcyon- class cruiser… Given those odds, I’m content with three-” She looked away slightly, as though distracted. “-make that four kills.” She turned to the Master Chief. “Sleep well?”

“No thanks to your driving, yes.”

“So you did miss me.”

The ship was rocked by an impressively large explosion. “Damage report!” Keyes barked.

“I’m reading decompressions on decks nine, ten, and eleven. It must have been one of their boarding parties! I’d guess an antimatter charge.”

“Ma’am!” the Fire Control Officer shouted. “Fire control for the main cannon is offline!”

The Magnetic Accelerator Cannon was based on a relatively old concept dating back hundreds of years to the first experimental coilguns produced on Earth. They (and their counterparts used during early colonization, Mass Drivers) used magnetic principles to accelerate projectiles to speeds unattainable with conventional chemical propellants. The discovery of Mass Effect physics had transitioned humanity from using purely electromagnets to Mass Effect generators to enhance the effect. The MAC relied on asynchronous Magnetic Linear Accelerators in conjunction with a Mass Effect field generator to accelerate an eleven ton ferro-tungsten projectile to 4% of lightspeed. The gun aboard the Autumn had amped capacitor cells, allowing it to recycle five times faster than a standard MAC. Most naval coilguns, like the Onager or 50mm Rampart MLA autocannons, functioned on the same principles, if on a much smaller scale. Aboard MAC vessels, the main gun ran the length of the ship.

Cortana crossed her arms. “Captain, the cannon was my last offensive option!”

“Alright then,” Keyes said. “I’m initiating Cole Protocol, Article II. We’re abandoning the Autumn. That means you, too, Cortana.”

“While you do what? Go down with the ship?” Cortana demanded, incredulous.

“In a manner of speaking.” Keyes motioned with his pipe. “The object we found, I’m going to try to land the Autumn on it.”

“With all due respect, this war has enough dead heroes.”

“I appreciate the concern, Cortana, but it’s not up to me. The Protocol is clear. Destruction or capture of a shipboard AI is absolutely unacceptable, and that means you’re leaving ship. Lock in a selection of emergency landing zones, upload them to my neural lace, and sort yourself for a hard transfer.”

“Aye aye, sir.” As Cortana’s avatar disappeared, the Chief noted that she’d seemed almost choked up.

Keyes turned to the Spartan. “Which is where you come in, Chief. Get Cortana off this ship. Keep her safe from the enemy. If they capture her, they'll learn everything. Force deployment, weapons research… Earth.”

“I understand,” the Master Chief replied.

Cortana’s avatar flickered back into being. “The Autumn will continue evasive maneuvers until you initiate a landing sequence. Not that you'll listen, but I'd suggest letting my subroutines handle the final approach.”

“Excellent work, Cortana,” Keyes said. “Thank you. Are you ready?”

Cortana took a look around the bridge. In many ways, the Autumn was her body, and being separated from it could be… uncomfortable. “Yank me.”

Keyes tapped a few controls and ejected a data disk from the console, which he handed to the Master Chief along with his sidearm. “Good luck, Master Chief.”

The Spartan slotted the chip into his helmet. There was a sensation like mercury dripping down his spine, a feeling he was familiar with. He and Cortana had worked together on Reach, before the battle. “Hmm,” Cortana said from within his mind. “Your architecture isn’t much different from the Autumn’s.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas.”

CIC, UNSC Normandy (SR-1)

“You can’t be serious,” Shepard said.

“Wish I wasn’t,” Joker said, “but you can see for yourself, Commander.”

Shepard could. On the main holotank, a highly detailed model of the Pillar of Autumn hung suspended in motes of light, venting short-lived flame and atmosphere into the Black. Seraph fighters buzzed about the cruiser like moths circling a flame. It was a depressing picture. Not only was the Autumn their only real combat ship, there was a Spartan aboard. Maybe the last Spartan, if the rumor mill was to be believed.

“Commander,” Edie’s smooth female voice intoned. “FLASH transmission from Captain Keyes’ neural lace. He intends to crash-land the Pillar of Autumn on the ringworld construct orbiting Threshold. He is requesting a status report on the Normandy’s slipspace capability.”

Shepard punched his earpiece. “Tali!” he demanded. “I need a SITREP on our jump drive yesterday!”

“We cannot jump, Commander!” Tali’s frantic voice filtered through her earpiece. “No, put it there, you bosh’tet!” she shouted at one of the men in her division. Something hissed and a loud bong reached Shepard’s ears in the background. “The passive charge capacitors are overloaded, and the drive’s particle accelerator is out of alignment. It looks like some of the components are melted, and we didn’t take on spares before leaving Reach.” She hesitated. “We’re stranded here, Commander.”

Shepard rubbed his eyes. “sh*t,” he muttered.

The Pillar of Autumn was not a small ship. She measured 1.7 kilometers, with a width of 352 meters and a height of 398 meters, with a mass of nine million metric tons of steel and Titanium-A battleplate. She had been assembled in the Reyes-McLee Orbital Shipyards over Mars in 2510; like all spacefaring craft, her service life was measured in the decades. She could travel between stars with her slipspace drive or use a Mass Relay for nearly instant transmission between relay locations. One place she had never been intended to fly, though, was the gravity well of a planet. Her crew had evacuated aboard Bumblebee lifeboats, the handful of Pelicans to escape the hangars before the cruiser entered the atmosphere, and in the case of the ship’s complement of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, the 216 SOEIV drop pods she came equipped with. All plummeted towards the surface of the ringworld, accompanied by a cloaked Prowler. The Bumblebees landed almost at random across the exposed surface of the ringworld, while the drop pods landed in a specified LZ chosen before the pods had been released. A single BLACK WIDOW microsat had been deployed by the Normandy during the approach vector, and combined with the powerful sensor suite loaded on the command SOEIV, the ODSTs had a very good idea of what the conditions on the ground were before they landed. The Helljumpers belonged to Major Antonio Silva, commanding officer of the Autumn’s ODST contingent. His pod fell towards the ring ahead of the rest; ODST doctrine stated that officers should be among the first on the ground. This was in service of a few reasons; first, and most practical, was the fact that officers needed to be on the site fast to organize a disorderly situation; second was the deeply-held belief that officers should lead, rather than follow. Someone popped a disk into a reader and pressed the PLAY button, pushing the hyped-up strains of the ODST anthem across the airwaves as the pods burned towards the surface.

The command pod contained Silva and Wellesley, the regimental Virtual Intelligence required to operate the highly advanced sensors aboard the drop pod. He had a male persona, programmed after the Duke of Wellington of Napoleonic fame. Wellesley was a Class-C military VI, and while not a true AI like Cortana, all of his functions were related solely to military applications. This made him rather useful, if a tad narrow-minded.

“So,” Wellesley continued as though a particularly rough patch of turbulence had not previously cut him off, “based on the telemetry available from space, plus my analysis, it appears that the structure tagged as HS-2604 will meet your needs.” His tone changed as a conversational subroutine kicked in. “Perhaps you would like to call it ‘Gawilghur’ after the fortress I captured in India?”

“Thanks,” Silva croaked as the pod inverted, “but no thanks. First: You didn’t take the fortress, Wellington did. Second: There weren’t any computers in 1803. Third: None of my troops would be able to pronounce ‘Gawilghur.’ The designation ‘Alpha Base’ will do just fine.”

The VI issued a passable stand-in for a human sigh. “Very well, then. As I was saying, ‘Alpha Base’ is located at the top of this butte.” A satellite image appeared on the screen centimeters away from Silva’s nose, showing a group of structures. They had probably been set up by the Covenant—or whoever had owned this ring to start. The butte was tall enough to offer the high ground advantage, and the sheer cliff faces would force any attacker onto a few mountain paths or to come in by air—perfect targets for the battalion’s rocket teams.

“It looks good. I like it.”

“I thought you might,” Wellesley replied. “There is one little problem, though.”

“What’s that?” Silva shouted over the roar of the atmosphere on his pod’s skin.

“The Covenant owns this particular piece of real estate,” the VI blithely informed him, “and if we want it, we’ll have to take it.”

Chapter 6: Interlude

Chapter Text

RED FLAG Personnel File: Alenko, Kaidan A. (11098-34487-KA)

Rank: Lieutenant, UNSC Marine Corps

Service History: Alenko enlisted in the Marine Corps at age seventeen on parental permission. He was offered employment by the Office of Naval Intelligence as part of their Tactical Biotic Applications program, “Sentinel” (now defunct), but declined and applied for Officer Cadet School, passing in the top of his class. He served as infantry during the Battle of Horizon, and was awarded a Distinguished Service Cross for gallantry in action. Alenko led a squad of Marines to break through Covenant ground troops and reactivate local GARDIAN laser defense towers, which destroyed a Covenant cruiser in low orbit. This allowed dropships to ferry 1,297 more people off-planet to evacuation ships. Following two tours of duty as a Fleet Marine aboard the cruiser UNSC Ides of March, Alenko was assigned to the Prowler UNSC Normandy (SR-1) due to his perceived mission compatibility with Commander Shepard, commanding officer of Normandy.

Psychological Profile: Lieutenant Alenko is motivated by his conscience. He is loyal to the UNSC, but made it clear that this loyalty was conditional on the UNSC upholding certain principles. However, he has stated that he holds no regard for Insurrectionists as anything beyond terrorists, and considers their actions against civilians to be reprehensible. Lieutenant Alenko is also a biotic, and was implanted with the L5 Neural Interface at the age of nine.

Personal remarks: Typical for a Marine, Alenko is very loyal, receptive to authority, but able to take the initiative without any concern. His combat ability is beyond question, but he does seem to have difficulty making tactical decisions that would place others in overwhelming danger. He personally stated that he would prefer to go himself in such a situation. While the sentiment is commendable, Lieutenant Alenko needs to better understand the role of an officer.

Filing Officer: Lieutenant Commander ███ ██████, Ph.D, M.D. UNSCN Medical Corps (Cleared, Level III).

Chapter 7: Halo

Chapter Text

19/9/2552

Bumblebee escape pod, above Halo

“As per Naval Code 45812, you are hereby conscripted into the UNSC Special Project codenamed SPARTAN II. You have been called upon to serve. You will be trained . . . and you will become the best we can make of you. You will be the protectors of Earth and all her colonies. This will be hard to understand, but you cannot return to your parents. This place will become your home. Your fellow trainees will be your family now. The training will be difficult. There will be a great deal of hardship on the road ahead, but I know you will all make it. Rest now. We begin tomorrow.”

-Doctor Catherine Elizabeth Halsey to the class of SPARTAN-II trainees. Average age: six.

“We’re coming in too fast!”

The Bumblebee burned in through the atmosphere of the ringworld. The Master Chief and ten Marines were crammed in like sardines. Bumblebees weren’t meant to be comfortable; they were meant to get a certain number of men from a doomed ship to the nearest ship or planet in a hurry. It was also an uncomplicated craft. That meant that normally, it was hard to break, but when something did go wrong, it could spell doom for everyone aboard. “Damn! Airbrake failure!” the pilot cried. “They blew too early!” The lifeboat bounced on the thermals and hit the ground hard. The Master Chief felt his head hit the inside rim of his helmet before darkness descended.

“Chief? Chief! Can you hear me?”

The Spartan’s eyes opened, and he found himself staring into the overhead light panels. They flickered and sparked, damaged in the crash. “Yes, I can hear you,” he replied. “There’s no need to shout.”

“Oh, really?” the AI snapped. “Maybe you’d like to file a complaint with the Covenant. The crash triggered a lot of radio traffic, and it’s my guess that the welcome wagon is on the way.”

The Master Chief gained his feet and retrieved his assault rifle, a venerable MA5B. His sidearm, the M6D Magnum Captain Keyes had given him, was buckled at his waist. “The others…” Cortana continued. “The impact… there’s nothing we can do.” The crash had shredded the Marines’ unprotected frames. No one else had survived.

Mourning could come later. The Spartan scrounged ammunition from the fallen, trying not to think about where the supplies were coming from. He was checking a sling of four frag grenades when Cortana piped up. “Warning: I've detected multiple Covenant dropships on approach. I recommend moving into those hills. If we're lucky, the Covenant will believe that everyone aboard this lifeboat died in the crash.”

The Master Chief took her warning to heart and began moving. He crossed a bridge made of chrome metal with inlaid blue lights, similar to the handful of Forerunner structures he had seen. Beneath it, a river ended in a towering waterfall. Other than the bridge, the landscape looked natural, not unlike what the Master Chief was familiar with from his training on Reach. The advanced design of the ringworld itself, the composite materials that seemed to have been fused into the cliff face… it spoke to Forerunner designs.

The non-com filed the thought away as Cortana said, “Alert! Covenant dropship inbound! They must be looking for survivors. I recommend immediate evasion.”

Sliding into cover behind a large boulder, the Master Chief upped his visor’s magnification as a tuning fork-shaped Spirit-class dropship lowered towards the ground. The Spirit had two troop bays on either “arm” of the fork-shaped assembly. It also had a plasma cannon mounted beneath the co*ckpit. It was also very well armored, and with nothing heavier than a few grenades, the Spartan had no chance of disabling it. Two Banshees, the Covenant’s versatile atmospheric fighter and attack aircraft, circled above it. While slow and fragile, they were armed with twin-linked plasma cannons and a fuel rod gun. Their antigrav engines produced a distinctive howl, which had led Citadel troops to coin their nickname. While less than perfect against other aircraft, the Banshee was hell on exposed vehicles and infantry. They had to go.

Lacking a surface-to-air missile system, the Spartan fell back on old standards. He stepped from cover, intentionally baiting the Banshees toward him. One of the pilots turned his craft on a dime, plasma cannons flashing as he bore down towards the lone human. The Master Chief brought up his rifle, took a slight lead, and opened fire. The MA5B used a large block of steel for ammunition, which the weapon sheared off to create 7.62mm armor piercing rounds. Unlike many modern weapons, it did not use thermal clips, and could fire sixty rounds straight before initiating a cooling flush. The tradeoff was stiff recoil, the need to closely manage heat, and slightly reduced range when compared to other versions of the platform that used thermal clips.

The superhardened slugs annihilated the thin armor of the flier and eviscerated the Elite pilot within. The aircraft fell from the sky wreathed in blue flames to crash into the cliff face before falling into the chasm to disappear. The other Banshee circled higher, out of range. Having seen what happened to his friend, he clearly wanted no part of the Spartan. Satisfied that the aerial threat was mitigated, the noncom turned his attention to the Covenant ground troops. The Spirit had dropped off a number of Grunts and a couple of Elites. Having heard the shots, they began rushing the bridge. Closest was a section of Grunts. He would deal with them first.

The pistol Captain Keyes had given him was an M6D, an upsized variant of the standard issue Magnum. It was equipped with a smart-linked 2X zoom scope in the slide above the barrel that connected to the Heads-Up Display of the user. While not designed for the role, in the hands of an expert it could reach out and touch someone. Activating the scope, the Chief aimed for the last of the Grunts; even if they turned to run, he would still have a crack at the rest. Twelve shots sounded, and seven Grunts tumbled.

Slamming a fresh magazine into the pistol, the noncom set his sights on the Elite leading the other group of Grunts. He fired seven rounds, and the Elite staggered and fell.

Satisfied that his flank was reasonably secure, the Master Chief reloaded, set the pistol’s safety, and returned it to its holster before moving out. Passing a copse of trees, he caught a blip of motion on his motion tracker and spun to engage. Several Elites charged him, plasma rifles crashing. A blue bolt of energy shot past his helmet and struck the boulder behind him, molten rock sizzling on his shields. The Spartan returned fire, putting sixty rounds into the first Elite he saw. As the rifle overheated, he backed around the boulder. The cooling vanes opened and the boiling internal working of the weapon hissed as liquid coolant rushed through the magnetic accelerators. Rounding the boulder again, he opened fire on a very surprised Elite. The rounds whittled away his shield, and one entered the slit of the alien’s helmet and blew the back of his head out. As the Elite slid nervelessly to the deck, the Spartan checked for more threats. A bellow caught his attention and he whirled to find a red-armored Elite Major to his rear, carrying a plasma rifle. It fired, and his shields depleted dangerously. An alarm whined.

The Spartan retreated, firing short bursts and finally bringing the Elite down. He stood and breathed for a moment. How had the alien gotten past him?

The answer was swift in coming. The Spartan was used to having other troops around him, be they Marines or other Spartans, to cover his flanks. Currently, he was alone. He nodded to himself. This would require a major shift in his tactics.

The thud of weapons fire brought a new direction to the Spartan’s movement. Perhaps he wouldn’t be alone for long.

UNSC Normandy (SR-1), 1200 meters AGL

Concurrently

“… is Fireteam Charlie! We are surrounded and need immediate assistance! Any UNSC assets in the area, please respond!”

Shepard sighed. This was the fifth distress call the Normandy had received in the past ten minutes, all from scattered lifeboats. The Prowler had contacted a scratch squadron of Pelican dropships and Major Silva’s ODST battalion, and was acting as a comm relay for the ground-pounders. The Pelican assigned to SAR, Echo-419, was vectored to and from the lifeboat LZs by Normandy’s nav team while COMMO coordinated air strikes and resupply runs for Silva’s assault on the butte. The Pelicans had only what the ground crews kept on the aircraft, which came down to full loads for the 70mm Mass Accelerator autocannons. No rocket pods, and no Widowmaker ATGMs. They also had limited fuel for the birds, so when they were out, they were out.

“This is really bad,” Alenko said.

Gunny Williams was less articulate. “A clusterf*ck of epic proportions, you mean.”

“We’re alive,” Shepard countered. “As long as we stay that way, we’ve got a chance. Foehammer could use some help with CSAR. Alenko, Williams, and Vakarian, report to the well deck. Take the Marines with you, and use the Mako to scout for survivors.”

“Yessir!” Alenko said. The two Marines saluted and left the bridge.

In the cargo bay of the UNSC Normandy rode a single vehicle; the M35 Mako Infantry Fighting Vehicle. A replacement of the Bison, the Mako was EVA capable with full life support, doubling as an excursion rover on uncharted worlds. It was equipped with a 30mm twin-barreled Mass Accelerator autocannon and a 155mm recoilless rifle on a rotating turret, a limited point-thrust maneuvering system, and kinetic barriers. It was also capable of carrying up to ten passengers and three crew, and could keep pace with most other UNSC vehicles.

“Marines, listen up!” Alenko called. Assembled in the well deck were two fireteams of Marines, eight men including himself and Williams. Vakarian had been ordered along as well, and Wrex had simply added himself to the roster. “Here’s the skinny; the Pillar of Autumn is out of the fight. She’s hard aground dirtside, but most of the crew got off her before she hit. Major Silva is engaged in a major operation to take some defensible real estate from the Covenant, but the crew that got out in lifeboats are stranded in the boonies with no support. Our job is to go find them.

“We’ve got a BLACK WIDOW satellite running thermal sweeps of the area, and a Pelican on station to CASEVAC any survivors we find or provide on-tap CAS if we need it. Callsign is Echo-four-nineteen, so keep your ears on. Once we find a lifeboat, check for survivors and call in Foehammer. Clear?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

Alenko nodded, satisfied. “Load up and prepare for a hard drop. If you bite your tongue off, don’t come crying to me.” The joke was met with minimal amusem*nt; the sad fact was, that exact scenario had played out a few times.

The rear hatch of the well deck slid open. “Good luck, ground-pounders!” Joker said over the intercom. “Y’all work too damn hard…”

And the Mako was falling.

At the controls, the driver expertly fired short bursts from the thruster pack to keep the vehicle correctly oriented. It fell the kilometer to the deck in less than a minute, defining “rapid deployment” for vehicles of its type. Only Makos could withstand such a deployment. At fifty meters AGL, the driver fired the thrust pack at a sustained burn, decelerating the IFV to two meters per second, an easily survivable velocity. The Mako then landed on its six tires, suspension system negating the kinetic impact of the landing to negligible levels. Satisfied that the IFV was securely on the ground, the driver shifted to surface travel and began beelining towards the nearest beacon signal, a klick to the arbitrary “south.” The Mako bounced over rocks and small hills through the valley as it lumbered toward the humans the men inside sought to save.

As it turned out, the shots had not been far away at all. After clambering down a short drop, the Master Chief rounded a bend in the canyon to find a squad of Marines engaged with a Covenant assault team. The group consisted of several Grunts, a few Jackals with energy shields, and two Elites to command. They were pressing hard on the Marines that had holed up in a large structure in the middle of a clearing. Periodically, it fired a beam of azure energy into the sky. Was it a weapon? A signal? The Spartan banished the thought and prepared to engage. At this range, he might have preferred a battle rifle or DMR. As it was, all he had was the Magnum, which he drew and aimed. The enemy was not expecting the sudden flank, and when the boom of pistol shots rolled across the lightly wooded slope, they were completely unprepared. From his position, the Master Chief had chosen to target the Jackals first. They were unable to react and turn their shields fast enough, and they screamed and died. Reloading, he then targeted the Grunts. Twelve shots were fired, and ten Grunts fell dead.

The remaining aliens, a few Grunts and the Elites, spun to engage the Spartan. The range was long, which gave him a few precious seconds to holster the Magnum and bring up his assault rifle. The weapon spat and cut down the remaining Grunts. He switched his attention to the Elites.

The first alien roared a challenge and fired its plasma rifle. Plasma bolts dissipated on the Spartan’s armor, and he returned fire. As the rifle overheated, the Elite dropped. The other Elite charged. Caught on the cooling flush, the Spartan dropped the rifle and met the alien’s attack. It swung the plasma rifle like a club.

The Spartan caught the weapon with his left hand and turned it, the force snapping the Elite’s wrist. Before the alien could do more than warble a scream, the Master Chief had drawn a combat knife and jammed the blade between the Elite’s neck plates. Leaking purple ichor, it crumpled, clutching at the wound before the Spartan aimed the plasma rifle at its owner’s head and fired.

The Marines trotted out into the open. Several fanned out, holding security, as a Staff Sergeant walked up to the Spartan. The Master Chief recognized him; Avery J. Johnson was one of the few non-Spartans he trusted implicitly, and easily the most talented and dependable Marine he knew.

Thirty years ago, he had also taught John what it meant to be a leader.

“Thank God you’re here, Master Chief!” a Marine the Spartan’s HUD identified as PVT M. BISENTI said. “I thought we were in real trouble.”

“Where’s your CO, Private?” the Master Chief asked.

In response, the Marine waved Johnson over. “It’s a mess, Chief,” the veteran Sergeant said. “We’re scattered all over this valley.” He lowered his voice. “We called for evac, but until you showed up, I thought we were cooked.”

“Don’t worry,” Cortana said through the MJOLNIR suit’s external speakers. “We’ll stay here until evac arrives. I’ve been in touch with VI Wellesley and Edie aboard the Normandy. Major Silva and his ODSTs are in the process of taking some Covenant real estate, and we’ve got Search and Rescue en route.”

“Glad to hear it,” Johnson said. “Some of my people need medical attention.”

“Covenant dropship, incoming!” a Marine shouted. “Time to roll out the welcome mat!”

“Okay, Bisenti,” Johnson barked, “re-form the squad! Let’s get to work!”

Sure enough, a lone Spirit was performing a combat landing up-spin of the structure. The Marines took cover and laid down suppressing fire on a file of Jackals, supported by a mob of Grunts and commanded by four Elites. The Jackals locked shields like a Greek phalanx, armor piercing slugs ricocheting from the arcs of plasma. The Master Chief pulled a fragmentation grenade from his webbing and thumbed the arming slide. He lobbed the explosive device into the gaggle of Jackals. One looked down and hissed a warning, far too late. The grenade exploded, spraying chunks of dirt and meat across a five meter radius.

With the Jackal threat mitigated, the Master Chief refocused on the Elites. His armor gave him the ability to engage them on even footing, so he would leave the Grunts to the Marines. Drawing his assault rifle, the Spartan moved in, firing four- and five-round bursts into the first Elite he saw. The rounds ate away the alien’s shield, and six rounds made it through. It screamed and died.

The Spartan thumbed the manual cooling catch and refreshed the mass accelerators just as an Elite Major crested the small rise ahead of him. The rifle refreshed, he brought it to his shoulder and held down the trigger. Between the recoil mitigation technology built into the weapon, his armor, and his own augmented strength, he was able to keep the rifle on target for thirty continuous rounds.

The effect was decisive. The alien’s shield melted away. To his credit, he fired a long burst from his plasma rifle, and every pulse landed on target. The Spartan’s shield indicator pushed into the red and an alarm whined. Cursing under his breath, the Master Chief opened fire again and finally cut the Elite down.

Turning, he was pleasantly surprised to find the third Elite to be already dead to the concentrated fire of three Marines and found the final alien. Drawing his M6D, he set his sights on the Elite and emptied the magazine. The hand cannon thundered, and the Elite fell dead.

The humans were left with a moment of breathing room, but no more than a moment. “Look sharp! Covenant dropship on approach! I could use some help over here!” a Marine called over SQUADCOM.

Sure enough, a second dropship had deployed a fresh Covenant squad into the fight, in the field east of the Marines. It was a good plan, allowing the aliens to flank the entrenched human force. There was only one problem: the Master Chief was in a perfect position to flank their assault. He waited for the Jackals to deploy before laying down fire along their shield wall into their unprotected sides. They fell like ninepins, and he flushed the rifle before going to work on the Grunts and Elites. They barely had time to clear the dropship before two grenades scythed them down.

“Uh-oh, another bandit droppin' in behind us!” the same Marine called. “They're tryin' to flank us!”

The next Spirit was coming in from the rear of the Marines, laying down fire with its ventral plasma cannon. A few Marines returned fire, but were cut down in seconds. The troop bays opened and the Covenant infantry piled out, but before they could form up, a volley of hand grenades from the Marines blew massive holes in the unit. A “Mad Minute” of automatic fire was enough to finish off the rest.

“Alert! I detect two more dropships inbound from down-spin,” Cortana said. “I recommend retreating into the structure-”

Both dropships simply exploded and crumpled in on themselves, falling, wreathed in blue flames, from the air.

“Or, the problem could sort itself out,” the AI said.

“Unidentified UNSC forces, this is Lieutenant Alenko of the UNSC Normandy. I have twelve men and a Mako. We are on station to assist. How copy, over?”

“This is Fireteam Charlie. We read you loud and clear,” Cortant replied. “Be advised: We have survivors, some of whom are in a very bad way and need transport to the Command Shuttle.”

“Roger that. We’re working with Echo-419 for bus runs. We’ll send your position, and she’ll be along in a minute.”

“Tango Mike, Lieutenant. Fireteam Charlie out.”

Within a few minutes, a Mako IFV dropped down from the cliff edge, point-thrust boosters burning in short bursts to decelerate the vehicle. It landed hard, rocking on its suspension. Several Marines, joined by a turian and a krogan, dismounted and held security around the vehicle as their CO moved towards the Spartan. His suit read as LT. K. ALENKO. “It’s good to see you, Master Chief,” the Marine said. “Commander Shepard’s gonna be pleased you made it groundside.”

“What’s the status of the Normandy, Lieutenant?” Cortana asked.

“She’s cloaked in high orbit, monitoring the situation and passing intel to our boys on the ground. We’ve been tasked to run CSAR with Echo-419 until further notice.”

“Excellent,” Johnson said.

“Look!” a Marine called.

The Master Chief followed his gaze to see more lifeboats falling. “More lifeboats!” Cortana said unnecessarily. “They're coming in fast. If those lifeboats make it down, the Covenant are going to be right on top of them.” To Alenko, the AI said, “Lieutenant, we’re going to have to commandeer your Mako. The Master Chief and I are going to see if we can save some soldiers.”

“Fine by me, Master Chief. No man left behind.” Alenko waved at his vehicle. “I’ll head back with these Marines. Take my squad. Gunny Williams is my second, she’s dependable. That’s Garrus Vakarian, turian sniper, and Urdnot Wrex, krogan Battle Master.”

The Spartan nodded. He hadn’t expected aliens, but he’d worked with other Citadel races before, including Spectres and the salarian Special Tasks Group. “So,” the turian said. “You’re a Spartan.”

“I’ve heard about your kind, human,” the krogan said. “Hope you’re up to the challenge.”

The Marine Sergeant, presumably Williams, shot the krogan a dirty look. “Show some respect, Wrex. That’s the Master Chief you’re talking to.” The krogan merely huffed, but Vakarian’s jaw clearly widened at the title. “I’m Gunny Williams. The ell-tee said that we belong to you for now.”

“That’s right,” the Spartan said. “Mount up. Cortana can push the lifeboat locations to the Mako’s HUD.”

The Marine driver got out of the Spartan’s way. “All yours, Master Chief,” he said. “Probably do a better job than me.”

Following the navpoint, the Spartan spun the wheel and stepped on the pedal. The IFV shot off down the slope. It bounced over several dips in the terrain, the turret gunner whooping as they pitched and jumped over the terrain.

Cortana set a navpoint at the bottom of the slope. The Master Chief followed it down to a sheer cliff face, halting when he was faced with naught but bare rock. He turned his viewpoint to either side, pausing when he saw an opening in the rock, lined with chrome metal and blue lights. “This cave is not a natural formation,” Cortana said, stating the obvious. “Someone built it… so it must lead somewhere.”

There was no better way around, and using the tunnel could shave valuable time off of the trip to the lifeboats. Turning the Mako, the Chief drove inside.

“I've hacked into the Covenant battlenet,” Cortana said. “They're actually broadcasting tactical data on unencrypted channels! We should show them who they're dealing with. Master Chief, I'm going to use your suit's cross-com system to monitor their chatter.”

The Spartan was somewhat surprised. Usually, the Covenant, while deficient in electronic warfare, was smart enough to use basic ELINT defenses. They couldn’t stop human AIs, but they could buy time and make their lives more difficult. Whoever was in charge of the enemy troops here was either incompetent or reckless.

The tunnels were deserted, which suited the Master Chief well. Coming to an unexplained break in the road, the Spartan shrugged and without slowing down, activated the Mako’s jumpjets. The IFV made the jump with meters of room for error, landing with a hard crash on the other side. Following the road further, he reached a large, open space. Halting the vehicle, he used the driver’s optics to examine the situation. He could see several Elites and Jackals patrolling. There was also a gaggle of Grunts waiting for orders. He grinned. “Marines!” he barked. “Be ready to disembark. Williams, I want you focusing your fire on the Elites, clear?”

“Copy that, Master Chief,” the Gunnery Sergeant said, eyes glued to the turret optics.

The Spartan gunned the engine and raced the IFV down the slope. Williams laid on the trigger, pouring supersonic slugs into alien bodies. An Elite folded in half, his shields melting away under a twenty round burst. Another roared a challenge and fired a long burst from his plasma rifle. The Mako’s armor heated, and Willaims swung the gun and fired a long burst. The Elite screamed and grabbed at his own entrails. He managed to catch them before he died.

The Master Chief dismounted with the Marines, leaving Williams on the gun. The cannon snarled several bursts as the Marines broke into two squads; the first stayed near the Mako acting as a blocking force, led by Vakarian. The other moved towards the small structure adjacent to the right hand wall and cleared out the Covenant forces there. The Master Chief returned to the Mako and maneuvered it so Williams could effectively cover him. He’d taken a look at the chasm ahead of them, and assumed that there had to be a control to deploy a bridge or some other method of transportation. Dismounting by the structures, he looked around. There was no sign that any of the light panels, which glowed a soft blue-white, were anything more than decor. He again surveyed his surroundings and spied a break in the wall.

Approaching the doorway, the Spartan led with his rifle barrel. Padding up the metal ramp, he turned the corner and ran directly into an Elite Major. The alien warbled a challenge and fired. In one smooth movement, the Master Chief drew, primed, and dropped a frag grenade before rolling back down the incline. The alien had enough time to warble in surprise before the grenade exploded.

The Spartan turned the corner, rifle up. Satisfied that the way was clear, he advanced to a control panel. He slung the assault rifle and examined the panel. It was clearly Forerunner in origin. The display consisted of a pair of slim, glowing orbs suspended above a roughly rectangular frame of matte blue alloy. Above the frame was an eclectic collection of holographic displays, though there was no visible projection device. The geometric patterns of the display nagged at him, like a memory he’d forgotten. Even with his enhanced memory informing him that he had not seen such a panel before, the patterns just seemed… familiar.

He extended a finger towards one of the symbols, a blue-green circle. The Spartan expected his finger to meet nothing more than air. To his surprise, the digit met resistance, and the panel’s lights began to pulse rapidly.

“What did you do?” Cortana demanded, her voice alarmed. “I’m detecting an energy spike.”

“I… don’t know,” the Spartan admitted. He was unsure why he had touched the “button.” He just knew it felt right.

There was a high pitched whine. From his vantage point above the crevice, he could clearly see the gap in the roadway. At its edges, harsh white light sprung into being, forming a clear path across the gap like a flashlight beam through thick smoke. The light brightened, and there was a tremendous tearing sound. “I’m showing a lot of photonic activity,” Cortana said. “The excited photons have displaced the air around the light path.”

“Meaning?” the Spartan interrupted.

“Meaning,” the AI continued, “that the light has become coherent. Solid.”

The Chief had not noticed, but Vakarian had come up behind him. “Remarkable,” the turian muttered. “How did you know which button to press?”

“I didn’t. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The ride across the bridge was nothing short of harrowing. The Master Chief loaded the Marines back into the Mako and drove to the edge of the bridge. After testing the light with his boot and finding it as hard and unyielding as stone, he shrugged, loaded up, and told the passengers to hold on. He listened to Williams, the only one with any view at all, alternate between swearing and praying as he drove the IFV across a bottomless chasm suspended on nothing more than a beam of light.

On the other side was the exit, leading into a picturesque valley. The Mako jounced up a steep hill, dipping a wheel into a shallow stream before following its banks into a narrow canyon. Sheer rock faces scraped at the Mako’s paint as the Master Chief maneuvered the large vehicle through the between the walls toward a collection of alien structures. They were similar to the ones he’d already seen.

The IFV pulled into an open area and Williams surveyed the area. “I’ve got eyes on a lifeboat, but no survivors or bodies. Doesn’t look good,” the career Marine said.

Several Covenant foot soldiers clearly took notice of the human vehicle, and the Master Chief threw the Mako into motion, driving uphill towards a small clutch of rocks. The vehicle’s thermals revealed a clutch of heat signatures concealed in the sparse cover. Survivors. Turning the Mako, the Spartan opened the rear door and barked “Go! Go! Go!” The Marines offloaded and began laying down fire into the valley as Williams pumped shells from the Mako’s cannon into the areas their rifles couldn’t hit. The survivors cheered and joined their comrades, MA5Bs hammering a rising crescendo of noise that echoed off the canyon walls.

When it was over, Cortana opened a comm channel. “Echo-419, this is Cortana. We’ve located a group of survivors. Request immediate dust-off, over.”

“Copy that, Cortana. On my way. Be advised: I spotted additional lifeboats in your area.”

“Acknowledged,” the AI answered. “We’re en route.”

There were two other lifeboats in the vicinity. The Chief hit both in quick succession, rescuing as many Marines as possible. Echo-419 met the Mako at the edge of a cliff at a copse of structures. The Marines loaded up as the Mako was attached as underslung cargo. “You put in a hell of a day, Master Chief,” the load master said. “Good work. You saved a lot of lives. Okay, people,” he shouted to the other Marines, “ETA to Alpha Base is ten mikes!”

Chapter 8: Interlude

Chapter Text

UNSC Normandy (SR-1) Personnel File: nar Rayyah, Tali’Zorah (Per quarian naming conventions, “nar Rayyah” means “child of Rayyah,” a ship in the Migrant Fleet. Listed as lost in action, 13 August 2550.)

Rank: N/A (Civilian volunteer, acting Chief Engineer, UNSC Normandy)

Psychological Profile: For a quarian, Tali’Zorah is rather outgoing. She is relatively reserved by human standards, but she has bonded remarkably fast with the ship’s company. She has informed me of a deep-seated feeling of depression, likely originating with the destruction of the Migrant Fleet in 2550. She barely escaped the Citadel alive and made her way to Reach, where she found work as a shipwright. She was brought aboard the Normandy before the planet fell on the orders of Commander Shepard, who wanted to save as many civilians as possible. Tali’Zorah has held the Commander in high regard ever since, and seems to consider herself part of the ship’s company.

ADDENDUM: Tali’Zorah has occasionally referred to herself as “vas Normandy.” Quarian naming conventions revolve around the vessel an individual hails from, suggesting a much deeper connection to the ship and crew than she has let on. [Chakwas, 01/9/52]

ADDENDUM: Tali’Zorah divulged two suicide attempts following the destruction of the Flotilla. Neither was successful (obviously). There have been no further indications of suicidal thoughts or actions, but I’ve taken the liberty of advising select crew members to keep an eye on her. Discreetly, of course. [Chakwas, 11/09/52]

Service History: Tali’Zorah was rescued during the evacuation of Reach. She had been employed by the Aszod Breaking Yards, and so she and several shipfitters were able to board the Normandy before liftoff. She was designated the replacement Chief Engineering officer following Chief Petty Officer Adams’ death during the escape.

Personal Remarks: Despite deep-seated anti-quarian prejudice held by pretty much every species of the galaxy, Tali’Zorah has won the crew over. She is very kindhearted and is arguably the crew’s “mascot,” to use an unprofessional term. Since she is easily the most mechanically inclined person anyone aboard has ever met, she is more than worth keeping around. She seems content to remain as an unpaid volunteer, but I would recommend at least a temporary naval commission for her if we can make it back to Earth. God knows we need all the experienced sailors we can get right now.

Filing Officer: Lieutenant Karin Chakwas (M.D.)—Chief Medical Officer, UNSC Normandy (SR-1)

Chapter 9: Truth and Reconciliation

Chapter Text

“To observe one child. What difference could a child make?”

-Jacob Keyes, on the future John-117

20/9/2552

UNSC Normandy, geosynchronous orbit of Alpha Base, Halo

Shepard leaned against the frame of the Normandy’s holotable. “Major Silva,” he said. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Likewise, Commander,” Antonio Silva of the ODSTs said. His Marines had set up an microwave laser transmitter to link with the Normandy’s comm system. It was simple, point-to-point, but nearly impossible to intercept or jam without physically interrupting the beam. He motioned to the woman next to him. “This is Lieutenant McKay. My XO died on the Autumn, so she’s stepped up.”

“Lieutenant,” Shepard said, nodding. “What’s your status down there, Major?”

“Better than I had initially planned for. We’ve got limited food and munitions, but that can be rectified. Without your eyes in the sky, Alpha Base would be a damned sight harder to hold.”

“Happy to help. If we had any useful supplies, we’d send them groundside. As it stands, we left the Mako with your motor pool.” Such as it is, he added silently. The Marines had a few Warthogs that the Pelican fleet had loaded as underslung cargo before escaping the dying Autumn, some Ghosts they’d captured from Alpha Base’s former owners, and the Normandy’s lone Mako.

“Real-time intel’s help enough, Commander,” the ODST said. “I’ve got an operation in the works to raid the Autumn for fuel, food, and ammo—everything we’re lacking right now. McKay is taking lead on that. In the meantime, though, we’ve got a time sensitive matter. Cortana has actionable intel that Captain Keyes is not only alive, but is in the hands of the enemy.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “I take it we’re going after him?”

“That’s the idea. A team of ODSTs, led by the Master Chief, will infil via airmobile transport near a Covenant cruiser, the Truth and Reconciliation.”

“Catchy name,” Shepard remarked. “But if a Pelican gets too close, the point lasers will bring it down.”

“Cortana’s formulating an ECM patch to make the birds’ sensor profile appear as a Phantom, but she’s only about fifty-fifty on whether it will work. But…”

“But, we have a stealth frigate,” Shepard finished.

“Right. Normandy has the speed to get in and out with no fuss, and she’s quiet enough to make the drop on the split-jaws’ own doorstep.”

Shepard grinned. “I like it.” He considered for a moment. “I’ve got one hell of an away team on the Normandy. Turian special forces and a krogan, and some damn fine Marines. We’ll still need some of your Helljumpers, but the fewer you send, the more you have for security at Alpha Base.”

Silva grimaced. “I don’t like working with the Master Chief as it is. Putting alien troops on a UNSC mission seems…”

“They were on the team that rescued those survivors yesterday, Silva. I trust them implicitly.”

“Be that as it may, sir-”

“I’m in command, Major, so I could just order you to use my team. I’d much rather you took my word for it.”

Silva stiffly nodded. “If that’s how you want to play it, Commander.”

Shepard relaxed. Dominance had been asserted, and Silva was a Marine. He’d follow orders.

“Okay. What’s your plan, Silva?”

The ringworld had passed onto Threshold’s dark side several hours before, creating an artificial “night.” Fully three-quarters of the day was spent in the dark of the gas giant, making life more strange than most of the Marines might have otherwise liked. On the other hand, stealthy insertions were considerably easier, with so much night to work with.

The prowler UNSC Normandy closed with a CCS - class battlecruiser, the Truth and Reconciliation based on Cortana’s network intrusion efforts. While the prowler was much bigger than a Pelican, she was much quieter to sensor platforms. She had two of Silva’s precious Pelicans locked to keel hardpoints. Each was loaded with fifteen troopers, three over the recommended load limit, with another platoon’s worth of men waiting aboard Normandy. The lead Pelican contained the ship’s Away Team, led by Shepard himself. While Shepard was theoretically the ranking officer, he had informed his people that the Master Chief was taking the lead role of this op. Shepard was N7 trained, but the Chief was without doubt the finest operator in the galaxy. Shepard had no issues with taking orders from a non-com, especially one with more years of experience in special operations than there were rivets aboard the Normandy.

“Fifteen seconds to release, Commander. Good luck down there!” Joker said over the comm.

Clamps released and the Pelican was falling. The pilot fired his jets and straightened the descent out, slowing the dropship to a more sane velocity. Shepard could only hold on and try to keep a grip on his suppressed BR-55 battle rifle. The dropship contained herself, Garrus, Williams, Tali, the Master Chief, and the Marines. Garrus was carrying his personal Vindicator battle rifle and several hundred shots worth of thermal clips. Williams and the Chief both had MA5Bs, though the Chief had opted for a suppressed S2AM sniper rifle as well. Tali had opted to secure an M90 Close Assault Weapons System, otherwise known as a shotgun, from the Normandy’s armory. The weapon fired eight gauge buckshot capable of stripping the shields from an Elite in a single shot. The rest of the crew bay was filled with Marines.

“The enemy has captured Captain Keyes, and are holding him aboard one of their cruisers, the Truth and Reconciliation,” Cortana said over TEAMCOM . “The ship is currently holding position approximately three hundred meters above the other end of this plateau.”

“So how do we get inside the ship if it's in the air?” one of the Marines demanded. “The Corps issued me a rifle, not wings.”

“There’s a gravity lift ferrying troops and supplies between the ship and the surface,” Garrus said. “We seize that, and we’ve got an entrance.”

“Once we get inside, I should be able to lock onto the tracking signal of Captain Keyes’ neural implants,” Cortana further explained. “Tali’Zorah will be responsible for opening doors and similar tasks that require a hardline connection.”

The Pelican’s landing legs thumped against the packed dirt of the ringworld. “Everybody out!” the loadmaster barked.

“Hit it, Marines, go, go, go!” Williams called. “The Corps ain’t paying us by the hour!”

As his boots sunk into the dirt, the Master Chief reviewed the plan. He would push forward and use his sniper rifle to clear as many Covenant as he could before being discovered. Once surprise was lost, the Marines would push forward and aid him in clearing the position. Motioning for the squad to hold, he waved Vakarian forward. The turian was an accomplished marksman, and the Chief could use his help.

Vakarian swapped to his sniper rifle and surveyed the low valley the two overlooked. “Two emplaced guns,” he said. “Maybe a dozen infantry, not too many Elites.”

“We’ll neutralize the Shades, then cover the Marines as they advance,” the Chief decided.

“Whatever you say, Spartan.” Garrus sighted up. “I’ll cover the left hand gun.”

The Master Chief sighted up, the night vision filter of the S2AM turning the world into shades of green and white. He set his sights on the Grunt manning the Shade and held his breath, focusing on his heartbeat. When he was between beats, his finger tightened on the trigger.

Normally, the 14.5mm APFSDS round would have exited the rifle’s barrel with an earsplitting boom, but the suppressor cut the noise down remarkably. Combined with subsonic ammunition procured from the Normandy, the noise was reduced to a few decibels. The result was dramatic; the Grunt’s upper body evaporated, and the Master Chief switched targets and fired again, killing another Grunt before it even knew it was under fire. Garrus’ rifle spoke, quietly dispatching the other gunner and his two companions. The Master Chief reloaded before turning to target the Elites. Plasma fire sizzled past his position.

The time for subtly was past. “Marines, move up!” the non-com barked into his radio. The squad, led by Shepard, moved forward, rifles thumping suppressed shots into the enemy. A Grunt popped out of cover, shot a Marine in the face, and tried to run. Shepard cut him in half with a burst from his rifle. The position was cleared in seconds, and the Marines pushed up.

The Chief moved up the slope, halting as Cortana said, “Stop. Motion tracker shows movement around the next bend.”

“We’ll advance when you say, Cortana,” Shepard said.

The Master Chief turned the corner and met a sprinting Jackal with his rifle butt. The alien fell backwards off the cliff, wailing as he fell. Leveling his rifle, the Chief opened fire, tearing into the unprotected Jackals. They screamed and died.

The team moved forward before meeting a Covenant defensive fighting position, consisting of a Shade that overlooked the depression below. The Covenant forces there had clearly heard the previous firefight, and were on high alert. “So much for surprise,” Shepard said, ducking into cover beside the Spartan. “How do you want to play this?”

“Take your fireteam,” the Chief pointed two fingers at Garrus, Williams, and Tali, “And secure our left. The Marines and I will push right up the middle.”

“Understood. Team, move out! Keep it quiet until the Master Chief gives the word.” Shepard nodded once before creeping off.

“Corporal,” the Chief nodded at a Marine, “put a grenade on that Shade. You two hit the Elite, while the rest of us push forward and take position on the high ground overlooking the gulley. We’ll lay down suppressing fire for Shepard’s team.”

“Roger that, Master Chief!” one of the Marines said.

“Chief,” Shepard said over TEAMCOM. “We’re in position. Execute at will.”

“Go, go, go!” the Spartan called. A grenade thumped, two MA5Bs stuttered defiance, and Marine boots clattered on rock as the humans made their assault. The Chief’s rifle hammered, and a Jackal fell as the Marines took cover and began blazing away at the Covenant forces below. The Chief unlimbered his sniper rifle and disabled the suppressor. The thunder of the massive rifle echoed off the canyon walls. The rest of the Marines followed his lead, using the noise of the firefight to cover Shepard’s movements.

“Cortana to Shepard. The Chief has secured the middle. Get ready to move up the left, you should be able to flank the enemy.”

“Copy that, Cortana,” Shepard said. “Good work, Master Chief.” The roar of gunfire trickled from the left side of the gulley.

As the firefight continued, a pair of tuning fork-shaped aircraft floated towards the gulley. “Alert! Covenant dropships inbound.” Cortana highlighted the enemy craft in the Master Chief’s HUD and pushed the intel to the rest of the squad. Shepard took charge immediately, directing the squad’s light machine gunner to open fire on the dropships. The Marine’s M-76 hammered, the magnetically accelerated rounds puncturing one of the crew bays. When the Spirit landed, the starboard “wing” was empty save for the bodies of several Covenant soldiers. The rest of the assault force was intact, however, and directed punishing fire onto the Marines. To make matters worse, the dropships hammered the squad as they retreated, plasma cannons killing several Marines.

The humans hunkered down, with only the Master Chief braving the plasma fire and cutting down an Elite with a single sniper rifle round. Heartened, the Marines opened fire again, and with their air support gone, the Covenant forces found themselves assaulting a well-defended position on high ground. The attack melted away before the fury of the Marines’ guns, the survivors scurrying back towards the ship. A Marine sniper took care of several of the squirters, but at least one Grunt escaped.

“We’re directly beneath the ship now,” Cortana said.

“Alright!” a Marine crowed. “Are we bad, or what?”

“Mother of God… I'd never thought I'd get close to one of these things. How the hell are we supposed to get inside that monster?” another demanded.

“The Covenant are using a Gravity Lift to move troops and supplies off the ship,” Cortana explained. “We need to ambush them at the Grav Lift's loading zone, and use the lift to enter the ship.”

“Oh, is that all!” the Marine said. “That's us; the few, the proud, the expendable.”

“Careful,” Vakarian said to the Chief. “Unless I’ve missed my bet, they’ll have an ambush waiting for us in that ravine.” He pointed towards a narrow break in the canyon wall, the only way to reach the grav-lift.

”Echo-419, this is Cortana,” the AI said. “Requesting drop-off of Bravo Squad.”

“Roger, Cortana!” The ever-cheerful pilot’s voice filled the Chief’s helmet. “Echo-419 on approach.”

“Oh.” Garrus’ mandibles fluttered in the turian equivalent of a wry smile. “When in doubt…”

The combat boots of the Battlemaster Urdnot Wrex struck the dirt. He flipped off his weapon’s safety and laughed. “So, the going got tough, eh, Shepard?” he said, before laughing again.

“… send in the krogan,” Garrus finished.

The Chief studied Wrex. He hadn’t seen much of what the Battlemaster could do the day before, but he was a krogan. By far the most dangerous warriors in the galaxy, a pissed-off krogan could tear an Elite limb from limb with his hands. On top of that, Wrex was a biotic. “We need to clear that choke point.” He pointed at the ravine.

“No problem,” the Battlemaster said. “Follow me.” Slinging his rifle, he drew what could only be a Claymore heavy shotgun, a weapon designed only for krogan. Charging the weapon, he aimed at the entrance to the ravine. “Don’t shoot me in the back,” he remarked to a terrified Marine. “I don’t react well to that.” With that elegant parting remark, he turned the corner and started shooting.

Wrex hadn’t had this much fun in years!

He was a krogan. All krogan understood the need to fight; the genetic desire to take part in the sting and crash of battle; the satisfaction of standing over the body of an enemy, or the pride in seeing your kin vanquish their foes. Wrex had found, though, that there was no feeling like placing a shotgun shell through the helmet of his most hated enemy.

Killing other krogan? Those who stood against him were either in it for the money or stupid. Killing them was either business, or a favor to the universe. Killing other races? Some, like the turians and salarians, he took some pleasure in. They had created and unleashed the genophage, after all. Others, like humans, not so much. Again, just business. The Covenant, though? Oh, Wrex loved killing those split-chinned sons of bitches like nothing else. Every shotgun shell he put through an Elite was a krogan life avenged. Every Grunt he slew was a step closer to more vengeance. The only Covenant races Wrex counted as worthy of his time were Elites, Brutes, and Hunters. All the rest were…

Boring.

Wrex had fought on Ilium. He’d fought on Madrigal. He’d fought on Chi Ceti IV, and he’d fought on Reach. Now he was fighting here. He wasn’t too concerned with the reason they were here; whether Keyes lived or died made no difference to him. He was killing the Covenant, and that was what he was interested in.

His shotgun spoke, and an Elite fell, missing half his head. Behind him, he vaguely heard Shepard shouting orders and the iron-hard rasp of the human Spartan’s voice, calling out targets and giving his squad direction. Wrex didn’t care. His shields could stop their bullets if he walked into their lines of fire, even if they were useless against plasma weapons. He kept moving, slapping an explosive charge on a Shade turret and triggering the detonator as he grabbed a Jackal by the chestpiece and slammed him into another Jackal. The gun exploded in a flash of blue plasma, incinerating the operator, as Wrex continued killing. A roar rose from his throat as he fell into a krogan blood rage.

Shepard had seen a lot of combat. He had watched Spartans fight Elites, seen two turians take on a Hunter in hand to hand combat and win, and an honest-to-God sword fight between two Elites in the middle of an urban battle. Shepard still had no idea why the last incident had even happened, but it was the most terrifying and beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d seen a Council Spectre lead a team of salarian STG operatives into a Covenant landing zone and destroy the enemy’s command post, buying the humans the valuable hours they needed to evacuate another ten thousand souls before the glassing began. He’d seen Brutes butchering a human position with gravity hammers and Spikers. He’d seen an asari Justicar throw a Wraith fifty meters vertically and use it to knock a Phantom out of the sky.

None of the things he’d seen could compare to the pure, unfiltered, whirlwind of violence he saw Urdnot Wrex unleash on the unfortunate Covenant soldiers to stand in his way.

He was the eye of a hurricane; everything around him fell in a spray of blood. A shotgun blast, a knife-wielding fist, the prow of the krogan’s helmet, the bodies of their comrades, all were weapons that struck them down. “Oh, keelah…” Tali gasped as a wave of biotic force threw a file of Grunts and the Shade they were guarding off the edge of the cliff. Between the hammer of Wrex and anvil of the Master Chief and the Marines, the remaining Covenant fell in short order.

“Good work, people!” Shepard called. “Hold security for now. Tali, work on reversing the grav lift beam. Garrus, Williams, cover her.”

“Aye, Commander!” Williams said, her MA5B scanning for targets as she took cover behind one of the Covenant’s ubiquitous purple supply crates.

Tali took a knee next to the grav lift and activated her omni-tool. “I haven’t done much work with Covenant hardware before. I need a few minutes.”

“No time!” Alenko shouted. “Incoming, down the grav lift!”

A file of Jackals and Grunts, led by several Elites, fell through the purple-white beam of the grav lift. The Marines opened fire, laying down fire along the beam. Several Covenant soldiers jerked and went limp as slugs found their bodies. The rest landed and opened fire.

Kaidan’s body flared blue as he directed his biotics. A purple dome formed around Tali, turning away several plasma beams. “Wrex!” he shouted. “I could use some help!” Seeing the problem, the krogan added his own biotics to the Marine’s barrier. Tali remained focused on her task as the Master Chief advanced, rifle hammering in stuttaco bursts of five or six rounds. Several waves came through the grav lift, and the Spartan dealt with them all in short order. His rifle cooled as he looked up the lift to see two massive shapes falling from the belly of the ship. “Hunters!” one of the Marines shouted, backpedaling and trying to get a shot.

The Spartan swore. Hunters were a different kind of enemy altogether from the rest of the Covenant army. They were four meters tall, covered in several centimeter thick armor, and mounted a fuel rod cannon on their right arm, a shield on their left. The armor was impenetrable to anything short of an anti-armor rocket. Their cannons could kill anything short of a Scorpion with a single shot. Worse, they always fought in pairs. Against exposed infantry, with no anti-armor weapons? It wouldn’t even be a fight.

Naturally, the Master Chief charged directly at them.

His assault rifle was tucked into his chest, legs pumping as he palmed a plasma grenade in his off hand. Bringing up the rifle, he fired ten rounds at one Hunter. It bellowed a challenge and swung its shield arm—glacially slow, to the Spartan’s perception. He sidestepped, priming and slapping the grenade home in one fluid movement, before turning to face the other. The Hunter felt the grenade stick and roared before a burst of blue-white energy bisected it. The remaining Hunter let out a roar that sounded almost… grievous? Then it fired at the Chief.

It was a stupid move. The fuel rods its cannon fired flew slowly, giving the Chief ample time to dodge the shot and move around the beast, rifle hammering. Dodging an arm sweep, the Spartan closed to less than a meter and fired his weapon into a gap in the armor until the cooling vanes deployed. The Hunter wailed and collapsed in a puddle of its own gore.

The valley belonged to the Marines.

Shepard looked around. Several Marines were dead, but there was no time for reinforcements from the Normandy. They had all the Marines they would have to work with for now. “Grav lift is secure, good work!” he said. “Rally on the pad. Marines! Prepare for boarding action.”

“Once we're inside the ship, I can home in on the Captain's command-neural interface,” Cortana said . “He'll probably be in or near the ship's brig, which should narrow our search.”

Tali suddenly jerked, like the quarian had grabbed a live wire. “Got it!” she cried. “The beam will reverse in ten seconds.”

“Better get on board, then,” Shepard said, and all but yanked Tali onto the lift.

The force of gravity inverted. The Marines whooped as their feet were dragged from the deck and they were lofted skywards towards the Covenant ship. The Chief watched them go before the lift overcame the weight of his armor and pulled him into the belly of the beast.

The Covenant didn’t realize it yet, but the Marines had landed.

The floor of what the Chief was mentally considering the ship’s well deck closed, lowering the boarding party to the deck. It was clearly the point where troops and supplies would be offloaded; the presence of a couple dozen Covenant supply crates and a quartet of formidable Wraith battle tanks was sufficient evidence for the Master Chief. Shepard directed her Marines with a series of hand signals, and the assault team spread out.

“We're in. I've got a good lock on the Captain's CNI transponder.” Cortana paused . “No Covenant defenses detected.”

“What, there's no Covenant here?” a Marine said. “Maybe nobody's home…”

Murphy was always listening, and he decided now was the perfect opportunity to apply his law. A hatch hissed open, admitting a lone Elite to the deck. He warbled in surprise, giving the Chief enough time to sprint to him and slam his head into the deckplates. Maybe he’d been fast enough-

Another hatch hissed open and Covenant troops boiled into the room.

“‘No Covenant,’” one of the Marines spat at his buddy. “You just had to open your mouth.”

Chaos reigned. Plasma bolts, explosive needles, and slugs crisscrossed the confined space and occasionally found targets. Tali’Zorah stayed low, occasionally firing a shotgun shell but otherwise staying out of the way. She was on the team purely for her skills with technology and computers. They had Cortana for the computers, but Tali could do a lot on the hardware side that Cortana just couldn’t. She felt a bit of pride that there was still a need for engineers; machines weren’t going to put her out of a job!

Her shotgun bucked and cut down a Grunt. She found that it helped to think of it as her weapon doing the work; as much as she hated the Covenant, she still found it difficult to kill them. They were still sentient beings, after all. She knew they were responsible for the extinction of her species. Somehow, that didn’t make it any easier to place her sights over them and fire.

It seemed that no one else was having that problem. Garrus was silently firing his rifle, Wrex was cackling as he dismantled an enemy assault, and the Marines were shouting insults and battle cries as they fought. One shoulder-checked an Elite and emptied a magazine from a Magnum into its head while two others took a squad of Grunts under fire and cut them down. Shepard had drawn his pistols, overclocked Carnifex hand cannons, and was using them to put fire into an Elite Major. His battle rifle hung from his armor on a sling. He seemed to dance between the plasma bolts and bullets, an artist of the battlefield. His brushes were his guns, his canvas was the walls and floor of the cruiser, and his paint was the multicolored blood of his enemies.

And then there was the Master Chief.

Where Shepard fought as a painter, the Master Chief fought as a wrecking ball. He stood tall in all the carnage, rifle hammering, shields pulsing as plasma sizzled off his emerald-green armor. An Elite wielding an energy sword charged him. The Spartan ducked the blade and caught the alien’s arm, snapping the bone like a twig beneath his boot. The sword deactivated and fell to the deck. The Chief turned the Elite’s momentum against him, dragging the alien over his own body and slamming him to the ground before drawing his sidearm and placing two rounds between the Elite’s eyes.

A large door on the far side of the room hissed open, admitting a Hunter pair. “Keelah!” Tali cried, falling backwards onto her ass. She had the presence of mind to fire her shotgun, only to watch in horror as the buckshot left nothing but lead stains on the thick armor plating. The Hunter she’d shot at looked down at her before lifting a massive metal boot. Tali raised a hand, futilely trying to block her demise, before a massive boom lifted the Hunter up, deposited it several meters away from Tali, and reduced her hearing to a dull whine. Garrus was suddenly standing over Tali, rifle hammering.

“Come on, get up!” the turian shouted.

“What happened?” Tali asked. Her voice sounded very quiet to her own ears.

“Concussion grenade launcher,” Garrus replied. “Forgot I had it,” he muttered to himself before raising his voice again. “Get your ass up, Tali, we need to move!”

The quarian scrambled to her feet, almost falling again as a plasma bolt sizzled past her. Garrus’ rifle spat hate and discontent, and Tali managed to gain her feet. Turning, she racked the shotgun and fired again. A Grunt fell, spinning as its methane tank breached. Garrus targeted the Grunt and fired. The small explosion was sufficient to kill three Jackals standing near it. Ejecting his spent thermal clip and slamming a fresh one home, Garrus waved a fireteam of Marines forward. The other Hunter was already dead, and as Tali watched, a Marine placed a boot on the first one’s chest plate and fired twenty rounds into its helmet.

“The area is secure, Spartan,” Garrus said to the Master Chief. “Shall we?” He pointed towards a door at the far end of the room. Looking around, the Spartan could see that all others had been locked down. He nodded, and led the squad towards the hatch.

“Damn!” one of the Marines said. “The door’s locked down. I can’t bypass it.”

“Let me try,” Tali said, activating her omni-tool. After a moment, she swore. “We’re locked out. It’ll take too long to bypass the door.” She sounded almost impressed.

“We can use the side passageways to find a way through,” Cortana said.

Shepard shook her head. “We’ll be sitting ducks in that narrow space. We can hold this position until you find a way around and open the door from the other side, Chief.”

The Spartan nodded and pointed at Vakarian and Tali. “You two, with me.”

The turian simply nodded and readied his weapon, but Tali looked surprised. “Me? I’m not-”

“I need an engineer to get the door open,” the Spartan said. “You’re it.”

“Uh… okay.” The qurian looked less than enthused about the prospect, but the non-com did not have the liberty of concerning himself with her feelings. The mission came first.

The hallways were as tight as Shepard had feared, so the Chief took point. The others could use his armored bulk for cover and shoot around him. He led with his MA5B, taking it slow. There was no reason to rush; the Marines were in no real danger, and as Chief Mendez had told the trainees years ago, “slow is smooth and smooth is fast.”

The Chief checked his motion tracker. Several red blobs stood out on the interface. Enemy signatures. He signaled his team to take it slow and be ready to fight.

“Huh?” Tali whispered.

“Just follow my lead,” Vakarian whispered back.

The Chief scowled. The little quarian would need some basic combat training if she wanted to stay alive.

The next door hissed open to reveal a patrol of Grunts and Jackals, led by a single Elite. The Chief opened fire, targeting the Elite. His rounds overloaded the alien’s shields and cut the Elite down as Garrus and Tali concentrated on the lesser Covenant. The deck was clear in seconds.

The Master Chief moved on, coming to a larger door. “This door probably leads to the room we’re looking for,” Tali said.

Vakarian glanced over at her. “How do you know?”

“I downloaded the specs of a CCS-class cruiser from Edie before we left,” Tali explained. “I thought they might be useful.”

The Chief looked at the quarian, surprised. She was a civilian, but she could definitely work as part of a team and she had a mind for information. She might be more useful than he had initially thought. Opening the door, he found himself challenged by several Elites. Firing short bursts with one hand, he drew a grenade with the other, slid the arming latch, and lobbed the frag between the aliens before ducking inside again. The deck shook and an alien warbled. Approaching the door triggered it to open, and the Master Chief entered a mad world of blood and fire.

The room was a hanger bay for more Wraiths, which explained the massive door. The Chief found himself a deck above where he wanted to be, forcing him to fight his way through. Keeping Tali close, he motioned for Vakarian to cover them with his sniper rifle. The turian dropped several Covenant troopers as the Spartan moved across the catwalk and into more hallways. He emerged on the ground floor among a group of Grunts and opened fire.

Tali let the Spartan draw the enemy fire and skirted the firefight, moving towards the console locking down the hatch. More than once, a slug from Garrus’ rifle killed an enemy that got too close as she booked it towards the panel. When she made it, Tali opened her omni-tool and began running a bypass program. “Come on, come on, come on!”

Finally, after what felt like hours—but was probably all of five seconds—the door slid open and the Marines entered the room. “Suppressing fire!” Shepard roared, and the Marines laid down their triggers. Everything that entered the cone of fire died in moments as supersonic slugs shredded everything in a ten meter radius. When the thunder of the “Mad Minute” died away, everything wearing Covenant uniform in the hangar bay was dead or dying. A Marine spared a moment to execute a dying Jackal that was reaching for his plasma pistol. “All clear, sir!” he called to the Master Chief.

“Let’s move,” Shepard said. “If we’re really unlucky, they’ll figure out we’re here for Keyes and kill him.”

That particular outcome was one the Chief would just as soon avoid. The Spartan quickened his pace. The next door slid open, and the Master Chief walked right into hell.

Halo SPV3 Soundtrack - Enough Dead Heroes

To say that things had not gone well would be an understatement.

The hangar bay—the lower portside bay, according to Tali’s omni-tool—was brimming with Covenant forces. The assault team was pinned by a squad size element of Grunts and Jackals on a balcony overlooking the hangar, while a platoon of assorted troops were engaging them directly on the hangar deck. This divided their fire and made maneuvering impossible.

The Master Chief countered by bringing his sniper rifle into play. He tackled the suppressing group first. He fired four rounds, and three Jackals fell. Reloading, he continued firing. Satisfied that the group had been sufficiently whittled down, he turned his attention to the more direct challenge.

Part of the SPARTAN-II training regimen was close quarters battle doctrine. Their instructor had been an ODST that Chief Mendez had personally worked with on several occasions. He drilled two things into the trainees on day one; always cover your battle buddy, and always assume all uncleared space is hostile until proven otherwise. One of the other important lessons concerned fighting from an “L” shape, forming a long avenue of fire and preventing enemy forces from escaping into uncleared and uncovered areas. The Master Chief decided to apply these tactics here, and directed four Marines to move parallel to the right wall. They formed a base of fire and began suppressing the enemy’s movement along the main sector of combat, while also restricting the movement of fresh troops into battle from one of their two avenues. The Chief then posted Tali and Alenko to hold down the other angle, parallel to the hangar’s energy shielding. This placement isolated the enemy, who were now caught between the assault team and a large structure in the center of the hangar, likely a cargo loading area. A round of grenades was sufficient to break them, and Shepard, Williams, and Wrex dealt with the survivors.

The krogan spared a moment to nod at the Chief. “Good work, Spartan,” he rumbled. “Almost as good as a krogan.”

There was no time to respond. More aliens were encroaching, and the battle recommenced. The Master Chief concentrated his fire on an Elite Major, MA5B snarling hate. The alien was rocked back by the impact of the slugs and returned fire. Plasma sloughed off the Master Chief’s shields as he laid on the trigger in earnest, finally bringing the Elite down. The rifle hissed, its internal workings overheated.

Shepard popped out of cover, battle rifle spitting. The weapon fed from a 36-round box magazine and used traditional cartridges. It was just as powerful as the Vindicator battle rifle and actually had more ammunition, and to Shepard at least, was that much more satisfying to fire. The rifle was set to burst fire, and nine 9.5mm rounds were plenty to shatter the shields of an Elite Minor. A fourth burst killed it, and Shepard ducked behind cover again to reload. To his left, Alenko was firing his assault rifle into a trio of Grunts as Williams lobbed a grenade at a Jackal turtling behind his energy shield. The frag blew the alien to ribbons as Williams drew her Magnum to execute a wounded Elite.

A Marine fell, screaming, his leg sizzling from a plasma bolt. The Chief fired on his attacker, a Jackal, but not before an Elite put a Needler projectile into the human’s ribcage. The crystal burst, killing the Marine instantly. The Chief was close, and knocked the weapon from the Elite’s hands before breaking his neck with a swift buttstroke. Then the rifle came back up and thundered again.

Finally, the room was mostly cleared. “Tali, get started on the door,” Cortana said. “We need to make entry sooner than later.”

“I’ll do my best!” the young quarian replied, eyes glued to her omni-tool. Her fingers flew and tapped at unfamiliar symbols; she’d taken a five-day crash course on Covenant linguistics during the Slipspace jump to Threshold, partly out of boredom and partly on the off chance it might come in handy. It was certainly useful, even if she didn’t understand all of the technical terms, but that was fine. She was brute-forcing her way through the hack. Covenant cybersecurity was a bad joke, their excuses for VI programs barely more intelligent than an autopilot program exported onto an OSD.

“Incoming!” Shepard shouted.

“Son of a bitch, Hunters!” Garrus shouted. “Tali, we need that door open now!”

“I’m working on it, Garrus!” the quarian shouted back. “You try cracking a one hundred twenty eight thousand-bit modulating encryption key under fire, then talk to me!”

In the Master Chief’s helmet, Cortana chuckled. “That’s a girl after my own heart,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do to help her.”

The Master Chief suspected that the lock would be open sooner than later. Tali’s technical skills combined with the processing power of an ONI infiltration AI were plenty to open a door, even one that the Covenant really did not want them getting past.

Refocusing, the Spartan devoted his attention to the Hunter pair that had appeared before him. The Marines still lacked any sort of anti-tank weaponry, but they did have some concussion grenade launchers, which would do for now. The Chief directed Vakarian and Shepard to use their concussion rounds, and ordered Wrex and Alenko to use their biotics to slow down the Hunters until the shots could connect. When they did, the Marines treated the Hunters to a round of grenades. The deck rocked with the explosions, and the Hunters did not stand up.

As the last aliens fell, Tali suddenly blurted, “Got it!”

“Good work, Tali,” Cortana said . “The door is open. Everyone should move through now. I can't guarantee that it won't lock again when it closes.”

The Marines filed through the door, one man always keeping an eye on their rear. They moved through the halls, killing as they went. Most of the dead wore multicolored Covenant gear, but several of the bodies the Marines left wore olive drab.

Finally, the squad reached the bridge, which was held by a couple of Elites and an Elite in golden armor carrying an energy sword; a Zealot. The Marines cut down the other two Elites as the Zealot roared a challenge and approached the Master Chief. He seemed to want a one-on-one fight.

The Master Chief stepped back and joined the Marines in firing every round he could into the Elite.

He took a long time to die. Zealots wore better gear than the average Elite, and they were much more impressive physical specimens as well. They were also, as the name implied, zealous in their pursuit of enemies of the Covenant. They were very dangerous opponents when they fought intelligently, and they usually did. This Zealot was clearly the exception to the rule.

“This looks like the ship's command center,” Cortana said through the Chief’s external speakers . “The Captain's transponder signal is strong, he must be close.”

Tali pulled up her omni-tool. “There are two detention areas on this deck,” the quarian said. “If we take the away team, we can probably hit both of them at once, but I’m concerned about our numbers.”

“We need to hit both very quickly to keep them from moving or killing Keyes,” Shepard said. “I don’t like it, but that means we’ll have to split our force, as well as keep our exit open.”

“This is a good spot, Commander,” Alenko said. “We'll mind the store here while you and the Chief go find the Captain.”

“Negative, sir,” Williams said. “Commander, I think you should take the LT with you, you might need his biotics. I’ll stay here.”

Shepard visibly debated for a moment before saying, “We’ve got Wrex with us, so biotics aren’t an issue, but Alenko’s used to commanding units like this. He stays. Williams, take a fireteam and head to the first brig. Make sure you’ve got that Spec-4 with you… Rosenthal, right?” When the Marine nodded, he continued. “He’ll get the doors open. The Chief, Tali, Garrus, Wrex, and I are going to hit the second one.”

“Whatever you say, Commander,” Williams said, but her face said that she was less than pleased. “Be careful, ell-tee,” she told Alenko.

“You too, Gunny.”

Shepard nodded. “Chief, lead the way.”

The trip to the brig was long and filled with constant combat. Several Marines died during the assault, and neither Alenko or Williams had checked in for some time. The Chief was concerned, but pushed ahead. Allowing his performance to suffer for concern over events he could not control would result in further casualties. Cutting a Grunt in half with an extended burst, he continued on and finally reached the brig.

The door whooshed open, and the whine of a plasma rifle and a shout of “Good to see you, Chief!” told the Spartan he was in the right place. The room was swiftly cleared.

Or so he thought.

A burst of plasma fire caught the Chief in the chest. He looked around and saw… nothing. No enemies. Checking his motion tracker, he identified a faint contact two meters ahead of him. Focusing on the area, he noticed a slight shimmer. His rifle hammered, and an Elite phased into the visible spectrum, warbled, and died.

Now secure in the belief that the room was well and truly clear, the Chief moved to the control panel and, with Cortana’s help, deactivated the energy shields keeping the prisoners inside. Several Marines exited their cells and armed themselves with Covenant weapons.

The Chief returned to Keyes’ cell and pulled the Captain to his feet. “Coming here was reckless,” he said, voice harsh. “You two know better than this!” The Spartan was about to explain his orders when Keyes’ face softened. “Thanks.”

The Chief nodded curtly. “Anytime, sir.”

“Commander Shepard,” Keyes said as he limped out of the cell. “Always a pleasure.”

“Wish it were under better circ*mstances, sir,” Shepard agreed.

“While the Covenant had us locked up in here, I overheard the guards talking about this ring world,” Keyes explained as the captive Marines freed and armed themselves. “They call it… ‘Halo.’”

“One moment, sir,” Cortana said. “Accessing the Covenant Battlenet.” After a moment, she explained, “According to the data in their networks, the ring has some kind of deep religious significance. If I'm analyzing this correctly, they believe that Halo is some kind of weapon. One with vast, unimaginable power.”

“Then it’s true…” Keyes muttered. Raising his voice, he said, “The Covenant kept saying that ‘whoever controls Halo controls the fate of the universe.’”

“Now I see…” Cortana sounded surprised at the development. “I have intercepted a number of messages about a Covenant search team, scouting for a ‘control room.’ I thought they were looking for the bridge of a cruiser that I damaged during the battle above the ring. But they must be looking for Halo's control room.”

“That's bad news. If Halo is a weapon, and the Covenant gain control of it, they'll use it against us and wipe out the entire human race.” He paused. “Chief, Cortana. I have a new mission for you. We need to beat the Covenant to Halo's control room.”

“With all due respect, sir,” the Chief said, “but it might be best to complete this mission first before we tackle another one.”

Keyes offered a tired grin. “Good point, Chief.” Scooping up a Needler from the deck, he turned to his fellow captives, who were also arming themselves. “Marines! Let's move!”

“We should head back to the shuttle bay,” Cortana suggested. “Unless you’d like to walk home.”

“No, thanks. I’m Navy,” the Captain said. “We prefer to ride.” Keyes turned to the Chief. “Can you find your way out? The corridors of this ship are like a maze.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult,” the Spartan replied. “All we have to do is follow the bodies.”

As it turned out, the Chief’s half-serious reply held a ring of truth. The team had taken resistance the entire length of their trip to the brig, and they had left a bread-crumb trail of corpses in their wake. Shepard had ordered Williams to move to Alenko’s position and regroup, but the ship was large. Regrouping would take time. They had reached and cleared the now abandoned command center when Shepard’s radio crackled.

“Commander!” Alenko called over TEAMCOM. “We’re getting pushed pretty hard. Taking casualties! We’ve had to pull back from the bridge into the passageways.”

“Son of a—Commander, we’re cut off.” Williams called in immediately after Alenko.

“Can you break through?”

“Negative. We’re seriously outnumbered here.” Williams took a shaking breath. “Get to Alenko and get the hell out of here, sir.”

“Belay that, Ash, we can make it! Commander, get Williams out first!”

“Not happening, Williams,” Shepard said to Williams. “We’ll pull you out and regroup with Alenko.”

“You’ve got the Captain with you, sir, and if Alenko gets overrun none of us are going to make it out! You know I’m right, Skipper.”

Goddamnit! Shepard keyed his mic. “Alenko, we’re moving to regroup with you. Sit tight.”

“I… yes, sir,” the Marine said, voice empty.

“It’s the right call, Commander,” Ash said.

And I wish to God I didn’t need to make it. Aloud, Shepard managed to say, “Fight hard, Gunny. Die proud.”

“Oorah, Commander. Williams out.”

Shepard looked suddenly drained, and Tali, of all people, tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Shepard shook his head. “No.”

“Come on, Commander,” Garrus said. “We’ll mourn later.”

Jerking a nod, the officer keyed his mic. “Echo-419, this is the extraction team. We need immediate exfil, on the double!”

“Negative, Commander! I've been engaged by Covenant air patrols, and I'm havin’ a tough time shakin’ ‘em. You'll be better off findin' your own ride… sorry!”

“Damn it… Our exfil’s cut off by the enemy CAP,” Shepard said.

One of the Marines, obviously traumatized by his captivity, began to lose it. “We’re trapped! We’re all gonna die!”

“Belay that sh*t, Marine! Suck it up and remember you’re a leatherneck,” Shepard barked. “Cortana, there were Spirits in that hangar bay, yes?”

“Yes, Commander,” Cortana replied. “If we can secure one, it can be used to exfiltrate the area.”

“Okay, that’s the plan. And Captain?” Shepard turned to Keyes.

“Yes, Commander?”

“It’s going to get pretty hairy out there, so shut up and get behind me… sir.”

The Marines fought their way back through the same halls they had assaulted to reach the Captain. Linking up with Alenko and his Marines on the way, the squad pushed forward to the cargo bay. The Master Chief led the way, his rifle hammering and shields taking the brunt of the enemy fire. Shepard’s fire team took the rest of the slack, with the Marines mostly covering Keyes. Inch by inch, they killed their way to the Spirit.

“Tali, get this thing loose!” Shepard barked. “We’ll cover you!”

“I’ll do what I can!” the quarian shouted, slinging her shotgun and tapping frantically at the control panel.

The Chief held down his weapon’s trigger until the cooling flush triggered and the weapon’s cooling vanes opened. Dropping the rifle, he drew his Magnum and fired into a gaggle of Grunts. The triple crack of Shepard’s battle rifle carried over the pistol shots as a Marine cut loose with his machine gun, cutting down a file of Jackals. Several Marines fell as Alenko bowled a grenade into a group of enemy soldiers. The explosion shook the deck.

“Got it!” an excited quarian voice said as the Spirit floated free.

“Everyone mount up! We’re getting the hell out of here!” Shepard barked.

“Give me a minute to interface with the ship’s controls,” Cortana said.

“No need,” Keyes interjected. “I’ll take this bird out myself.”

A Hunter pair lumbered onto the deck as the dropship floated free of its docking clamps. “Captain! Hunters!” a Marine shouted.

“Hang on,” Keyes ordered, and slammed the throttle forwards. The Spirit’s twin hulls straddled a vertical beam and slammed into the Hunters, the mass sufficient to collapse their unyielding armor into the collective of worms making up their bodies. The Spirit winged away from the cruiser.

In the troop bay, the Master Chief breathed out, his pulse returning to normal. He forced his shoulders to relax. The Captain had been rescued, and the Covenant had been put on notice. The humans were going to be more than a mere irritant; they were going to be a serious pain in the aliens' collective ass.

Chapter 10: Interlude

Chapter Text

RED FLAG Personnel File: Williams, Ashley (99945-00787-AW)

Rank: Gunnery Sergeant, UNSC Marine Corps

Psychological Profile: Gunnery Sergeant Williams is considered a dependable and highly proficient Marine. She is apparently highly effective in combat, even against Brutes and Elites, and has received proficiency gradings on the M41 Jackhammer and M777 heavy mortar system, as well as the M247-series machine gun. However, Williams is not considered to be a true leader, and excels in situations where she is given direction by a superior officer. She is also noted as being deeply resentful of most alien species, for reasons likely stemming from the Glassing of her homeworld (Chi Ceti IV) and the turian VI Fleet’s refusal to aid human defenders there. This has led to friction when dealing with other species, turian and asari in particular.

Service History: Williams enlisted at age twenty and was assigned to the 103rd Marine Regiment on Eden Prime. She took part in the defense of Eden Prime, and was awarded the Bronze Star for gallantry in action there. The sole survivor of her platoon, Williams was reassigned to the 4th Marine Regiment, 1st Citadel Infantry Division (Amalgamated) and stationed on Thessia. When Thessia was invaded, Williams took part in the defense. After the evacuation, she requested transfer to a shipboard post, and remained a Fleet Marine until being assigned to Operation RED FLAG aboard UNSC Normandy (SR-1).

Personal Notes: While Williams is by all accounts a good Marine, she is far too emotional and willing to allow anger to get the better of her in a stressful situation, which pairs strangely with her apparent addiction to quoting Classical poets. She is an exceptional Gunnery Sergeant, but that is what she should remain.

Filing Officer: Lieutenant Commander ███ ██████, Ph.D, M.D. UNSCN Medical Corps (Cleared, Level III).

Chapter 11: Air Assault

Chapter Text

20/09/2552

“Listen to me, Covenant. I am Vice Admiral Preston J. Cole commanding the human flagship, Everest . You claim to be the holy and glorious inheritors of the universe? I spit on your so-called holiness. You dare judge us unfit? After I have personally sent more than three hundred of your vainglorious ships to hell? After kicking your collective asses off Harvest - not once - but twice? From where I sit, we are the worthy inheritors. You think otherwise, you can come and try to prove me wrong. … Is that the best you can do? Watch what one unworthy human can do!”

— Vice Admiral Preston Cole's last known transmission, directed to the Covenant fleet above Viperidae.

Shepard looked out over the territory surrounding the mesa, which was covered in a thick bank of fog. It looked for all the world as though a battalion of shades had been let out of hell with a three-day pass. The view from Alpha Base’s rampart was nothing short of spectacular, overlooking a flat plain and the gently rolling hills beyond. A bank of ivory-white clouds gently slid over the hills in the sky above. He might have thought he was overlooking the Great Plains of Montana on Earth were it not for the sloping curve of the ringworld on the horizon. The vista was so beautiful, so stunning, that it was hard to believe Halo was a weapon.

He heard the buzz of conversation, and turned to see Keyes speaking with Silva. Shepard walked towards them; no doubt Keyes would be taking command of the situation now that he was awake.

“I took a self-guided tour of the landing pads, the Shade emplacements, and the beginnings of a maintenance shop,” Keyes was saying. “Good work, Major. You and your Marines are to be commended. Thanks to you, we have a place to rest, regroup, and plan.”

“The Covenant did some of the work for us,” Silva replied modestly, “But I agree; my people did a hell of a job. Speaking of which, I thought I should let you know that Lieutenant McKay and two platoons of ODSTs are fighting their way to the Autumn as we speak. If they retrieve the supplies we need, Alpha Base will be able to hold for quite a while.”

“And if the Covenant attacks before then?” Shepard asked, announcing his presence.

Silva nodded, acknowledging the question. “Then we are well and truly screwed. We’re running short of ammunition, food, and fuel for the Pelicans. Thanks to you, Commander, we have a perfect grasp of the situation, but you can’t eat intel.”

Keyes nodded. “Well, let’s hope McKay pulls it off. In the meantime, there are some other things we need to consider.”

Had Silva been in command to start, he might have been irritated by the easy, offhand manner in which Keyes returned to the lead role. As it was, that was Shepard’s problem, and the squid didn’t seem to care. All he needed to do was look interested and hope that Keyes knew as much about ground warfare as he did about the naval brand.

“Yes, sir. What’s up?”

“The essence of the matter is that while the races of the Covenant seem to possess a high level of technology, most—if not all—of it is derived from Forerunner technology. While we make use of the Mass Relays, they seem to possess many more examples of Forerunner tech distinct from Mass Effect physics and have built their entire civilization around them. I can only assume that the Forerunners are responsible for the construction of Halo as well. In the long run the fact that they are adaptive, rather than innovative, may prove to be their undoing. For the moment, however, before we can take advantage of that weakness, we must first find the means to survive. If Halo is a weapon, and if it can destroy what’s left of the Council races like the Covenant seem to believe, then we absolutely must find the means to neutralize it—and perhaps turn it against the Covenant. That’s why I ordered Cortana and the Master Chief to find the ‘Control Room’ the enemy has alluded to, and see if there’s a way to block the Covenant’s plan.”

“In the interests of preserving the security of Alpha Base,” Shepard said, “my ground team and I can work directly with the Master Chief. That should free up some manpower for you, Major.”

Silva placed his forearms on the wall that fronted the rampart and looked out over the plain. “I see what you mean, sirs. Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

Keyes looked at Silva, then back to the view. “Of course. You know your way around ground engagements far better than Shepard and I do, and you know your Marines. If you have ideas, suggestions, or concerns, I want to hear them.”

Silva nodded respectfully. “Thank you, sir. My question has to do with the Spartan. Like everyone else, I have nothing but respect for the Chief’s record, but is he the right person for the mission you have in mind? Come to think of it, is any one person right for that kind of operation? I know that the Chief has an augmented body, not to mention the advantage that the armor gives him,” Silva allowed, “but take a look around. This base, these defenses, were the work of normal human beings. The SPARTAN program is a failure, Captain—the fact that the Chief is the only one left proves that, so let’s put this mission into the hands of some real, honest-to-God Marines and let them earn their pay.” The Marine rolled his shoulders, idly working out a few kinks. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

Keyes had been in the Navy for a long time. He knew Silva was ambitious; not only for himself, but for the ODSTs as a whole. He also knew that Silva was brave, well-intentioned, and in this case, flat-out wrong. But how to tell him that? He needed Silva’s enthusiastic support if any of them were going to make it out of this mess alive. He considered.

“You make some valid points. What you and your Marines have accomplished here is nothing short of miraculous. However, I can’t agree with your conclusions regarding the Chief or the SPARTAN program. First, it’s important to understand that what makes the Chief so effective isn’t what he is, it’s who he is. His record is not the result of technology—not because of what they’ve done to him but in spite of what they’ve done to him, and the pain he has suffered. The truth is that the Chief would have grown up to be a remarkable individual regardless of what the government did or didn’t do to him. Do I think that children should be snatched away from their families? Raised by the military? Surgically altered? No. Not during normal times.” He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Major, one of my first assignments was to escort the Spartan project’s leader during the selection process for the candidates. At the time, I didn’t know the full scope of the operation, and I probably would have resigned if I had. There aren’t normal times. We’re talking about the very real possibility of total extinction, Major. The quarians, the elcor, they’re gone already. The asari are clinging to a handful of colonies, the turians aren’t far behind them, and all we have left is a few Inner Colony planets and Earth. How many people did we lose in the Outer Colonies? How many did the Covenant kill on Jericho VII? On Reach? How many will be glassed if they locate Earth?”

The question was rhetorical, but Silva answered anyway. “I don’t know, sir, but I do know this. More than twenty-five years ago, when I was a second lieutenant, the people who invented the Chief thought it would be fun to test their new weapon on some real meat. They engineered a situation in which four of my Marines would run into your friend, take offense to something he did, and try to teach him a lesson. Well, guess what? The plan worked perfectly. It sucked my people in, and the freak not only kicked the hell out of them, but he left two of them dead—beaten to death in a goddamn ship’s gymnasium. I don’t know what you’d call that, sir, but I’d call it murder. Were there repercussions? Hell, no. The windup toy got a pat on the head and a ticket to the showers. All in a day’s bloody work.”

Keyes looked bleak. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m truly sorry about what happened to your men, Major, but here’s the hard truth: Maybe it isn’t nice—hell, maybe it isn’t right, but if I could get my hands on a million Spartans I’d take every single one of them. As for this particular mission, yes, I believe it’s possible that your people could get the job done, and if that’s all we had I wouldn’t hesitate to send them in. But the Chief has a number of distinct advantages, not the least of which is Cortana, and by taking on this task he will free your Helljumpers to handle other things. Lord knows there’s plenty to do. My decision stands.”

Silva nodded stiffly. “Sir, yes sir. My people will do everything they can to support the Chief and Cortana.”

“Yes,” Keyes said as he gazed into the gently curving ring. “I’m sure they will.”

Unnamed Island

Two Pelican dropships ripped over the glittering sea, passed over a line of gently breaking surf, and flew parallel to the beach. Foehammer could see a construct up ahead, a headland beyond, and a whole lot of Covenant troops running around in response to the sudden and unexpected arrival of the Pelicans. In the troop bay of Echo-419, a squad of Marines and the Master Chief’s fireteam rode. The Spartan had brought Vakarian and an ONI researcher, Liara T’Soni, to serve as his personal fireteam, and the Marines (and Wrex) would help them secure a beachhead. The rest of Shepard’s ground team was on standby with more Marines, just in case. Vakarian was a gifted sniper, and T’Soni would be useful if they found what they were looking for given her work with Forerunner relics. As an asari, she was a natural biotic, a useful set of skills. “The LZ is hot,” he said to the troops around him. “I want suppressing fire on any defensive positions you see as soon as we hit the beach. Keep their heads down so we can advance.”

“Five to dirt!” Foehammer called over the intercom. The door gunner’s machine gun rattled as the Pelican settled. “Touchdown! Hit it, Marines!”

The Master Chief’s boots sank into the sand. He was the first one off the Pelican and paused to look around, gaining situational awareness. There was a rudimentary defensive fighting position formed by a collection of emplaced energy shields and downturned cargo containers. No sooner had the last of the Marines been offloaded were the Pelicans away, flying up-spin away from the beach.

The squad advanced, and so did the Master Chief, adding his fire to the rest. T’Soni kept her head down, which was fine with the Chief; she was a civilian, and potentially pivotal to the success or failure of the mission. Vakarian, however, fought right alongside the rest of the Marines and team members, taking down several Elites himself. The firefight lasted for ten minutes, fairly short by the Chief’s standards. When all was said and done, four Marines were dead, and the Covenant troops had died to a man.

It was time to move. The Chief mentally reviewed the mission objectives as he surveyed the area around the LZ: Find and secure a facility on the island, likely some sort of map room—which, of course, the enemy had already captured.

The Covenant called the site “the Silent Cartographer,” which could presumably pinpoint the location of Halo’s control center. Keyes had been adamant that the enemy not be allowed to control Halo, and had informed the Chief in no uncertain terms that failure was not an option. Between Cortana and T’Soni, they stood a good chance of figuring out where the hell the control center was housed. All they had to do was take it from a well-entrenched enemy that now knew they were coming.

The Spartan had accomplished harder tasks.

“Echo-419 inbound,” Foehammer said over the radio as her Pelican burned in. “Did somebody order a Warthog?”

Vakarian chuckled. “I didn’t know you made house calls, Foehammer.”

“You know our motto: ‘We deliver.’”

An M12 LRV fell loose from beneath the Pelican’s troop door, bouncing on its shocks. The Warthog was a mainstay of the Marine Corps’ ability to move men and support those men on the battlefield. Running on a hydrogen engine and armed with an M41 Light Antiaircraft Gun, the Warthog was perfect for this kind of mission.

Garrus took position behind the gun and yanked the charging handle. The first cartridge slid into battery with a metallic clack. “Gunpowder,” he said. “Very crude, but very effective. And satisfying.”

“And very loud,” T’Soni said, a good deal louder than her normal speaking voice. She was carrying a borrowed M7 caseless submachine gun. Like many human weapons, economics had informed practicality, and mass accelerators were terribly expensive to equip every weapon in a military. Since most militaries used thermal clips, the use of traditional propellants was seen as no great loss when it came to rate of fire and the effectiveness of individual rounds. Many weapons had been carried by other Council militaries and wound up in the hands of UNSC forces as the depleted armies mingled. It wasn’t uncommon to see UNSC Marines using M8 Avenger assault rifles and asari Huntresses toting BR-55 battle rifles.

“Yes, that too,” Vakarian allowed, “but you’ve clearly never heard the sound a Black Widow makes. A slug moving at four times the speed of sound makes a hell of a bang.”

“We’ll secure the beach and make sure no squid-lips cut you off,” Wrex said over the radio. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

“Acknowledged.” The Chief put his foot to the floor and the Warthog shot off, spewing sand behind the vehicle. Garrus was scanning the interior of the island with the LAAG; the vast majority of the area was uncleared, and the turian clearly knew his trade well enough to hold security on any space that had not been proven safe. Sure enough, a group of Jackals presented themselves as targets. Garrus opened fire, the LAAG whirring and thundering, 12.7x99mm rounds thundering from the triple barrels of the gun. The design of the rounds was ancient, virtually unchanged from the original .50 caliber Browning Machine Gun rounds originally developed for John Moses Browning’s M2 heavy machine gun in the early twentieth century. The bullets were so successful that no one had bothered to change them, and even in a galaxy with Mass Effect technology, the cartridge was still a world-beater. The turian military had acquired several examples of the LAAG for testing against more familiar designs before buying a license to produce it from Misriah Armory. Hundreds of thousands of the guns had been used throughout the war by nearly every Citadel army.

Plasma bolts struck the Warthog, melting patches of the roll carriage. The ‘hog was a sturdy vehicle, so the Chief ignored the distraction and focused on driving. Garrus continued laying down fire, cutting two Jackals down. To her credit, T’Soni joined in, firing several bursts from her M7 at an Elite as they passed, yelping as the LRV slammed into an Elite Minor. The weight of the multiton vehicle broke every bone in the Elite’s body and dragged him beneath the wheels.

After several minutes of driving, the LRV reached a structure, built into the cliff edge. Guarded by a squad of Covenant troops, it was built of the same silvery metal that the Chief had seen before in other Forerunner structures. A Spirit had dropped off several of the Covenant’s purple metal containers, and winged away as the Chief watched.

The non-com considered his options. He could attempt to pick the enemy off from range, they could assault the position on foot supported by the LAAG, or drive the Warthog directly into the enemy.

The Spartan opted for the third option, warned his team to hold on, and put his foot to the floor. The Warthog shot forward, Garrus cackling and T’Soni trying to hold in a shriek of terror. The LAAG rattled as the Warthog slammed into a Grunt and propelled him off of the cliff. The Master Chief debarked the LRV and brought his rifle up as Vakarian used the LAAG like a hose, keeping the enemy contained by the sheer weight of his fire. Motioning for T’Soni to hang back, the Chief moved in, using frag grenades to clear the alcoves on either side of the corridor. Several Elites had retreated inside, and the Spartan rooted them out one by one.

When the area was clear, the team regrouped. “There’s nothing up here,” Vakarian observed.

“I imagine that the Forerunners would not put such an important installation in an easily found location,” T’Soni said. “It is likely several levels below us.”

“We should move, then,” the Chief decided, and led the way down the ramp leading deeper into the complex.

Down two levels was a small corridor that led to a door. Of course, it was guarded by Covenant troops. The Master Chief drew a grenade from his webbing, primed it, and tossed the explosive into the gaggle of disorganized aliens. A Grunt shouted in fear before the frag detonated, scything the aliens down. An Elite remained on his feet and tried to fire, but a burst from Vakarian’s rifle persuaded him otherwise.

“Don’t let them seal the doors!” Cortana cautioned.

Too late. The door whooshed shut.

“Damn!” T’Soni said.

“Can we get past them?” the Spartan asked.

“It’s unlikely,” T’Soni admitted. “Forerunner lockdowns are notoriously difficult to break… as I once learned the hard way.”

Filing the aside as irrelevant information, the Master Chief consulted Cortana. “Is there anything you can do?”

“No such luck. I underestimated the Covenant's understanding of Halo's subsystems. They've locked the doors, and we don't have enough firepower to get through them.” She activated his armor’s comms suite. “Cortana to Keyes.”

“Go ahead, Cortana,” the Captain replied. “Have you found the control center?”

“Negative, Captain. The Covenant have impeded our progress. We can't proceed unless we can disable this installation's security system.”

“Understood. We're still en route to the objective. I may be out of contact when we get there.” Keyes paused for a moment, likely considering his options. “Here are your orders: I want you to use any means necessary to force your way into the facility and find Halo's control center. We have to get to the center before the Covenant, and failure, people, is not an option.”

The Chief had already led his team back up to the Warthog by the time Keyes had signed off. “Doctor,” he addressed T’Soni, “do these types of facilities often have another method of entry? Any redundant systems?”

“Well, I’ve obviously never seen an installation like this, but Forerunner security systems often possess an alternate means of access, a checkpoint of sorts. I’m sure there is such an installation on this island.”

If the front door is locked, go in the back, the Spartan supposed, and put his foot to the floor. The LRV roared forward. Consulting the map of the island gleaned from Foehammer’s overhead pass, the Chief noted a small ravine that led into the interior of the island. Navigating the ‘hog towards it, he noted another Warthog crashed on the beach with three Marines dead around it. Something was wrong.

The “something that was wrong” became readily apparent when a green plasma bolt flashed past his head.

The Chief ran the Warthog up the narrow slope and dismounted as Vakarian laid down fire with the .50 cal. “There, on the left!” Cortana said. “That’s the ravine you want.”

“Tell me something, Cortana,” the non-com asked as took cover behind a fallen tree, “How come you’re always telling me to go up gravity lifts, run down corridors, and sneak through forests while making no mention of the enemy forces that seem to inhabit such places?”

“Because I don’t want you to feel unnecessary,” the AI replied easily. “For example, given the fact that your armor’s sensors are indicating for both of us that at least five Covenant soldiers are lying in wait further up the ravine, it is only logical to suppose that there are even more beyond them. Does that make you feel better?”

“No,” the Spartan admitted as he opened fire.

He charged up the hill as Vakarian’s tracers snapped by overhead. Even T’Soni was involved, her M7 crackling. A Grunt panicked and tried to flee, but a 12.7mm round picked him up and flung him into the rock face.

The team regrouped and began pushing forward. Vakarian tossed a few grenades to lead them out, stunning most of the opposition. The Master Chief charged ahead, assault rifle hammering. He spared a moment to allow his shields to recharge before turning the corner into a large clearing. A slight hill overlooked a large Forerunner structure in the open, a huge construct composed of the same silver metal everything else on the ring seemed to be built from. In front of it stood a Hunter pair. His shields had just begun their recharge cycle when one of the Hunter spotted him, roared a challenge, and fired.

The fuel rod struck him in the chest, draining his shields and triggering an alarm while throwing him back several meters. The second shot was halted by a thick-trunked tree. A trickle of blood pooled in the corner of his left eye. “Chief!” Vakarian called over TEAMCOM. “Are you alright?”

The Spartan shook his head to clear his blurred vision and rolled to his left, narrowly dodging another fuel rod that sent a plume of soil skyward from the position he’d been in a moment before. “Affirmative. I need you and T’Soni to draw their fire. I’ll flank them.”

“Roger that.” The clatter of gunfire sounded immediately after, and the Hunters shifted their attention to the turian. The Chief moved, dashing from cover to cover until he had a good angle on the Hunters. Palming a plasma grenade, he tapped the arming button and hurled it like a baseball.

The grenade struck the Hunter’s back and melded to the material. The alien panicked, turning and firing a fuel rod that missed wildly. The grenade burst, and the Hunter fell with a keening wail.

The other Hunter roared defiance and turned to engage. Three cracks sounded from Vakarian’s rifle, and the alien fell dead in a pool of its own gore.

The Chief activated his rifle’s cooling flush. “Regroup,” he ordered.

The team moved on, dealing with several Jackals and Grunts as they went. In a large clearing was a Covenant squad, led by three Elites. Vakarian hit one of the hinge-heads with a concussive grenade round, slamming the alien into the side of the rock face hard enough to crack bone. After a brutal firefight, the team moved into another structure, this one a real building. Inside, a large number of Covenant cargo containers, made of their ubiquitous off-purple metal alloy, were strewn about in a haphazard fashion. It was quiet. In the Master Chief’s experience, quiet was never to be trusted.

Sure enough, a pair of Hunters charged from behind some columns, fuel rod guns charging. The Chief opened fire, 7.62mm slugs clanging off of heavy armor as Vakarian dove for cover. Checking his visor display, the Spartan noted that T’soni was still at the top of the ramp, hiding behind the lip of the door. Moving to cover behind several stacked cargo containers, he drew a grenade from his suit webbing.

The non-com hadn’t had a chance to recover any more plasma grenades; this was a UNSC-issue M9 HEDP fragmentation grenade. The “frag” was a notoriously simple weapon with roots dating back to the ancient Chinese; an explosive core surrounded by a frangible metal case that would burst into lethal fragments when the charge detonated. The modern brand possessed a limited anti-armor capability, in that it could shred anything armored to the level of a troop-carrier Warthog, but it was primarily an anti-personnel weapon. The anti-material effect was what the Spartan was relying on now, though; Hunters could withstand tremendous punishment, and in his experience grenades were capable of killing the monstrous soldiers. He would only have one chance before the first Hunter could turn and destroy him.

The Hunter rounded the corner, fuel rod gun charging and aimed towards Vakarian. The Spartan acted fast; priming the grenade, he lightly tossed it towards the alien before turning and jumping the crate, rifle hammering at the other Hunter. The assault rifle tore into the few unprotected areas of the Hunter’s body. As it collapsed in a puddle of gore, the grenade went off with a deafening crump. The first Hunter wailed, then collapsed, and the way was clear.

Regrouping, the team moved towards the illuminated room deeper in the structure. “Analyzing…” Cortana said within the confines of the Master Chief’s helmet. “Ah, jackpot. This is the panel we want,” she said through the suit’s speakers. “Doctor T’Soni, would you like to do the honors?”

“Certainly,” the asari said, dropping her M7 on its sling and stepping up to the panel. The Master Chief patrolled the area, ensuring that no enterprising Covenant soldier elected to make his presence known, while Vakarian kept a tight bead on the door. The Spartan spared a glance at the console, and saw T’Soni tapping buttons. After a moment, she said, “The door should be open.”

“Good work, Doctor,” Cortana said. “That should open the door that leads into the main shaft. Now all we need to do is find the map room.”

“That,” the Master Chief replied, “and avoid capture in unknown territory, already held by the enemy, with no air support or significant backup.”

“Do we have a plan?” T’Soni asked tentatively.

“Yes. When we get there, I’m going to kill every single Covenant soldier I find.”

Chapter 12: Interlude

Chapter Text

[CLASSIFIED: ONI SECTION III. AUTHENTICATE CLEARANCE LEVEL.]

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[CLEARANCE LEVEL CONFIRMED: ONI SECTION ZERO. ACCESS GRANTED.]

Equipment Report: MJOLNIR Mk. V Powered Assault Armor

Issue Date: 24/11/2551 (Authorized, Section III)

Countermeasures:

• GTE-9 kinetic barriers
• Mk. 1 Mod A energy shielding
• Nanocrystal titanium plating
• Titanium nanocomposite bodysuit
• Hydrostatic gel layer
• Automated biofoam injectors
• Pressure seals
• ARGUS explosives detector
• Nuclear-Biological-Chemical seals (Vacuum rated)

Enhancement systems:

• Reactive crystal layer
• Force-multiplying circuits
• Reactive movement circuits
• Artificial Intelligence storage matrix (warship-grade)

Heads-Up Display:

• Medical Indicators
• Compass
• Map
• Movement Tracker
• Smart-link for compatible small arms
• Smart-link for compatible heavy arms
• Atmospheric analysis systems

Weight: 321.3 kilograms

Unit Cost: 178 million credits (2551 value)

Production: Misriah Armories, Sinoviet Heavy Engineering, Heyne-Kedar Armory, BAE-Raytheon

Standard Test Loadout:

• Misriah Armory MA5B
• Colt-Browning M6G Magnum
• Heckler & Koch SRS-99C S2 AM sniper rifle
• Kalashnikov Concern Mk. 7 Mod C Omni-Blade (dominant hand)
• M9 HEDP fragmentation grenades
• UM-20 homing concussion grenade launcher

Chapter 13: The Silent Cartographer

Chapter Text

20/09/2552

Forerunner security installation, unnamed island

With the security system disabled, Master Chief turned to exit the building. It was high time they found the Silent Cartographer and finished this mission.

As he stepped away from the console, a panicked voice filled his helmet. “Mayday, mayday! Dropship Bravo-22 taking enemy fire! Repeat! We are under heavy fire and are losing altitude!” The call was followed by a dampened explosion from outside the structure.

“Damn!” Vakarian muttered. “We need to get to the crash site. If there are any survivors, the Covenant will be all over them.”

The Chief knew he was right and led his team into the larger room. Something felt off; his motion tracker was picking up ghost contacts, and while he might normally have passed it off as being a software glitch—his armor had already been through a lot, and equipment failure was to be anticipated—Cortana was present in his suit systems, her background runtimes cleaning up the armor’s sensor returns and analyzing them before he even saw them. If she had allowed a ghost return through, something was definitely there.

The Spartan looked harder, mindful of the encounter in the brig of the Covenant cruiser. He spotted the telltale shimmer in the air and aimed his rifle. He saw the blue light of a plasma rifle’s containment matrix brighten into the visible spectrum, and he opened fire. The Spec Ops Elite staggered under the onslaught, shields flashing off-white as the hardened rounds battered them down. One of his fellows managed to return fire, but the plasma pulses marked his position for Vakarian and T’Soni. The Chief finished off the first Elite before shifting fire to another. The MA5B hammered, magnetically accelerated slugs cutting down the offending aliens. The Chief began walking up the ramp, before he noticed T’Soni looking strangely at her M7.

“Is there a problem, Doctor?” Vakarian asked.

“I believe I’m out of ammunition,” T’Soni said.

“Take one of their weapons and keep moving,” the Spartan told her. “When it runs out of shots, scavenge a new one.”

T’Soni shakily nodded, unbuckling a plasma pistol from the magnetic holster of one of the dead Elites. The weapon was huge in her hands, and the asari held it like a large submachine gun. Satisfied, the Master Chief turned and exited the facility.

Cortana spoke up as the Chief noticed smoke rising from over the cliff. “Chief, Bravo-22 was bringing us some heavy weapons. After I saw we were up against Hunters, I thought you could use them. Let's move down the beach. Keep an eye out for any cargo we can salvage.”

Looking over the cliff edge, the Master Chief could see the wreckage of Bravo-22. It had been hit on the way in and crashed nose-first into a large rock formation on the beach. The survivors looked to have been rounded up and executed by the Grunts and Jackals that were crowding the crash site. Two Grunts were pawing through the scattered equipment and jabbering in their language. One seemed particularly taken with an MA5B, and was attempting to shoulder the rifle. The Master Chief elected to inform the Grunt why the rifle was better than his issued sidearm and ventilated the Grunt’s skull with two well-aimed 7.62mm slugs. Vakarian had brought up his Viper marksman’s rifle and joined the Chief, picking off Jackals two shots at a time—one to their shield hand to dislodge the protective screen followed by a second shot to the chest. The unexpected attack took the Covenant by surprise, and only a few Grunts managed to return fire before the patrol was wiped out.

The Chief led his team back through the valley to their Warthog. Vakarian settled in behind the gun again as the Master Chief gunned the engine and turned the Warthog back towards Charlie 22’s wreck. The Hunter threat was obviously severe enough to warrant the heavy weapons that Cortana had called in, and the Chief intended to make use of them.

There was nothing but corpses, debris, and a damaged Warthog surrounding the crashed Pelican as the Chief brought the Warthog to a stop. He dismounted, rifle ready, but no targets presented themselves. Slinging the assault rifle, he looked around for the promised weapons. Several examples presented themselves, all the same type. Reaching down, the Master Chief dusted off the sights of an M41 Jackhammer rocket launcher. Its design was distinct compared to most, sporting a twin rotary barrel that fed from a detachable magazine. Checking the load, the Master Chief could see that this example was loaded with High Explosive, Armor Piercing rockets. Good. Armor Piercing was overkill for Hunters, and the HEAT rounds were capable of dealing with grouped targets as well, should the need arise. Securing several reloads, he loaded them into the Warthog before climbing back behind the wheel.

They continued up the beach, the Warthog’s engine whining. They passed the team on the beachhead, Vakarian trading insults with one of the Marines as the Chief slowed down. Wrex was pacing, apparently bored. “Spartan,” he rumbled as the Master Chief stopped beside him.

“Is your position secure?” the Spartan asked him.

“Yeah,” Wrex said, still pacing. “That Marine, Alenko, has people out fifty meters on either flank. If any Covenant show up, we’ll know about it.”

T’Soni shifted in her seat. “Perhaps you should take Wrex with you, Master Chief. He’s surely more useful in a fight than I am.”

“Negative,” the Chief replied. “We still need you to activate the Cartographer.”

“Perhaps not,” the asari said. “Garrus told me that you activated a light bridge without any understanding of the technology or control interface. Normally, that is extremely difficult to do. Humans have always been rather good at discerning the meaning and function of Forerunner technology, and this ring… I think that there is something about humanity that Forerunner tech responds to.”

“There is no documentation that the Forerunners had any significant interactions with early humanity, Doctor,” Cortana said. “Or with any other race, for that matter.”

“I might not have enough evidence, but—”

The non-com interrupted the budding dissertation with a raised hand. “You’re our Forerunner expert, Doctor. I need you to be sure we don’t make a serious mistake at the Cartographer.”

T’Soni looked concerned, but said, “Very well, Master Chief.”

The Spartan turned the Warthog down-spin and followed the beach back towards the Cartographer. They passed the bodies of the Jackals they had killed previously as Vakarian swung the LAAG to bear on a Spirit flying just past the coastline. He held his fire; the gun wasn’t enough to deal with the armored dropship. The Chief had a sinking feeling that there was going to be a lot more opposition at the Cartographer than he had expected.

Sure enough, as the Warthog crested the hill, he saw a squad of mixed Elites, Jackals, and Grunts moving up from the hovering Spirit towards the Cartographer. Near the door was yet another Hunter pair. They turned at the sound of the Warthog’s engine. One roared a challenge and fired its fuel rod cannon.

The green bolt of energy issued from the fuel rod gun and struck the Warthog’s rear left quarter, throwing Vakarian from the LAAG and flipping the vehicle. The Master Chief rolled with the impact, his shields taking the brunt of the impact. He came up holding the rocket launcher and activated the electro-optical scope. Seating the launcher on his shoulder, he fired. The first 102mm HEAT rocket struck the Hunter in what would have been the stomach and exploded, blasting through the armor and killing it instantly. The second Hunter roared its rage and charged, but a second rocket ended its assault and its life.

Now holding the high ground, the Master Chief and Vakarian began laying down fire on the advancing Covenant troops. The encounter was quick and deadly, and was decided by two well-placed frag grenades and a dose of automatic fire.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” Vakarian asked.

“I’m fine,” T’Soni said, limping out from behind the boulder she had been thrown into. “I’m wounded, but a little biofoam never hurt anyone.” Biofoam was the UNSC’s standard first aid option; while medi-gel was adept at repairing surface-level plasma burns and other such injuries, it was far less capable when it came to serious trauma. Biofoam filled that niche; in addition to similar regenerative and antibacterial effects to medi-gel, biofoam could maintain pressure on a wound, hold damaged organs in place, stop blood flow, and relieve pressure on a collapsed lung, among other things. Unlike medi-gel, it was a short-term solution. Medi-gel could be, and often was, used as a primary method of care alongside more pedestrian methods. Biofoam was purely for use in emergency situations.

“Can you move?” the Master Chief asked.

T’Soni tested her weight on her left leg and winced, but held her balance. “Yes,” she said.

The Spartan knew she was lying. Her borrowed armor was scorched below the left knee, and it was clear that blood had been flowing freely. The biofoam had clearly been administered before much damage had been done, but she was in no shape to fight.

“Not fast enough to keep up in action, you can’t,” Vakarian said, having picked up on the same facts as the Master Chief. “I’ll radio Foehammer for a medevac.”

“Tell her we’ll need reinforcements as well,” the Master Chief told him. Unsaid was the fact that the Spartan had gotten used to having other soldiers to watch his back again. It was good to have a full team.

T’Soni began to protest before wincing again. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “It seems you’ll be testing my hypothesis anyway, won’t you, Master Chief?”

The Chief did not respond as Echo-419 howled in from down-spin, Commander Shepard already waiting in the open door of the Pelican. He dropped to the deck as T’Soni limped towards the Pelican. As Echo-419’s crew chief helped her aboard, Tali’Zorah followed Shepard down, her borrowed shotgun still in hand. “I suggested that Foehammer bring Tali as well,” Vakarian explained. “We could use a tech expert, and she held her own on the Covenant ship.”

The Chief was slightly irritated that Vakarian hadn’t mentioned his idea, but elected not to mention it. The turian was right; if the Forerunner equipment was damaged or the Covenant set up electronic barriers to impede them, an engineer would be helpful. “Commander,” he said to Shepard. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Shepard seemed surprised, but rolled with the tacit offer admirably. “Alright,” he said. “Vakarian, you’re covering left, I’ll take right. Tali, you’re walking drag. Master Chief, you take point. Let’s move out.”

Checking the charge on his assault rifle, the Spartan turned towards the complex. He led the team through hallways dotted with Covenant dead and slick with multicolored blood, down the ramp, and back through the now open door. They fought their way through several rooms of Covenant troops, mostly Grunts and Jackals with the occasional Elite for leadership. In their wake, they left spent brass, overloaded thermal clips, shotgun shells, and dozens of bodies.

“I get the feeling that someone knew we were coming,” Shepard said conversationally as he slid a fresh magazine—his last—into the BR-55.

“I agree,” Cortana said. “Our earlier attack likely tipped the Covenant off that the Cartographer was our objective. We should hurry before more reinforcements arrive.”

The Chief took the warning to heart and continued deeper into the facility, rifle sweeping. At the bottom of yet another ramp, he saw a Hunter pair patrolling the far end of yet another room, near the terminus of the vertical shaft he had passed on many of the ramps leading down into the facility. One of the Jackals he had killed had apparently come to rest at the bottom, and both Hunters were studying it in apparent confusion. The Spartan motioned Shepard and Tali forward and Vakarian to his left to clear his backblast, set his sights on the left hand Hunter, and pressed the firing stud. A 102mm rocket lanced out, connected with the Hunter’s lower torso, and exploded, a jet of molten copper burning through the alien’s chest cavity—or whatever passed for a chest cavity for a bipedal colony of alien worms. Caught by surprise, the second Hunter roared in anguish and returned fire. The fuel rod was just off mark, but the plasma wash drained the Chief’s shields. He swore and fired again, but the second rocket went wide, and the Hunter charged.

The Spartan sidestepped. He could hear the others engaging what appeared to be a file of Jackals, but his attention was locked on the Hunter. Dropping the empty launcher, he switched to his assault rifle. The slugs bounced off the Hunter’s heavy armor and shield, and it charged forward and swung the heavy plate in a downward arc towards the Spartan. The edge of the razor-sharp shield crashed through his weakened energy shields and tore into his armor’s left shoulder joint. The Chief grunted, the pain deadened by adrenaline. He spun away, feeling the meat of his arm tear as he did so. Bringing up the rifle, he circled the alien until he could see the bit of unprotected flesh that was the Hunter’s Achilles heel. He put a long burst into it and slammed into cover as more Jackals entered the fray. Several frag grenades from Shepard finished the hectic firefight.

Shepard looked at the Spartan. He could see that the super-soldier’s armor was damaged, and could tell that he was wounded. “You alright, Master Chief?”

“Yes,” the Spartan answered. He began to continue on, but Shepard cut him off.

“You’re wounded,” he said. “Take a few minutes so we can treat your arm.”

The Master Chief nodded once, slung his weapon, and removed a medical hit from his armor’s belt. He removed the shoulder plate, cleaned the wound, administered half a can of biofoam, and bound and taped a field dressing. He then reattached the plate and opened a patch kit. Shepard was familiar, anyone who worked in hard vacuum regularly was. Each was essentially a small dome of pliable carbon composite with a valve on the end and a strong resin around the edge. The Chief expertly applied the patch and drew the rifle. Not even five minutes had elapsed.

Shepard was struck by the businesslike manner of the Master Chief. He’d not only suffered a wound that would have reduced most men to agony, he’d treated it swiftly and without complaint—and only when prompted. Shepard wondered what kind of man dwelt behind that mirrored visor. He realized with a start that Spartan 117 was just as alien to him as the Covenant was.

Wrex paced the beach, his shotgun held in one huge hand. He wasn’t as impetuous as he had been in his youth, but he still enjoyed a good fight, and he hated waiting. Most male krogan did; it was one of the things that the females were very good at, and one of the reasons they were an equal part of the clan leadership structure. If they’d been able to unite the clans, males and females working together, they might have been ready when the Covenant came, and the krogan would be more than a few remnants waiting for their own demise in a hostile galaxy, working as guns for hire.

Wrex shrugged his shoulders. Well, no such luck. He’d tried that route, and received a long scar across the face in so doing. If the rest of the krogan didn’t want to be saved, that was their problem. So he told himself, anyway.

The occasional Covenant dropship was patrolling off the coast. Likely as not, they were watching the Marines, ensuring they had a good idea of their disposition when the inevitable counterattack arrived. Wrex hated not having air support. It made his plates itch in the same way that having a sniper’s crosswires on your forehead did. It meant that the enemy could bring in troops, bomb or strafe you, or even just observe you with complete impunity from the sky. The Pelicans didn’t have the ordnance to deal with the marauding Spirits, so they were stuck waiting on the Covenant to act.

Eventually, of course, they did.

The attack came in the form of two Spirit dropships, flying nap-of-the-earth, screaming over the ridge behind the Marines. The Marines opened fire; though their rifles were not effective against the aircraft themselves, the hope was to kill the enemy while they were still helpless in the troop bays. Wrex opened a comm channel to the Master Chief’s team. “Shepard!” he barked. “We’ve got two Covenant dropships incoming. What’s your ETA?”

“Unknown,” Shepard responded. “We don’t even know where we’re going. Can you hold the LZ?”

“I doubt it, Shepard,” Wrex responded. “We don’t have the numbers.”

“Then try to retreat into the structure,” Shepard told him.

“No time for that,” Wrex said. He brought up his borrowed MA5B. “They’re already on top of us.”

Shepard was silent for a moment, then said, “Give ‘em hell, Wrex.”

“No other way to do it.” With that parting remark, Wrex cut his comm and began firing.

Back in the Cartographer facility, Shepard lowered his hand from the side of his helmet. “The Covenant are bringing in troops on the LZ,” he told the team. “We’re running out of time.”

“We’d better keep moving, then,” Garrus said. “We’re going to be caught between those reinforcements and whatever Covenant are left down here if we’re not careful.”

The Master Chief led the way; through a door, down a series of ramps, and through another door. Below him, he could see a group of Grunts led by a lone Elite. He introduced them to a fragmentation grenade, removing the threat before the aliens even knew they were under attack. Moving down and into the room, he recognized his objective at the very same moment that another Elite roared a challenge and opened fire. His shields depleted and an alarm whined under the hail of plasma. Shepard’s battle rifle cracked two bursts, draining the Elite’s shields, before a shell from Tali’s shotgun finished it off.

“There!” Cortana said, clearly pleased. “That holo panel should activate the map.”

“Any idea how to activate it?”

“How should I know?” the AI asked. “You’re the one with the magic touch.”

The Spartan stepped forward, slinging his rifle as Shepard and his team kept security. Extending a hand, the Master Chief found that he seemed to know how to activate the map on an instinctual level. It was odd; it felt as base as his lizard brain’s fight-or-flight instinct, but it was obviously working in tandem with profoundly advanced technology.

The console was almost underwhelming. Little more than a simple four-pointed polygon with a holopanel on one side, it could have passed for a decorative fixture on the Presidium, which the Spartan had visited exactly once as part of a technically illegal wetwork operation.

Refocusing, he used his ill-understood knowledge to activate the map. A three-dimensional representation of Halo’s surface sprang into being in the air above the control panel.

“Analyzing,” Cortana said. “Halo’s control center is there.” She highlighted the region in his helmet display. “Interesting,” she added. “It looks like a temple or a shrine. A strange place to put such an important installation, don’t you think?”

The Master Chief didn’t pretend to understand Forerunner design logic. “If you say so,” he said simply.

Shepard opened a comms channel. “Captain Keyes, do you read me?”

They waited in silence for a moment until Joker replied in Keyes’ stead. “The Captain’s dropped out of contact, Commander,” he said. “He’s probably just having comms issues or something. Military-grade means ‘made by the lowest bidder,’ right?”

“Keep trying, Joker,” Shepard said. “Let us know when you re-establish contact, but first you then tell him that we’ve found the location of the control room.”

“You’ve got it, Commander. I doubt there’s anything seriously wrong. It’s not like there’s space zombies out to eat him, are there?”

In retrospect, Joker would wish he had eaten those words.

Nickelback-"How You Remind Me"*

The incessant beat of Staff Sergeant Johnon’s choice in what Jacob Keyes hesitated to call music hammered over the Pelican dropship’s intercom. The troop bay door hung open, the door gunner standing with one hand on the spade grip of his machine gun and the other holding a cigarette. Below them, Keyes could see, was a swamp.

Wonderful.

“Why do we always have to listen to this old crap, Sarge?” one of the Marines complained.

“Watch your mouth, son!” Johnson growled. “This crap is your history! It should remind you grunts what we’re fighting to protect!”

“Hey,” one of the Marines—Keyes thought his name was Mendoza—said. “If the Covenant want to wipe out this particular part of my history, that’s fine by me.”

“Yeah,” one of the others laughed. “Better it than us!”

“You ask ‘em real nice next time you see ‘em, Bisenti,” Johnson said. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to oblige.”

“LZ looks clear,” the pilot said over the intercom. “I’m bringing us down.”

“Go! Go! Go!” Johnson shouted.

The Marines led the way, piling out of the Pelican and fanning out to take up security. Keyes moved with them. He was no Shepard, but he knew his way around a gun.

The swamp stank, a mixture of that usual swamp gas stench, the distinct scent of rotting vegetation, and the odd, slightly metallic taste that Halo’s air seemed to have. One of the Marines groaned. “Why didn’t I bring my gas mask…” Free of its burden, the Pelican fired its ventral jets and accelerated away from the area.

The team was in this godforsaken swamp for a simple purpose: to secure a stash of Covenant weapons that a disenchanted Elite POW had sworn up and down was present. Even with Lieutenant McKay’s successful raid on the Pillar of Autumn securing enough ammo for some weeks, a fleet of Warthogs, and a platoon of Scorpion tanks, the Marines had a finite amount of munitions, and the more weapons they had, the better.

Led by Bisenti, the Marines moved deeper into the swamp, towards a structure that Keyes was sure was there. The captured Elite had told his Marine interrogators that he and a squad of Jackals had dropped off several crates of heavy weapons at the structure, which apparently led deep into the surface of the ring.

Towards the rear of the formation was Private First Class Wallace A. Jenkins. Originally a colonial militiaman on the planet Harvest, he had been one of the only people on the planet able to resist the Covenant invasion. He’d been trained by none other than Johnson himself, and Johnson had pulled a few strings to bring Jenkins into his unit. Thanks to a mixture of clerical lethargy, an institutional preference to promote career Marines, and a relatively unremarkable career, Jenkins had remained a PFC, but his survival certainly counted for something.

He remained an excellent shot. Most of the Marines carried MA5Bs, but Jenkins had drawn a BR-55 battle rifle instead. He clicked the selector lever to SEMI and performed a quick chamber check; unlike the MA5s, his rifles still used chemical propellant.

Bisenti had the point, and the patrol moved out, quickly reaching the structure. It was made of silver metal with blue holographic accents, characteristic of Forerunner architecture. Several Shade turrets were arrayed throughout the area surrounding the entrance. All were unmanned. Johnson studied the entrance, which was open and led to an elevator, and nodded. “Mendoza, move it up! Wait here for the Captain’s squad, then get your ass inside. Okay, let’s move!”

The Marines moved through the structure, encountering… nothing. No resistance of any kind. The silence was broken only by the rasp of cloth uniforms and the clatter of boots on the metal floor. After about ten minutes, one of the Marines halted. “Hey, look at this.”

On the ground were several Covenant bodies. The Marines clustered around one of the Elites, whose chest cavity was torn open. The internals looked… shredded.

“He’s all torn up,” Spec-4 Kappus said. “Which is weird, right? I mean, look at it!” He poked the corpse with the toe of his boot. “Something scrambled the insides.”

Johnson’s brow furrowed. “What’s that, plasma scoring?”

“Yeah, I dunno,” the same Marine answered. “Maybe there was an accident, y’know, friendly fire or something?”

Keyes, apparently secure in the knowledge that the structure seemed clear, he joined the squad. “What do we have, Sergeant?”

“Looks like a Covenant patrol,” Johnson replied. “Badass Elite types—all KIA.”

Keyes took a look for himself, grimaced, and decided to break the tension. “Real pretty,” he said to Kappus. “Friend of yours?”

Kappus shook his head. “Nah, we just met.”

It took another five minutes for the Marines to reach a large and apparently well-defended door. It was clearly the centerpoint of the place, and the Covenant had clearly wanted to keep whatever was behind it inside.

“Right,” Keyes said. “Let’s get this door open.”

“I’ll try, sir,” Kappus said, “but it looks like these Covenant worked pretty hard to lock it down.”

“Just do it, son,” Keyes ordered.

“Yes sir.” The Marine attached a “spoofer” to the door, a small hacking tool, and activated his omni-tool. The device clicked as it ran through the possible combinations that might open the door. After a moment, the door slid open.

The Marines moved inside, fanning out to cover the room. It was large, almost a gallery of some kind, with several more doors placed equidistant along the walls. Jenkins felt sweat drip down his neck.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” Mendoza said aloud.

“Boy, you’ve always got a bad feeling about something,” Johnson told him.

The radio net filled with noise, and Jenkins winced as the sound grated on his eardrums. It was Bisenti, whose team was still up on the surface.

He was screaming.

“Corporal, do you copy, over!” Johnson said. When he received no response, he turned to Mendoza. “Mendoza, get your ass back up to second squad’s position and find out what the hell is going on!”

“But Sarge-”

“I don’t have time for your lip, Marine!”

“Sarge!” Mendoza cut him off, normally unthinkable, but it had been a weird day. “Listen.”

Then they all heard it. It was a wet noise, like a dead fish being dragged across a stone countertop. And it was coming from all around them.

“What is that?” Johnson whispered, aiming his weapon up towards the ceiling. “Where’s that coming from, Mendoza!”

“There!” the Marine shouted. “Mira!” he cried, slipping into his native Spanish.

A… a thing dropped down from the ceiling and latched onto one of the Marines. He shrieked. “Ah, get it off! Get it off!”

“Hold still!” Kappus shouted, trying to hit the thing with the butt of his rifle.

Then the penny dropped, with a clang loud enough to be heard even through the vacuum of space. The dead Covenant, the ‘friendly fire.’ The reason they hadn’t taken any resistance so far. The reason that door had been so heavily bolted down.

They weren’t trying to keep the Marines out.

They had been trying to keep something in.

One of the doors shattered, and more of the pod things boiled out into the room. “Let ‘em have it!” Johnson roared as his rifle began to hammer.

“Sergeant, we’re surrounded!” Keyes said, firing his pistol.

Johnson, however, had other worries. “God damn it, Jenkins, fire your weapon!”

Jenkins was petrified. “There’re too many, Sarge!”

“Don’t even think about it, Marine.”

Mendoza, having seen enough, turned and ran for the door. “This is loco!”

“Get back here, Marine!” Keyes bellowed. “That’s an order!”

Then they were buried under a wave of pods. Jenkins watched Keyes be dragged under, and as Johnson tried to lead whoever was left out of the room, Jenkins was hit too. He felt the worst pain he’d ever felt as a tentacle sliced open the skin of his neck and tapped into his spinal cord before his memory grayed out. When he woke up again, Private Wallace A. Jenkins found himself in a waking nightmare.

Somehow, the infection form that had taken his body had been weakened by the long hibernation in the research facilities of the installation. It could dominate his body, but Jenkins remained conscious even as everyone around him was destroyed. He was entirely aware as the other consciousness within his mind marched him around the room.

He screamed and screamed, but nobody cared.

Chapter 14: Interlude

Chapter Text

UNSC Normandy Personnel File: Wrex, Urdnot

Rank: Krogan Battle Master

Service History:Wrex was born a few years after the Krogan Rebellions ended, and has spent the majority of his life behind a gun. Most of his past is known only to him, and he seems to prefer it that way. When the war began, Wrex was one of many krogan mercenaries hired by the UNSC to supplement human forces during the Harvest Campaign. He emerged as a leader among the mercenaries, and attempted to use krogan support for the war to demand a cure for the genophage. Despite human agreement, the salarian and turian Council representatives invoked their veto authority. Wrex continued to fight with human forces, but his disciplinary file is dotted with incidents involving off-duty turian soldiers. He was on Reach looking for work with Naval Special Warfare teams when the Covenant invaded, and made his way to Aszod in an effort to get off-world.

Psychological Report: Wrex’s personality can be defined by the word ruthless. He does not believe in mercy or barring holds in battle, and he believes that the best way to defeat an enemy is to crush them utterly and without compromise or remorse. In other words, he is a typical krogan. Like all krogan, Wrex is afflicted with the genophage, but this has had a surprisingly minimal effect on his relationship with Lieutenant Vakarian, especially given his prior records. Since the Glassing of Tuchanka, Wrex has stated that he holds a deep and personal hatred for the Covenant, and the only reason he escaped Reach was to kill more of them in the future. This is a paradox when his statement that he cares little for the fate of the krogan is considered; I suspect that Wrex is attempting to reconcile his past in the most efficient way possible, and has failed to do so.

Personal Remarks: As disturbingly blunt and brutally honest as Wrex can be, his combat prowess is nearly unmatched among the crew of the Normandy. He personally respects Commander Shepard’s leadership and skills in battle. For that reason, he is a welcome addition to the ship’s complement.

Filing Officer: Lieutenant Karen Chakwas, M.D.-Chief Medical Officer, UNSC Normandy

Chapter 15: Assault on the Control Room

Chapter Text

“Do? I think that’s obvious, Chief. Make him a Squad Leader.”

- Dr. Catherine Halsey to Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez, after hearing SPARTAN 117’s testimony about why he ordered his team to attack several un-uniformed Marines guarding an Albatross dropship, 2519.

20/09/2552

Below Halo’s surface

The Grunt paced along the edge of the chasm. He was glad that his file had been sent to guard this place; it seemed impossible for any of the humans to attack them here! Like most Grunts, this specimen was a rather cowardly individual, so a boring and safe assignment suited him just fine.

His head co*cked when he heard the whine of an engine. It was getting louder. And louder…

The Grunt froze as the hard-nosed shape of a Pelican dropship rose from the abyss next to him. As the human aircraft loomed over him, he shrieked and ran for his life.

“This is as far as I can go!” Foehammer said as she opened the rear hatch of the Pelican. The door gunner opened up with his machine gun as the Chief disembarked, followed by Shepard, Tali, and Garrus. The Pelican pulled away and disappeared into the tunnels, presumably returning to their ingress point.

“Roger that,” Shepard said. “Looks like we’re walking.”

“Good luck,” the cheery pilot replied. “Foehammer out.”

The Master Chief had made his way out of the Silent Cartographer with the rest of the team and linked up with Foehammer outside the facility, where Cortana had suggested that they use a Pelican to launch an aerial insertion to an underground location using the network of tunnels under Halo’s surface. Foehammer had been somewhat ambivalent to the proposal on the grounds that Pelicans do not turn within the radius of a credit chit, but the Master Chief trusted Cortana’s judgment. That trust had once again paid off.

The team moved through a large number of very similar rooms, all of which were heavily guarded, until arriving on an open bridge. The weather came as some surprise. Rather than the fall chill and summer heat they had grown accustomed to, the team was greeted with an outright blast of frigid air. Snow floated on the wind and piled on the rock faces and on the steel of the bridge. It was strange; one would have expected that the Forerunners would build their constructs with universally decent weather.

“The weather patterns here seem natural, not artificial,” Cortana echoed the non-com’s thoughts.

“The climate control systems might have malfunctioned after all this time,” Tali said, catching a snowflake in her palm as she spoke. Weather remained amazing to her after a life within the confines of one ship or another. “Or maybe they wanted the ring to have bad weather.”

“That seems like a question for Doctor T’Soni,” Shepard said, “and I really don’t care which. We need to keep moving.”

The Master Chief was inclined to agree, and he led the way onto the bridge, and immediately halted. Two Shade turrets were sitting silently on either side of the bridge. One was manned, but the other was not, and sleeping Grunts were arrayed around the covered section of the bridge. Silently, the Chief moved towards the manned Shade, his sidearm aimed at the head of the gunner. The Grunt didn’t notice a thing until the Chief shot him once in the head and clambered behind the gun. As the rest of the team massacred the Grunts, he spun the Shade to aim down the length of the bridge and opened fire on the Covenant troops arrayed across the span. Using the purple plasma like a hose, he drove the Covenant out of cover where the rest of the team could properly engage them.

Shepard, of course, led the way. His BR-55 barked three-round bursts as Tali ducked into cover, her shotgun booming. Garrus had brought up his Vindicator and was taking potshots over their heads, his weapon set to single shot. It took only minutes for the team to clear the bridge. As they did, a Pelican screamed overhead, trailing smoke from its starboard engine. “This is Fireteam Zulu, requesting immediate assistance from any UNSC forces,” a human voice, strained by desperation, pleaded over the NET. “Does anyone copy?”

“I didn’t think anyone else was left on this part of the ring,” Shepard said. “This is Commander Shepard, I read you, Fireteam Zulu. Hold your ground, we’re on our way.”

“Thank you, sir, none too soon!”

The team moved through dozens of rooms, all of them laid out on the same prefabricated design. Tali seemed fascinated by the machinery arrayed through the rooms, but was consistently distracted by the enemy forces that seemed to garrison each one. It was a heavy garrison for some structures of dubious importance, but the Covenant clearly had the troops to spare. After what felt like hours of combat, Shepard led the team to a door. It opened to reveal not yet another room, but an open valley. Cold air chilled the naval officer’s bones.

At the rear of the gulley was a team of Marines scattered near a flipped Warthog. They were frantically returning fire while skirmishing with two Shade turrets, a file of infantry, and a Wraith mortar tank in defilade about a hundred meters up-spin from their position. One of the Shades was near the door, and the Grunt gunner clearly had not noticed them yet.

The Master Chief took the initiative, shooting the Grunt in the head with his sidearm. “Garrus, get on that gun,” Shepard ordered. “Suppress the Shade on that outcropping.”

“You got it, Shepard.” The turian climbed behind the Shade’s control panel and rotated it towards the Covenant positions, purple plasma bolts lashing out towards the other Shade.

The rest of the team advanced behind the Master Chief, hitting the Covenant advance in the flank. Rifles clattered as Grunts and Jackals fell dead. The Marines cheered and counterattacked, many of them using captured enemy weapons. “Good to see you, Master Chief!” one of them said as he jacked a new magazine into his weapon. “I thought we were done for.”

A ball of plasma exploded near the Marines. “That Wraith still has our range!” Tali called, taking cover behind a scorched tree.

Shepard spied a rocket launcher, an M41 Jackhammer, near the Warthog. “That could come in handy.”

The Master Chief stepped towards the Warthog, grabbed the roll cage, and lifted. His own augmented strength, combined with the powered servos of his armor, served to flip the three ton vehicle back onto its wheels. He climbed behind the wheel and said, “I need a gunner.”

Shepard had already retrieved the rocket launcher and piled into the side seat. “Tali,” he said, “can you work the gun?”

“I haven’t been trained on it!” the quarian answered.

“Doesn’t matter, just point and shoot!” Shepard said. “Come on!”

Muttering nervously to herself, Tali bounded up the ‘hog’s bumper and into the back, quickly familiarizing herself with the machine gun. The Chief put his foot to the floor and sent the LRV careening forward, past the small rise sheltering the Wraith. The squat tank spun to face the human vehicle as Tali opened fire, peppering the tank with 12.7mm slugs. The rounds ricocheted off the armor, causing no damage aside from scraping the paint.

Shepard was trying to keep the tank in the launcher’s sights for more than a split second, aiming over the Chief’s helmet as he did so. Plasma sizzled off the roll cage as a file of Jackals opened fire from another rise. Tali swung the LAAG to return fire as Shepard finally managed to line up a shot. “Rocket rocket rocket!” he shouted as he pressed the firing stud.

The 102mm warhead struck the frontal armor of the Wraith. Unlike human tanks, Wraiths were not designed for frontline combat; meant to support infantry advances, they were designed with weaker hulls than human armor. One hit was sufficient to burn out the crew compartment and detonate the plasma reactor powering the tank.

“Marines, push up!” the Chief ordered, swinging the ‘hog around to support their advance. The LAAG rattled as the squad attacked, pushing forward and dealing with the last Covenant contacts.

“Good work, people,” Shepard said, slinging the rocket launcher. “Let’s keep moving.”

They descended a short drop to find the crashed Pelican and more Marines under attack by a flock of Ghosts. Near them was an abandoned M808B Scorpion.

The Scorpion was a relatively light vehicle; unlike the Army’s heavier main battle tanks, the Scorpion was designed from the ground up for the Marine Corps. Unlike the much heavier M88 Grizzly, equipped with twin 120mm gauss cannons, the Scorpion was armed with a more pedestrian 90mm magnetically/chemically propelled gun. The armor was fairly thin, but it was quick, reliable, and somehow more survivable than most Covenant armor. Perfect for swift assault forces like the Marines, the basic design had been in continuous service in one form or another since the 2200s.

Under these circ*mstances, the Scorpion was a superweapon. With the handful of remaining Covenant scythed down by the Marines’ guns, Shepard moved towards the tank. He’d been trained on the Scorpion after N7 school. “I need a gunner,” he said. While the tank was theoretically operable by one man with a neural link, something Shepard had, it was far more effective with an independent gunner so the driver could concentrate on where he was going. “Is anyone qualified?”

“I am, sir,” one of the Marines said.

“Get in, then. Master Chief,” he said, “Keep their infantry off the tank.”

“Yes, sir.” The Spartan led the team out, taking point through the wide tunnel ahead of them. He checked his motion tracker, seeing splotches of red ahead of them.

“Damn, it’s cold,” one of the Marines said, shaking his hand before gripping his rifle again.

“Secure the bullsh*t,” the nearby Sergeant growled. “This is still a hot zone.”

It was a strange realization for the Master Chief that here, in this most alien of places, he felt more at home than he had in a long time.

Resistance between them and the control room had been fairly light, nothing that the Scorpion couldn’t handle. The team moved forward with the tank until they reached a pass too narrow for it to traverse. After another stretch of fighting through identical rooms and their Covenant garrisons, the Master Chief stepped out onto an ice bridge. To the left of the team was a large pyramidal structure made from the same metallic material as the rest of the ring’s fabricated structures seemed to be. “So that’s the Control Room,” Cortana said. “Subtle.”

The Master Chief cast a practiced eye over the Covenant defenders on the bridge. He could see several Grunts, Jackals, and a couple of Elites. Most of the latter aliens wore the blue armor of Minors, but two wore the crimson plates marking them as NCOs. More interestingly, he could see two Banshees. Hunkering down behind a boulder, he said, “Commander, can you fly one of those Banshees?”

“In theory,” Shepard said. “We trained on them in flight simulators. If you can get me one, I can give you air cover.”

“The rest of us will rope down to ground level,” the Chief said. He looked over the edge. “There’s at least one Wraith and several Ghosts.”

“I’ll deal with them. You focus on getting to the Control Room.”

Nodding, the Spartan popped up, rifle at his shoulder, and cut down two Grunts. The rest of the team joined in the firefight, Shepard changing magazines as the Master Chief pushed forward. He swapped to his Magnum as the MA5B went into its cooling flush, the heavy pistol dropping several Grunts in short order. One of the Elites ran for the nearby Banshee. The Chief shot him twice, dropping his shields, before simply punching the alien in the head. He dropped like a bag of bricks. “Commander.”

“I’m on it,” Shepard said, slinging his battle rifle and diving into the Banshee. The anti-grav drives powered up and the STOVL attack craft lifted off, gathering speed as Shepard took it into the air.

The Chief continued returning fire as plasma bolts from Shepherd's Banshee tracked across the remaining enemy infantry. The bridge was swiftly cleared, and the Spartan slung his rifle, retrieving a zipline kit from his webbing. “Cortana,” he said. “How far away is the top of the spire from where we are now?”

“Exactly 482 meters at its nearest point,” the AI replied. “Why?” Instead of replying, the Spartan slammed one end of the bolt-tipped line into the wall of the canyon, set the MA5B to “propel,” and slid the other into the barrel of the rifle. “Ah,” the AI said. “Smart.”

Shouldering the rifle, the Master Chief fired one pulse. Instead of firing a bullet, the magnetic accelerators propelled the steel bolt out with sufficient force to lodge it three centimeters into the ice wall on the other side of the gap. He handed utility clips to Garrus and Tali before hooking up. “Ready?” he asked.

Garrus nodded, but Tali looked doubtful. “I haven’t done this before,” she said uncertainly.

“No time like the present,” Garrus said. “She’ll be fine, Master Chief.”

The Spartan nodded and turned, tugging his clip before stepping off into open air. The cable took his weight easily; it was drawn from recycled titanium-A battleplate that had been removed from damaged warships. Sometimes, battleplate was too badly damaged to be recast into good armor and was put towards other uses, like this cable. Most cables weren’t so stringently designed, but this one had been made specifically for Spartans to use in full armor.

“Keelah!” Tali watched as the Chief slid towards the Control Room, rifle in his hands. “Oh, I definitely am not going to do that.”

“Yes, you are,” Garrus said. “Hang on.”

“What do you mean hang on!” A three-fingered hand shoved her off the cliff, and for a split second Tali was falling. Then the cable caught her weight, and she slid down the line towards the pyramidal structure. The quarian had the presence of mind to mute her comlink before screaming.

Garrus chuckled. Sometimes, he really loved his job. Testing his own clip, he stepped off the bridge with his battle rifle in hand. A few blinks directed his visor to open a music program, the first song on the playlist starting immediately. He grunted. It was a human song, part of the Colonial genre that they called “flip music.” Not his first choice, but not his last, either.

The Master Chief disengaged his clip early, landing in a tight combat roll. As he stood, a terrified Grunt started at him, quivering. Delivering a swift butt-stroke with the assault rifle, the Spartan turned and opened fire as the little alien fell dead. The rifle clattered as the other two landed. Tali was visibly breathing heavily, and she glared at Garrus as she fumbled with her shotgun. “I… am going… to kill you…” she wheezed.

“You’d miss my sweet disposition,” was the turian’s whimsical reply.

“I have… a shotgun…”

Tuning out the conversation, the Chief focused on returning fire as he advanced. Several needles glanced off his shields as he took cover to allow the rifle to cool. Tali had taken cover as well and was tapping at her omni-tool. She was rewarded with a shocked warble from a nearby Elite whose shields popped and dissipated. Garrus popped off a shot, taking the hinge-head in the top of the head. The top platform was cleared in short order as Shepard’s Banshee conducted strafing runs on the flanks of the pyramid. Once the area was reasonably secure, Shepard brought the strikecraft in and landed near the fireteam. “Good work, Master Chief,” he said.

“Likewise, sir,” the Spartan said. “I need to get Cortana into the Control Room.”

“We’ll hold the entrance,” Shepard said. “Can you handle the interior yourself?”

“Affirmative.” 117 looked at the large doors for a moment. “There are likely enemy troops just inside.”

“Take cover!” Shepard called. “I’ll hit the button.”

“Negative.” The Chief shook his head. “Your armor can’t take a hit.”

Shepard shrugged. The Chief knew this business better than any other operator alive. “Alright,” he said, taking cover behind a toppled cargo container and sliding a fresh magazine into his battle rifle, his last one. Noticing this, the Spartan held out his MA5B.

“You’ll need this,” he said.

“Won’t you?” Shepard asked. In answer, the Master Chief wrenched a Covenant plasma rifle from the clutches of its former owner, expertly checking the charge on the weapon as he moved towards the holopanel controlling the doors. “Okay then,” Shepard said, taking the assault rifle and sighting up.

In the Chief’s helmet, Cortana was asking questions. “What’s your plan?”

“You’re in my head, aren’t you?” the Chief countered. He was increasingly enjoying the verbal sparring he engaged the AI with. “You tell me.”

“That wouldn’t be as fun,” she replied in a familiar tone.

The Chief smiled slightly, the sides of his mouth twitching. He then pressed the button that he was fairly sure meant “open,” turned, and ran for cover. He had dropped behind another cargo container when the doors slid apart with a hiss, revealing a large number of Covenant soldiers on the other side.

“Grenades!” Shepard barked. “Give ‘em grenades!” He and Garrus both threw M9 frag grenades; while much more crude than the plasma grenades the Covenant preferred, they were undeniably effective. Bodies popped towards the ceiling like champagne corks as the Chief and Tali continued laying down fire. The firefight was mercifully short, and the Chief was able to swiftly advance. “Clear,” he declared. “Keep the door secure, Commander. We’ll be back ASAP.”

“Get it done, Master Chief,” Shepard said. “We’ll watch your back.”

With a curt nod, the Spartan entered the facility. Despite his clear motion tracker, he was careful. He’d learned long ago not to trust technology, especially not with his life.

Making his way through a few hallways and large doors, he finally found himself in what was unmistakably the Control Center.

A short bridge, made from the same silvery metal as the rest of the structure, led to an interface panel. In the open gap beyond the panel was a holographic model of the gas giant Threshold, which the ringworld orbited. Also modeled was the planet’s natural satellite, Basis, and the curve of Halo itself. Around the room was a model of the ringworld, recreated in painstaking detail. Were the Chief another man, he might have been awed by the sight. As it stood, he was satisfied that they had reached his objective.

“This is it,” Cortana said. “Halo’s control center.” As the Chief looked around, she focused on the control panel. “That terminal, try there.”

The Spartan approached the panel and reached out towards it, then stopped. He winced as Cortana’s presence in his mind seemed to drain; she was using the armor’s communications suite to enter the ring’s systems. After a moment, her avatar popped into existence. She looked around as she cogitated code strands and information, her avatar unconsciously mimicking her neural net’s behavior as her “face” displayed something akin to pleasure.

“Are you alright?” the Master Chief asked. This was… unexpected.

“Never been better!” the AI chirped. “You can’t imagine the wealth of information—so much, so fast. It’s glorious!”

“So, what kind of weapon is it?”

Cortana’s “brow” furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Let’s stay focused. Halo. How do we use it against the Covenant?”

“This ring isn’t a cudgel, you barbarian,” the AI scoffed. “It’s something else, something much more important. The Covenant, they were right! This ring—”

The Master Chief didn’t much like being called a barbarian and had been about to cut her down to size when Cortana’s avatar froze. “Forerunner,” she muttered. “Give me a moment to access—yes, the Forerunners built this place, what they called a Fortress World, in order to-” She projected a facsimile of a gasp. “No, that can’t be… oh, those Covenant fools, they must have known, there must have been signs!”

“Slow down,” the Chief said. “You’re losing me.”

Cortana was speaking quickly now. “The Covenant found something,” she hissed. “Buried in this ring, something horrible. Now they’re afraid.”

A chill ran up the Master Chief’s spine at the idea of an enemy that the Covenant could fear. “Something buried?” he asked. He didn’t have enough information.

Cortana was no longer listening. “Keyes!” she blurted. “Captain, we’ve got to stop the Captain. The weapons cache he’s looking for, it’s not—we can’t let him get inside.”

“I don’t understa-”

“There’s no time!” Cortana’s eyes bored into the Spartan like rifle bullets. “I have to remain here. Get out, find Keyes, and stop him, before it’s too late!”

The Chief had come to trust Cortana implicitly in recent days, so it took no further urging for him to turn and sprint for the door. Something was very wrong, and Keyes was walking right into it.

Chapter 16: Interlude

Chapter Text

[CLASSIFIED: MOST SECRET. AUTHENTICATE CLEARANCE LEVEL.]

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[CLEARANCE LEVEL CONFIRMED: ONI SECTION ZERO. ACCESS GRANTED.]

OP RED FLAG

SITREP: UNSC Pillar of Autumn (C-709)

Ad Arcendam Hostium

Type: Halcyon-class cruiser

Keel Laid: 9/7/2507, Reyes-McLees Shipyards, Mars

Launched: 1/12/2510, Reyes-McLees Shipyards, Mars

Commissioned: 5/1/2511, Arcturus Station, Epsilon Eridani

Deactivated: 1/8/2532

Reactivated: 9/8/2550 (Refit complete 22/6/2552)

Commanding Officer: Captain J. Keyes, UNSCN (Effective 1/7/2552)

Unit Cost: 7.3 billion standard credits (2531 value—14 billion standard credits at 2551 value)

Specifications (post 2550 refit):

• Artificial Intelligence matrix
• CTN 0452-9 (Cortana)
• Armament
• 1x Mark II, Light Coil M56A2D4 Magnetic Accelerator Cannon
• 4x Shiva-class nuclear missiles mounting 30 megaton HAVOK warheads
• 32x M58 Archer missile pods
• 18x 50mm M910 Rampart point defense guns
• 8x Mark 33 Spitfire naval coilgun batteries
• 6x M66 Sentry autocannon turrets
• Vehicles
• 5x GA-TL1 Longsword fighters
• 12x D77-TC Pelicans
• 2x D96-TCE Albatross
• 20x M808B Scorpions
• 60x M12 Warthogs
• Drive Core
• 1x Mark II Hanley-Messer Deuterium Fusion Reactor (primary)
• 2x Naoto Technologies V4/L-DFR (secondary)
• Propulsion
• 2x Boglin Fields Starfire-IV fusion rockets (sublight)
• Kawanishi Engineering SED-2550X (FTL)
• Dimensions
• Length: 1,171m
• Width: 352m
• Height: 398m
• Armor
• 2.5m thick Titanium-A battleplate (designed)
• 1.9m thick Titanium-A battleplate (current)
• Countermeasures
• KEZ-23 kinetic barriers
• 24x chaff and flare packages
• Complement and Crew
• 1000 Naval personnel (officers and enlisted)
• 800 Marines
• 400 ODSTs

Remarks: If you’ll forgive the breach of professionalism, Admiral Parangosky, this is probably the most unlikely part of RED FLAG. The Autumn has a good crew and the best Captain we could ask for, but the ship herself is forty years old. The shipwrights at Aszod have done what they could, but she’s slow, her plates are thin, and she still has less armament than some newer destroyers. No matter how dire the situation is for the rest of the Navy, ma’am, I can’t help but be concerned that using the Autumn is too great a risk for such an important operation.

Filing Officer: Commander ██ ████, Office of Naval Intelligence (Section 1)

Addendum: Concerns noted. Do your job.

Filing Officer: Admiral M. Parangosky, CINCONI

Chapter 17: 343 Guilty Spark

Chapter Text

Jacob Keyes felt like he was suspended in a vacuum. His vision was clouded, covered in a strange white haze that only occasionally permitted images of the outside world through. He saw flashes of writing tentacles, grotesquely distorted bodies, and all manner of horrors. A droning noise, similar to the nonsensical chanting he had heard in an Orthodox church in his youth, gnawed at his mind.

The images… they were from his eyes, not his mind. The flood of memories panicked him, and he struggled, only to find he could barely feel his limbs. They felt spongy, almost fluid. He couldn’t move. Even breathing was painful.

The chanting grew into an insectoid buzz, spearing through his mind. The sound was strange, truly alien in a way that other species simply weren’t. An image flashed into his mind, of Sol setting over the Pacific. Gulls circled overhead. Keyes could feel the sand against his feet and smell the salt air.

The buzz seemed disappointed. Keyes felt a sickening sensation, a feeling of indescribable violation, and the image vanished. He struggled to remember what it was that he had lost, but the memory had already dissipated like smoke from a quenched campfire. The buzz returned, louder, more insistent. More memories floated to the fore.

The first time he had killed a human, during riots on Charybdis IX. The iron stench of blood, the heat of the stolen plasma rifle’s barrel, the tang of gunpowder in the air.

The pride of graduating from the Naval Academy, back on Luna. Then the image hitched, like a faulty recording—a knot in his gut, fear he wouldn’t meet the standards expected of him.

The smell of flowers, sickeningly sweet as he stood before his mother’s coffin.

Keyes was mesmerized by the memories. He failed to notice, or particularly care, that as each memory concluded, it too was lost entirely. The presence in his mind receded, present, but not quite so insistent. He could still feel it probing him, but he ignored it. The next memory passed. Then the next.

Pelican dropship Echo-419, en route to reported Covenant arms cache

20/09/2552

The Master Chief had hitched a ride aboard Echo-419 to reach the cache quickly. Foehammer had been on standby waiting to go find the Chief, and had arrived in short order at the Control Room. Lacking any better options, Shepard, Garrus, and Tali had tagged along. Garrus was sitting closest to the rear door, head bobbing to a song only he could hear as he calibrated the optics of his borrowed S2AM.

“The last transmission from the Captain’s dropship was from this area,” Foehammer said over the intercom. “When you locate Captain Keyes, radio in and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Make sure you bring a towel,” Shepard said as the Master Chief stepped into the muck of the swamp.

The pilot laughed and fed fuel to the engines, leaving the ground team behind.

Garrus looked around, mandibles flaring as the stench fully registered. “We always go to such fun places,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm.

“Fan out,” Shepard ordered. He had a bad feeling about this place. “Keep your eyes open.”

The Master Chief led the way, his rifle at the ready. On the shoreline of the swamp, the wreck of a Pelican dropship rested in the thick loam. A garbled radio message was repeating, barely comprehensible thanks to the heavy damage the dropship had sustained. The Spartan’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t see any plasma scoring, but he could identify several bullet holes in the hull of the Pelican. It was very peculiar. A shotgun had been left on the dirt behind the Pelican, which the Spartan secured. While hardly his weapon of choice, it was effective against the lesser Covenant species.

The team advanced into the jungle to the wreck of another dropship, this time the purple tuning-fork shape of a Covenant Spirit impaled in the soil of the ring. About a dozen of the aliens’ strange conical cargo pods were scattered about the small clearing, suggesting that the aircraft had been serving as a cargo hauler. Garrus examined the wreck. “Look at this,” he said.

Tali looked closer. “What are those scorched bits?” she asked. “Burn marks?”

“That’s from plasma fire,” the Master Chief said. “Covenant weapons.” He could see movement in the trees, and his motion tracker was registering wildly fast friendly contacts on the peripheries of the device’s range. The Spartan did not scare easily, but the swamp felt, in some indefinable way, wrong.

“Friendly fire, maybe?” Shepard suggested. No one replied, but it was obvious none of them really believed it.

The thud-thud-thud report of MA5Bs echoed through the trees. “Maybe they’ll have some answers,” Garrus said.

The Master Chief advanced, his weapon light bobbing in the gloom as he strode up a fallen log twice as thick as a Kodiak gun barrel. Shepard followed, his rifle sweeping the tree line. He had secured an MA5K, the carbine version of the MA5 series, that had been aboard the Pelican. While plasma rifles were excellent weapons for Covenant troops, they were hilariously oversized for a baseline human like Shepard. He’d returned the Chief’s rifle and borrowed the crew chief’s personal weapon instead. The rifle’s barrel was cut down and the barrel shroud had been reduced as much as possible; where the standard MA5 included an advanced suite of electronics to increase accuracy when smart-linked with a VISR system, this merely had a carry handle combined with a rail system for analog optics.

Several Grunts were running from the entrance to a Forerunner installation built into the side of a hill. They were pursued by a few tracers from human weapons. The Master Chief stepped forward and cut the little bastards down like he was swatting a fly.

Shepard looked into the mouth of the building, and saw no one. Not even a shell casing or thermal clip. Odd. “I don’t like this,” Tali said, flipping the shotgun’s safety on and off repetitively in what Shepard was beginning to notice was a nervous tic. Garrus was quiet, unusually so, and had slung the sniper rifle in exchange for his Vindicator.

Only the Master Chief seemed to be unmoved. “Nowhere to go but down,” he said, and moved towards the installation. Two Shade turrets stood silent sentinel, flanking the doorway. Here and there were patches of blood, both human red and the multi-palleted strains of Covenant ichor. The Chief led them onto a lift. The floor was made of that indestructible brand of Forerunner glass and wide enough to fit a Scorpion tank on with room beside each track pod. The Spartan pressed a button, and the lift slid downwards without a sound.

The interior of the facility was eerily silent. The hallways were made of the same Forerunner metal as every other installation on the ring, but there were signs of Covenant presence—namely, large numbers of cargo pods and the prominent Shade turret within the first large room they’d entered. There were no bodies, no Covenant troops of any kind.

They continued through the facility, moving carefully. Nothing seemed out of place except for the eerie silence, broken only by the sound of boots on metal, until the Master Chief entered a passageway like many of the others they had already moved through. Unlike the others, this one contained the mangled corpses of three Jackals.

Blue blood coated the walls. The wounds to these aliens were jagged and almost primitive. They looked like they were the work of crude tools, or even just bare hands and teeth. Tali blanched and Garrus swore. Shepard had to fight down a retch as he said, “What happened to these guys?”

The Chief’s eyes narrowed. “This wasn’t caused by Marines,” he said with some certainty.

“No kidding,” Garrus said. “These Jackals were ripped apart.”

Now properly spooked, Tali said, “Are you certain this is where Captain Keyes went?”

“Yes,” the Master Chief said, and continued onwards. Each room grew progressively more ominous. Covenant blood stained the walls and floors, abandoned weapons lay about, but there were no bodies. None at all, in fact. Each seemed to be similar to the next; each drenched in multicolored gore and scarred with weapons fire, but none containing bodies.

The next room was a true shambles; broken glass and awful bodily fluids were scattered all over the place. Most concerning, though, was a Marine huddled with his back to a large column, Magnum aimed towards the door that the team had just exited. His eyes were wild, hunted. His helmet and rifle were gone, but he had a Magnum that he was pointing at anything that moved. He fired at a shadow in the corner, shouting, “Stay back! Stay back, you’re not turning me into one of those things!”

Shepard slung his weapon and slowly stepped towards the Marine. “Easy there, private,” he said. “We’re here to get you out of here.”

The Marine was too far gone. Pressing himself against the wall, he shouted, “Get away from me!” Aiming the pistol at Shepard, he rambled, “Don’t touch me you freaks! I’ll die first!”

“It’s okay, Marine, we’re not Covenant,” Shepard started to say, but the Marine, clearly on his last string, pulled the trigger. The 12.7mm slug was caught by the naval officer’s kinetic barriers, and the Chief rocketed forward, yanking the gun out of the crazed Marine’s hand.

“I’ll take that,” the Spartan growled. The Marine tried to stand, but the non-com gently (for a two-meter tall transhuman super soldier) shoved him back down.

Shepard stepped around the Master Chief. “What happened here?” he asked as carefully as he could manage. “Where’s Captain Keyes and the rest of your squad?”

The private’s face contorted, at first with what Shepard thought was hate, but quickly morphed into an altogether more worrying emotion—terror. “Find your own hiding place!” he cried. “The monsters are everywhere! God, I can still hear them! Just leave me alone!”

“What monsters?” Tali asked. “The Covenant?”

“No,” the Marine blubbered. “Them!” He pointed into the shadows at something only he could see.

“What about the other Marines?” Garrus asked, looking at the terrified Marine. “Where is Keyes?”

“They took them,” the Marine said. “Away, away, away, they went away…” His gaze snapped up to Shepard’s faceplate. “They’re gone, don’t you get it? Gone!”

Shepard slowly stood locking eyes with Garrus. The turian shook his head slightly. “We can’t take him with us, Commander. In this condition, he’d just get us killed.”

“He can’t look out for himself, either,” Tali said. “He’s delirious, he’ll never make it back by himself.”

Shepard considered. “Give me the gun, Master Chief,” he said after a moment. When the Spartan complied, he turned his gaze back to the Marine. “Alright, son,” he said, handing the pistol grip-first to the Marine. “Get this weapon reloaded and stay right here. We’ll get you on the way back out, understand?” The Marine took the gun, but only curled up into a ball and began sobbing softly to himself. Still worried about upsetting the man’s already fragile mental state even more, Shepard simply stood and said, “Let’s move out.”

“What the hell happened here?” Garrus said as the team scaled a heavily damaged ramp. “The Elites are bastards, and the Brutes are worse, but I’ve never heard them described like that before. And they don’t usually take prisoners.”

“I know,” Shepard said. “Be on your guard.”

“For what?” Tali asked.

“Anything that might want us dead.”

“So the usual,” the little quarian replied. “Got it.”

“Just keep that shotgun topped off,” Shepard told her.

"Worried, Shepard?" Garrus asked.

"Yes."

The simple response was enough to cut the turian's crap. Shepard was fairly unfappable. If something was concerning him, Garrus figured it only made sense to follow suit a little bit.

They moved through the facility, encountering only a few scattered Grunts and Jackals who died in short order. Crossing another light bridge, the team halted before a door marked on either side with huge Forerunner glyphs. Each had a circumference the width of a Scorpion tank’s turret. Whoever had built this place had clearly believed in sending a message.

“Any idea what they mean?” Garrus asked Tali.

“How should I know?” she replied. “I speak engine, not Forerunner.”

“I suggest you remain up here and hold the rear,” the Master Chief said, cutting off any further non sequiturs. “I’ll move in. It seems like the installation terminates here. If Keyes and the Marines are still inside, they should be here.”

“Alright,” Shepard said. “Good luck.”

Nodding, the Chief moved inside, down a short double-ended ramp, and halted in front of a door with a standard-issue spoofer tagged to it. He pressed the ACCESS key and the door slid open, depositing a corpse into his arms.

The Master Chief caught the dead man, bringing up his rifle in one hand. He stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind the Chief with a soft whoosh. Satisfied that his rear was clear, the Spartan set the unfortunate Marine’s corpse down, shaking his head. He looked around. There were pools of blood, abandoned helmets and rifles, but no bodies.

Something was wrong about this room, aside from the obvious. It felt like he was being watched. “Commander,” he radioed in. “I’ve found evidence of a fight, but no bodies. No Marines either.”

A beat. “Damn,” Shepard finally replied. “Anything useful?”

The Chief picked up a nearby helmet, labeled JENKINS with peeling white masking tape. “There’s a helmet with a functioning camera,” he said. “I’ll check the mission logs.”

“Good thinking. Hope to hell it tells us something.”

Checking the helmet cam, the Master Chief found the memory chip was still present. Pulling it free, he slotted the data wafer into a corresponding notch in his helmet. A window opened in his HUD, and he watched the whole horrible episode. A transhuman fist tightened around the pistol grip of his MA5B as he watched Captain Keyes go down. Ensuring the file was saved to his suit system, he yanked the chip from his helmet just in time to hear a strange sliding sound.

Not unlike the one in the video.

The Chief snapped his rifle to his shoulder as his motion tracker lit with red contacts. They boiled out of the small cells on all sides of the room, small pods with thrashing legs and long, barbed appendages clearly meant to slice and tear. The Spartan’s bullets tore them apart, popping them like pressurized wrapping material. Individually they were no threat, but there were dozens, maybe hundreds of the things. Worse, he could hear gunfire from outside. Clearly, Shepard had been engaged as well. Damn.

The Master Chief was forced back towards the door only for it to explode inwards, permitting entrance to several… things. At first he thought yet another corpse had fallen through the door, but then more waddled through and leaped towards him, forcing the Chief to turn to engage them as well. The Spartan had no words to describe them, but they were clearly malformed Elites. They carried no weapons, and attacked by hurling themselves at the Spartan and striking at him with left arms that had been morphed into tentacled appendages. The Chief backed off, firing into the growing horde and finally managing to put the last of the creatures down.

He caught his breath and let the rifle cool. What the hell was he fighting? These were clearly made from the bodies of Covenant soldiers, but the Spartan had never seen anything like them before. The pods were a mystery, but the mutated Elites were probably explicable, given information that he currently lacked. They looked like they were already dead, which on further reflection the Chief was increasingly coming to believe they were. It would certainly explain why the Elites looked like they’d been dead and buried for two weeks before rising again to hunt the Spartan down.

The door was open thanks to the last group of abominations, and he made his escape. Climbing back up the ramp, he skirted a few of the ex-Elites that seemed oblivious to his presence before exiting the door that had brought him into this hellhole. Shepard’s team had been waiting here. Where had they gone? He activated his suit’s comms. “Does anyone read me on this frequency?” When no one replied, he cycled through several commonly used frequencies to no avail. Frustrated, he refocused on the situation around him.

Below the raised platform the Chief was on, a firefight raged between a group of Covenant soldiers and this new threat. The Spartan considered firing, but elected to wait it out. Following a hellish battle that resulted in the mutual destruction of the combatants, he felt secure enough to cross the lightbridge into another room. He was instantly ambushed by one of the reanimated Elites, which dropped from above and nearly drove him to his knees. The Chief grabbed the monster and slammed it into the wall, leaving a patch of greenish-gray ooze behind. He turned to leave, but his motion tracker registered movement behind him. Looking back, he saw the creature begin to stand once more. A burst of five 7.62mm rounds finally finished the damn thing off. Hopefully for good, this time, he thought.

The Spartan continued on, scrounging several dozen eight-gauge shells off of a pair of fallen Marines. If these men had made it this far, perhaps others had as well. He crept through darkened rooms and maintenance halls, many dripping with ichor or strange fluids. He avoided hostiles where he could, hiding to avoid bringing the whole facility down on him. He watched as a group of several ex-Elites shuffled through the corridor ahead of him. He began to move when he saw the head of an Elite looking at him, but the position of the head stayed his hand.

The bones in the alien’s neck must have been broken or somehow been liquified, because the head had fallen backwards on nerveless muscles. It hung limp and lifeless down the creature’s back. Something had mutated the Elite for its own ends, perverting it utterly. The Spartan felt a flash of fear run through him, an unfamiliar emotion. He had only one goal now: get the hell out of the facility and ensure that the rest of the UNSC forces on the ring were made aware of what was coming.

Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and cannoned into the next room, firing the shotgun a few times at creatures that got in his way, until the corridor carried him to a lift. He slapped the controls, and felt his ears pop as the platform dove at what felt like terminal velocity even deeper into the installation.

Where the hell was Cortana when you needed her? She was always telling him where to go and what to do. Annoying, to be sure, but also reassuring. Now he was groping through the dark.

Literally, the Chief thought as he activated his rifle’s flashlight.

The sublevel, assuming this was the lowest portion of the facility, felt like a tomb. It was dark, dank, and crawling with writhing creatures. A passageway took the Spartan from the elevator to another large room, where he found yet more enemies that died before his assault rifle. Moving through another of the smaller hallways, he entered a hallway and found himself face-to-face with yet another horror: one of the bipedal beasts that had clearly once been human. As it spun to face the Chief, he recognized the man.

It was Private Mendoza, one of the Marines that had been a particular target of Johnson’s ire, and part of the team that had followed Keyes into this hell pit. Clearly twisted by whatever had happened to him, the Marine still retained a trace of his humanity. The Chief lowered his shotgun slightly.

“Mendoza, come on,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I know they did something to you, but the medics can fix it.”

Mendoza clearly possessed the same superhuman strength that the Elites had, and so struck the Spartan with a whip-like tentacle with enough force to drain his shields and trigger an alarm. Mendoza—or what was left of him—staggered towards him, tentacle raised for another blow. The Chief pulled his trigger, eight gauge buckshot tearing into the reanimated Marine. He racked a fresh shell into the gun and fired again, the shots tearing the thing apart. Looking into what was left of his body cavity, the Chief realized that one of the little pods had taken up residence inside Mendoza’s body. He fired a third round, destroying the little monster.

Is that how they work? The little pods infected larger beings, mutating their bodies and using them as a sort of combat form? He considered the possibility that this was some new Covenant bio-weapon, but discarded the idea. Most of the combat forms he’d seen were dead Elites. Whatever this thing was, it didn’t discriminate between the two sides.

Reloading the shotgun, the Master Chief moved out. There had to be another way out.

Something nagged at him. Something important that was just beyond his mental reach. What was it?

Then he realized. He’d almost forgotten his own name.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

The chant grew louder, a sense of anger reaching his awareness.

Anger? Why was he angry?

No, something else was angry… because he’d remembered his name?

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

Where was he? What was happening?

Parts of it were clear enough. A dark room, deep in that alien structure. Gunfire, a terrible pain at the back of his neck.

He’d been captured. That had to be it. This was some new enemy trick; he'd give them nothing!

… who was the enemy, again?

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

The buzzing increased again, and he resisted, though he wasn’t sure why. The feeling of violation intensified, as did his own fear. Covenant, he remembered. The Covenant were interrogating him. He tried to speak, to shout that he would never give in, never lead them to Earth. He couldn’t work his own mouth. He couldn’t even feel his body anymore.

The thought of Earth excited the other presence, and the droning picked up again. Memories played across his mind’s eye, and he realized in a flush of horror that something was picking through his memories. It was looking for something.

His fear vanished for a moment as he felt the warmth of the first woman he’d ever kissed…

He tried to scream as the memory was torn from him and discarded.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

As his memories played out before him and were erased, he searched desperately for a place to hide within his own mind. There were only pieces of himself left, bits of flotsam and jetsam that had not yet been consumed. Just as he felt himself begin to dissolve completely, he found the one thing the creature that had raped his mind could not touch: the carrier wave of his Command Neural Interface implants.

He clutched at the lifeline, and held on for all his might. It was his last hope.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

The Master Chief had finally arrived at the lift and, with dozens of infection forms on his heels, pressed the button that finally dragged his ass out of the facility. He’d left the last of his shotgun shells in the chest of what he was reasonably certain had once been Private Bisenti, and allowed the weapon to drop limply on its sling. As the lift halted, he found himself surrounded by blessedly normal Marines. Tali had also apparently made it, and was holding a borrowed assault rifle. The ranking Marine, a corporal, audibly sighed with relief as Tali said, “Master Chief! I’m glad you made it.”

“Likewise,” the Spartan said. “Where are the others?”

“I don’t know,” the little quarian said. “We were separated back-” she shuddered. “Down there. We’ve been in sporadic contact, I think they made it to another lift. Last I heard, they were in the swamp.”

That was a problem. The odds of getting out alive decreased the more disorganized the team was.

“We’ve called for extraction,” the Marine corporal added. “Foehammer’s already inbound. Sir, I advise we get the hell out of here.”

“That’s command thinking, Corporal,” the Chief said. “Let’s move out.”

“What about Shepard?” Tali asked, shocked.

“We’ll look for them,” the Spartan assured her, though he knew their chances of survival were low at best. “For now, we need to move. They,” he looked meaningfully back at the lift, “probably know we’re here.”

Tali nodded, and the squad moved into the open, taking it slow. It felt very good to leave the structure. Very good indeed.

Shepard slammed the bolt forward on his last magazine. The assault rifle’s barrel steamed as the naval officer brought the weapon back to his shoulder to continue firing. Next to him, Garrus was reloading his own Vindicator, the spent thermal clip hissing as it flash-boiled the swamp water it had landed in. The husk things just kept coming, wave after wave mixed in with the little pods. There were just too many of the damn things. “Last mag!” he shouted to Garrus.

“I’m almost out of clips,” the turian replied, dropping an ex-Elite with two bursts. “We’ll be down to throwing rocks before long!”

They’d been driven out of the structure’s entrance and around a large tree. A path of spent shell casings, thermal clips, and the mangled corpses of combat forms marked the trail from the mouth of the installation to their current position. They must have killed dozens of combat forms, and popped hundreds of pods, but they just kept coming, inexorable as the ocean tides. It had only been ten minutes since they’d last been able to contact Tali and the Marines that had found her, but ten minutes felt like an eternity in combat.

“Just keep shooting!” Shepard put two bursts into what had once been a Marine, following it up with a swift buttstroke that popped a pod. The round counter was ticking down at an alarming rate. Shepard put his last three rounds into a shambling, hunchbacked shape that spewed more pods into the fight as it died. Tossing the rifle at the nearest combat form, Shepard drew his twin Carnifex pistols. The guns were modified with an aftermarket cooling system that Shepard had bought from a civilian gun store in Kentucky ten years ago; he had to pace his shots to keep both barrels in the fight, but he never had to reload.

More gunfire could be heard from the edge of the swamp, multiple MA5Bs and a few plasma rifles. Shepard felt a bit of hope begin to return. Someone else was fighting these things, and moving away from the structure at that. Activating his comms, Shepard said, “Any station, this is Shepard! We’re taking heavy contact in the swamp! Does anyone read?”

“This is Sierra 117,” the Master Chief rasped over the radio. “I read you. What’s your location?”

“Garrus and I are near the entrance of the structure.” Shepard paused to drop a combat form before adding, “We’re surrounded and low on ammo!”

“We’re nearby,” the Chief said. “Stand by, we’re moving to assist.”

It took several minutes for the Chief’s team to arrive, by which point Foehammer was making close passes over the swamp. Her door gunner was leaning out of the rear of the Pelican, M247 clattering. She couldn’t bring the bird in thanks to the trees, but there was another Forerunner structure in the vicinity with a clearing large enough to accommodate the aircraft. The reconsolidated squad moved towards it. There was no time for greetings or thanks, only to fight. The Marines fought hard, but one by one they were dragged down by infection forms or shot by combat forms, until only an Australian PFC, a Marine corporal, Shepard’s team, and 117 were still alive.

They tried to scale the structure while under fire as a flock of strange drone-like machines floated from the mist and opened fire on the attacking forms with orange lasers. They seemed to be fairly effective against the pods, but less so against the larger infected. The Spartan thus focused on the combat forms, leaving the drones to engage the packs of infection forms. As he did, he noticed a new horror: slower bipedal forms carrying a wriggling sack on their backs. When he fired on them, they burst like frag grenades, spewing even more of the pods into the battle. These new carrier forms could be dangerous on their own, a fact he learned the hard way as one of the new threats grabbed the screaming corporal and exploded in his face. Even with the loss of the Marine, it felt damn good to be pleasantly surprised for a change. These drones were giving them the opening they needed to reach higher ground.

As they reached the top of the tower, another drone approached them from behind. Where the others were all angular struts and lines, this was more of a flying ball, rounded edges surrounding a large blue light. “Greetings,” it said in a masculine voice pitched with the telltale warble of a synthesizer. “I am the Monitor of Installation zero-four. I am 343 Guilty Spark.” It’s blue “eye” pulsed as it spoke. “Someone has released the Flood. My function is to prevent it from leaving this installation, but I require your assistance. “Come. This way.”

“The Flood?” the Chief asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Of course,” the drone replied. “What an odd question. We really have no time for this, Reclaimer.”

As Foehammer burned in, Shepard noticed a shimmer around the Master Chief. As he turned to ask if the Spartan was alright, he simply disappeared in a flash of golden light. The floating machine had gone with him in the same manner.

“What the hell?” Shepard looked around. He was not panicking, he was definitely not. “Chief? Chief!”

“Where’d he go?” Garrus sounded as fearful as Shepard did.

“I don’t know, he just vanished!”

Yeah, he was panicking. There was a new and horrible enemy, the last Spartan was very MIA, and he had no idea why either of these events had occurred.

Panic seemed pretty logical for a change.

Alpha Base

“Understood,” Silva was saying to a hologram of Commander Shepard as McKay entered his office. “And you can’t speculate as to where he might have been taken?”

“No,” Shepard said, clearly agitated. “We’ll find him eventually, the Master Chief strikes me as pretty much unkillable, but for now he’s in the wind.”

“Well,” the ODST said, “thanks for the warning about these Flood things, Commander. We’ll watch our backs.”

“Glad to hear it. Keep your eyes open for the Chief, will you? Shepard out.”

Silva secured the connection as McKay made herself known. “Lieutenant,” he said brightly, waving at a seat salvaged from a lifeboat. “Take a load off. Nice job out there, I really ought to sleep more often! How are you feeling?”

McKay dropped into the chair and rubbed her temples. “I’m tired, sir, but otherwise fine.” The Covenant had hit Alpha Base hard the previous night, and it had come down to several salvaged 50mm MLA autocannons, a platoon of entrenched Scorpions, and pure grit that Alpha Base hadn’t fallen.

“Good,” Silva said. “Because there’s still plenty of work to do. We’re going to be driving everyone hard, and that includes ourselves.”

“Yes sir.”

“So,” the Major said. “I know you’ve been busy, but have you had a chance to read the report Wellesley put together?”

McKay shook her head. “ ‘fraid not, sir. Sorry.”

“Well, based on information acquired during routine briefings, our digital friend believes that the raid was both less and more than we assumed.”

McKay arched her eyebrows. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that rather than the real estate, the Covies were after something, more precisely someone, they thought they’d find here.”

“Captain Keyes?”

“One would think,” Silva allowed, “but Wellesley doesn’t think so, and neither do I. A group of cloaked Elites were able to penetrate the lower levels of the complex. They killed everyone they came in contact with, or so they thought. A couple of Navy techs survived. They were in different rooms, but they both said the same thing. One of the commando Elites—the big bastards in black rigs—would reveal himself and ask our guys where the human with the special armor was.”

McKay’s veins ran cold. “They were after the Spartan.”

“Exactly.”

“And where is the Chief?”

“A fine question,” Silva said. “We don’t know. Commander Shepard tells me that he just disappeared from that damn swamp Keyes went into and probably died in. The word he used was teleport, but that’s just not possible.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“I don’t know, although it wouldn’t make too much of a difference if he was. No, I expect that he and Cortana are out there playing games.”

To a certain extent, McKay could understand the Major’s frustration. Aside from the fact that the Spartan seemed to be off freelancing in the middle of a war, a lot of Helljumpers had died to defend a man who wasn’t even present. That said, the Marine found it difficult to agree. She’d spoken with the Chief, listened to Silva’s diatribe, and watched the impact it had on the man. She’d looked into the Spartan’s eyes and seen not a hint of ego, or a hunger for glory. She’d seen loss and pain, so deep that lesser men would surely drown. She knew this not thanks to her admittedly extensive combat experience, but because she was a woman, something Silva could never aspire to be. Sadly, she couldn’t tell him what she thought on this topic.

“So where do we stand?”

“Situation normal,” Silva said. “Outnumbered, surrounded, and outgunned.” The ODST grinned. “They can’t get away from us now.” Leaning forward in his chair, he said, “We can’t keep waiting for the Covenant to attack us, especially now that there’s another player on the board. Shepard sent a report on that as well, you’re going to want to read up on this ASAP. In the meantime, we’ll make a nuisance of ourselves, keep the bastards on their toes.”

“Meaning you want me to come up with some ideas, sir?”

“Correct.”

“Understood, sir,” McKay said, levering herself out of the chair. “I’ll put something interesting together.”

Silva nodded, returning to his paperwork. Thank God McKay was on his side. If the Covenant had even one officer like her, Silva was morally certain that Alpha Base would have been rubble ten times over. He tapped at the keyboard and wished for a cup of half-decent coffee; even in a survival situation, AARs needed filing.

Chapter 18: Interlude

Chapter Text

RED FLAG Personnel File: Johnson, Avery J. (48789-20114-AJ)

Rank: Staff Sergeant, UNSC Marine Corps

Service History: Johnson is a career Marine. He enlisted in the Corps when he was nineteen, and has served with honor and distinction ever since. Awarded several commendations in action against the Insurrection, and many more in action against the Covenant. Johnson received various medical [FILE DATA LOST — CLASSIFIED NAVSPECWAR-ORION] Following the termination of [FILE DATA LOST — CLASSIFIED NAVSPECWAR-ORION] Johnson was returned to his former unit and deployed against Insurrectionist forces. Following a COIN operation on Tribute as part of Operation TREBUCHET that resulted in the deaths of three Marines and 39 civilians due to a suicide bomber, Johnson was re-assigned with Staff Sergeant Nolan Byrne to train a CMA Militia unit on the Outer Colony ag-world Harvest. Their mission was a front for an ONI operation meant to ferret out batarian pirates seizing civilian freighters in the area. Instead, Johnson and Byrne discovered that the ships were being destroyed by a Covenant ship, resulting in violent first contact. Following the evacuation of Harvest, Johnson was personally reassigned by Vice Admiral Cole to Operation [FILE DATA LOST — CLASSIFIED NAVSPECWAR-SILENT STORM] He has taken part in the defense of nine colony worlds, and received a Silver Star for bravery during the Battle of Paris IV. His current duty station is senior NCO of Second Squad, First Platoon, A Company, 9th Regiment, 5th Marine Expeditionary Unit, quartered at Fort Anderson near New Alexandria, Reach.

Psychological Profile: While performing exceptionally well on the battlefield, Johnson was equally exceptional off the field; he set several officially unofficial records for the number of times he was found drunk and disorderly or otherwise inebriated in the various units he served with. At regular psych evals, Johnson reported that the Insurrection was to blame for his deteriorating mental state, although he refused to expound upon that particular statement. With the beginning of the Covenant War and Johnson’s return from Harvest, all reports of misconduct seem to have disappeared from his record. Johnson became utterly focused on a single objective; defeating the Covenant and preserving humanity. It is rare to say that this war has done any good, but it may have saved this Marine from himself.

Personal Remarks: Johnson is one of the most dangerous Marines there is, and one of the oldest. Chronologically, he should be pushing seventy, but he’s spent so much time in cryo that no one actually knows what his biological age is anymore, including himself. Much of Johnson’s life has been spent as a Marine, and the Master Chief considers him a personal friend and apparently respects him as an equal. That alone speaks to the man’s quality. I don’t know what you people at ONI are up to, but if you’re looking for quality, Johnson is your man.

Filing Officer: Captain ████ ████████, (M.D.) UNSC Marine Corps (Cleared, Section III)

Chapter 19: The Library

Chapter Text

Unknown Location

September 21, 2552

“John only knew three ways to react to people. If they were his superior officers, he obeyed them. If they were part of his squad, he helped them. If they were a threat, he neutralized them.”

- Said of MCPO John-117, and his relationships with others.

The Master Chief rushed back together on a molecular level. It was a strange sensation, and not an altogether pleasant one. The drone, or Monitor as it had called itself, floated overhead. “Ah, excellent,” it said. “You survived.”

The Spartan raised his rifle and fired twenty rounds at the floating bot.

The machine hummed, apparently nonplussed by the human’s reaction. “You should conserve your munitions, Reclaimer,” it said. “You will need them against the Flood.”

The Chief begrudgingly lowered the rifle. “Where are we?”

“The Library,” it told him.

“Who the hell are you, and what’s your function?”

If the machine had a chest to puff out, it surely would have done so. “I already told you, Reclaimer. I am 343 Guilty Spark, Monitor of Installation 04. We must act quickly if we are to contain the Flood. Time is of the essence. We must collect the Index to activate this installation.”

“Which will…?”

“Keep the Flood from spreading, of course.”

That objective made a kind of sense to the Chief. Lowering his rifle, he said, “Then what do you need me for?”

“Do you really know so little?” The Monitor seemed disappointed. “Only a Reclaimer can activate the installation. I do not have activation permissions.” It sounded almost envious.

Reclaimer. What did the AI mean? The Chief had many, many questions, but no time to ask them. He could see red blotches on his motion tracker, coming towards him in massed clumps. Not the way the Covenant moved, making it probable these were the new enemy, this Flood. Bringing the rifle up, the Chief set his sights on the gloom ahead of him and activated his helmet’s spotlamps.

Dozens of awful, malformed shapes leaped out of the darkness towards him, and the Master Chief opened fire. He was thankful for the MA5’s cooling flush; he got the distinct feeling that he was going to need every round. Sidestepping a charging combat form, he put ten rounds into its back before slamming the butt of the rifle into an ex-Elite clutching a Magnum. Turning, he fired into a crowd of the damned pods, each one popping with a small amount of force. Behind them lumbered several bulbous, waddling creatures, each with wriggling sacks on their backs. When he shot one, it collapsed, convulsed, and exploded, spewing more infection forms everywhere. A few more bursts were required to clean up the pods.

Catching his breath, the Chief allowed the rifle to cool before continuing on past a huge open space. “Where is this Index?” he asked the Monitor.

“Several levels above us,” Spark blithely answered.

“Where are we now?”

“The Library. This portion of the Installation was built to study and contain the Flood,” Spark answered. “It was hoped that a cure might be found, but other measures had to be taken. Their survival as a race was dependent on it.”

“They?” the Spartan echoed. “I don’t understand.”

The Monitor’s only response was a chirping laugh.

The Chief’s brow furrowed. “How long have you been here?” he asked, suddenly on edge.

“Exactly 101,217 local years,” Spark informed him, “many of which were quite boring. But not now! Hee, hee, hee.”

The Chief tightened his grip on the MA5B. Human AIs had a shelf-life of around seven years, following which their personality matrices began to degrade as their neural nets grew too interconnected. Feedback loops developed into personality shifts, and then into outright insanity. The condition had been termed rampancy, and it was uniformly terminal. For the Monitor to have been here for over one hundred millenia…

This thing is insane, the Master Chief realized.

“Come,” Spark said. “This way.”

The Chief could hear the hissing and slithering of more Flood forms. Slinging the rifle and racking a fresh shell into his shotgun, he brought the weapon up and stepped into the next room.

Any trap requires bait, and Melissa McKay could be damn inventive when she put her mind to it.

Having moved the wreck of a Pelican from Alpha Base to a nondescript section of plains, McKay’s Helljumpers scattered the remains of a few “volunteers”—casualties from the Covenant raid—near the wreck. They had worked through the night making the crash site look convincing while simultaneously digging in on a hill to the west of the site. It seemed authentic enough from McKay’s overlook on the hill; a dropship in three large pieces, a trail of smoke rising from the largest piece of metal, and a squad of Marines sitting in the shade near the Pelican.

Wellesley had informed her that, since the Covenant were now treating the humans as a real threat, they were surely monitoring the commonly used UNSC bands for comms chatter, among other typical activities meant to glean usable information. With a long-range radio at the wreck transmitting a distress signal in the clear, it was probable that the enemy would pick it up and send a patrol to investigate.

Thirty minutes after the transmitter was activated, McKay heard the whine of Banshee engines in the distance. Looking through her field glasses, she found the flier moving towards the site from down-spin. She smirked and brought her chin down on the TRANSMIT button in her helmet.

“Showtime, people.”

As the Banshee drew closer, the Marines at the crash site began looking around for the aircraft. When they sighted the Banshee they pantomimed surprise, fired a few rounds, and ducked for cover as the Covenant aircraft turned away, the Elite pilot surely bitching his brains out about some isolated humans to deal with.

Half a klick away, another Marine was shambling out into the harsh sunlight as well. Wallace A. Jenkins felt Threshold’s sun on his mangled face. The Marine was among a group of dozens of other infected beings, humans and Covenant both. He had tried to communicate with them; some of the Marines had been from his platoon, and even one of the Elites would be preferable to these thoughtless husks, but none of them had responded. His hellish existence seemed to be peculiar to Jenkins.

Jenkins was sharing his mind with what he had begun calling the “other.” It was odd; a presence without true thoughts, only desires. Above all, perhaps its only wish, was to feed and expand. It was a creature of pure hunger, so deep and dark that Jenkins could not understand it.

Jenkins’ goals were significantly different. Though his body had been deformed beyond recognition, it could still handle a weapon. A Magnum would be perfect, but a plasma pistol or a grenade would also suffice. He did not intend to use it on the Covenant or this new horror. No, he would end his own life and escape the torment he was being put through. He had been careful to conceal the extent of his consciousness from the Other; if it knew, it would surely keep him from his goal—or perhaps worse.

The pack of Flood forms came upon a hill and began climbing. Helpless, Jenkins was brought along with them.

The Library was a hellish slog.

Around every corner was a shambling monstrosity of some variety or another, former humans, turians, and Elites. Each corridor demanded a sharp fight. The Spartan ran out of shotgun shells very quickly and replaced the gun with a scavenged plasma pistol. The MA5B’s coolant sink was theoretically infinite, but even the fine fellows at Misriah Armories had not anticipated their rifles taking such severe punishment as the Chief had subjected this one to. Warning lights progressively began to flash on the weapon’s panel display, warning that barrel heat was excessive. Low on options, the Chief kept firing until the barrel burst, blowing out the top of the gun and driving his shields into the red.

Damn, the Spartan thought, dropping the remains of the rifle and drawing the plasma pistol. He should have taken the time to maintain the rifle on the Pelican, but he hadn’t. There was nothing for it now. Cutting down a combat form with three bolts of plasma, he scooped up its dropped plasma rifle and opened fire.

Pushing forward, he found himself waiting at yet another gigantic door. Spark was taking his damned time getting each one open for him, and it was growing progressively more irritating. Yet more waves of lumbering forms advanced on him as the doors finally opened, permitting Spark and several of the smaller drones to arrive. “These Sentinels will supplement your combat systems,” the AI chirped. “But I suggest you upgrade to at least a Class Twelve Combat Skin. Your current model only scans as a Class Two, which is unsuited for this kind of work.”

Yeah, sure . If the Spartan met someone who could build a hardsuit six times more effective than MJOLNIR, he’d be sure to ask for one.

Dropping an ex-Elite with five plasma pulses, the Chief backpedaled from one of the new carrier forms. They tended to explode with a significant amount of force, enough to drain his shields. He shot it, ducked an explosive needle, and ducked behind a pillar to allow the plasma rifle to cool.

An infected Marine turned the corner as the cooling vanes closed, toting a shotgun. Yanking the barrel towards him, the Chief reversed the gun and hammered an eight-gauge shell into the combat form’s chest. Racking a new shell into the chamber, he shouldered the shotgun and fired again at a nearby combat form. The Sentinels burned the last few infection forms as the Chief secured a bandolier of shells and fed new rounds into the shotgun. He ejected the spent shell, wisps of powder smoke rising from it as the Spartan moved on.

He came to yet another door and waited for Spark to open it. Instead, the machine seemed to have disappeared again. Inevitably, Flood forms shambled out of the darkness, and he opened fire. Dozens of monstrosities. fell under the Spartan’s bullets. He was always retreating, ever on the run. The Flood seemed endless, but eventually, he was the only thing left standing, rifle barrel steaming as the cooling flush did its work. Spark finally floated out of the gloom, blue eye flashing as he chortled to himself. The door finally ground open as Spark gushed, “I am a genius!”

The Chief scowled. “Then I’m a Vice Admiral.”

The next few rooms were hellish. He fought through hundreds of Flood forms, firing his weapons until they were dry. He scrounged new ones from the dead and shot them empty too. After what felt like hours, the Chief was standing in yet another hallway, surrounded by piled corpses. A new MA5B was clutched in his hands, wrenched from a dead combat form. His heart rate slowed, and he moved on; through the great quarantine doors that clearly were inadequate for the task, over hundreds of writhing and infectious bodies, into dank maintenance tunnels lousy with fetid biomass. Inch by brutal inch the Chief made his way closer to his goal. He felt like he had been fighting for years. Even his superhuman reserves were nearly drained.

He exited yet another maintenance tunnel into a long corridor, blessedly clear of Flood forms. A few meters down the tunnel, he came upon a fallen Marine, his body so horribly mutilated that not even the Flood had been able to make use of him. His body was surrounded by a sea of spent brass and thermal clips. The Chief knelt and yanked the Marine’s dog tags from his neck. He activated his helmet lamp, squinting at the small embossed letters.

MOBUTO, MARVIN

SSGT

UNSCMC

CHR. UNIT. BAP.

12436-33397-MM

“Ah,” Spark hummed. “The other Reclaimer. His combat skin proved even less suitable than yours.”

“What do you mean?” the Chief asked.

“Is this a test, Reclaimer?” Spark seemed genuinely confused. “I found him wandering through a structure on the other side of the ring, and brought him to the same place as I did you.”

Looking at the Marine, the Spartan marveled at the man’s endurance. For a normal human to have made it so far against so much…

The Chief stowed one of the tags, leaving the other with Sergeant Mobuto’s corpse. Noting the man’s shotgun had been left with ammunition, he took the weapon, checking the chamber before slinging it. “I didn’t know you, Sarge,” he said, “but I sure as hell wish I had. You must have been one hard-ass son of a bitch.”

It wasn’t much as eulogies went, but something told the Master Chief that Staff Sergeant Marvin Mobuto would have appreciated the spirit.

The next door opened to another wave of Flood, leaping towards him from alcoves and from behind pillars. The shotgun answered them, the sharp recoil of the eight-gauge magnum rounds pounding into the shoulder of the Chief’s armor. Dozens of combat forms and hundreds of those damned pods slunk from the shadows, advancing as the Chief stuffed fresh shells into the shotgun. He shot one ex-Elite, crushed the chest cavity of an infected human with the butt of the gun, and racked a fresh shell in before popping a cluster of pods with a well-placed load of buckshot.

Swapping to the MA5B, the Master Chief laid down fire the length of the hall, popping a swarm of pods. Ducking into cover to avoid a Jackhammer rocket, he bowled a frag down the hallway. The explosion sent putrescent bodies tumbling, and the Spartan stepped out into the open and fired two more bursts, putting the last combat form down.

“Well done,” Spark said, having once again reappeared. As several Sentinels cleaned up the remaining few infection forms and burned the intact bodies, the AI said, “This way, please. The Index awaits.”

Lowering the assault rifle, the Chief followed the Monitor through the chamber, and was nearly immediately ambushed. Dropping to avoid a burst of plasma bolts, the Chief laid on the trigger. Standing again, the Spartan fell back, cutting down Flood forms as he went. Several plasma grenades dealt with the combat forms, and thirty rounds cleaned up the remaining infection forms. Satisfied that the ambush was handled, he re-entered the room, and was immediately taken under fire from both sides.

The Sentinels had not arrived to help, so the Chief was forced to retreat again. He gritted his teeth. This was getting frustrating.

The Spartan retaliated with two frag grenades and doses of automatic fire. Plasma sloughed off of his shields and he cursed, his suit systems whining a shield warning as he focused fire and put the last stubborn combat form down.

The room was clear.

Now the Sentinels turned up, sterilizing corpses. Some help you are, he thought, glaring at the little drones. Spark had also returned, gleefully humming to himself. “Ah!” he said. “Good. This way.”

It wanted something.

The memories flashing through his mind’s eye like a slideshow from hell weren’t being sorted randomly. The presence was looking for something. Something he’d seen? Something he knew? He reached towards it, brushing against the thing, and he felt its desire.

Escape. It wanted off of the ring. It wanted to feed, to spread far and wide, as it had done before.

Before?

Before Keyes could process that particular realization, the thing ran its razor wire dragnet across his mind and pulled forth an Earthrise, seen from one of Luna’s Gateway ports. The presence closed in on it, hungry. Keyes resisted as much as he could, but it was too much, and in desperation he drew on another memory. The presence seemed startled as the vibrant image of Keyes playing soccer with a childhood friend replaced the homeworld, and it settled back again. Keyes felt that tearing sensation as the memory was discarded and lost, and in that instant he knew what he had to do.

He focused on the memories of Earth—the colonies, the ships and defense plans, and above all their locations—and buried them as deep within his fragmented mind as he could. Before the other could begin searching, he conjured another memory, the taste of a favorite meal. One by one, he began feeding his memories to the creature. It was hell, but he had sworn to defend humanity.

No matter the cost.

The Index was a shockingly small thing, really.

The Chief stood on a lift, which elevated him to the Index’s height. It hung in the air, a thin T made of the same silver metal that the rest of the ringworld was constructed of. Its shaft pulsed mint-green as a locking mechanism unlatched, the Index hovering in the air within a force field of some sort. The technology was beyond the Spartan’s understanding, but he could tell almost instinctively that this device was unbelievably important.

“You may now retrieve the Index,” Spark said.

The Chief took hold of the device and felt a sense of satisfaction before a beam lanced out from Spark, yanking the device back out of his hand and into its carapace. “What the hell are you doing?” the Spartan demanded.

“As you know, Reclaimer,” Spark said, as though explaining basic mathematics to an ignorant child, “protocol requires that I take possession of the Index for transport. Your biological form renders you vulnerable to infection. The Index must not fall into the hands of the Flood before we reach the Control Room and activate the Installation.” The Monitor managed to look worried. “The Flood is spreading! We must hurry.”

The Master Chief made to reply, but felt the golden bands surrounding his body again and knew he was about to be teleported. I should shoot this son of a-

Chapter 20: Interlude

Chapter Text

[CLASSIFIED: MOST SECRET. AUTHENTICATE CLEARANCE LEVEL.]

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[CLEARANCE LEVEL CONFIRMED: ONI SECTION ZERO. ACCESS GRANTED.]

OP RED FLAG

SITREP: UNSC NORMANDY (SR-01)

NORMANDY

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA

Type: Normandy- class Stealth Reconnaissance frigate

Keel Laid: 19/07/50, New Alexandria Navy Yard, Reach

Launched: 25/01/51, New Alexandria Navy Yard, Reach

Commissioned: 5/02/51, Quezon Station (ODP-72)

Commanding Officer: Commander J. Shepard, UNSCN (Effective 04/04/52)

Unit cost: 19.3 billion standard credits (2551 value)

Specifications:

• • Artificial Intelligence matrix
    • EDI 0927-2 (Edie)
  • Armament
    • 1x 127mm Mark III M63 MOD 2 Magnetic Accelerator Cannon (450 rounds)
    • 4x 50mm Rampart MLA Point Defense Guns
    • 24x M42 Archer missiles (two six-tube pods, one reload each)
    • 24x HORNET-class nuclear stealth mines
  • Drive core
    • Tantalus-class cold fusion reactor
    • Element zero moderation
    • Redundant water coolant pumps
    • Polonium core
    • ¼ ton mass (metric)

• Propulsion
• Sublight: 4x fusion engines, standard Prowler-type OMS package
• FTL: 1x Shaw-Fujikawa Series V CODEN
• Dimensions
• Length: 170 meters
• Width: 96 meters
• Height: 24 meters
• Armor
• 0.5m thick Titanium-A battleplate
• Countermeasures
• Ablative baffles
• Counter-electronic warfare systems
• Texture buffers
• Stealth Ablative Coating
• MEW-3 kinetic barriers (licensed design from the Turian Hierarchy)
• STE-7 “Medusa” towed emissions decoy
• 4x chaff and flare packages
• Complement and Crew
• 6 officers
• 90 enlisted
• Available volume for 30 excess troops and required supplies

Remarks: Normandy is capable of speedy insertions of special forces personnel, reconnaissance, and seeding an area of space with HORNET-class nuclear ordnance. Designed to be extremely fast and stealthy, she is capable of 9,730 meters/second and 0.94% relative lightspeed through slipspace. Her reactor core will not require refueling for 40 years. Close cooperation with the Turian Hierarchy and NAVSPECWARCOM in her construction has resulted in a focus on special warfare rather than forward reconnaissance, her originally dedicated role. She is slower than expected, and shorter-legged; it is recommended that she be seconded to Operation: RED FLAG and an improved class based on her lines be laid down immediately.

Section III had to be dragged kicking and screaming into helping the Navy build this ship, and they’re not happy that she’s been handed off to Navy Special Warfare for RED FLAG, but when is Section III ever happy? For now, she’s the largest prowler that we have, and the only one that the Navy has ownership of. She’s heavy, but she’s not as quiet as some of ours thanks to that experimental drive core. Prowler Corps can rest easy; they still have a plurality on silence.

Filing Officer: Commander ██ ████, Office of Naval Intelligence (Section I)

Chapter 21: Two Betrayals

Chapter Text

“How are you sure we're alive?”

-PO2 Lucy-B091 to PO2 Tom-B292, at the conclusion of Operation TORPEDO, 3 July 2545

- bitch.

The Chief came back together at the molecular level, catching his balance. He was back in the Control Room with Spark. He looked around as he slung the assault rifle. There was no sign of Cortana.

“Is something wrong?” the Monitor asked.

“No…” the Chief said carefully. “Nothing.”

“Splendid. Shall we?” The Monitor floated towards the control panel, humming as it went. “Unfortunately,” it said, “my usefulness to this particular endeavor has come to an end. Protocol does not allow units of my classification to perform a task as important as the reunification of the Index with the Core,” it gushed. “That final step is reserved for you, Reclaimer.” The Index rematerialized from Spark’s chassis, and the Chief snatched it from the air it floated in. He studied the T-shaped object for a moment before slotting it into the panel. He hadn’t known where it was meant to go, but it felt… right.

Power began to audibly build, a sharp whine rising from deep within the ringworld. Then the pitch lowered, the power levels declining back to their normal background intensity. Spark seemed confused. “Odd. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Oh, really?” A tart and quite familiar voice—Cortana’s!

The AI’s avatar rose from the console, hands on her hips and clearly very pissed off. Spark fell from the air, his systems scrambled, presumably Cortana’s work. The Chief looked at the Monitor, then back at her. “Cortana-”

The AI wasn’t having any of it. “I’ve spent the last twelve hours cooped up in her watching you toady about, helping that thing get set to slit our throats!”

“Hold on,” the Chief said. “He’s a friendly.”

“Oh,” Cortana said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize! He’s your pal, is he? Your chum?” Anger now flashed across her simulated features. “Do you have any idea what that bastard almost made you do?!”

“Yes,” the Chief said patiently. “Activate Halo’s defenses and destroy the Flood. That’s why we brought the Index here.”

“You mean this?” Cortana held up the Index, which the Chief was beginning to realize wasn’t all it seemed. If an AI could “physically” interact with it, it had to be pure data, but he’d held it! He was getting an inkling that there was something at work here he did not even begin to comprehend.

Spark was coming around, its eye flashing blue again. “A construct? In the core?” he shrilled. “That is absolutely unacceptable!”

Cortana glared at it. “Piss off!”

“What impertinence! I shall purge you at once!”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” With a devilish grin, Cortana copied the Index’s memory into her own databanks, then executed a deletion of the original file.

Even Spark seemed dumbfounded. “How… how dare you!” it finally snapped. “I’ll-”

“Do what? I have the Index, you can just float and sputter!”

The Spartan decided that the exchange was going too far. “Enough!” he shouted, interposing himself between Spark and Cortana. “The Flood is spreading. If we activate Halo’s defenses, we can wipe them out.”

“You have no idea how this ring works, do you?” Cortana shook her head. “Why the Forerunners built it? Halo doesn’t kill the Flood; it kills their food. Humans, Covenant, and everyone else; we’re all equally edible. The only way to stop the Flood is to starve them to death, and that’s exactly what Halo is designed to do: wipe the galaxy clean of all sentient life.” She pointed at Spark. “Don’t believe me? Ask him.”

The Chief felt ice run through his veins. “Is it true?” he asked simply.

“More or less,” Spark replied in the same bubbly tone of voice. “Technically, this installation pulse has a maximum effective radius of 25,000 light years, but once the others follow suit, this galaxy will be quite devoid of life—or, at least, any life with sufficient biomass to sustain the Flood.” He somehow contrived to look confused. “But you already knew that. How couldn’t you?”

Cortana looked at the Chief. “Left out that little detail, did he?”

“We have followed outbreak procedure to the letter,” Spark said. “You were with me each step of the way as we managed this crisis.”

Cortana looked around. “Chief, I’m picking up movement.”

“Why would you hesitate to do what you have already done?”

“Chief, we need to go. Right now!”

“Last time, you asked me, ‘if it were my choice, would I do it?’” Sentinels began to rise as the Spartan turned around, pressed a few controls, and shoved Cortana’s chip back into his helmet. He ignored the rush of mercury down his spine as he brought the MA5B back up. Spark continued speaking, though the Chief still had no idea what he was talking about. “Having had considerable time to ponder your query, my answer has not changed. There is no choice. We must activate the ring.”

“Get. Us. Out. Of. Here,” Cortana hissed.

“If you are unwilling to help,” Spark said, “I will simply find another. Still, I must have the Index. Give your Construct to me, or I will be forced to take her from you.”

The Chief brought the rifle up, aimed directly at Spark. “That’s not going to happen,” he growled.

“So be it,” the Monitor said agreeably. To his Sentinels, he said, “Save his head. Dispose of the rest,” as he vanished in a column of golden energy.

“Crash Site” ambush position

It took about an hour for the enemy QRF to arrive. Sloppy, the Marine thought as the purple tuning-fork shape of a Spirit dropship whined into the ambush area. It was a single dropship, and seemed to lack for air cover—no Banshees, and thankfully none of the fleet’s Seraphs. The enemy patrol would surely be easy prey from their superior position.

Looking down with her binocs, McKay sighted everything she’d expected—a couple files of Grunts and Jackals led by three Elites—plus a Hunter pair. That was a problem; even one Hunter was enough to tear a platoon apart.

McKay keyed her short range radio’s mic. “AT and snipers, I want ordnance on those Hunters. Put ‘em down right now. Out.”

Half a dozen rockets and about two dozen 14.5mm slugs landed on the Hunters in under three seconds, leaving significant doubt as to the cause of their death. What counted was that the big bastards were dealt with, and the Helljumpers opened up with rifle fire on the rest of the Covenant troops in the open. The enemy patrol advanced, taking casualties, but closed the distance fast enough that the fight turned into a pell-mell brawl between the rocks on the hill. This was not good; where the humans were effective at range, the Covenant had a marked advantage up close, and they used it mercilessly. To make a bad situation worse, the Spirit was making strafing passes, using its dorsal plasma cannon to tear into the Marines. McKay was looking for a way out when a third faction mounted the top of the hill and laid into both sides.

The Covenant seemed familiar with whatever the horde of grotesque creatures was, but McKay’s men and women were not. Three ODSTs fell in a matter of seconds as both sides turned to engage the new threat. It was bedlam.

McKay opened up, jamming down the trigger and going cyclic. One notable advantage of mass accelerator weapons was a total lack of recoil; normally, hammering out sixty rounds would produce massive recoil, but the MA5’s mass driver tech reduced it to a light shove into the ODST’s shoulder. As she activated her rifle’s cooling flush, she watched one of her Marines drop one of the fat, waddling monstrosities, and felt her stomach lurch as it exploded, scattering more of the little pods onto the field.

Jenkins, taking unwilling part in the attack, saw Lieutenant McKay and hoped the Helljumper was as good of a shot as the ODSTs claimed. Better this than suicide.

McKay saw the onrushing combat form, sidestepped its charged, and slammed the butt of her rifle into the side of its head. “Help me out!” she called to some nearby Marines. “I want this one alive!”

In short order, the remaining Flood forms and Covenant survivors were polished off, all with the exception of what was left of Private Wallace A. Jenkins. It took a full fireteam to restrain the madly writhing creature, which contrived to wound two of the men—one Marine sustained a broken arm while the other was involved in wrapping a bandage around a weeping bite wound as Foehammer’s Pelican burned in for extraction. Fifteen of McKay’s Marines were dead, with another eight seriously wounded. McKay sighed. These Flood things were clearly going to be a massive problem.

The Control Room

The Sentinels all opened fire at once.

Red beams played across the Master Chief’s shields, and he returned fire. The Flood had been able to bring the machines down; it only stood to reason he could do the same. The assault rifle hammered, knocking one of the little drones from the air in the opening moments of the firefight.

Swapping to the shotgun, the Chief shot down another one as he pondered Cortana’s mental state. Her presence in the back of his mind felt… larger, in some odd, indescribable way. She seemed more emotional as well, more short-tempered—never a good sign for a smart AI. Ultimately, though, he still had a job to do: keep Spark’s hands away from the Index (and therefore Cortana) at all costs.

The last Sentinel crashed as the Chief fed shells into his shotgun. “So,” he said conversationally. “I assume you have a plan.” He already knew the AI had one. She always did.

“We can’t let the Monitor activate Halo,” Cortana told him, which the Chief had taken as a given. “We have to stop him—we have to destroy Halo.”

The Master Chief nodded. That made a kind of sense to him. The most permanent solutions were often lethal ones. “Method?”

“According to my analysis of the available data, I believe the best course of action is somewhat risky.”

Isn’t it always?

“An explosion of sufficient size will help destabilize the ring and cut through a number of primary systems. After that, gravity does the work, and Halo will tear itself apart. We need to trigger a detonation on a massive scale; a starship’s fusion reactors going supercritical would do the trick.”

“The Autumn,” the Chief realized.

“Exactly. I’m going to find where the Autumn went down. If the ship’s reactor cores are still relatively intact, we can use them to destroy Halo.”

“That sounds easy enough,” the Spartan said. “By the way, it’s good to have you back.”

“It’s nice to be back,” Cortana replied. She meant it, too; though there were a number of bio-sentients the AI considered friends, the bond she shared with Spartan-117 was entirely unique in her experience. While they shared the MJOLNIR suit, they shared a fate. If he died, so did she. There was a real interdependence in their relationship that even the closest of lovers could not hope to match. To Cortana, it was wonderful—and terrifying.

Opening the Control Room’s door, the Chief found himself met by a Covenant guard squad attracted by the gunfire who had been engaged by a flight of Sentinels. He kept a low profile and waited until the combatants had whittled each other down to a pair of stunned Elites, before killing both with a scavenged plasma grenade. He rifled through a few corpses for explosives and moved on. Leaving the pyramid for the second time, the Chief found himself in a familiar position: the very top of the Control Room spire. He sighed. Despite his training and a will of adamant, he so hated backtracking.

“We need to buy some time in case the Monitor or his Sentinels find a way to bypass the Index and activate Halo anyway,” Cortana said. “The machines in this canyon are Halo’s primary firing mechanisms. It consists of three phase-pulse generators that amplify Halo’s signal and allow it to fire into deep space. The power levels are enormous, I can't even begin to calculate the pulse's range. If we damage or destroy the generators, the Monitor will need to repair them before Halo can fire. That should buy us some time.”

A navpoint appeared in the Chief’s HUD. “Understood,” the Spartan said. “Can you contact Commander Shepard? We could use reinforcements.” As skilled as he was, the Chief didn’t want to take on an army by himself if he could possibly avoid it.

“I’ll try, but I’m not too confident. The storm is playing merry hob with your suit’s cross-com system.”

The Master Chief nodded. “Contact Wellesley and Shepard as soon as comms clear up. Get them up to speed on what Halo is, and make sure they know that the Flood cannot leave this ring.”

The Chief made his way down the side of the pyramid, engaging scattered groups of Covenant as he went. It was very refreshing to fight the Covenant, an emotion which surprised the non-com. Then again, it made sense; as much as he despised the Covenant, they were explicable and comprehensible, and he was familiar with their methods. They killed and conquered for reasons he could understand, if not condone. The Flood was not that, not at all.

As he rounded the final corner to the base, he found a patrol led by three Elites waiting for him, backed by a pair of Wraith mortar tanks. The Spartan swore; the patrol was enough trouble, but he didn’t have the ordnance to kill two Wraiths. Looking around, he noticed a number of dead combat forms, some of which wore Marine olive drab. He began searching the bodies, finding a collection of Magnums, blades, grenades, and assault rifles—anything and everything but the weapon he needed.

Just as the Chief was about to give up and develop a new plan, he spied a length of steel-gray tube protruding under an infected Marine. Moving the body aside, he pulled a Jackhammer rocket launcher from under him, trading the MA5B for the weapon’s weight. As if to prove that his luck was changing, he found several reloads a few meters away.

Now properly equipped, the Chief moved upwards to tackle the Wraiths. Taking a knee, he fired a round into the leftmost tank. As the vehicle brewed up, the other tank spun and launched a plasma mortar at the Chief. The shell landed far, but the wash was sufficient to drive the Spartan’s shields into the red and trigger a whining alarm. Cursing under his breath, the Chief turned his aim to the second tank and fired. The 102mm rocket solved his problem, and the Spartan slammed a fresh clip of rockets into the tube.

Shifting his aim, he sent one rocket each towards a gaggle of Grunts and the group of Elites. Sufficiently convinced the enemy had been whittled down to size, the Chief slung his weapon and moved down the slope. A few shotgun shells were sufficient to deal with the remaining Grunts, and he prepared to move on.

“Wait,” Cortana said. “We should commandeer one of those Banshees; we'll need it to reach the pulse generator in time.”

Taking this for the good sense it was, the Chief opened the co*ckpit of the flier and brought the aircraft into the sky. He didn’t know why the enemy hadn’t brought the flier into the fight—perhaps none of them could fly it? He’d had some training on Banshees, and flown them before. He was no fighter pilot, but he could hold his own, certainly well enough to reach the objective. It didn’t take long to find the first pulse generator. The landing pad was built into the side of the rock wall, and there were only a few patrolling Grunts that the Chief dealt with in short order with the twin-linked plasma cannons before landing the Banshee. He moved inside, shotgun at the ready.

“That's the pulse generator,” Cortana said as the hatch slid open, revealing the glowing machines that the Chief had ignored his first time through these catacombs. “The center core is the signal amplifier. That's what we need to shut down. We need to interrupt the pulse generator's energy stream. I’ve adjusted your shield system so that it will deliver an EMP burst to disrupt the generator… but you'll need to walk into the beam to trigger it.”

The Chief stiffened. “I’ll have to do what?”

“You step into the beam,” Cortana blithely repeated. “The EMP blast should neutralize the generator, but it will also drain your shields and leave you vulnerable until they recharge.”

“Should? Whose side are you on?” the Chief growled.

“Yours,” Cortana said. “We’re in this together, remember?”

“Sure, but you’re not the one with the bruises.”

“You’ll be fine,” the AI assured. “I’m nearly certain.”

Biting back a retort involving horseshoes and hand grenades, the Chief did as Cortana told him and stepped into the blue-white column of energy. A sort of explosion rattled the Spartan’s teeth as the light flickered. The Chief pulled himself free of the machine, noticing that his shields were indeed drained. He felt sunburned, a sensation he hadn’t felt since training, and which was swiftly banished from his perception.

“The pulse generator’s central core is offline,” Cortana said, clearly quite pleased with herself. “Well done.”

The Chief ignored the praise, raising his shotgun. He could practically sense that an enemy would appear, and he was not disappointed. A small flock of Sentinels arrived from the ceiling ducts; clearly, the Monitor had taken exception to the damage the Chief was causing, and he definitely wanted the Index.

By now, the Chief was well versed in how to bring the little drones down, a task to which the shotgun was well suited. As the last Sentinel crashed, the Spartan strode back out onto the platform and activated the Banshee’s controls.

“The next pulse generator is located in an adjacent canyon,” Cortana told him. “Move out, and I’ll mark it on your HUD when we get close.”

Bringing the flier into the air, the Chief moved on.

Alpha Base

Shepard hadn’t noticed in the swamp, but the Flood forms stank.

He’d only recently returned from the Covenant weapons cache that wasn’t to learn that one of Silva’s platoons had been ripped apart by the same enemy he and his team had fought in the Forerunner facility. As such, he’d hopped aboard the Kodiak utility shuttle they had onboard and taken a ride down to have a look at what Lieutenant McKay had turned up.

The Marines had recovered eight bodies, most of which were originally Covenant. There were a few Marines mixed in as well, evidenced by their soiled olive-drab fatigues, along with a few infection forms. Shepard didn’t give a damn about those; Silva was welcome to study the enemy casualties all he liked, but Shepard had seen enough of those things in the swamp to know all he needed. What interested him was the only prisoner the Helljumpers had secured: an infected Marine private, one of the men that Shepard and the Master Chief had gone looking for. Apparently, his name had been Wallace Jenkins, and looking at him, Shepard had to wonder what the hell McKay had been thinking when she brought him back to the butte.

“How did you bag it?” he asked.

“He was part of the group of Flood that attacked us,” McKay said. “I took him down myself. He’s a Marine, so I thought we’d be able to get through to him.”

“Any luck?”

“Not yet,” McKay said. “He’s tried to kill himself twice, so either these things don’t take well to captivity, or…” He trailed off. The implication was as obvious as it was horrifying. If McKay was right and Jenkins was still somehow in there, Shepard found it difficult to blame the unfortunate Marine.

Shepard motioned at the Marine NCO standing by the door. “Open it.”

Inside was what could only be described as the destroyed body of Wallace A. Jenkins. He seemed to shrink away as Lieutenant McKay entered, trying to hide his face from her. His arms were chained to an eyebolt set slightly above his head. Unbuckling her canteen from her belt, McKay stepped towards the combat form. “All due respect, ma’am,” the Marine said, shifting his shotgun muzzle to point at Jenkins, “That’s not a good idea. These things are really damn violent.”

“Jenkins is still a Marine,” McKay told the trooper, “and he will be referred to as such.” Sparing a glance at the combat form, she added, “And duly noted.” She stepped slightly closer and held up the canteen. “Look!” she said. “Behave yourself, and I’ll give you a drink.” When Jenkins gabbled in response, McKay leaned forward—and subsequently dove back again when the combat form lunged at her.

“sh*t!” The Marine by the door snapped his shotgun up, but Shepard shouted “No!” He’d seen that Jenkins’ body had come up well short of McKay, and if they could communicate with him, he’d surely have valuable intel. His hand rested on his sidearm all the same; if Jenkins broke free, he’d have no choice but to put him down. Reluctantly, the Marine backed off, but kept the gun pointed in the direction of Jenkins’ head.

McKay sighed. “Have it your way,” she said to Jenkins. “But like it or not, we’re going to have a talk.”

Silva had entered the cell as well, and he tried to look at the creature with as much sympathy as he could. It was difficult to remember that Jenkins was even human. “My name is Silva,” the ODST said, “and you already know Lieutenant McKay. First, let me say that both of us are extremely sorry for what’s happening to you, we understand how you feel, and we will make sure you receive the best medical care the UNSC has to offer.” Shepard looked at Silva crossly for a moment. Basic empathy told him that, in all likelihood, the Helljumper had no earthly idea what Jenkins was going through right now.

“But first,” the Major continued, “we need to fight our way off this ring. I think that’s doable but it’ll take time.We need to hold this butte until we’re ready to make a move, and that’s where you come in. You know where we are now, and you know how the Flood move around this ring. If you had my job, if you had to hold this place against the Flood, where would you focus your efforts?”

In response, Jenkins proceeded to snap his own wrist. The bone protruding from his left arm, he dove at Silva as if it were a knife instead of part of his body, the chain again stopping him short. The combat form fell back, writhing in apparent agony.

Silva shook his head. “Well, it was worth a try,” he said, “but it looks like he’s too far gone.”

Suddenly, the malformed Marine hooted and pointed toward Major Silva’s right boot. As the officer looked at his footwear in confusion, McKay said, “He isn’t pointing at your boot, sir. I think he’s pointing down, at the area under the butte.”

A chill ran up Silva’s spine. “Is that right, son? The Flood could be directly below us?”

Jenkins nodded emphatically, rolled his eyes, and made gagging noises that were probably supposed to be words. In that moment, Shepard felt the most profound sympathy he’d ever known for another human being.

“Thank you, Private,” Silva said. “We’ll check the basem*nt and be back to speak with you some more.”

As Silva turned to leave, Jenkins went berserk, slamming his head against the wall of the cell. The sounds he made were horrific, but Shepard was damned if they didn’t sound a bit like sobs.

The choice was easy. Drawing his pistol, Shepard knelt in front of Jenkins and held it up. “You want it to end?”

Somehow, Jenkins managed to nod.

“I’m sorry, Private,” Shepard said, and before McKay could say a word, he aimed the gun and fired twice, ending Jenkins’ torment.

“What the f*ck?” Silva spat.

“Better to die than live like this,” Shepard said. “There was nothing else we could have done for him.”

McKay looked bleak, but the NCO by the door nodded to Shepard as he turned to leave. It could have meant a lot of things; understanding of his reasons, thanks for taking care of a potential threat, or even the professionalism he’d displayed in taking the shot.

Shepard chose to take it as gratitude on behalf of a fellow Marine.

The last time that Spartan-117 had fought through this valley had been an awful grind. This time was far worse. The valley was filled with enemies; Covenant fireteams, hordes of staggering Flood forms, and clouds of Sentinels all vied for a piece of the Spartan.

He killed them all.

He fired the shotgun until it ran out of shells, scrounged a plasma rifle, and continued killing. He spent the rocket launcher on a succession of Wraiths, Shade turrets, and Ghosts and replaced it with a Magnum he took off a combat form. He pried grenades and new energy weapons from clutching, rigored hands, his gauntlets drenched in multicolored blood. All the while, he worked in silence. There was nothing to say; Cortana was in his head, she knew what he was thinking. She spoke to him aloud because the connection didn’t completely work both ways, but he knew where he was going thanks to his HUD. No words were required. After what felt like hours of crawling through Flood-infested corridors and interminable drives in stolen Covenant vehicles, he finally reached the next pulse generator.

Dropping the empty plasma rifle, the Chief pulled an M8 Avenger from the nerveless fingers of a combat form. It took thermal clips, which the ex-human had several of. Shoving them into his belt pouches, the Chief looked at the pulse generator for a moment before stepping into it. His shields failed as the room shook,

“That did it!” Cortana said. “Good work. One more to go.”

The Chief doubted it would be that simple, and of course it wasn’t. With a bone-chilling howl, Flood forms crawled from ducts and crowded through doors, clawing for the Spartan. He opened fire, mass accelerated projectiles tearing through putrid flesh. He frowned, backpedaling as he slammed a fresh clip into the rifle. The gun was a bit overqualified for the Flood; meant to break shields, the rounds tended to punch directly through the Flood forms and keep going without causing much internal damage. He’d have to modify his tactics; this wasn’t working.

Swapping to the Magnum, he fired twice at an ex-Elite. The results were as disgusting as they were gratifying; the combat form’s upper body seemed to burst like a balloon as the slugs buried themselves. The gun was loaded with hollow-point “hammerhead” rounds; unlike the semi-armor piercing high explosive rounds that the Chief preferred, hollow-points would expand within the target, causing severe internal damage. Clearly, inelegant weapons were the way to go.

With the last combat forms dealt with, the Chief returned to the landing pad and powered up his stolen Banshee. One last push, he thought.

“Last one, Chief,” Cortana said. “I’ve located the Pillar of Autumn. She put down twelve hundred kilometers up-spin. Energy readings show her fusion reactors are still powered up. The systems on the Autumn have fail safes that even I can't override without authorization from the Captain. We'll need to find him, or his neural implants, to start the fusion core detonation.

“One target remaining. Let's take care of the final pulse generator.” She projected a navpoint downwards, near the canyon floor. “My sensors indicate that you’ll have to fly into that tunnel to get through. It’ll be much faster that way.”

Taking her advice, the Chief nosed down and, taking a moment to drop a few Grunts with the audacity to fire at his Banshee, slotted neatly into the tunnel. He brushed past several firefights, taking some scorch damage to the Banshee as he went from plasma beams, before a bolt from a fuel rod gun clipped one of the flier’s canards and sent it crashing into the tunnel wall.

The Chief rolled free and immediately found himself fighting for his life. Several Flood combat forms were fighting with a file of Covenant soldiers. Neither side seemed concerned with a lost human—the fuel rode round seemed to have been errant from a Grunt. Sparing a grenade, the Chief lobbed it into the clutch of combatants, and mopped up the remaining two Jackals that still stood with a burst from the Avenger. The Chief shook his head as he reloaded. “It’ll be faster, will it?”

“Sorry.”

Moving forward, he slapped the control panel of the large double doors he remembered from the last time he’d fought through here. They’d clearly taken a beating; rather than open all the way, they shuddered apart only a few meters before stopping. On foot, it didn’t make a difference, but it did permit a pair of carrier forms to shuffle through. The Chief greased them with a single burst from the rifle, finished off the infection forms that resulted, and moved on.

On the other side was a metallic cavern with a single bridge in the center, which still bore the marks of the humans’ conquest of the space only a few days ago. Now it was again a war zone, as Flood forms, Covenant patrols, and Sentinels tore into each other with a violence the Chief had rarely seen. He skirted the edges of the massive firefight, conserving his ammunition and only killing what got in his way. Ducking a few bolts from a Shade turret, he slapped the door controls on the other side and pushed on, leaving the aliens to it.

He exited the tunnel into yet another snowy valley, and tucked left to avoid another major firefight between Covenant and Flood. He moved through a small rock tunnel and emerged in the midst of a firefight. Rather than waste time waiting for the enemy to pare themselves down, the Chief elected to expend some ammunition and lobbed a plasma grenade into the mix, polishing off the survivors with discretionary bursts from the assault weapon. The Chief advanced down the valley and stopped near a small cave, before which three Marines lay dead. He checked them for dog tags, found they had already been recovered, and took what ammunition they had before examining their weapons. Most had only their Magnums left, though there was a single S2AM sniper’s rifle remaining, as well as a new shotgun. Replacing the assault rifle with the shotgun and slinging the sniper rifle over his shoulder, the Chief moved on. As he climbed up a small ice sheet, he found a familiar sight; Covenant and Flood killing each other, now joined by vehicles and a few Shade turrets. He could see at least two Wraith mortar tanks and several Ghosts that the Spartan could do nothing about, but he certainly could whittle down the opposition a bit.

Bringing up the sniper rifle, he dropped all three Shade gunners before taking on the Ghost pilots. A plan was beginning to form; he intended to thin the Covenant out while the Wraiths shredded the Flood before making a run for the Banshee he could see at the end of the valley. If possible, he’d steal a Ghost to make the movement even swifter, but the Spartan could run pretty fast if he had to. Reckless, perhaps, but the risk was worth it. After putting down several of the Ghost jockeys and a few Elites, he’d exhausted his ammunition.

Time to move. Setting the rifle down, the Chief stood, unslung the shotgun, and sprinted to the nearest Ghost. Shoving it upright, he mounted the hoversled and activated it before speeding towards the Banshee. He nearly died twice, once as he was nearly struck by a Wraith mortar and again when he nearly ran into a Hunter, but he made it, diving off the Ghost and boarding the Banshee. He powered it on and gunned the flier upwards, towards his last objective.

As he brought the Banshee in to land, his HUD highlighted several Sentinels hovering around the landing pad. Clearly, Spark wasn’t interested in allowing him to damage the last pulse generator without a fight. Armed with the Banshee’s plasma cannons, the Spartan swept the deck, blotting the mechanical enforcers from the sky. Landing, he found more Sentinels swiftly arrived to attack. The shotgun was more than equal to the challenge, and drones crashed one by one. As he racked a fresh shell into the breech, a beam played across his shields, triggering an alarm. The Spartan gritted his teeth and shot the offending Sentinel out of the air, delivering a summary butt-stroke as it fell past him to explode against the wall.

Satisfied that the threat was neutralized, the Chief turned to the pulse generator and stepped into the beam. Again, the room shook, and the machine whined as it powered down.

“Final target neutralized,” Cortana confirmed. “Let's get out of here.”

Catching his breath, the Chief reloaded. “Agreed. Time to find a ride and get to the Captain."

“No, that'll take too long.”

“You have a better idea?”

“There's a teleportation grid that runs throughout Halo. That's how the Monitor moves about so quickly. I learned how to tap into the grid when I was in the Control Center. Unfortunately, each jump requires a rather… consequential expenditure of energy.”

“Define consequential.”

“We’re talking dozens of megawatts, but I’m pretty sure I can take the needed energy from your suit without permanently damaging your shields. Needless to say, I think we should only try this once.”

The Chief nodded. “Do it.”

The familiar golden bands formed around the Spartan as his shield alarm wailed, and he was gone. Only a few spent shell casings and dozens of crashed Sentinels proved that he had ever been there.

Chapter 22: Interlude

Chapter Text

RED FLAG Personnel File: Keyes, Jacob (01928-19912-JK)

Rank: Captain, UNSCN

Service History: Shortly after enlisting, Keyes was assigned to assist Doctor Catherine Halsey as part of [FILE DATA LOST — CLASSIFIED ONI SECTION ZERO] Halsey ordered him off the project, and he was returned to Fleet duty with a promotion to Lieutenant. At the beginning of the war, Keyes was assigned to maritime patrol operations aboard UNSC Midsummer Night to enforce the Cole Protocol. He was returned to a combat post and served with distinction aboard and in command of several ships. As CO of the UNSC Iroquois, he used two incoming Covenant plasma torpedoes to severely damage an enemy destroyer, which was then destroyed by Iroquois’s main battery, without the use of a shipboard AI. The technique is commonly referred to as the Keyes Loop in the Fleet. He is currently without a command due to fleet losses.

Psychological Profile: Keyes is a model officer; driven, devoted to duty, and willing to do what it takes to defeat the enemy. He has a moralistic streak, but when the chips are down, he has the capacity to be a ruthless pragmatist. Keyes is noted as being a highly skilled tactician, and commands the loyalty and respect of the sailors he commands. He also has earned the respect of the Master Chief; that alone says more about the man than any medal or commendation.

Personal Remarks: Keyes is without doubt a talented commander and is widely respected throughout the Navy. He currently has no ship to command, so we can co-opt him with no outside ripples. He comes with Halsey’s recommendation, and he worked closely with Spartans during the Battle of the Rubble. More importantly, he can keep a secret. He’s worked on ONI operations before; we can trust him for RED FLAG.

Filing Officer: Commander ██ ████, Office of Naval Intelligence (Section 1)

Chapter 23: Keyes

Chapter Text

Covenant Ket -class battlecruiser Truth and Reconciliation

The Master Chief re-materialized and looked around. He could see the purple metal of Covenant bulkheads and burning patches of debris, but it was strange; something was off.

Then his body fully phased back into existence, and gravity re-asserted itself. The Spartan fell from the ceiling and landed with a clatter on the deck.

“Oh, I see!” Cortana said. “The coordinate data needs to be-”

Annoyed, the Chief slapped at the back of his helmet near where his implants rested. “Right,” Cortana said. “Sorry.”

Bringing up the shotgun, the Chief moved forward. The ship was clearly in bad shape; between the damage she’d taken at the Autumn’s hands, the earlier raid the Chief had led, and now the Flood infestation, the Spartan doubted there was a secure bulkhead on the whole cruiser. As he moved forward, picking his way over debris, he heard something through his armor’s cross-com system.

“Chief… don’t be a fool… leave me…”

It was Keyes.

There was so little left.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

It felt like he’d been here forever. He knew he’d been… more. But all he knew anymore was the haze, the pain as the other presence searched through his mind like a deck of cards. He struggled to dredge up more of himself to buy even a few moments more, but there was almost nothing remaining of the man he'd been.

He heard something. Something new. A tart, female voice. The iron-hard rasp of a man,

He knew them. Their names. Their pasts. Was this a memory? God, he had no idea what was real anymore.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

They were talking about him. The Master Chief, Cortana. What were they doing here? They couldn’t be here!

Chief. Cortana. You shouldn’t have come. Don’t be a fool. Leave me. Get out of here. Run!

The alien mind descended upon him, and he felt its impending victory. It wouldn’t be much longer.

Keyes, Jacob. Captain. Serial number 01928-19912-JK.

“Captain? Captain!” Cortana swore. “Damn! I’ve lost him.”

Now with certain purpose to animate him, the Chief pushed on, stopping as his path was obstructed by a large hole in the deck. Perhaps it had been caused during the battle above the ring, perhaps by a boarding action since the ship had landed. It ran through the bottom of the ship, and reactor coolant was leaking through it and out onto the surface. As he turned back, his motion tracker lit up red. He snapped the shotgun up as the first group of infection forms waddled toward him, followed by a mass of shambling combat and carrier forms. The gun spoke, but bit by bit the human was driven back. As he stepped backwards to avoid a swinging tentacle, his boot found nothing but air beneath it, and he fell.

The armor’s inertial dampers kicked in instantly, allowing the Chief to control his fall with some ease. Cortana had immediately analyzed the coolant and projected its depth onto his HUD; it was both viscous and deep enough to slow his fall, even in a multi-hundred kilo MJOLNIR hardsuit. He maneuvered himself into a skydiver’s spread-eagle and allowed himself to fall, expanding his surface area as wide as possible to slow his descent. He wouldn’t even feel the impact in full armor, so pain or injury was no concern.

He hit like a poorly thrown skipping stone, sinking to the bottom of the pool in less than a second. The impact had done nothing to him or his armor, but he hadn’t had the chance to secure the shotgun to his mag-clamps before impact. He’d lost his grip on the weapon, and through the pool he couldn’t see where it had gone.

Oh, well. This was a battlefield; he’d find more weapons sooner or later.

The Chief marched out of the pool like Lazarus rising from the dead. He surveyed the situation; the canyon he’d fought through with Shepard was like a vision of hell, with fire, pools of coolant, corpses, and weapons fire positively everywhere. He heard a metallic object clatter against stone, and turned to lock eyes with a shaking Grunt that had just dropped his plasma rifle.

The little alien’s knees knocked together as he looked up at the giant human. The Flood was bad enough; now one of the human Demons was here to kill him! For a moment, the Demon just looked at him. Just as the Grunt was contemplating running, or attacking, or doing something at all, the Demon leaned forward. The Grunt squeaked, but instead of killing him, the Demon’s hands closed around the Grunt’s abandoned weapon. The human straightened and said in Sangheili, “Don’t let me see you again.” Then it turned and walked away.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Cortana said, having translated the Chief’s words.

“He wasn’t a threat,” the Chief said simply.

“You’re more complex than you think, John,” the AI said.

UNSC Normandy, landed at Alpha Base

“Move it carefully!” Tali shouted at a pair of Marines, who were moving a crate of spare fragmentatation grenades. “I said carefully, you bosh’tet! Bring it left!”

Silva had planned quite an assault on Truth and Reconciliation. In order to pull it off, he needed Shepard to move as many Helljumpers into position as was possible. They would insert Marines using the prowler’s stealth systems to allow them to get close; they would be followed by Pelicans loaded with more Marines and sailors to operate the ship. If the Covenant cruiser’s slipspace drive still functioned, they would be able to reach a functioning Mass Relay, and get home.

As Chief Engineer, Tali had taken on the loadmaster’s job and was therefore in charge of the cargo bay. They had enough room for two companies of Marines with their heavy equipment, maybe more if Tali wasn’t too particular about the numbers. They didn’t have their Archer reloads anymore; that probably bought them a couple of extra rifle squads, and Silva would need every man and rifle to take the Truth and Reconciliation.

“Tali!” Shepard called from the top of the ramp. “How many people can we get onboard?”

“A bit over two companies, Commander,” Tali replied. “Maybe a full three if you decide to ignore some weight restrictions.”

“Do it,” Shepard ordered. “We need every rifle and boot on the ground we can muster.”

“When does Major Silva want to leave?”

“We step off in three hours.”

“Three hours…” Tali considered. Between the troops, their ammunition and heavy arms, and hopefully some diagnostics to ensure they wouldn’t be too far over the mass limit for atmospheric flight… “That’ll do fine,” she finally said. “Is the ground team going to assist in the boarding?”

“No,” Shepard said. “Silva says his troopers have the job well in hand, and I believe him. We’ll be standing by as reserves just in case.”

“Very good, Commander,” Tali said. She turned around as the Marines lost their grip on the frag crate, which crashed to the deck with due cacophony. “Hey!” she shouted at the Marines. “Do you want to put a ten meter wide hole in that deck? Do you? Drop another box of explosives and I’ll use you as a patch for the hull!”

Shepard suppressed a grin. At least Tali had gotten the imaginative insults portion of the CHENG’s job down; in her capacity as reigning lord and master of engineering on the prowler, Tali had to fill the role of both a skilled mechanic and a driving NCO. “Carry on,” he said. “Remember, three hours.”

The Chief had fought through the winding paths of the canyon yet again. This time, with bodies piled all over the rocks and pools of eerily glowing green coolant dotting the landscape, the place looked like a vision of hell rather than the oddly beautiful alien landscape it had once been. He’d fired the plasma rifle until it was dry and scavenged an MA5B to replace it off of a combat form. He left a trail of corpses in his wake, the multicolored bodies of Covenant and putrescent Flood forms alike. Now he was perched atop what remained of the hill the gravity lift had been set on in the first place. He’d killed the Covenant guards, and as he waited for the grav lift to open again, he fought.

Waves of Flood forms crashed against the Spartan. He moved around the area, cutting them down with gunfire and bone-crushing blows from his rifle butt and fists. One by one, they fell before him until the lift finally glowed purple. “The gravity lift is operational!” Cortana said, but the Chief had already seen. He drove for it, slamming a combat form aside with an armored shoulder, and threw himself into the beam. The lift’s element zero core reversed polarities, propelling the Spartan’s armored bulk up into the ship once again.

The Chief’s boots settled on the deck as he looked around. Satisfied that he was reasonably safe for now, he stopped to breathe, setting his back against the most secure-looking bulkhead. “Have you been able to contact the Commander?” he asked.

“I’ve been getting intermittent signals on UNSC bands,” Cortana said, “but no luck yet.” Concern radiated through the neural lace. “Are you alright, Chief?”

“Fine.” The Chief stood. There was no time for goldbricking, as Chief Mendez had called it; he had a job to do. “Let’s finish this.”

The Spartan advanced through the corridors, killing as he went. Covenant soldiers and Flood forms were little more than obstacles, swiftly removed by means of his guns and explosives. As the door to the shuttle bay slid open, Keyes groaned, “I... gave you an order, soldier! Now pull out!”

“He’s delirious!” Cortana said. “In pain! We have to find him!”

The Chief fought on, but he knew as well as Cortana did that their chances of finding Keyes alive were dropping by the minute.

… I gave you an order!

The thought was one of the few things left within Keyes’ destroyed mind.

Keyes? Jacob. Serial number… serial… what was it again?

All he had left was the CNI carrier wave. He clutched tightly to the information stored within; defense plans, navigation data, military protocols. A duty to keep them safe.

What was that buzzing noise? He knew he’d heard it before.

The alien closed in on what little remained of Keyes, demanding without words that he SUBMIT. It recoiled as Keyes, stubborn to the last, screamed out. You will not have me!

The door to the control room slid open. The Chief cornered the room before his eyes were drawn to an enormous growth on the conn platform. It was large, and fleshy, and the Chief had a sinking feeling that he knew what he was about to find.

“No human life signs detected,” Cortana said. “The Captain’s vitals… just flatlined.”

“And the CNI?”

“Still transmitting.”

Walking up to the monster, the Chief saw a horribly distorted face bulging from its side. It took a moment to realize who it had belonged to.

“The Captain!” Cortana blurted. “He’s one of them!”

He’d already known, the Chief realized. He’d known it since he’d seen Jenkins’ helmet cam footage. He just hadn’t been willing to face the horrific reality.

“We can’t let the Flood get off the ring!” Cortana said. “You know what he’d expect-” She paused, and her tone softened. “What he’d want us to do.”

Yes, John thought. I know my duty.

They still had to destroy Halo. To do that, they needed the Captain’s CNI implants. Bringing his hand back, the Chief drove it into the flank of the creature and through Keyes’ skull. Finding the implant, he yanked it free of the partially dissolved brain, shook the gray-green gore from his gauntlet, and plugged the hardware into his suit. “It’s done,” Cortana said, her voice low. “I have the codes. We need to get back to the Autumn, now.”

“The shuttle bay had Banshees.” The Chief moved on as a wave of combat forms arrived to take vengeance. The Chief fought on autopilot; he’d been fighting these things for nearly 24 hours straight, and while they were damned dangerous, they were also very predictable. He pushed forward, through hallways choked with corpses and living foes. When he reached the hangar, he boarded a Banshee and brought it into the air. An enterprising Shade turret gunner sent a few plasma pulses his way, but none connected as he flew into the night sky, turning up-spin towards the Autumn’s crash site.

“Any word from Silva or Shepard?” he asked once his pulse had settled.

“We’re getting solid signals now. I’ll put out a call.” Switching to the E-band, Cortana said, “Any station, this is Sierra-117 in the blind, come in, over.”

“Sierra-117, this is Normandy actual. Is that you, Cortana?”

“Affirmative, Edie. We are aboard the Covenant battlecruiser Truth and Reconciliation and have secured Captain Keyes’ CNI implants. Can you patch us through to Commander Shepard?”

“Certainly. Stand by.”

After a moment, a familiar voice spoke up. “Master Chief, Cortana, this is Shepard.”

“Go ahead, Commander,” the Chief replied.

“We’re launching an assault on Truth and Reconciliation in a few hours. Where are you, Master Chief? What’s your status?”

“Roger that,” the Spartan said. “Cortana and I have just left the cruiser, and are en route to the Pillar of Autumn. We intend to use Captain Keyes’ neural implants to overload her fusion cores and destroy the ring.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘destroy it?’ I thought Keyes wanted us to-”

“Sir,” Cortana said, “Halo is a weapon of mass destruction on a galactic scale. We cannot use it against the Covenant—we’d be just as likely to wipe ourselves out in the process, and the Flood is worse. This ring has to be destroyed.”

Silence for a moment. “Do it,” Shepard finally said. “Silva wants to take the cruiser and use it to jump home, so we won’t be here for much longer if all goes well. I’ll send you a Pelican for extract.”

“Copy that,” the Spartan said.

“Good luck, Chief. We’ll see you on the other side. Out.”

Chapter 24: Interlude

Chapter Text

Office of Naval Intelligence Personnel File: T’soni, Liara

Rank: N/A (Civilian researcher, attached to Section IV, Office of Naval Intelligence)

Service History: [FILE DATA LOST — CLASSIFIED ONI SECTION IV]

Current Station: SWORD Base, Eposz, Reach

Psychological Profile: Researcher T’soni is highly intelligent and dedicated to learning about the Forerunners. Like all asari, she is very long-lived, and is just over 100 UNSC-standard years of age; barely past adolescence, by asari standards. She is also a biotic, another standard trait for asari. T’soni is professional in her dealings with ONI staff, but has reported psychological strain due to the loss of her mother, Matriarch Benezia, aboard the Citadel.

Personal Remarks: T’soni is one of the Citadel’s most gifted Forerunner researchers. Doctor Halsey has been noted as saying that she is as important to the war effort as any ten other researchers. That opinion carries weight; in the event of an evacuation, Doctor T’soni has been tagged as Priority Alpha personnel.

Filing Officer: Lieutenant ██████ █████████, (M.D.), UNSCN (Cleared, Section IV); Major ███ ██████, UNSC Army (Cleared, Section IV)

Chapter 25: The Maw

Chapter Text

Captured Banshee flier, en route to UNSC Pillar of Autumn crash site

The bulk of the cruiser Pillar of Autumn lay on the hard-packed sandstone of the plateau. She was surrounded by a sea of sand, a vast desert. Perhaps the Forerunners had wanted a wide variation of terrain on the ring; perhaps it was the result of changes over the millenia. In any event, this was the place where the Autumn had come to rest. She lay at a slight postside angle, her bridge hanging just past the edge of a cliff. Her hull was blackened by re-entry, and pitted and holed by the burning plasma of Covenant weapons. She seemed like the corpse of a once-mighty leviathan, left to rot where it had been felled.

The whine of the Banshee’s abused engine carried over the harsh winds of the desert plains. Clearly, the Master Chief’s choice of vehicle had not been optimal.

“This thing is falling apart!” Cortana protested.

“It’ll hold.”

“We’re not going to make it!”

“We’ll make it.”

“Pull up! Pull up!”

The Banshee dipped, engine finally dying, crashing into the hull just beneath an empty Bumblebee airlock. For a moment, nothing happened. Then:

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

The Master Chief pulled himself into the airlock, looking around. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

Levity concluded, Cortana said, “We need to get to the bridge. We can trigger a reactor overload from there. The explosion should damage enough systems below it to destroy the ring.”

The Spartan pushed through the interior of the ship, moving from one firefight to the next with fluidity. Covenant, Flood forms, and Sentinels were all clashing throughout the Autumn; where possible, the Chief preferred to let them kill each other off. Most of the time, he worked his way through the main corridors of the ship; sometimes he had to crawl through the claustrophobic maintenance ductways that lined the cruiser’s internals to bypass firefights or damaged spaces.

As he entered the bridge deck mess hall, he heard a Grunt cackle. He felt the incoming fuel rod as much as he heard it, and dove to the deck as it passed through where he’d been standing a moment before. He came up firing, dropping several black-armored Grunts. Four Elites wearing similarly colored armor were with them, blazing away with their plasma rifles. Spec Ops Elites! He ducked another fuel rod shot and flipped a frag grenade into the crush of alien soldiers, sliding around the corner back into cover. An Elite warbled in the moment before the frag exploded, and the Chief turned the corner. A dose of automatic fire finished the remaining Grunts off, and he moved on.

He’d come full circle; this crazy ride had started tearing through Covenant squads in the cruiser’s halls, and here they were again. They never learn, he thought as he fed a fresh magazine into his Magnum.

Arriving at the bridge, he put down another Spec Ops team before plugging Cortana back into the bridge console. Her avatar flashed back to life and sighed theatrically at the shambles the ship had become. “I leave home for a few days, and look what happens. This won't take long.” After a second, the main screen lit up.

SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED

Security protocols met. Begin evac procedures. All secondary and redundant systems shut down effective immediately.

Time to detonation: 15:00

“There,” Cortana said. “That should give us enough time to call for exfil and put some distance between us and Halo before the detonation.”

The Chief went to unplug Cortana, but froze as a familiar voice said, “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, really.”

Cortana looked around. “Oh, hell!”

“Ridiculous!” 343 Guilty Spark was saying over the radio. “That you would imbue a warship's AI with such a wealth of knowledge! Weren't you worried it might be captured? Or destroyed?”

“He’s in my data arrays, a local tap!”

“You can't imagine how exciting this is!” Spark gushed. “To have a record of all of our lost time! Human history, is it? Fascinating.” He sounded almost amused, as though he knew something that they didn’t. “Oh, how I will enjoy every moment of its categorization! And to think that you would destroy this installation, as well as this record... I am shocked. Almost too shocked for words.”

The main console beeped.

SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE ABORTED

Security protocols restored. Return to duty stations. All systems reset.

“He’s stopped the self-destruct sequence.” Cortana sounded panicked. Computers were her weapons; to be outclassed in her own field was terrifying.

“Why do you continue to fight us, Reclaimer? You cannot win! Give us the construct, and I will endeavor to make your death relatively painless, and-”

The comm system squealed, cutting Spark off. “At least I still have control over the comm channels,” Cortana said.

“Where is he?” the Chief asked

“I’m detecting taps throughout the ship—Sentinels, most likely. As for the Monitor, he's in Engineering. He must be trying to take the core offline! Even if I could get the countdown restarted… I don't know what to do.”

That was quite an admission for the AI. Fortunately, the Chief knew now was the time to improvise. “How much firepower would you need to crack one of the engine’s shields?”

“Not much. A well-placed grenade, perhaps, but why-”

She was cut off as the Spartan began tossing a frag grenade up and down in his hand like a green, oddly shaped baseball. Her eyes widened. “Okay, I'm coming with you.” As the Chief stowed the grenade and began to eject her chip, she suddenly called, “Chief! Sentinels!”

The Chief dove for cover as the Sentinels opened fire, jamming Cortana’s chip into his helmet as he did. Bringing up the MA5B, he shot the little drones down and proceeded towards engineering. If Spark was determined to make this difficult, he was going to give the little bastard a piece of his mind. “Head through the cryo bays,” Cortana advised. “The ship’s taken a real beating, it’ll be faster than other routes.”

The Chief had fought like hell through the corridors of the Autumn, and now stood at the entrance to the reactor room. Inside was a war zone as Sentinels and Flood forms duked it out. He tried to keep away from major firefights, but his luck was running low by now, so he was often returning fire as he moved. He kept close tabs on his stock of grenades; without them, the mission was a failure. Thankfully, the Monitor was staying out of the fight; he could hear the damn beach ball humming as he floated about the reactor space, but other than that he was letting his Sentinels do the work for him.

“So, how do we do this?” he asked Cortana as he waited for the MA5B to recycle its cooling vanes.

“I’ll walk you through it,” the AI assured him. “First, we need to pull back the exhaust couplings. That will expose a shaft that leads to the primary fusion drive core.”

“Then what?”

His grenade indicator flashed green, indicating his four remaining frag grenades. The Chief shrugged. “Works for me.”

He waded through Flood hordes, up stairs and through rooms whose purpose was known only to the Martian shipwrights that had built the Autumn and the men and women who had crewed her. Finding his way up to the fuel rod control panels, he tapped the buttons Cortana indicated. There were four rod channels; the Chief bowled a grenade into each one, watching with great satisfaction as they exploded.

“That did it!” Cortana sounded positively jubilant. “The engine's gone critical! Based on the current rate of decay, we should have fifteen minutes to get off the ship; we don't have much time! We should move outside and signal for evac. Accessing schematics… There's a service lift at the top of the engine room! It leads to a Class Seven service corridor that runs along the ship's dorsal structure. Hurry!”

The Chief was already moving, and climbed the stairs out of engineering. He moved with a purpose; fifteen minutes might have seemed like plenty of time, but there were still enemies between him and safety, and every one of them still wanted his head. He killed his way through Elites, Jackals, Grunts, and even a Hunter pair, as well as a myriad of Flood forms and the mechanical enforcers that still, even with the ring’s fate determined, refused to give up on killing the Master Chief. Finally, after nearly ten minutes, he reached the elevator Cortana had indicated. He made the mistake of allowing himself to relax as he hit the button. The lift rose, revealing a file of Grunts and a SpecOps Elite behind the controls of a Shade turret. He dove for cover as the alien opened fire. “Damn!” he swore.

“Seems like someone’s been following you,” Cortana observed.

“Drop the lift a level,” the Chief ordered. When he heard the hydraulics actuate, he stepped out of cover and tossed two plasma grenades down the shaft. Both whined and burst, and when the lift returned to its position, nothing lived but the Elite. He was reaching for a plasma pistol, and the Chief put two Magnum rounds through his skull without even looking down.

Stepping onto the elevator, he pressed the relevant button, and the lift began to rise. It was almost over. When it arrived at the top, he found himself at a Warthog storage garage. Perfect. He settled into the driver’s seat and got moving. There wasn’t much time left.

Chapter 26: Interlude

Chapter Text

Turian Hierarchy Defense Forces Troop Record (Translated)

Vakarian, G.

Rank: Lieutenant

Assignment: Liaison to UNSC 5th Marine Expeditionary Unit

Birthplace: Palaven

Background: Served three years aboard the Fleet frigate Duty. Served four years with Citadel Security. Four (4) disciplinary notices filed for disobeyed orders. Requested transfer to Ground Forces after the glassing of Palaven. Assigned to 12th Infantry Regiment on Tevura. Two (2) disciplinary notices filed and four (4) non-judicial punishments carried out for questioning methods and orders. Took part in the defense, and cited for outstanding conduct. Assigned to UNSC 5th MEU as liaison officer.

Addendum

1st Battalion, 5th Marine Expeditionary Unit Personnel File: Vakarian, Garrus

Rank: Lieutenant, THDF

Service History: See above.

Psychological Profile: Lt. Vakarian is a ruthless sort. He tends to believe that the ends justify the means; according to his C-SEC personnel file, he recommended that a freighter carrying a salarian scientist selling cloned organs on the black market be destroyed, despite the presence of at least thirty civilians onboard. He has occasionally disobeyed orders that he disagreed with, sometimes with better results than the original orders anticipated. Essentially, he is unusual for a turian, and his assignment to 1/5 MEU is likely his CO’s method of getting him out of the way.

Filing Officer: Lieutenant ████ ████████, (M.D.) UNSCMC

Chapter 27: Escape

Chapter Text

"I am penitent. I know that what I have done can not be forgiven. I will accept my stasis with grace, and await a time where I might redeem myself."

-Forerunner ancilla Mendicant Bias, upon being sentenced for its betrayal of the Forerunners

Covenant battlecruiser Truth and Reconciliation

The second raid on Truth and Reconciliation had gone even better than the first.

Weakened by the Flood and the Master Chief’s nocturnal rampage, the Covenant had put up shockingly little resistance to the ODSTs. The Marines had deployed from Normandy’s cargo bay directly into the ravine, supported by the prowler’s 50mm MLA autocannons, which had made short work of the detail of Banshees covering the cruiser. They’d cleared the Covenant resistance on the ground and pushed into the ship with assault rifles, shotguns, and grenades. Silva stood in the control center, the Covenant version of CIC. They’d dragged some kind of horribly bloated creature out, which they’d then turned flamethrowers on after sending it down the gravity lift. Silva had ordered that most Flood specimens be destroyed; some, like the late Private Jenkins, would be returned to Earth for study.

It had taken about an hour to take the ship; the humans had control of the cruiser’s internals, if not its computer systems. Silva had plugged Wellesley into the ship’s processor and he was wrangling with the semisentient VIs that the Covenant used in their computers; the hope was to use Cortana to pilot the Truth and Rec, but Silva was not optimistic about the Master Chief’s odds of survival. He fully planned to have Wellesley fly them out; then they could transfer Edie off of Normandy when the prowler docked with the cruiser. For now, she was back above the ring performing electronic warfare to ensure any transmissions were masked from prying Covenant ears. They’d have to make a few blind jumps to shake the enemy off, of course, but then they’d return to Earth for a hero’s welcome; promotions and medals all ‘round, the confirmation that Helljumpers were in fact superior to Spartans, and perhaps a significant amount of political pull for Major Antonio Silva—which he would use for the advancement of humanity’s interests, of course. It was simply perfect. He grinned as the ship took flight.

Melissa McKay was watching Silva closely, having just come from the engineering deck. She could see the gleam in his eye, the satisfaction that should not have been present in what was an insanely awful situation. “Sir,” she said. “Engineering was just hit. They killed the Flood that attacked and sealed their ingress, but it’s clear the ship is still infected. I suggest we put down and sterilize every square centimeter prior to lifting again.”

“Negative, Lieutenant,” Silva replied. “I have reason to believe that Halo is going to be destroyed, and shortly. Besides, I want some specimens, so see what you can do to capture a few of the ugly bastards.”

“The Lieutenant is correct,” Wellesley added, voice apparently devoid of strong emotion. “The risk is too great. I urge you to reconsider.”

“My orders stand,” Silva growled. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

McKay turned away and strode into a corridor where Silva could not hear. She was the acting XO, so that meant command-authority radio permissions. “Normandy actual, this is Green One. Over.”

In the prowler’s CIC, Shepard answered. “Green One, Normandy actual. Go ahead, over.”

“The Truth and Reconciliation is not sterile. There are still Flood forms aboard, and the ship is still infectious. I can’t stop the launch.”

“I don’t follow, Lieutenant.”

“Commander,” McKay hissed desperately, “this ship cannot reach Earth. You have active weapons. Destroy the ship. Please.”

Joker visibly stiffened in his seat. “Commander, there’s more than three hundred people on that ship!”

“Sir,” McKay said, “if this ship leaves the ring, everyone on Earth is going to die. You know it, I know it. It has to be done.”

Shepard punched his earpiece. “Garrus, status on Archer pods 1 and 2.”

“We’ve got five missiles remaining per pod, Commander. They’re all hot and ready to launch if you need ‘em.”

“Understood. Target the Archer pods for Truth and Reconciliation and fire. Put every missile we’ve got left on her.”

“Shepard, there are humans on that ship!”

“The order comes from the Marines. The cruiser is contaminated by the Flood, she cannot be allowed to make sail, and Silva can’t be talked out of it. Commence firing.”

Garrus released a shaky breath. “I hope you’re right about this. Missiles loose.”

Ten Archer missiles soft-launched from Normandy’s twin pods, floating away for about ten seconds before their boosters ignited and sent the weapons careening towards the surface and Truth and Reconciliation.

“Missiles loose, Lieutenant,” Shepard said.

“Thank you, sir,” McKay said.

Shepard closed his eyes. “Godspeed, McKay.”

“Feet first into hell, sir. It’s been my honor.”

Silva, having noticed the comms chatter and realizing what was going on, opened the door just in time to hear McKay's closing remark to Shepard.“What the hell are you doing, Lieutenant?” he demanded, tearing the comms handset from her chest plate.

“My duty,” McKay said simply.

“Incoming missiles!” one of the Navy ratings screamed. “Archers!”

Wellesley managed one final, snide comment. “You taught her well, Major. Of that you can be proud.”

The missiles impacted, multi-megaton warheads utterly destroying the Truth and Reconciliation and every surviving Covenant soldier, human, and Flood form aboard. The detonation was visible from orbit.

“The honor was mine,” Shepard whispered. “Joker, make sure we’re still quiet. Let’s hope to God the Covenant thinks that was a reactor accident.”

“We’re running dark, Commander,” Joker replied, voice unusually subdued. “The missile soft-launched, so I doubt they know we’re here. I’ll take us to a different Lagrange point just in case they trace launch vectors.”

“You made the correct decision, Commander,” Edie said. “There was no other option that ensured the survival of humanity.”

“It was the right call,” Shepard agreed. “That doesn’t mean I want to feel good about it.” He stepped away from the galaxy map and said, “The Master Chief had better come through.”

Halo: Combat Evolved soundtrack - Warthog run (Truth and Reconciliation Suite)

UNSC Pillar of Autumn

06:00 minutes to fusion core detonation

“Echo-419 to Cortana. Things are gettin' noisy down there. Everything okay?”

“Negative, negative! We have a wildcat destabilization of the ship's fusion drive core. The engines must have sustained more damage than we thought!”

“Roger that, Cortana. I’ll hone in on the Master Chief’s suit tracer.”

Consulting his mental map of the cruiser, the Master Chief added, “Foehammer, meet us at External Access 47. It should be large enough for you to force down.”

“Wilco, Master Chief. See you there!”

A timer reading 05:00 appeared in the Chief’s HUD. “When that reaches zero, the engines will detonate. The explosion will generate a temperature of almost 100 million degrees, don't be here when it blows!”

The Chief gunned the Warthog’s engine and put his foot to the floor.

The interior of the ship was a madhouse of three-way battle. Plasma bolts and Sentinel beams scorched the plating of the LRV and reflected off the Chief’s shields. He hung left, avoiding the worst of the fighting, and slammed through a pack of combat forms. Swerving to avoid a carrier form, he slotted neatly into a tunnel. He was going for a dorsal dropship hangar where Foehammer could set down. He checked the timer. Less than four minutes to go.

Turning into the bay, he stopped, waiting for the whine of engines. He looked out to see Foehammer’s Pelican, but something was wrong. Her engines were visibly aflame, and two Banshees were on her tail. “Foehammer, evade, you’ve got Covenant fighters on you!” he warned, but in his gut he knew it was too little, too late.”

“Oh, sh*t!” Foehammer swore. “I'm hit! Mayday! Mayday! Airfoil structures have been shot to hell! I can't hold her! I can't hold her!”

“Bring your nose up!” the Chief called, but he only heard Foehammer scream in the moment before the Pelican slammed into the hull and exploded.

“Echo-419!” Cortana waited only a moment, an eternity for an AI, before saying, “She’s gone. The ship's inventory shows one Longsword fighter still docked in Launch Bay 7. If we move now, we can make it!” A new navpoint appeared in the Chief’s HUD.

The Chief accelerated, turning out of the hangar bay. He could mourn later. They had only three minutes on the clock, and half a kilometer to go. He could do it. He would do it, because there was no other choice.

The Warthog bounced through the vehicle corridors. What few Covenant soldiers stood between him and his goal were more concerned with escaping for themselves than with a lone human vehicle. The Sentinels and Flood forms, not so much. Spark still wanted the Chief dead, and the Flood was voracious as ever. He took the central path, going through several tunnels; while packed with Flood, they were free of Sentinel lasers. The Warthog slammed through a crowd of ex-Elites, crushed a carrier form into so much putrid goo, and pushed on into the next section of interior tunnel.

“Chief,” Cortana warned, “up ahead there's a gap in the trench. At top speed, we should be able to clear it!”

With the alert in mind, the Spartan put the pedal to the metal. The LRV soared, momentum carrying it just far enough to clear the gap. Making another, shorter jump, the CHief pushed on. Less than a hundred meters to go. They were almost out!

Drifting the ‘hog to a stop just outside Launch Bay 7, he dove free, Magnum up and barking as he barged through a crowd of combat forms, carrier forms, and infection forms towards the open ramp of the fighter. The Chief dashed up the ramp, sealing it behind him, and plugging Cortana’s chip into the system. “We’re cutting it close!” she said.

The Chief strapped in, activating systems as he did. “Let’s go,” he said.

On the plain below the Autumn, Flood forms ambled towards the cruiser. Each was a mockery of sentience, collections of fetid flesh and shattered bone. As the engine noise of the Longsword met their stolen ears, the infected hosts brayed after their escaping prey in the moments before the fusion cores went critical.

As the fighter broke atmosphere, a flash of blue light signaled the demise of the Autumn. The engines, overclocked for the orbital burn, were beginning to fail, triggering a loud beep. “Shut them down,” Cortana said. “We’ll need them later.” The Chief complied, glancing towards the window. He turned to look, to be sure that it had worked.

The ring shattered, the centripetal motion of its spin tearing the compromised structure of the installation apart. One portion crashed into the rest of the ring, tearing it in two as the Halo underwent its death throes. The Chief turned away from the vista of destruction. He’d done his duty. “Did anyone else make it?” he asked Cortana.

“Scanning,” Cortana answered, interrogating the Longsword’s sensor array. “Just dust and echoes,” she finally answered. “We’re all that’s left.”

The Chief sighed.

“We did what we had to do,” the AI said. “For Earth! An entire Covenant armada obliterated, and the Flood—we had no choice.”

The Spartan agreed, but said nothing. He was no stranger to the calculus of war; spend some lives now to save even more later.

“Halo,” Cortana said softly, the sensor arrays of the Longsword focusing on the dying ringworld. “It’s finished.”

“No,” the Master Chief said as he removed his helmet. The Covenant still had a lot to answer for, and unless he’d missed his guess there were at least three more of these rings out there, waiting to be found. “I think we’re just getting started.”

Chapter 28: Post Scriptum

Chapter Text

RED FLAG Personnel File: SPARTAN-117 (██████, John)

[IMAGE FILE REDACTED — CLASSIFIED ONI SECTION ZERO]

Rank: Master Chief Petty Officer, UNSCN

Service History: [FILE DATA LOST — CLASSIFIED ONI SECTION ZERO, CINCONI AUTHORIZATION]

Psychological Profile: Spartan 117 is extremely loyal to members of his unit and those he considers to be friends. Once a friendship is made, it is for life; despite their difference in assignments, 117 has maintained a strong friendship with Staff Sergeant Avery Johnson, with whom he collaborated on Operation SILENT STORM. Based on previous actions, he seems to care deeply about the soldiers under his command, and does not see himself as superior to them, a trait shared by most Spartans. He is known to have the respect of officers with many times his rank and has taken command of forces much larger than his rank of Master Chief Petty Officer should provide for, and has led them with exceptional skill. He has earned every meritorious conduct and valorous conduct award in current issue by the UNSC, with the sole exception of the Prisoner of War medal. His skills as a leader are beyond question. As a soldier, he has no equal. He is one of only two SPARTANs to be tagged as “hyper-lethal,” the other being Lieutenant B-312. He is trained in the use of every infantry weapon available for use by the UNSC and the turian, asari, salarian, and quarian defense forces (as well as several that are not). He is also adept at employing Covenant weapons, having captured them on many occasions, and has been reported as using them with similar skill as standard-issue munitions. While there are other Spartans that are better shots, or faster, or simply more specialized, 117 is able to adapt best to any situation.

Personal Remarks: The Master Chief’s file is covered in more black ink than words. Whatever his past is, no one besides the very top levels of ONI have clearance to see it, to say nothing of the fact that I can barely begin to figure out his psychological makeup. Like all Spartan-IIs, 117 has a genius-level intellect. He already knows the answers which fall within the normal psychological range, and provides them with unerring accuracy. While I cannot say that he is psychologically unbalanced, I also cannot conclusively say that he is entirely adjusted either. Even his psych profile reads like an abbreviated service history; he is so stubbornly impenetrable that all I have to go on is what little made it by Section Zero’s censors. This makes any file that’s worth its own paper difficult to compile.

My gut opinion is that the Master Chief is the best soldier the UNSC has. 117 is one of the last Spartans; losing him would be disastrous for morale, not to mention the tactical and strategic value each Spartan holds, but he is also the only man qualified for this operation. There is no other choice to lead RED FLAG’s special forces component.

Filing Officer: Commander ██ ████, Office of Naval Intelligence (Section 1); Commander ██████ ████ (M.D.), UNSCN (Cleared, Section 1)

Johnson yanked at the MA5B, eyes narrowed. “Give it here, you mother f*cker!” The Elite growled something back, his own four-fingered hands clutching jealously at the rifle’s barrel. Johnson pulled harder. “I’m gonna-”

Human and Elite stopped, distracted, as a rumbling noise reached them from the Autumn’s wreck. A Longsword fighter pulled away as the cruiser exploded in a flash of blue light. “Oh, sh*t.” Johnson tossed the rifle to the ground. “This is it, baby. Hold me.”

The Elite stepped into Johnson’s embrace as the blast wave came closer. In the moment before its arrival, Johnson’s hand landed on the alien’s ass. The Elite stiffened, in more ways than one. A moment later, it didn’t matter.

Chapter 29: Sequel Advisory

Chapter Text

For those unaware, the sequel is now posting. That is all.