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Chapter Text

Historian’s Note
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This story takes place in May 2560, six months after the Banished ambush against the UNSC Infinity at Zeta-Halo. It is also an alternative history for Halo Infinite; a ‘What-If’. As of writing this, in the current canon, Blue Team is MIA (until stated otherwise). However, this story answers a question: What if Blue Team was present during Halo Infinite?

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Zeta Halo
May 25, 2560
Month 6

Water droplets gently sloped down the dome-shaped visor fixed to Kelly-087’s helmet, leaving wriggling trails of liquid behind. Lightning scintillated across an overcast sky generated by the Zeta-Halo Ring’s own artificial weather systems. The ancient loop of the ring’s body stretched far off into the distance, harshly curling up and away, almost vanishing in the chaotic storm clouds.

Despite having spent plenty of time around bedazzling alien structures; the empty, hollow atmosphere of every Forerunner installation never ceased to eat away at the Spartan. There was something about the emptiness to them. Their eerily quiet interiors sat as still as the black oceans between stars, only disturbed by the occasional whir, click, whine, or hum of a wandering automaton tasked with maintaining its parent installation.

Zeta-Halo, however, was a different beast entirely as it behaved like a frightened, dying animal, barely clinging to life as its body worked overtime to prevent a catastrophic organ failure. Its perfectly circular nature had been shattered into a thousand-distinct pieces in one region, with every ‘island’ growing more scarred every day as UNSC and Banished units clashed- at least that was originally the case.

Whatever had happened, whatever moves that had been made on the board, the UNSC had lost, plain and simple. Blue Team- most of it at least- had been unfortunate enough to land in an area so far from the fighting, that there was quite literally almost nothing left to save when they got there. The Banished had slaughtered the bulk of the marines, Spartans, and ODSTs.

Any survivors that remained were either imprisoned or hiding in a random cave, hoping that a savior would come to rescue them from their fates. Originally, many held out hope that John-117, the Master Chief, would come to save them. Blue Team would listen each night as the marines spoke in hushed whispers over the radio, speculating as to whether or not the legend was truly dead. Nowadays, nobody spoke at all.

When thinking of John, Kelly would often find herself subconsciously switching on the music she had grown quite fond of in the last year and a half; twentieth-century rock. Perhaps it was a comfort, perhaps it was to distract her from the grieving process- either way, it helped in its own small sense. However, there was no music this time, as she had to be ready for Linda-058’s signal. This meant every sense had to remain open- eyes, ears, even the bloody nose.

A large rhinoceros-like creature lazily trudged about the muddy fields, unsuspecting and docile as it went by. Then, a spear fashioned by clumsy, oversized hands whizzed through the air, skewering the fauna with such force that it had no time to register what had just occurred before it was sprawled out on the grass. As it began to rise, roars of triumph resonated through the field as half a dozen Jiralhanae warriors sprang from cover.

The prize was seized in mere seconds, ending the hunt as soon as it got interesting. This had become somewhat routine over the last week. Brutes would hunt these beasts for food or sport before hailing a Phantom to haul their catch away. Oftentimes, the crews of these hunch-backed dropships were complacent, and usually they would land their craft to see the kill themselves.

As if on cue, a war horn echoed through the valley as the hiss of a Phantom’s engines steadily grew louder. Perfect… almost… let the crew out… good-

Four of the aliens dropped dead, all of them Brutes, their heads becoming nothing more but paste as Linda’s Nornfang cut them down from multiple kilometers away. After a moment, four cracks made themselves heard as the sound finally caught up to each bullet. NOW!

Kelly sprung forth from her hiding-spot, sprinting at speeds not even other Spartans could contend with for longer than a few seconds. Mud, grass, soot, and rocks were kicked up by her feet with every impact, making movement only slightly more difficult. Nearby Kig-Yar yelped with surprise, momentarily forgetting to activate their wrist-mounted shields as they fired their plasma pistols.

Two green blobs splashed against Kelly’s shields which flared brightly for a moment. Her armor began to issue a warning, noting the danger to its user’s life escalated every second. It did not matter, however, as the avian-alien’s heads exploded, courtesy of Linda. The remaining two grunts panicked, now being the last ones alive- only to be turned to pulps by an old MA5B.

It was not the same as Kelly’s own personal weapon- but she had lacked the needed ammunition for weeks now. With that said, there was nothing more to be done. The Phantom’s crew was dead, the Banished had lost themselves skilled hunters, and Blue Team would have cooked meat tonight. All things considered? This was a win. Sadly, this win was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

The only thing that mattered now was reaching what remained of the UNSC Mortal Reverie, and determining whether or not it could be retaken from the Banished. It served the UNSC survivors as a headquarters once- it could certainly do it again. Someone had to deliver hope to humanity- and it would have to be them.

Seven familiar notes met Kelly’s ears as a figure emerged from the thicket, casually brushing pieces of flora off their armor. Fred-104’s helmet swiveled about to observe the carnage before sighing, “As usual, you and Linda have all the fun.” This prompted an audible snort of amusement from Kelly who shrugged, “Just be faster next time.”

The other Spartan momentarily stopped to give Kelly a lame stare, with both knowing very well that would never happen. This pause, however, was short lived as a blink, as the task at hand was too dangerous to be derailed by simple banter. Still- in times like this- they needed to keep their spirits light. Poor morale would only worsen their already eroding performance.

“Load the kill onto the Phantom,” Fred ordered as he started up the phantom’s gravity lift, “I’ll get this bird ready to fly.” The comms were briefly filled by angry muttering from 104, who made his distaste for Banished modifications very clear.

“Fred,” the cool voice of Linda interrupted the grumbling, “You are speaking into TEAMCOM.”

Silence immediately followed as Fred corrected his error- but nonetheless- this was noteworthy. Their fatigue was finally becoming an issue after months of constant action, and as such, small but very visible errors were being made. Fred’s harmless blunder was only the latest in a string of small blunders made by all three Spartans, who each understood that one of these mistakes would not be so harmless in the future.

If their status did not change soon, they would be no better off than the Infinity; as cold and dead as the vacuum of space.

—

The Phantom rumbled and shuddered as the shoddily put-together external engines coughed every few moments. A loud banging noise akin to a pickup truck with a misfiring cylinder acted as an unpleasant ambience for Blue Team, who occupied the fat transport for the moment. Ordinarily, the Spartans would be tense, worried the enemy would notice a rogue-aircraft splitting off from their own ranks. However, this would apply during the days of the Covenant- not the Banished.

Under Atriox, the Banished was an incredible machine of war in any battle- but Brutes were still Brutes- and there were bound to be hundreds of Phantoms aimlessly drifting about the ring searching for game to hunt. Given this particular craft had been among that group, its seemingly erratic flight path would be nothing of note to any trigger-happy grunts.

“Setting her down,” Fred called into TEAMCOM as he slowly brought the ungraceful dropship towards a crest overlooking a downed UNSC Frigate: the Mortal Reverie. Even from up here, it could be confirmed that the Banished had occupied the former UNSC stronghold- and it meant that Blue Team’s job became far more complicated.

As the Phantom slowly crawled to a halt, bobbing up and down as its gravity well activated, the Spartans made ready to engage in a brief period of reconnaissance. The first to exit from the craft’s underbelly was Fred, who was the commanding officer of the three. Then, Kelly descended after him, followed in short notice by Linda.

Their armor became caked in blackened mud as they landed, their metallic feet slipping on the wet surface as if it were ice. It was clear that the Reverie had seen plenty of action, as even now there was still displaced dirt, turned to ash by unstoppable hails of plasma-fire and artillery shells. However, Fred considered this to be a plus- as the Banished’s fighters would be far less elegant in this terrain than well-trained Spartans.

Before long, Linda had stiffly trudged ahead, making a perch for herself as she began to investigate the Reverie’s unwelcome occupants. “From a limited glance…” Linda began slowly, working her scope to grant the perfect view, “There are a handful to deal with. A few dozen Unggoy and Kig-Yar, half a dozen Sangheili, and the rest are Jiralhanae- wait- no, they have an imprisoned Huragok maintaining equipment as well.”

Fred knelt beside the sniper, using his own BR-75’s scope to get a decent- albeit less- detailed sense of the area. Laying beside the slain frigate were a series of prefabricated Banished structures, deployed either from orbit or by heavy-lift vehicles. Linda, noting Fred’s curiosity, wordlessly used her armor’s neural implant to transmit points of interest to him.

“Looks like the Banished didn’t just stop at the Reverie,” Fred muttered, frustration licking at the back of his mind, “They hollowed out the mountain. There may be hundreds more downstairs.” Linda hummed in agreement before pinging a supply cache of note, “Look. They’re repurposing UNSC equipment. I’m seeing HMGs, MA40s, VK78s… and a lot of bloody uniforms.”

‘They must be keeping some marines alive as cattle,’ Fred thought to himself, sickened but not surprised at the cruelty. “Okay,” He breathed, taking stock of their circumstances, “We have little ammo, no rations, are exhausted, and may be walking into a fight with half the Banished for all we know-”

“Seems like a fair fight to me,” Kelly chimed in, pivoting from foot to foot nearby.

Fred paused to look at the other Spartan, concern floating in the back of his mind. John’s death had hit Kelly the hardest- not that he and Linda weren’t devastated when they’d heard the news. The Chief meant a lot to them all- and his death had affected them each in different ways. In Kelly’s case? She was far more reckless, evidently focused on revenge.

“No, I actually feel bad for them,” Fred chuckled as he turned back to his scope, “Linda, patch Kelly into your feed- see that antenna? That looks like the Banished’s only line of proper communication. If we can take that out of the picture, it would make sounding the alarm difficult.” The hard part was taking out the tower without alerting the scavengers of a hostile presence.

Then, it clicked into place, and Fred rose to his feet. “Here’s the plan. We won’t hit the outpost today- not yet,” He stated, offering a hand to Linda who’s armor’s mobility had atrophied greatly. Kelly’s helmet tilted to a side, indicating she was listening. Fred nodded his helm towards the Reverie before facing the fallen vessel.

“That Huragok does not look too pleased with the Brutes,” He began, remembering reports of maltreatment in New Mombasa back in ‘52, “So, if say, it ran away… and the antenna happened to malfunction periodically…” Linda, immediately understanding the plan, opted to finish the sentence, “It would be an inconvenience, but no cause for alarm.”

Fred nodded approvingly, smiling at the synergy in the group, “Exactly. Kelly, each night, you’re going to sneak in, and cause minor damage to the array. I will take the Huragok, and Linda will provide overwatch.” The three Spartans steadily began to come to a consensus, specifics of a plan bouncing from individual to individual as smoothly as a stream of water. It was not long before they finished their pondering.

Kelly’s voice became eager as she concluded their simple but likely effective plan, “Eventually, the Banished will grow accustomed to a faulty antenna near the Reverie. When we hit the outpost, nobody will find a lack of communication suspicious. It should buy us enough time to rally any surviving marines,” Her grin was practically audible behind her visor, “And then we might be able to start turning this around for the better.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Orbiting Debris Field, Zeta Halo
May 28, 2560

John’s eyes fluttered open as his armor’s VISR came to life, slowly materializing an image whilst diagnostics flooded the screen. The Heads-Up-Display winked on, vital information flickering into view as the familiar hum of the Mjolnir’s shield regeneration made itself known. Initially, the various joints and inner workings of the armor’s layers remained stiff and stubborn before finally relaxing.

Confused, but alert, John’s helmet quickly snapped upwards as he took stock of his surroundings. He was in the belly of a Pelican dropship- that much was clear.

“Yes! Yes!” The jovial accented voice of a man cheered, followed by uncontained laughter of relief, “We’re going home!” It was at this moment that John finally noticed the Pelican’s occupant, a light-skinned man with an out-of-regulation beard and matted, greasy hair. Black oil and grime bespattered his face and arms, and deep black circles made themselves clear under his brown eyes.

Given he was the only individual in this vessel, it was clear he was the pilot. “Welcome back, Chief!” The Pilot declared, now breathless as he dropped a large cable to the flooring before stepping forwards, his grin never faltering, “I rerouted what little power I had into your…” The words faded into obscurity as John’s mind wandered back to his last memory. The last thing he saw was a triumphant Atriox as the Infinity drifted away. Then, his armor went into survival mode- and everything had gone black.

What was the status of the Infinity- more importantly- its crew and complement of fighters? Had Captain Lasky and Commander Palmer made it to the ring? Were they able to organize a proper resistance and mount a defense? Were they still fighting? What of Blue Team and Doctor Halsey? Were they alive? Finally- had they succeeded in defeating Cortana? These questions would need answering, and the Chief would start by questioning his only source of semi-reliable info.

The Pilot ran John through the typical diagnostics section that he had seen many times over. It was a monotonous routine at this point- and more matters were pressing. The Chief stepped forwards, feeling a satisfying series of THUNKS along his back as his armor became free of the restraining cables. The Pilot spun around, eyes wide with concern as he held up a hand, “Woah woah woah- Chief. You’re not-”

John swiftly silenced the man, needing to know what had occurred, “Status report.” The sooner he understood the state of the Infinity and local UNSC forces, the better.

“Status report?” The Pilot repeated, screwing his face in confusion before frowning, “There’s… something you need to see Chief,” He said hesitantly with an undertone of heavy grief as the Spartan stepped into the cockpit.

John blinked at a shocking sight: Zeta Halo was in pieces- or at least some of it was. The ringworld was mostly intact, save for a broken segment dotted by floating islands. Blue wisps of hardlight streaked through the void, barely holding Installation-07 together. “We lost- lost everything,” The Pilot explained dejectedly, hauntedly, “There’s… nothing left for us out here- I don’t even know where here is.”

John, confused, was about to inquire as to what the Pilot meant by that, only to be jolted into fifth gear as the Pelican’s nav-systems abruptly shut down. The craft’s alarms screamed as a white light shined over the cockpit- they were caught by a grav-tow of sorts. “No- no no!” The Pilot exclaimed, terror in his voice and eyes as he stepped towards the Chief subconsciously, “Not them! Not again! We need to run!”

John’s mind briefly sprinted at a million miles an hour before coming up with a plan. If there was a tow, it led back to a Banished vessel. If he could disable it, they would be home free. However, there was no time to wait for the Pelican to be dragged into a salvaging bay. The Pilot would certainly be killed in the opening stream of plasma. Even if he wasn’t, John’s life would grow a lot more difficult if he had to babysit.

The Spartan set a reassuring hand on the Pilot’s shoulder, effortlessly turning the man to face him. “I need a weapon,” John stated, satisfied when the Pilot immediately passed the Spartan a Mk-50 Sidekick.

“This is all I've got,” The Pilot explained.

“It's enough,” John affirmed, hoping to keep the man level-headed before making his way towards the Pelican’s ‘blood-tray’.

“What- what are you going to do?” The Pilot asked hesitantly, afraid of being alone again.

“Improvise. Close the door,” John ordered firmly as he stepped towards the tray’s emergency release. When the airlock separating the cockpit from the passenger-section was sealed, the Chief immediately pulled the lever down. All sound drained away as the blood-tray’s atmosphere was sucked into the vacuum of space. What followed next would be simple yet incredibly dangerous- unguided EVA.

John’s sight was met with the horrifying debris field left behind by the Infinity and her escorting fleet. Making matters worse was an additional cloud of metal created by the devastated Halo-Ring. Frozen corpses- human and alien- dotted this empty hellscape which glowed a slight blue, courtesy of the grav-tow. This was it- another leap of faith- another gamble for luck.

John elegantly sprang forth from the Pelican, using a floating panel as a means of furthering his momentum before finding a perch on a devastated warthog. The Spartan scanned his surroundings before noting a derelict UNSC Frigate which drifted along in pieces. One of its hull sections was wide open and it sat above him. In the distance, the ominous shape of a Banished Dreadnaught loomed over the surrounding region.

“The main batteries are shut down!” The Pilot called out into a short-range radio which was picked up by John’s armor. His voice was panicked, evidently stemming from low morale, trauma, and an understandable fear of death. “You have one bullet against an entire army! What can you do on your own?!” The man questioned, searching for some level of reassurance.

John springboarded from the warthog, using nearby panels and wiring as a makeshift ladder before making his way towards the mauled frigate. Along the way, a deceased marine intersected with the Spartan’s path, prompting him to gently and respectfully move the body away before reaching towards a metal beam to slow his momentum. He was now surrounded by more corpses which were barely illuminated by exposed fusion coils.

The Chief tossed one of the coils into a nearby wall before detonating it with the Mk 50’s single round. From there, he lunged forwards, taking a moment to address the Pilot’s panic, “I told you- it's enough.” Seemingly unsatisfied, the Pilot responded relatively dejectedly, “Oh- so I see…” It did not matter, however, as the Banished Dreadnaught was now very much in view.

“They’re powering up a stasis beam! We can’t escape!” The Pilot returned to his panicked state, prompting another response from John. “You work on the batteries,” The Spartan ordered as he retrieved an MA40 from a deceased marine, “I’ll buy us some time.”

—

“That's four squads of UNSC personnel captured,” Linda called into TEAMCOM as four new points of interest winked to life on Blue Team’s shared map of the area, “Their tags read as Squads Cobra, Bengal, Paladin, and Barracuda. Looks like they didn’t get far enough from the Reverie.” The sniper watched as a handful of men and women struggled against some new form of energy-restraints, poised to fire on the generator which held them in place.

“I have eyes on Bengal. There’s only one Brute, and a whole lot of grunts,” Linda concluded before centering her Nornfang’s sights on the leader of the captors, “Permission to fire?” Her finger moved to rest against the trigger, ready to pull it at a moment's notice. “Send them to hell,” Fred’s voice crackled on TEAMCOM, followed shortly by the whine of a Huragok, “Quiet- I’m trying to help-” He stopped transmitting mid-sentence, evidently having to wrangle the alien.

Linda steadied her breath as the world became that of targets, algorithms, and the Coriolis Effect. (Depending on the distance a sniper fires from, they may need to account for a planet’s rotation and curvature, as the bullet would be briefly flying independently of the world’s movements. This effect is even more prevalent on a rotating ringworld.) When her HUD’s reticle blinked red, she fired.

Nornfang boomed as an APHE round zoomed forwards, destroying the Brute’s head alongside a sizable chunk of his neck and shoulders. The smaller Unggoy began to panic, searching wildly for their commander’s killer. Another round destroyed the generators holding the marines in place, and every man and woman immediately dove for anything they could use as a weapon.

The Grunts whirled on the escapees, readying Needlers and Plasma Pistols. Then, the squat aliens began to flee to cover as three more of their comrades were torn apart by Nornfang. Within moments, the marines had seized firearms of their own, and they mowed down the Grunts with ease. “Bengal is free, but they’re running for the hills,” Linda called into TEAMCOM, “Kelly, you may want to go fetch them before a response team arrives.

“Will do,” The other Spartan affirmed, and soon Linda could sigh with relief when the marines came face to face with their new escort.

—

Fred muttered to himself as he guided a Huragok or ‘Engineer’ from a crate containing the alien. It constantly whined and fussed, wriggling its bioluminescent body as if in constant discomfort. This rescue was swiftly becoming problematic and difficult, as the more noise the Engineer made, the more likely it was they would both be discovered. “Come on- you want to live right?” He hissed, beckoning the floating creature forwards.

Though, upon closer inspection, it was clear that this Huragok was not akin to others among its kind- All Engineers could be described as a purplish bundle of balloons with a bright blue worm-like head and neck- alongside four to half-a-dozen tentacles of the same color. They had three black marbles for eyes on each side of their rod-like heads, with frills dotting their necks, ‘abdomens’, and their largest tentacle which acted as a balancing tail.

This one, however, had additions to it. Firstly, its harness was new. While Fred had known of the Covenant’s use of bomb-vests during the Battle of Mombasa, this was different. The mechanical structure was clearly meant to be some form of restraint, and strange neon pink tubes protruded from the Engineer’s bulbous sacks. When Fred inspected the cylinders, he grimaced.

Each tube was connected to a circle which had been cruelly grafted onto the creature, likely acting as a mechanism of control. How it worked- the Spartan could not tell- but it was clear that the Huragok desperately wanted to be rid of its harness. Even more perturbing was the alien’s skin. While it was once vibrant in nature, the Engineer was now pale and sickly looking, with veiny growths moving up and down its neck.

“Hey, listen, can you understand me?” Fred removed a hand from the grip of his BR-75 and extended it towards that which he intended to escort to safety. Immediately, the Huragok’s fretting ceased as its six eyes locked onto the Spartan. If it did not understand his language, it certainly understood his tone of voice and posturing. Seeing that a dialogue had been opened, Fred nodded his helm with satisfaction, “If you keep quiet, I can get you out of here, and we can take that thing off of you, okay?”

By some miracle, the Engineer began to obey, lowering its body to be closer to the floor as it drifted over to its savior, making a low whine in understanding. Perfect- now to get the poor thing out of harm’s way.

“Attention, Outpost Tremonius!”

The harsh, guttural voice of a Jiralhanae Chieftain rang out across the facility, snapping Fred to attention whilst causing the Huragok to shiver in fear.

“The Engineer has escaped! Find it, and return it to its post! Do not make me do this myself!”

Thinking quickly, the Spartan gripped the Huragok by one of its tentacles and gently tugged at the creature, signaling the intent to move, before breaking into a half-sprint towards a gap in the shoddy fencing surrounding the outpost. The Engineer howled in surprise as it was pulled along, not expecting the sudden burst of speed, prompting Fred to groan. He would move far faster than this, however the alien’s fragility was something to keep in mind.

The alarmed chirping of Kig-Yar pirates were faintly audible behind the pair, followed by a roar of surprise and rage. “Here! Spartan prey here! With Engineer!” One of the bird-like creatures shouted in its distorted, raspy voice. Dammit- now of all times? So close to freedom-

Fred twisted back around, allowing his rifle to sing a tune as both Jackals were cut down by a burst of bullets. Now, the entire garrison knew exactly where they were. However, if he had not done this, the Jackals would have fired on the Huragok, igniting the flammable alien instantly. While his own life was arguably more important than a random creature- this Huragok was vital to their operation- and to the hopeful repairing of their armor.

Not to mention, the Spartans could hide within the deeper portions of Zeta-Halo with the aid of a Huragok. Fred knew very well what these things could do- he’d seen it with his own eyes. To lose one when there was even the SMALLEST chance of gaining an advantage over the Banished- well- it was frankly not an option. This Huragok WOULD survive this ordeal- nothing else was acceptable.

“Come on- go! Go!” Fred called over his shoulder to the floating specimen, which only lamely stared back at him. “Are you crazy?!” He shouted, irritation in his voice, “GO! This is your chance!” The Engineer’s gaze shifted to the nearby hill and then back to Fred before it issued a cry of protest- it was afraid of being alone. ‘Dammit- smartest being in the galaxy my ass!’ 104 thought to himself as he broke out into a sprint, once again pulling along the now gleeful Huragok.

Plasma and needles splashed against the muddy terrain, instantly boiling the sloppy surface which bubbled and exploded, showering the odd pairing with superheated matter. Fred swung the Huragok forwards, causing the alien to clumsily tumble/drift up the hill at high speeds whilst the Spartan himself remained behind to neutralize their attackers. “Kelly, get the squid,” He called into TEAMCOM, “Now!”

His radar briefly blipped as a second blue dot appeared roughly thirty meters away where it then left- with another dot in tow- meaning Kelly had been successful. Fred slowly backed up the hill, being conservative with what ammunition he had left in his BR-75. It was a heavy firefight now, and his armor began to bark an early warning alarm. Soon, his HUD displayed a disturbing ammo-count: 00/000 ‘Out of Ammo’.

At this, Frederick cursed and resorted to a Mk-50 Sidekick, firing with elite precision as he continued to retreat. Currently, he was in a stand-off with a handful of Grunts and Jackals, all of which were too afraid to give chase ‘lest they wind up like the rest of their friends. That did not stop them from firing blind shots around the corner- shots which occasionally splashed against his rapidly depleting shields. If he kept them suppressed, he would be slow, but safe from a volley. If he turned and ran, however- they would just melt his backside.

“Move your ass, Fred,” Linda quietly mumbled into TEAMCOM in her normally cold tone, and a round from her Nornfang struck a fusion coil, prompting it to detonate near the ever growing mob. Cries of pain were audible as Banished fighters were set ablaze. The distraction was enough, and Fred was able to make his escape with haste. “Thanks, Linda,” He panted, continuing to sprint so that he may put as much distance between himself and the Reverie as possible.

“Come get your friend,” Kelly chimed in, grunting as the angry hissing of a Huragok became audible, “It seems to like you more.”

—

John frowned as the ammo counter on his MA40 ran down to 16/000- he was running low on ammunition. While the Chief could settle for one of the Banished’s poorly put-together weapons, they were relatively unfamiliar to him, and he would rather not take the risk. Knowing this, he quickly made his way over to a small crate which appeared to contain kinetic rounds. Given the mercenaries occasionally made use of salvaged UNSC equipment, it was reasonable to suspect there were magazines present.

Upon opening the lid of the metallic box, John began to inwardly shudder at the haphazard manner in which the Banished stored their ammunition. Magazines, clips, belts, and individual rounds from dozens of separate weapons- both UNSC and alien in origin- were stored in a random pile not unlike a child’s toy-chest. ‘If only Mendez could see this,’ he mused, knowing his old trainer would be livid at this display of incompetence.

He smirked when he finally found one magazine for his MA40, which was swiftly reloaded. His luck, it seemed, had not run out. Immediately, John’s HUD updated the ammo-counter to 36/016- ‘Here we go,’ He thought to himself, helping himself to a handful of grenades before stepping onto the Bridge.

As 117 moved ahead, his armor became bathed in a red light as a luminous projection illuminated the shadowy space. The entire command deck was fixated upon a holographic transmission which depicted an aged Chieftain- one scarred with one eye being clouded by cataracts. Initially, John skirted around the perimeter of the Bridge, keeping himself hidden from the distracted Brutes. However- within moments- he too was distracted by the elder warrior.

"Within hours- the ring will be under our control!" The Jiralhanae Chieftain roared with glee, raising a fist to the pleasure of his audience who rumbled with pride at their victory, "Humanity will cower before your legacy! They will burn! Their brazen defiance will be all but a memory..." The delivery of his words could be likened to a pastor, exclaimed with cultish reverence not unlike that of the Covenant's rhetoric. Atriox, it seemed, had developed a mythical status. What was worse, however, was the implications brought on by the speech.

"We have a new problem," John started, grimacing as he took his first shot. The Pilot muttered something into the radio- but the Spartan was already embroiled in combat. The first Brute's head was blunted by a small burst of 7.62. Then, John extended his left arm towards a fusion coil, using the grapple to yank the yellowish box towards him before throwing it in the direction of what appeared to be the vessel's commanding officer. (If such titles could even apply to the Banished).

The familiar tune of a VK78 cracked off as a handful of bullets harmlessly bounced off John's shields, prompting the Spartan to whip around and engage yet another foe who seemed to have developed a taste for stolen UNSC equipment. Within only a minute or two, the firefight had been concluded. It was only eight years ago that John would have found a boarding action somewhat difficult- but Gen-III power armor had done more than enough to even the odds. If anything- he bore an advantage currently.

With haste, John bounded over to the ship's control scheme, eyeing what looked to be red and orange nonsense on a hastily built monitor. Instinctively, he reached a hand to the back of his helmet, placing his digits around a familiar chip before pausing. Cortana wasn't there- and hadn't been for some time. "It's locked down, requires a hack," John grunted, curling a hand into a fist as he took a breath.

"And.. you can do that?" The Pilot asked hopefully, impressed at the technical prowess of a Spartan.

"No," John replied simply, crashing a fist into the monitor so as to deny the Banished a chance at righting the grievous crime he was about to commit aboard their ship. With a smirk, the Spartan retrieved his MA40 and watched as electrical sparks traveled throughout the deck. "New plan," He declared, "Scuttle the ship."

"...you intend to scuttle this ship- with US INSIDE IT?!" The Pilot replied with incredulous shock, utterly dumbfounded by the suicidal endeavor. Then, with a brief amount of calm acceptance borne from shock, the trapped man spoke once again, "I'm going to die here."

"No, you're not," John asserted, leaping from the top of the deck to the floor below. Two Unggoy who'd innocently stumbled into the Bridge shrieked with terror, fleeing at the sight of the armored behemoth which swiftly silenced them. 117 was already moving on, however, knowing the crew would almost certainly be rallying an offensive to retake their prized command center.

John climbed upon a pillar, tearing off a grate which contained a small, yellow tube which crackled with plasmic lightning. He planted a salvaged Plasma Grenade on its surface before letting go, sprinting to the next pillar as a blast rocked the Bridge. An alarm started to shout, and within seconds plasma was saturating the air. The steel and nanolaminate deck began to smolder and melt, being reduced to orange slop as many dozens upon dozens of Banished warriors attempted to gun down the Spartan.

Still, John pressed on undeterred, intending to save both himself and the Pilot. His armor began to utter its warnings as his shields were reduced to a quarter of their strength. With one swing of his arm, the second tube was shattered, releasing a blast that sent John tumbling to the floor with a thunderous clatter.

A series of explosions ran across the deck, showering all parties involved with debris and heat that crushed most present. John, ever the lucky man, had been unscathed by the detonations, using the valuable time to recharge his shielding before returning to the fray. Grunts were gunned down, Jackals had their arms practically torn from their sockets by the grapple, and Brutes were ripped apart by a 'Spike Grenade'.

Finally, there was a moment to breathe and begin the fireworks show. As John returned to the bridge, preparing to pull a lever, a furious voice barked behind him.

"Report!"

The Spartan swiftly pivoted about to face the new threat- only to lower his weapon when he was face to face with a hologram of that elder Chieftain. "Status of the batteries?" John called into the radio, watching the hologram intently. He expected to see rage and fury in the Jiralhanae's expression- but instead he only saw glee and intrigue.

"I- they're still charging," The Pilot replied, quieting upon seeing the Chief's feed in the Pelican's cockpit.

"What's this? A Spartan?" The Brute asked, rumbling with satisfaction when he realized exactly what his prey was, "No! Something better..." In his cinematic fashion, the Chieftain spread his arms outwards to nod with a level of respect. "The Master Chief returns! We thought you dead- tossed into the void- yet here you stand! Humans call you their savior. The Covenant? Demon! The Banished? Prey!" He chuckled to himself at the jab, a wild excitement in his one functional eye.

"Destroy this craft if you must," The Chieftain mused, growing passionate with every word, "It matters not! The Banished will hunt you down, pursue you wherever you run!" With that, the hologram disassembled, and the Banished vessel began to tear itself apart.

"I'm on my way back," John declared, not intending to dwell on his new foe until after he was headed ringside, "Keep at the batteries."

Chapter Text

Warship Gbraakon, Zeta Halo
May 28, 2560

Warship Gbraakon’s hull groaned and protested under the strain forced upon it, shuddering every moment with enough force to send the smaller of its crew off-balance. Plumes of choking smoke filled the halls, accompanied by orange flares of infernal sources. Severed cables descended from the warping ceiling, becoming as hazardous as the lazily scattered fusion coils which tumbled about.

John’s armor began to scream warning after warning, with the temperature readouts skyrocketing to a point of bringing mild discomfort to his own body. A nav-beacon assisted him as he sprinted back down the way he came, though he did not need it per say. The Banished occasionally fired at him- though they became more preoccupied with trying to survive their own ordeal.

“Crew capacity at thirty-five percent!” A Jiralhanae roared into the PA system, being barely audible above an ever-expanding series of explosions, “Only the strongest remain! Fight on, brothers!” Despite the harsh words of ‘encouragement’, Kig-Yar and Unggoy scrambled about, screaming and crying in their strange unnatural noises.

The Pilot continued to panic over the radio, spurring John onwards to double his already breakneck pace. The Chieftain from before occasionally attempted to berate 117 via holographic projections- but was ignored in favor of more pressing matters. This only seemed to invigorate the elderly alien, however. “Run along, Spartan. We will meet on the battlefield,” He rumbled, and that was the last of it.

“The batteries?” John called over the comms, peppering an Unggoy which had opted to be brave in their final moments with metallic death. The response was as expected; yet more delays. Immediately, the Spartan’s mind flashed over to how long the Banished craft would survive. Reading his thoughts, the armor displayed an estimated timer which shifted on occasion whenever the warship seemed to suffer more catastrophic damage.

‘Est. Time: 23.48 Seconds’

Through the halls, down elevator shafts, over flames, through crowds of startled creatures, and over cavernous drop-bays. John briefly wished he had Kelly’s striking ability to outpace every Spartan to have ever lived- but there was no time to think about that. The mission came first- pondering would have to wait.

The nav-beacon indicated the Pelican’s position was only a handful of meters away- having been towed into the salvage bay. Upon reaching the door, a detonation sent a pressure wave into the Spartan who stumbled only briefly. Within a second or two, he was forcing the jammed bulkhead open, ducking underneath it only to find the atmosphere fleeing from the Dreadnaught with all haste.

“No- oh come on!” The Pilot exclaimed, evidently powering the Pelican on just as it was sucked into the abyss. John, in the meantime, was pelted with debris which sent him into a spiral. The impacts sent him spiraling about uncontrollably in a 0G environment like a tossed dice- a death sentence if there ever was a guaranteed one for a Spartan.

Thinking quickly, John swung his leg in the opposite direction of his spin, keeping a level breath as he used the power of his armor to blunt the momentum. After a handful of careful yet simultaneously forceful shifts, he was able to miraculously arrest his spinout. To say the least, it had been a lucky break that such a primitive tactic worked.

'But you had something they didn't...' An old memory echoed, one that was suppressed immediately.

Now, a new problem presented itself. John was adrift in the vacuum of space, overlooking a Halo Ring, with potentially no way ringside. Such a predicament prompted the Spartan to open a channel towards Pelican Echo-216. However, a separate and infinitely more important transmission garnered his attention, and a written message was fed onto his VISR.

'Weapon Retrieval Required; Coordinates Attached'

Each word was brief, carefully constructed- but they got the message across with perfect clarity. Something had gone horribly wrong within the plan's framework- a snag as he and the other Spartans would say- and the end result was yet another mess to be cleaned up. To say the operation had been a failure would be an understatement. Snags were the death of all good things and that was true then- that was- unless Cortana had been successfully contained or deleted.

Ruthless a dictator as she was, the rogue AI would never have tolerated a Banished occupation of a galaxy-ending superweapon. Nor would Cortana have left a ring in disrepair. John could see it clear as day- a break in the installation’s otherwise perfectly circular frame. A Guardian would have put a stop to the conflict by now. Something had happened- and 117 had to know why.

Then, the Pilot’s jovial voice chimed in over the short-range. His Pelican emerged from the debris-field like a bulky green angel, carefully positioning itself so that John may be granted entrance. “Welcome back, Chief! Let's go home!”

With that, the Spartan used the grappling hook to board the Pelican. It was time to get back to work.

—

Kelly leaned against the rocky surface of a cave’s wall as she watched the entrance for potential interlopers. Just behind her, the liberated Huragok curiously worked at Linda’s armor, moving at lightning-fast speeds as it repaired components to the best of its ability. It was proving to be useful after all. However, there was a problem.

This particular alien was either ill, or it had been modified by the Banished. It seemed completely disinterested in Forerunner constructs, meaning Blue Team and its newly acquired squad of marines couldn’t skulk about the ring’s underbelly. Hence, there they were, hiding in a cave like they’d been for months on end.

However, it was willing enough to alter, improve, or repair UNSC and Banished technology- thus the Reverie plan was still in motion. That, at the very least, Kelly could look forward to. However, she would need to rest- at least for a few minutes. Even Spartans needed sleep- and she needed it. Fatigue wore down everyone, no matter how strong.

Noticing her slumping shoulders, Fred nodded towards a waiting pair of marines whom rose to take her place. Reluctantly, Kelly relinquished her post, disliking the idea of leaving it to a member outside of Blue Team. That said- the UNSC Marine Corps had proven itself in her eyes time and time again. She had nothing but respect for those brave souls. After all, she had armor and augmentations- they had bravery, wits, a clever mouth, and a rifle.

Settling on the ground and resting a lazy head on the interior wall, Kelly was content to close her eyes for at least a handful of minutes. Much as she would like to sleep for hours at a time- this was no bed and breakfast. Spartans were too valuable to keep out of play for more than a few hours nowadays.

Then, Linda’s voice snagged her attention. “What are you doing?” The normally reserved Spartan was hardly loud or accusing- but the irritation was apparent as she noted a new device upon her helmet. The Huragok, it seemed, had used spare components it deemed unnecessary to make an addon for one of its newfound companions.

Within moments, Linda’s protest vanished as she went quiet for a handful of seconds, visor snapping in Fred’s direction with sudden urgency. “I can hear them- the Banished. Your friend gave me access to their comms,” That alone would be glorious news and an excellent advantage- but it seemed there was more, “Someone just took out one of their Dreadnaughts, and if what I am hearing is right-”

Briefly, the sniper glanced in Kelly’s direction, though the reason for that would become apparent momentarily. “The Chief is alive. The Banished B-Net is on fire, take a listen,” Linda removed her helmet and tossed it to Fred who briefly swapped out his own for the new item.

Kelly’s fatigue vanished instantaneously, slain by news of John’s potential survival. Rather, it was replaced by unfettered joy. She cared not for how or why- if Spartan John-117 was amongst the living, there would be no complaints or questions. Nearby, the marines began to excitedly chatter, their spirits lifted by the revelation. If anyone could turn this around- it was the hero of the Halo Event, slayer of Prophets, and bane of parasites.

Fred, after a solid minute of listening to their foe bicker and whine at their humiliation, returned Linda's now lopsided helmet and donned his own. Though, notably, his head was tilted up that slightest bit higher as he prepared to address the encampment. “Listen up people, The Master Chief is alive and already raising hell for the Banished. He’s going to need a spot to re-arm and reload. You know that that means.”

Spartans and marines alike listened intently to their lead’s words, knowing their lives and potentially Humanity’s continued survival depended on it. “Rest up and get ready. We move out in an hour,” Fred concluded, already moving to ensure he had at least one magazine in his weapon of choice, "We are not about to let the Chief of all people down!"

Kelly could only grin as she returned to her state of reclining. As she had the armor set a simple timer that would snap her awake, she also enabled the music to play. The Rabbit began to drift off- and the sweet tunes of rock filled her ears.

‘Back to work, and it feels good.’

Chapter Text

Kelly remained knelt within the ashen wastes surrounding the Reverie, the white of her armor having long since faded into blacks, grays, and browns. Though she was alone, she knew support lay just around the corner. The marines had managed to salvage two Warthogs and a Razorback, though only one of the hogs actually had ammo within its Vulcan-Turret. But, at the very least, she could count on a fast-attack-vehicle.

Tucked neatly in the crook of her arm was a shock coil which crackled and occasionally caused her armor’s shields to issue an early warning. This little box of horrors would be the start of the UNSC’s vengeance on the ring- and she was all for it. If she succeeded, she would be able to knock out the four Shade-Turrets guarding the compound in one fell swoop.

If Kelly failed, however, the assault would be doomed from the start. Between the heavy firepower of the gun emplacements and the volatility of Banished-produced plasma, she would be naught but glass in a shattered field- her own miniature Reach. Furthermore, the marines would be boiled, gunned down mercilessly on their approach.

Fred would be with them as well- meaning he too would likely be lost in the fighting. Only Linda would survive the ordeal- leaving her alone with an unpredictable and at times downright uncooperative Huragok. As usual, it was up to a Spartan to carry out a gamble- and she was up.

For a moment, she could recall her time on Onyx- was this what the Gammas had endured as they ran through a downpour of laserfire? Why was she recalling that time now? It seemed like an eternity ago that it happened- back then things were so much simpler. Perhaps, that was what she missed; simple.

‘Nevermind that, Kelly. Get your head in the game,’ Swiftly, 087 refocused and awaited a familiar signal. While most would feel a level of trepidation or even anxiety prior to a near-suicidal charge, she was calm as an ocean on a clear sunny day. The only thing she truly needed to master in that moment was patience.

“♭ Olly Olly Oxen Free ♭”

Now!

Kelly sprang from the crater she was using as cover like the rabbit she was, running with such speed that a literal cloud of dirt was kicked up behind her. Though she was a few hundred meters away from her target- she’d already halved that distance in but a handful of seconds.

There was a brief period of silence broken only by Kelly’s steady breaths, the mechanical whirring of her armor, and the heavy thuds within every footfall. With each bound, the line of turrets grew ever-closer. By then, a warning had been barked by a Kig-Yar which prompted the platforms to begin swiveling.

Too late.

With a small grunt, Kelly lobbed the coil for practically a hundred meters. It soared for a brief moment- with both parties watching its trajectory in anticipation. Most of the Unggoy manning the gun-emplacements immediately scrambled from their positions, panicking as doom approached them without care.

The corner of the box clipped one of the nearest turret’s dual-barrels, breaching the seal and allowing a surge of energy to explode from its frame. Blue lightning arced from the exploding box, traveling through the turrets and their crews with lethal efficiency. Circuitry fried and flesh was charred to black, smoldering charcoal. Success!

“Fred, now!” Kelly barked into TEAMCOM, diving into yet another crater as a barrage of plasma turned the terrain around her to glass. Grime caked her visor as she slid down the wet surface. With the cameras and sensors thoroughly bespattered, Kelly was forced to wipe a dirty hand across her visor which was deactivated, leaving an arc-shaped smear that was just visible enough for her to see from.

The revving of two engines followed by the chattering of a Vulcan-Turret told the Spartan everything she needed to know- the main show was beginning. A series of detonations followed by a wash of pressure waves indicated the Banished’s poor storage habits had come back to bite them.

On occasion, four white streaks would soar by, moving at such speeds that even Kelly struggled to catch sight of them. They were followed by the distant booms of Linda’s Nornfang. As per usual, the goddess of death rained fire from above. A lone Banshee-Flier attempted to respond, circling back towards the Reverie with intent to kill. Linda, of course, took off its wings.

Kelly, not intent on being left out, took off in a sprint, reflexively pulling the MA5B from the magnetic locks on her back. The walls to the compound surrounding the Reverie had already been breached and the marines riding within the Razorback were dismounting to begin clearing the outskirts. The Huragok had been tethered to the vehicle to prevent it from floating away.

As 087 passed by the marines, she noted a group of Lotus Mines which prompted her to gesture to the ordinance. “Don’t mine the entrance and road!” She shouted, her armor’s speakers ringing authoritatively and thus springing them to action, “We need a quick exit! If a QRF gets here before we are done, we’re moving too slow!”

It was only a simple stopgap measure- but they could not afford to tango with Banished armor. Were Wraiths or commandeered Scorpion Tanks to roll inside- there would be no survival. In truth, the likelihood of holding the Reverie itself was unlikely. The true purpose of this raid was more complex- but the Reverie was still just as important.

Finally, she skidded to a halt next to the Razorback, sending a spray of mud and soot into the air as she did. “Come on, lets get you moving,” The Spartan muttered, her fingers effortlessly dancing around the knot that had kept the annoyed Engineer bound. Upon being able to move, the creature happily began to move about- forcing Kelly to gently grab one of its tentacles.

“Don’t wander, it isn’t safe,” She explained, still scanning the area for possible threats. ‘Of course Fred has me babysit,’ Kelly thought with amusement, looking at her pet alien for a brief half-second, ‘What Halsey would do to see this thing for herself…’

—

Fred’s Vulcan-Turret finally clicked empty as a Sangheili’s arm was torn from its socket, spraying violet blood upon a group of grunts which were effortlessly dispatched of by the marine in the passenger seat. “Get out and start firing! Grab whatever you can and load it onto the Razorback!”

He allowed a VK-78 to bark a tune, splattering the head of an Unggoy which rounded a corner. However, 104 was compelled to seek cover behind one of the Banished’s metal FOBs when a Plasma-Turret spat blue death in his general direction. A Brute Chieftain bearing matte-gray armor stomped out from a freshly opened bay door, lugging the weapon along and firing without much effort.

With a roar, the Chieftain barreled towards Fred’s position, its red blip shining brightly on the Spartan’s threat detector. One of the marines which had accompanied him bravely stepped out from their own cover, peppering the massive thing with rounds from a Mk-50. The distraction was enough as the Chieftain whipped around- effortlessly dispatching of the brave soul.

Fred had armed a Plasma Grenade when the young man’s body was boiled away- and a brief bout of rage coursed through him. However, he used that rage- propelling the explosive forwards and onto the alien’s armor. Metal fused with metal- a blue glow emanated from the ball- and the Chieftain’s upper half scattered about the area.

Not wasting a second, Fred was already moving towards a box of ammunition that would allow him to re-arm the Warthog. Then- a detonation reduced his shields to a quarter of their strength. Heat washed over his armor and a pressure wave rattled his teeth- though he remained upright if a bit staggered. Another rocket knocked out his shields entirely and sent a small amount of shrapnel into the crook of his arm- piercing even the gel layer.

Fred attempted to retaliate, entering the state of heightened-self that was known as ‘Spartan Time’. However, a massive object barreled into him, sweeping him off his feet. It was a Jiralhanae warrior- much more decorated than the prior Chieftain. This new combatant had grabbed Fred by the chest-plate whilst using a shoddily made jetpack.

Though it was only a brief face-to-face encounter, the newcomer’s face was easy to make out. He was the typical Jiralhanae- though like most in the Banished he was shaven save for a lone goatee. Their maw opened, delivering a bout of shouting which sent thick globs of spit onto Fred’s visor.

As the two soared, the Spartan collided a closed fist with his assailant’s face whilst grabbing one of their wrists with a free hand. Courtesy of Gen-III power armor, the two were in a stalemate, wildly circling about the air. “You dare to assault the sight of my greatest triumph?! My property?! Me?! Tremonius?!” The Brute exclaimed with rage in their voice.

“Your property?” Fred managed, ignoring the screams of warnings made by his armor. The Spartan grabbed ahold of a small combat knife which slid out from a compartment in his armor’s thigh, “..more like a rented space!” With that, he wedged the blade into Tremonius’ abdomen.

The Jiralhanae commander let loose a grunt of pain but managed to maintain his grip on the Spartan. The two continued to grapple for a moment longer, exchanging blows to no avail. On occasion, they would crash into walls- yet both individuals were too stubborn to give in.

Then- a white streak of death tore through Tremonius’ jetpack, causing the device to explode. ‘Thanks, Linda,’ Fred thought inwardly as he punted the other fighter away. He landed on the metallic surface of the Reverie with a series of loud bangs- though the armor’s gel layer took the brunt of the impact.

Without pause, Fred was on his feet, finding the sight of Tremonius’ crash which was just atop one of the damaged Frigate’s damaged guns. As the Brute attempted to stand, the Spartan barreled into him, delivering a fist into their jaw which dislocated. Tremonius attempted to rise to his feet- but he was kept on the titanium surface by Fred’s boot.

104 unclipped a Mk-50 from a magnetic lock on his thigh, leveled it at his foe’s scalp, and squeezed the trigger. Tremonius’ life ended instantly, and Fred was allowed a moment to breathe. “There’s your eviction notice,” He panted, already moving back to the fight by leaping from the Reverie onto a platform below.

Banished defenders were streaming from the underground now- though they seemed hardly interested in engaging the marines who’d already torn through the outside pickets. Their fear was immediately recognized as a Sangheili’s mangled corpse landed at the exit with a wet slap.

A blur of green shot forth- one only Fred could see properly. The chatter of an MA40 was audible, ripping into a party of fleeing Unggoy. Shortly thereafter, a second group of Kig-Yar were dispatched of with a grenade. The blue marker told Fred everything he needed to know- yet he still needed a moment to process it.

He was about to open a direct line to the newcomer when Linda beat him to the punch.

“Welcome back, John.”

–

Caiden-B309 ‘Wolf’ had seen many horrid ops in his life. Though he’d been spared from the ritualistic suicide-pact that was Beta-Company’s Operation Torpedo, many other experiences came fairly close. Yet, in all that time- only Reach had managed to top the level of FUBAR that the UNSC found itself in on Zeta Halo.

The Infinity had put up a hell of a fight during her fall, going as far as to tear apart a number of Banished warships as she went. Though, her fate had been sealed from the moment her means of maneuvering were clipped. Without the ability to properly orient her four Series-8 Magnetic Accelerator Cannons? No- there was no surviving an onslaught from four vessels of similar tonnage.

Initially, the fighting on the ground was thought to have been salvageable. After all, there were hundreds of Spartans aboard the Infinity alone- that was not accounting for the thousands of personnel from the Marine Corps, Army, Air Force, and Office of Naval Intelligence. Not to mention the Infinity had nearly a decade’s worth of supplies to scavenge from.

However, that hope had been crushed instantly. The Banished, with its overwhelming presence in the aerospace, had effortlessly managed to deploy its forces across the ring, isolating the UNSC to a handful of scattered islands. Worse still, the War Chief commanding the Banished was clever- not allowing the UNSC to regroup- courtesy of the now infamous ‘Riven Gate’.

Most of the Spartans had been slain either en-route to the ring or aboard the Infinity, courtesy of Atriox’s rampage. For a moment, ‘Wolf’ found himself grateful the UNSC Verdun had been stationed to Operation: Breaker Trip. Though, there was no time to think about women he would like to marry one day. He was doomed to die on this ring- it was just a matter of when.

Still, he wished to have at the very least taken a crack at Escharum- futile of an effort or not. A blue marker reappeared on his threat detector at the exact same time as an indicator made itself apparent on his HUD. The name ‘Feywild’ drew closer, and soon a disheveled Orbital Drop Shock Trooper emerged from a thicket.

“Howdy,” The man grinned whilst speaking with a thick accent, reminding all who would hear him of his origins in the Outer Colonies. “No gators or apes along our route. How are things goin’ up here? See anything, Earth Lover?” When they’d first met, the barbed sobriquet was intended as an insult- nowadays it was a sign of care and respect.

“No,” Wolf replied simply, waiting for another group of ODSTs to return before pressing onwards, “The Banished seemed to take off eastward in a hurry- but otherwise? Silence.” Although directional terms technically did not apply on a ringworld, it was easier to simply divide it into directions based on features.

“So- what are your special guts tellin’ ya? We movin’ on the Forge of Teash or holdin’ here?” Feywild asked, scratching at his beyond-regulation beard and attempting to wipe dirt off his once olive-toned skin. Even his brown hair had almost been turned to black by their circumstances.

“No. It smells like a trap. The Banished may be complacent, but they aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t leave their outposts undefended- not with the likes of us skulking about. We’ll stay put and keep an eye out,” Wolf declared, noting the absence of the other Helljumpers by now, “They’re taking a long time. Heard from them?”

“Nah- was thinkin’ they were just talkin’ to you,” Feywild grimaced, unslinging a CQS48 Bulldog from his shoulder as a realization traveled over him. Wolf, realizing what had likely occurred, removed a VK-78 from its mag-locks. The Spartan deployed a threat sensor, lighting up the area for his Heads-Up-Display.

There was nothing present- wait-

A red outline bounded towards Feywild, prompting Wolf to pepper it with his VK-78 and move to intercept the interloper. Feywild whipped around- firing at a wispy disturbance in the air that he recognized as active-camouflage. A grunt of effort followed by the red glow of two plasma blades were all Wolf saw as his rifle was sliced in two.

Unable to avoid the blow, the Spartan leaned back so that only the metal plating of his armor would be damaged. His shields melted away and the searing heat of burning flesh ripped across his torso- but he was otherwise only grazed by the weapon. A digitigrade foot struck him in the abdomen, sending him into a tumble.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Wolf was preparing to stand when a Sangheili clad in black armor de-cloaked and leapt forwards. Feywild’s Bulldog barked, but it failed to penetrate their attacker’s shields. Thinking quickly, Wolf shot his arm out and grappled the assassin’s arm, yanking one of the blades from their hands.

The other weapon, however, was mounted to a prosthetic arm which was brought down upon the Spartan. Wolf rolled to the side, not having time to think- only act. The dirt exploded with the impossible heat of the blade which just narrowly missed its target. He then brought a powerful foot to the interloper’s abdomen, forcing them into a brief stagger.

Their shields flared brightly as Feywild dumped yet another magazine into the energy bands, swearing and shouting curses as he went. Before the Elite could attack the Helljumper, however, Wolf barreled forwards to begin a melee. He managed to avoid a flurry of fatal swipes, his armor’s plating being nicked and compromised now and again.

Then, the assassin lifted a leg and spun about, delivering powerful kicks to both humans. Feywild’s ribs audibly cracked. Wolf, however, managed to recover swiftly and resumed their joust. He ducked beneath a wide swing of the energy-blade, allowing him to deliver three blows to the alien’s abdomen in rapid succession.

In retaliation, the assassin used one of their powerful legs to send the Spartan to the ground. Wolf was straddled before any retaliation could be had, forcing him to grab ahold of the enemy’s prosthetic arm. Even with the power of Mjolnir, he was struggling to hold back the fury of this new opponent- whose blade steadily approached his jugular.

“Rest now..” The Sangheili rasped, pushing down on their prosthetic arm with their free hand, quickening the pace of Wolf’s inevitable doom. All the supersoldier could do was feebly resist his imminent demise, looking deep into the sadistic eyes of his soon-to-be murderer.

“Piss off, cunt!” Feywild called with a strangled voice, letting loose a third magazine alongside the most vulgar and creative series of insults he could manage. Finally, he created a breach the assassin’s shields. The Sangheili immediately rolled off of Wolf, shielding his face as a hail of gunfire peppered their armor. Their active camouflage engaged and soon they scurried off to let their shields regenerate.

Not wasting time, Wolf sprang to his feet and bounded towards Rogue, sweeping the irritated Helljumper off their feet and sprinting towards the space they’d hidden their Razorback. “How are you doing, Feywild?” He asked, noting the smaller man’s labored breathing.

“Not.. gonna lie to ya.. I think I’m gonna tap out here, Wolfy..” Feywild said with a grunt, blood dribbling onto his beard, “I knew my clock was ‘bout up- tell Blue and JJ hello for me, will ya?” Such talk was swiftly discouraged by the Spartan who set the injured trooper in the passenger seat of the Razorback.

“Feywild, April was just about ready to flay you alive when you insinuated you wouldn’t take her family name because you had none,” Wolf started as he thumbed the ignition for the Razorback. As the engine started, he floored for acceleration, causing the vehicle to shoot forwards at blistering speeds. “Imagine what she’ll do to you in hell if you die.”

“Come on, Earth Boy.. I’m pretty sure that woman is too good even for Heaven..”