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Fafnir Chapter 1
Date: 21 June 2002, 7:02 pm

Prologue:
The Message

The steady beat of an undeniable staccato of AR shells hammering off Titanium A floor plates gave way to that inevitable thud.
A bullet-ridden corpse followed closely by its eternal companion, crimson blood making resolute pilgrimage, riding through darkness unending.
Glazed eyes stare uncomprehending into unforgiving stars acting parts too numerous to understand; yet it is said eyes are windows of one's soul, never truly dying, and never truly living.
Either could have been fact or fiction, for science may have argued a point describing billions upon billions of atoms, all interacting to form complex living, breathing organisms, therefore supporting the former. Holy men so stubborn in their ways would insist on supporting the latter, since only fools claimed death was unstoppable.

Greg's squad mates moved down the elongated corridor, various lights casting indigo particles across each member's body. Thick trails composed of some rancid smelling hazel colored fluid streamed along walls and transparent tiles know as fiberglass.
Around corners, beyond hatches, passed windows...
Until finally, the nine-man team came to a stop, content in their skill at arms, knowing that nothing could get the jump on them!
Shadows swept across the corridor ending in an open maw of death and destruction.
They did gander open mouthed at the carnage, laid bare for all to see were corpses piled high, rivaling small mountains.
Entrails were spewed onto cold floors; gore splashed across walls, even the ceiling was marred.

Eight simply ran, but Greg stood on the spot, frozen from terror.
A single, ignited plasma sword rested in an incline, stabbed through the floor, held erect.
And smeared in the lifeblood of over five hundred marines were the words:

He Says I Came Not to Send Peace, But a Sword

It wasn't an army, or a Black operations squad that had done this.
It was one creature and one creature alone...
Greg ran too.


Chapter One:
Honor among Warriors

The Seraph fighters flew in low over the UNSC Destroyer "Martyr", making strafing runs on beleaguered navy pilots.
Four-meter thick titanium battle plates burned away as plasma torpedoes literally rained down upon weak points within Martyr's superstructure.
Covenant assault craft banked left and right, arced upwards, shot downwards, and dove painfully close to steel decks resulting in...
Coordinated barrel rolls.
They shot around pieces of wreckage with a strange ease coming only from experiences too gruesome to repeat. The Red Armored Elite pulled hard right, barely avoiding barrages from point defense guns, he was returning fire, highly concentrated plasma beams lancing into Martyr's stubborn shell. Almost enraged, Kerdel forced calm over himself.
He had a job to do.
No matter how pathetic, he had a job to do. The scientist's little experiment had gone well, the Covenant battle groups had seen the effectiveness of the lone warrior firsthand, feeling the loss.
They'd decided to recreate the effect.
Using specially hand picked "Guinea Pigs" for lack of a better term, teams of scientists had worked on the perfect warrior.
So perfect, that it was better than even one annoying thorn in the side of the battle fleets for far too long.

The scientists started with a single embryo, and made the specifications.
It had ninety-nine percent better reflexes, sight, hearing, smell, speed, stamina, co-ordination, and anything else one could think of, than the best human spawned whelp seen in battle.
Every fighting style, killing technique, strategy, weapon schematic, combat drill, or education was integrated into the brain via cloning and gel. Cybernetic enhancements were non-existent. It didn't need any.
However, without an upgraded version of the suit humans called MJOLNIR, It was equal to a devil known as a SPARTAN.

Kerdel noticed he was getting too low.
He tapped a few buttons on his holo panel, and his craft immediately started a sharp ascent.
"This is Revenant One, Revenant wing even off with my craft, assault formation." Kerdel commanded through his air mask. "Revenant Three, rear guard."
No response came, so he checked his rear camera.
Three was the first to arrive, hanging back, keeping position as rear-guard.
Kerdel clamped his mandibles tightly, he'd hoped the experiment would fail.
Soon after Revenant wing followed.
He soared downwards, towards some communications rig.
Three broke from formation seeing something Revenant wing didn't.
"This is one, three pull back into formation!" He cried in annoyance.
Three ignored him, and flew straight past the intended target.
"Three!" Kerdel cried. "Revenant cancel current strafing run, break off and regroup at flagship! This human vessel will be destroyed, I'll not have us failing due to some upstart lab experiment!"

Three banked left, then dove.
Kerdel chased the rogue fighter.
Three would notice the tail easily, he thought, but was making no move to evade. He watched as Three suddenly cleared point defense guns, shooting towards an exhaust shaft where fusion waste was ejected, and fired all weapons simultaneously.
Seeing what Three had planned he angled away and retreated.

(Music- Metallica- The Unforgiven II)

The human Destroyer exploded without warning, and Three was consumed.
He would be punished for this.
He looked back, seeing the flames glow even brighter.
Nothing could've made it through that...
The Experiment was only Seventeen human years of age, and already it had died.

Just then he saw a single pinkish speck.
Three's Seraph materialized on the edge of the explosion, and took up a position parallel to Kerdel.
He looked to Three, and stared the pilot down through the Seraph's windows, his eyes never leaving that single opaque visor. He could see Three's upper body, and three knew it.
Three laid an arm across its chest, its hand clenched in a fist just over its heart, in salute to him.
Kerdel laughed in spite of himself, and returned it.
Maybe he could like this thing after all...
"EtarÓ ‹a Three." Offered Kerdel. "The Ancients bless this day, an Ally is found!"
"haydo ™tas" Replied Three. "The Flame burns brightly."
With that the two Warriors turned from the Covenant flagship, they let their fighters sit motionless, and watched Martyr Burn.

One Week Later: Human Colony at Reach II

(Music- There She was Just A' Walking Down the Street)

Human fleets took up orbit around a blue and green planet, the paradise that was Reach II.
Pelican drop ships were used as transit shuttles from place to place, and Longsword patrol squadrons circled Destroyers and Cruisers from the 56th Fleet.
The civilian shuttle seemed out of place among the massive UNSC ships. Its unarmored chassis barely fitted "Flea" to even the smallest of the 56th.
As it neared one massive structure floating through space, it hailed a docking bay.
"Gatekeeper this is Arms Corp. Shuttle Seven requesting permission to dock." Said a voice with a South American accent.
Silence prevailed for several seconds while its identity was confirmed.
"Roger that Arms Corp. Shuttle seven," Stated a professional sounding voice with a Russian accent. "You are clear for entry, proceed to bay nine."
With that the data stream was cut, and the shuttle headed for docking bay nine as ordered.

As she landed her crew piled happily off the boarding ramp, eager for their shore leave.
Eric Fields wasn't like others though, he calmly strode past grease monkeys and pilots alike, watching them repair machinery and such.
It took him a while, but he finally got to the station's cafeteria, where he ate some crap ass MREs (Meals Ready to eat) and almost threw up.
Since he was feeling nauseous he took one of the guest bunks assigned to his crew and slept.
He didn't dream, he just, lay there with a sick stomach until he finally fell asleep.

Fafnir Chapter Two - Dragons Live
Date: 2 July 2002, 7:54 pm

Notes from Author:

All right after a long while I've got it up... I hope you like it feedback is a MUST. Please note that this installment isn't very long, but I've got to get the groundwork laid out before we really start. It probably deteriorates at the end, I'm getting lazy i guess, i'll have this corrected in the future though, i hope.

Sometimes during the story I'll type things like:

(Song- <Band Name> - <Song Name>)

This indicates some songs you may want to play while reading the next paragraph or two, which may help set the mood for the scene.
Let's get a new start on this guys and gals...
Here it is:


FAFNIR

Chapter Two - Dragons Live

Reach II, ONI Facility 04

One shimmering globe set this tropic morning alight, casting off great Topaz shrouds across flora and fauna, kissing grass, embracing cold steel, shining over windows. Three Longsword fighter craft cut through dawn like a gale force wind, sweeping aside anything in their path, perfectly performing linear patrol routes through specifically assigned sectors, there were many such patrols in certain radii.
Back and forth they streaked eyes watchful, weapons set ready.
"This is Deep Gnome," Stated some weary North-American voice. "Delta wing reports clear."
Each syllable hammered at Alec Duran's eardrums in eerie crescendo, using inhuman speeds with great effect, like little crabs nipping away at his sanity. Alec hated Crabs. He'd been doing graveyard shift for twelve hours straight, it was dawn now, and needless to say the relief guy hadn't arrived yet. Fucking great.
"Acknowledged Delta, continue to shepherd FAFNIR." Alec replied rather dully.
Laying into the slim pewter-gray leather recliner he relived pressure from his aching muscles, savoring release from hardship.
As much as he hated it, it was his job. At first guard duty was awesome, promotions, medals, awards for service...
He was a Lieutenant for Christ's sake, but ever since Captain Laura Trenton snatched up CO post, things were all organized and professional. He grumbled something foul to himself.
At least the accommodations kicked ass, he had whole concrete, titanium reinforced, Slip-Glass (A new type of dimensional travel glass developed by UNSC Tech Corps. able to withstand most types of weapon and bio-chemical agents) window control tower to himself. Cheerful paintings adorned relatively gray framework, equally gray mainframes sporting holo-panels lined the sides to about waist height, complemented by soft, reclining leather chairs, ashtrays, cup trays-
"Daydreaming again Lieutenant?"
This voice was definitely a woman, a very attractive sounding twenty-year old woman.
Captain Laura Trenton.

Alec triggered an internal reflex, he was sitting normally in seconds; clearing his throat for good measure he said: "No ma'am, duty as usual."
"You know as well as I do those words mean complete bullshit, sit up and stop masturbating, or I'll have you sitting on the street by tonight."
She said those words with strange soothing tones, threatening, warm-casual...
Simply put it set him on edge.
"Yes ma'am." He replied, risking a glance.
Captain Trenton was nodding approval, standing in her usual non-threatening manner, relaxed, shoulders slumped, with head leaned just so, making her look menacing and innocent. Alec liked the way she stood.
He thought it seemed odd, Laura's features really shone out, a beacon of quiet, calculating leadership.
People related to this Captain, with her silky hair, black as midnight, four braided coils parallel; on opposite sides near the front, dropping into silky sheets of shoulder length strands.
From there, her hair went down about three centimeters, clipping off the ends forming resemblance of a spear tip.  
Alec's gaze slid onwards, enjoying her pale, smooth skin before moving, setting on hypnotizing emerald eyes so full of youth.
"Something you wanted lieutenant?"
"Ah, What?" He took what seemed like minutes to regain his composure. "Ah, No ma'am, nothing ma'am!"
Realizing he'd said those words too loudly; Alec turned back to his console.
She was a bitch to work with, yeah, but she sure was Knockout to look at.
Laura took a few steps, he couldn't count how many but she ended up right beside him.
Oh god, oh god! What did he do? Somebody help!
His mind cried out it's fear, here was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, his CO, standing next to him on Graveyard shift, and he looked like shit. Could it get any worse?
She smelled great, he smelled like two fields filled with corpses, she looked great, he looked like a farm animal-
"These readings are misarranged, correct theta and alpha algorithms."
His hands shout out instantly, he felt stupid, his hands were quivering.

Tap Beep,
Tap,
Tap,
SkRaBEEEP!

He was about to hit something else when Laura jumped with strange giddy enthusiasm.
"Amazing Lieutenant, even I could never have been that accurate, well done!"
He blushed and smiled ear to ear in spite of himself, listening to the Captain's footsteps hit the floor, ending in the eventual sound of her body hitting the command chair.
Lucky Bastard... His mind chided.
"Sir, sorry to wake you up at this hour," Started Captain Laura Trenton. "But I've got something you need to see over here, you'll find it looks familiar."
Alec turned in his chair to face his CO; she'd just cut her transmission.
"Ma'am?"
She craned her head in annoyance.
"Look at your screen Lieutenant."
He did so.
Splayed across his holo-panel's screens were purple-blue waves, humanities own were green, these were perfectly understandable graphs and data codes, humanity's own were erratic. These readings he'd accidentally created weren't human.
They were Covenant.

Fafnir Chapter Three - Big Brother is Watching
Date: 10 August 2002, 8:54 am

Sorry this thing took so long, and considering the time taken to write it, it doesn't seem that long does it? Not exactly a "quality piece of writing either, in my opinion. Kinda' writing two things at once... No spoilers now!

Part one takes place in 3604, the next few Take Place in 2552-5, the past. It may seem garbled at first but I've got to introduce everyone before we link them up, I'm hoping that the plot seems pretty deep, just the way I intend it to be! Think of it as the calm before the storm...

-Knightmare

Fafnir Part Three - Big Brother is Watching

<Pearl Jam - Elderly Woman behind the counter in a small town>


Date: 2553, December, 16, 10:00am Standard Time
California, Earth


Standing resolute over a single rise overlooking several emerald hills, David Carter held his gaze on an ascending falcon, marveling in its beauty.

Fierce ruby eyes, setting suns on the prairie, majestic chestnut feathers cradled in moonstone tendrils. His great plumed head never moved from it's set path, and those breathtaking orbs never left their prey.
This creature was a true hunter.

"God, nice day." Whispered he, feeling his trench coat brush against his body, retreating with the breeze.
He treasured these days more than anything, smelling the sweet perfumes of nearly every kind of flower, if these wondrous scents were to be broken he knew he'd have nothing to live for, arguably suicide was the worst course, but to him it was the only course. Roses and tulips, lilies and sunflowers...
Artificial gardening produced all sorts of things, sights, sounds, and smells too.
It was picturesque.
David turned, slowly stepping from his little spot, yet stiff since he wasn't used to standing still for long periods. When he seemed to be finished, a very large bird landed on his shoulder, digging its claws in deeply, drinking of its master's scent.

For the first time in several hours he laughed, rather enjoying Xavier, his pet "birdie".
It nibbled affectionately at his earlobe.
"Why the fuck do you like this cologne so much Xav?" David mumbled.

"Nice and mango smelling I guess, though maybe it's the spice." Replied a charming, smooth voice. Manliness was definitely there, as was level headedness.
Kind of like David himself actually, only problem being he cared about his looks too much.

"What would everyone say if I told them I had a talking falcon for a pet?" He queried.
"They'd most likely commit you for giving too much sodomy to Auntie Ellis."
The very cheerful man giggled silently, almost girlishly, at the falcon's snide remark.
"Yer' just sad cause' it wasn't you."
"Damn right honey."
Both laughed at the self-degrading words, knowing it was all playful conversation, demeaning as it was.

David and Xavier propelled themselves down a rugged, beaten path strewn with sticks and various other things effectively resembling many hills, sort of lumpish clay stuck into a volcano, then allowed to burn before being shoved into yet another volcano followed by water slides and treated with liquid nitrogen.
Each lump complemented the cracked mud, as did the loose pebbles, most of them blue or slate gray, so gray they reminded David of old lead pellets or excess concrete, fitting really; matching every scattered tree lining the area.

Our ever-precious sky crowned in wreaths of ozone and pollution housed little angel shaped clouds, vaporous trailing contours flailing about splotchy tentacles. It was a kaleidoscopic mish-mash composing what passed as shapes.

They made it to the end after about five minutes forced hike, still mumbling to each other about politics or ethics.

Overhead a crow flew, sticking out in the now glorious morning, watching David and his falcon, silently gliding to perch on a nearby branch.
"CRAAAW!" It shrieked. "CAAAAAAAAAAW!"
Neither paid it any heed.

Date: 2553, December, 16, 10:30am Standard Time
California, Earth

David slammed his common room door open screaming "Billy Bob number three is not gay!" Xavier merely cocked his head pensively whilst his master droned on. "If he actually was gay, which he isn't, how come he had an affair with Rayni Fergus last fall?"

"Fist of all," Xavier intoned. "Its RAYMOND Fergus, and his former lover was also a man, named Chris Whitington."
David shook his head.
"Get off my shoulder."
Xavier did so.
"Alright, what do you want for lunch: chicken, pork, er' veggie pizza?"

Xavier flew from his previous perch; lavender colored leather reclining chair and gently pushed the oaken door of their abode shut.
"Let's go with the veggie pizza."
"You read my mind."
"So, how's old Jamey Carter?" The falcon questioned.
"My Brother?" David replied quizzically. "Knowing him he's up to his waist in black market assault rifle rounds."

Iced Carter wheeled left, barely avoiding a stainless steel combat knife as it dug into a wall several inches from him.
"Get his skinny ass!" Cried one of his pursuers. "Hear that Carter? I'm gonna' cut your balls off and feed them to my dog!"

Xavier squawked his approval.
"Being chased by men in black suits and sporting "Executive" brand trench coats."
It was David's turn to laugh.
"Jamey Carter, stunt man, ladies man, dead man!"
"Loves all, reaps all, steals all!"

David squealed so hard that he was crying; only half interested in their current conversation, really wanting nothing more than to harvest his pizza. It was a work of art, an extension of his will and a piece of his soul, to make a pizza is to lose a part of your self, his grandpa once said.
That was why all his pizzas never had bad taste, he'd won many awards ranging from "Best amateur pizza chef" to "World's best pizza."

He ran down a nearby alley thick with grime, realizing that its ugly red color matched his hair's own, reminding him of blood spilt within a peaceful meadow, grabbing at a killing lust, urging it to forge onwards. Jamey however, would have none of it.
He heard telltale sounds of bullets whizzing by his head, and instinctively dropped down, just in time it seemed, as something that sounded like a whip cracking reached his ears. He looked down at the massive cartridge sitting placidly on the pavement in front of him, and sprinted for the alley mouth.

Xavier flapped carelessly into the kitchen, spreading dirt all over it's clean, whitewashed walls and floor. Brown oak cupboards were spread at regular lengths, only slightly higher than the counter itself, mainly of the same color and decorated with tacky orange swirls.
"Five minutes an' counting pizza boy." Xavier mocked as David flipped him the finger.

Reach II, ONI Facility 04

"What are these captain?" Preston Cole interrogated.
"Dad you've seen these before, you tell me." Laura answered.
Cole gave his adopted daughter a crossed look.
"Just because I'm your father that doesn't mean you get special privileges." He scorned hoarsely.
Laura smiled sweetly and pressed her petite hands to her cheek, causing Cole to shake his head and stomp off to Alec's control console.

She loved manipulating her "daddy"; it was so easy it was second nature, at times it was hard being his "little girl" but he really did care, he just never showed it.

"Fafnir is ninety-nine point nine percent complete and there are no flaws." Stated Cole, gesturing to Alec's graphs and charts. "What in god's name are these?"
"Mistakes that very well lead to vastly improving Fafnir."
Both Laura and Cole turned to Alec, startled.

Alec rolled his eyes; he seemed to be particularly annoyed of their simultaneous action, but offered to elaborate on the ship's current design nonetheless.
"Let me give you a little overview."

The "SCS Fafnir" is roughly ten halves larger than the largest documented Covenant ship, with many decks she is capable of supporting thousands of troops and materials, as well as ship's crew of nine thousand. Her armament consists of Three hundred MAC Cannons acting as point defense guns, Fifty-three high impact plasma cannons, Thirty-two plasma torpedo launch bays, and the real package, two APAM Cannons.

"APAM Cannons?" Cole questioned.
"Anti-matter Plasma Accelerated MAC Cannon." Laura Interjected.
"Just checking." Cole recovered.
"Right."

She's equipped with special armor, research was done on MJOLNIR, Elite, and Jackal protective gear; Each was combined and enlarged to create Fafnir's shield capability. She's got fifteen docking bays, twenty nine cargo bays, and one hell of a ship design, focusing on strength and resistance to boarding parties should it ever happen.

"With these new reading we'd be able to jump her with greater accuracy, fire to pin point precision..."

Alec hit a few miscellaneous buttons and a pull-apart net of the ship's design flashed up.
"That's quite enough, work them in." Cole shouted hurriedly.
"Yessir!"
Laura giggled.
These two are like quarreling brothers at the country fair! Her mind stuttered.
Her dad seemed to be equally agitated, probably since she'd woken him, but he was the only one, if she'd done it to anyone else she'd be stripped of her rank, which, contrary to popular belief, she'd worked hard for.

"Lieutenant Duran, get some rest, I'm sure Miss Trenton can do fine, tell your relief guy he can skip this shift, don't bother saluting on your way out."
Laura gave Cole a look of disgust and slumped over as Alec stepped through the control room doors, now she'd be alone in the last few hours of the present shift, plus she still had her own shift to do!
He wore a cocky smile and issued for one of his "don't mess with me" looks before he too vacated the area.

Laura slammed the arm of her chair with her elbow, creating a satisfying thump sound.
He'd undermined her authority, and intentionally ordered Alec to show disrespect!
"Asshole." She whimpered, hunching further still.
Laura tapped a few buttons on her chair's arm pad; she directed her hand towards "rock".

Access Code Accepted...
Running ID check...
ID Verified.

What would you like Captain?

Rock music Kappa. She keyed.

Band name?

And Old One, Green day.

Accessing....
Done. Song Title?

She'd get it if she was caught, Laura knew that, but she had to do something to pass the time.

Hitchin' A Ride Kappa, play in on audio in this room only, on the word "Deep."

Yes Captain.

Laura stood, noticing a red light near Alec's console.
"This is Deep Gnome", Chattered the Comm. Net. "Reporting all clear."

The AI Started to play the song she'd chosen; and Laura slapped her head. Great, what was she gonna' do now?

She hastily jabbed the "speak" button with her thumb.
"Roger that Deep Gnome," She was cut off by laughter. "Something the matter?" She heard a tiny clicking sound, almost inaudible over the Longswords' engines screaming their constant howl.
"No ma'am, certainly not." The pilot replied.
"What?" She replied questioningly, her voice alive with both anger and curiosity.
More laughter came.
"WHAT?"
"What would you say Delta Wing?"
She realized her mistake, that little click was captain Daniel Hobbs bringing the conversation over the entire communications net of Delta Wing.
"That'd be a Captain Laura right boys?"
"Yes sir, That song would be her favorite sir."
She heard another click.
"Hey mister where you headed...?"
"Are you in a hurry?"
That would be both Jacobs and Hobbs, wing men, both could do the old lead singer's voice to the last syllable if they wanted, they'd brought it over and jammed it on Delta wing's comm.
"Yes ma'am," This one was Fergus. "Thank you ma'am."
"A little happy hour say,"
"Uh-oh."
That sounded like no one in particular, only every single pilot in the air at the time.
Laura clicked off the comm. And practically dove into her chair, her face was red and she was laughing silently.
"Oh well," She mused. They were nice guys, the type that wouldn't report such an incident. Laura recalled drinking and playing pool with at least half of them once, the day they'd all graduated from flight school.


She hit the comm. Button again, this time it was the one on her chair.
"Yell one, two, one, two, three, four."
Several seconds passed.
"Cold turkeys getting' stale,"
A line she couldn't understand shot by.
"A little salmonella poison," Laura cut in.
"Uh-oh." Every pilot shouted again, they wouldn't miss a beat!

Someone else came on the air. "Gentleman what's going on over there?" Cole said impassively.
All music cut.
"Oh damn, gentleman the Fafnir is almost done, don't stop on my account, the boys were thinking of joining in."
The pilots laughed. "Delta Wing," Said Hobbs. "Start it up."
Guitars blared over the whole net of ONI Facility 04, right from the top, people were singing again, and this time it was the entire base.
It was good to be in the armed forces... Laura thought, resting her head.
"People say ONI is a no no-nonsense organization." She told everyone. "And how wrong they are, we get all the cool stuff."
Cole's soldiers cheered.

Date: 2553, December, 16, 11:30am Standard Time
California, Earth


David could've sworn he was eating takeout, this pizza sucked.
"You ruined my pizza." David accused.
"It was your fault."
"How was it my fault? You were in my face for most of it."
"You're the one that set the timer for ten minutes and not six, remember?" Xavier countered.
"I told you to watch it."
"I don't have opposable thumbs, you were the one that was supposed to get your ass of the sofa and open the oven."
David acted as if struck. "You were sitting on my shoulder the whole god damn time?"
"What difference does it make?"
"You weren't watching the god damn oven."
Silence prevailed for a long while afterwards as the two simply stopped and listened to the "fake" newscaster on the video-screen.



"Today one of those big cover-ups was seemingly revealed, all you UFO lackeys, get out those pens and papers!" His mouth broadened into another predictable "fake" smile. "Sounds emanated from an unknown location on Reach II about one hour ago, Robins Alistor is live on scene."

The video-screen faded out and "came on again", an obviously physically fit woman in her prime standing near some inane brownish colored rock.
"That thing is bigger than she is!" Xavier exclaimed.

"That's certainly true Norm, upon closer inspection it was revealed to be a classical song called "Hitchin' a ride," Said Robins. "We are monitoring and -
She turned, facing the rock and looking to something in the sky.
"What is that?"
"Huh?" The Cameraman stuttered dumbly.

"We are so scaring the shit outta' them."
"Roger that Deep Gnome we read you loud and clear, arming forward missiles."
The Longswords banked right.
"This is gonna' be one hell of a rock slide."

Robins shook her head in disbelief.
"There's something up there; folks I can't tell you what it is!"

"Watch your vector Delta Seven it's getting a little tight."
Hobbs fingered his stick, flipping up the safety on "Fire AP-994 Hogger".
"Be careful with that thing Hobbs, we're gettin' a little low."
"No worries Jacobs."
Hobbs pressed the little red button and watched his missile streak off; he smiled as it slammed into a rather unstable ledge holding at least one hundred-thirty good-sized rocks in place.

"Oh my god, run!" Robins screamed.
The camera flew from its triangular shaped setter and smashed itself to pieces rolling downwards, soon after, it was crushed by rocks. And from what David could tell more rocks.
He was glad that wasn't his brother under there.

(?)

Endless blackened charcoal and tiny multi-colored speckles created the undeniable trademark of nightfall, usual humanoid bustle had died down because its consistent shades caused fear or claustrophobia. Living things needed light to survive; thus not so predictable instinct kicked in.
Quickening breath, increased adrenaline flow, heightened senses; they were all common symptoms of discomfort.

Right now "Iced Carter" was experiencing each one. You can get a good rush taking risks, but when you're scared shitless by insubstantial shades out for your blood, you don't give a damn. You can fall, literally rip yourself to pieces, and still keep running. Why? 'Cause when you die you don't feel cold, you don't see your life flash before your eyes, you just sit there with a stupid look on your face, watching as civilization sticks its collective foot up your ass and kicks you screaming for mercy right into creation's "Waste Basket".
Simple really: You don't want to die.

He could hear his feet impacting hardened snow, making loud crunching noises. Running half an hour really did cost a lot, muscles started cramping, and lungs refused air. Eventually you could trip over ridiculously inane things, flat, even ground for example.
Carter did just that, unable to continue any longer he doubled over, clutching his stomach.
For several seconds, moonlight cascaded across moderately tanned skin, greased back red hair, and pale blue eyes.
"Bastards!" Carter spat, his breathing ragged, his speech raspy.

Moments later a different set of crunching sounds emanated from behind him, they were even, and unhurried. Turning and facing his killers, he wished he hadn't had the energy.
Carter heard a hammer click back, squinting in non-existent light he saw three consecutive flashes, each paced thirty centimeters apart, three loud cracks reverberated in the darkness, and echoes numbering even greater faded off.
It didn't take long for his body to die out.

"This guy was a top notch ONI Orbital Drop Shock too." Stated a deep, authoritative, somewhat cynical voice. Two men could be heard laughing, deep in the confines of a small forest.

"The subject is ready, we begin now." Exclaimed the other, scratching his pewter gray goatee. "Name's Duran, Alec Duran."
The first man, noticeably African-American slapped his head, wiping off several drops of sweat.
"Very well." He flashed an unsettling smirk. "Lunacy awaits."
Both shadows faded away, crunching snow the only sign of their presence.

Fafnir Chapter Four - Anger, Passion, and Hatred
Date: 26 August 2002, 6:08 pm

A soppy atmosphere of grieving, wounded souls forever marred, teary eyes shed never-ending streams; the loss of a brother or son, a lifelong companion and dear friend.
Such was existence for those few assembled that day, that fateful time of mourning.

"And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil."

Autumn had come, come at last to make their lives more miserable.

"For thou art with me."

The Carter family had requested their son be buried in Canada, a place he'd thoroughly enjoyed in life, so too would he enjoy in death;

"Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

Multi-colored mishmashes blew through the air, twirling and stepping to an unseen rhythm, entrapped within dances surely worshipping death.

"Thou prepare a table before me in the presence of mine enemies."

On did the reverend drone, and frankly, David couldn't give a flying fuck.

"Thou anoint mine head with oil; My goblet overflows."

He eyed the woman in the white coat with mild interest, he realized half-heartedly, that the man with the gray goatee and the bald, solidly built man with blue sunshades were fingering some kind of 9mm handguns.
Within his own world though, nothing could touch him; his brother was dead.
"He's basically done David, I can't delay any longer."
He nodded solemnly; slowly David Carter began to rise, soon being followed by that... woman and her lackeys.
She lead the way really, and he was more or less being herded around like a cattle. Pretty soon they 'd arrived, their intended destination reached at last. A single pelican drop ship, hovering silently a few centimeters above the ground. He didn't like these, his brother had taken him for a ride in one once; David was throwing up all day afterwards.
"If you don't mind, I'd really like it if you just lay your head back." One of the Lackeys, his voice was soothing. "I'll get you strapped in."
Each of those were tightly on him, as a matter of fact he could hardly breathe.
"Hold up man, you're gonna' feel a small prick, just remember, even breaths, unhurried actions, like you're laying your head on a pillow."
A sharp pain made itself known to him, even as some miscellaneous air current swept about, blowing several leaves into the 'Cargo Area', for all he knew.
Suddenly David realized how... tiring this was.
He saw his plain brown eyes, gray hair and goatee. He looked old but not old. David wondered how that was, possible, it was like -

Blackness.

One Day Prior...

It had come at about 4:00pm, a call describing bad omens. Xavier didn't like bad omens, his friend was always on edge when they made themselves known.
"David what's wrong?"
His friend would then gently place the receiver on the hook. "Jamey's dead."
Xavier lowered his head in shame.
At this moment the winds would howl, the trees on the front lawn would wave about in hypnotic scale.
Each was a solid colored evergreen, standing mighty, standing tall, and measuring several feet skyward.
Within their front room David sat on Xavier's perch, falcon close by.
Being a homely place, with a gray plush carpet, clear blue walls, a gigantic stained glass window depicting an angel, their home fit the description of... funeral home.
Lying in the upper corner was a table, front and Center their sofa, opposite a Video Screen.
"David..."
He was crying, though attempting to hide it.
"It wasn't your fault." Xavier's wings fluttered.
He didn't really respond, just made a pitiful squeal as tears streamed down, hundreds of little crystals, translucent diamonds.
Truly, his eyes were soft pools of mud shrouded within small ponds. Such a pair was compassionate, now they expressed mixes of emotions, horror to curiosity, curiosity to wonder. Nostrils flaring, he began to sniff, periodic, inevitable.
"Big guy..." David trailed, voice cracked, throat parched, choked with salty sweat.
Emotions were powerful things; the falcon knew this, to see his friend in such a state made his tiny heart ache. "David I'm sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry about?" He snapped.
This rebuff caught him off guard; he stared in awe, his grip weakening.
Nothing more was offered, nothing more was received, being more or less one of those awkward times where silence was necessary, where souls ate each other.

Time is passing,
Winds howl,
Spirits afoul, praying nine aching time;
Angels mine courage fine,
Show them mercy; show them hate,
Clock tick seven, clock tick eight,
Grandfather nine, ringing time.

Dong...
"Xavier?" Voice is shaking; skin is flaking, throat is throbbing tears are clogging.
Dong...
His wondrous orbs swept ground level, coming to rest on those opposite, Xavier's beak quivered.
Dong...
"I'm sorry."
Arrogant fool! Pathetic fool, you are only human.

Noting his friend's eyes were still teary, the falcon proceeded cautiously, wary that the slightest mistake could cost him everything. "I know." He told him. "I know." By now it was quite dark outside, streetlights were non-existent, they lived on the outskirts, in the hills and mountains overlooking intertwining roadways.
Glancing to his left, Xavier noted that the clock on a nightstand to David's left read nine-thirty. How long had they been sitting there?
Strange, he mused. It had overtaken them; they'd sobbed for hours. Not that Xavier actually could cry, though he would have, had it been physically possible. Really, David's falcon companion had emotions; it was just that he couldn't express them, minus when hunting anyway.

Illuminating the room they currently occupied was a small ornamental lamp near the Video Screen, glowing dimly despite a half burned out bulb?
The falcon thought it was quite strange such a construct could do this, but shrugged it off. Such things weren't in his realm of interests. His were... Birds and women, women in particular but he would insist it was birds.

Xavier leapt away, gliding into David's room. He guessed that funeral and travel arrangements had already been made, judging as how he'd been talking on the phone for about two hours straight.
He didn't know how long he was lying there, but the lights dimmed then blinked off completely, followed by a muscular shadow laying itself to rest on the bed.
He didn't really speak at all, but it was for the better. Both were tired and grief stricken.



David...

A soft whisper, sensuous and alluring.

David...

The voice was quite suggestive, erotic, irresistible. But it wasn't right. Something was wrong.
He awoke then, rising slowly. The bed was soft to his bare upper-body; the lighting was bright, mild. It was night, about ten, wasn't it?

David slipped from his bed, noting that Xavier had rolled off his side, typical of him.
He jumped, momentarily startled at the sight of an alarmingly beautiful...
No that was wrong, flawless woman standing seductively before him, he got over it, she was so damn hot that he didn't really give a damn what she was.
She stepped forward, hesitant, cautious, afraid, and vulnerable.
He was on her in an instant, his lust uncontrollable, his instinct absolute; she did not flinch, did not fuel the fire. Shuddering, the woman accepted his touch.

Their kiss was deep, passionate, like something out of a romance movie. He brought his strength to bear, firmly yet gently he held her in his arms, his nose tingled with her enthralling scent, not perfume, something much more; Something natural, of gardenia.
Her breathing was calm; she tilted her head leftward, exposing her neck to him, granting submission. David leaned her body back, and she relaxed.
He realized she was wearing clothing obsidian black in color, yet it was so revealing she was practically half-naked.
He brushed a strand of equally black hair from her pale face as he released, and lay her on the feathered covers.
She took a breath, louder than the other ones.
Shivering no longer, wanting more.
David was happy to oblige; he pressed ever so closer, his lips locking firmly about her own.

Then something snapped, her eyes were no longer afraid, no longer full of pleasure and lustful wanting, they were cold, unforgiving and ruthless, eyes of deep impenetrable emerald scattered with silver sparkles.
Her features were not soft; they were beautiful and cruel. Her kiss was not that of a lover, but that of a venomous backstabbing snake.
Her teeth clamped about his tongue and firm lower lip, drawing blood. To her eyes he looked again, they were boring holes through him, anchoring deep into his soul, ripping it from his body.
He convulsed.
David could have easily overpowered this ethereal maiden, his strength was the greater, but how was he so helpless?
It was he who lay atop her!

The answer hit him like a wooden board flying through a brick wall in a windstorm.


It was his soul; she was stealing his immortal soul.


His mouth slid away, her death grip on it released. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, and cascaded from the woman's mouth like a waterfall.
She would smile then, even as David let out a blood-curdling scream.


He awoke shouting, crying out as he had in his dream.

A Dream, it was just a dream.

A small crackle startled him. A sapphire flash, a sapphire flash. Crackle. Flash. Thunder. Stabbing away at windowpanes were tears, no only rain. Crackle. Flash. Spraying tears! Soft crescendo, quickening torrent.
Weather patterns had changed long ago.
Power would doubtlessly flicker, would be cut at some point.

He realized he was wet, small droplets splashed about his body, he, just like his covers, was soaked.
The storm raging abroad was remarkably loud, until a stick hit him in the side of the head.
He turned to the window.
There was a hole in it, jagged, radiating evil like a sour odor.
David moved closer to inspect it, his forefinger sliding about the edges until a sharp pain pricked it, sending it away. Near that jagged hole, too on his skin was blood, his blood.

Impulsively he turned about, every blanket or spread was twisted at an odd angle, stained with crimson.
It looked as if who ever had shot had been aiming for him, but missed and hit something else instead. Seeing the blood he or she felt their job was complete.

Xavier, he knew. Xavier was dead.

Tears began anew.

"Hello Mr. Carter." Spoke the shadow, apparently using a voice scrambler of some sort.
He was so startled he screamed and leapt for the window, alas to no avail, two burly shades moved to block his path, flinging him away.

He looked on in horror, glancing from one tormentor to the next, his eyes wide with fear.
"You have two choices in the matter Mr. Carter."
He turned toward the speaker.
"You can either use plan A, die like your brother and pet here, or plan B, do as we say and live on, possibly leading the way to immortality."
It didn't take him long.
"B!" He cried. "Plan B!" A stifled giggle emanated from somewhere behind him.
"I thought you might."

David waited for some reaction.
Who were these people?
They'd come into his house undetected, killed one of his only friends and now they were.... Now...

"You will attend your brother's funeral as expected, following that you will accompany me and my associates to a waiting aircraft, where you will be transported to a secure facility to begin your task."
He nodded immediately.
"Speak nothing of this, my colleague has sealed the hole and replaced the broken pieces of your window, sleep well David, we'll be seeing you in a few hours."

CRACK!

PaIn

FLaShInG

Stabbing.

Blackness

SwEeT Restful Peace.

Not so...
Pain! Unending, steady blunt sharp pain!
"Be warned Carter." A pause followed. "You will comply, or it will be very painful for you."
David nodded. "Xavier?"
Shadow number two slipped in front of him, speedily making his way to the door.
"No more."
A cover slipped over his head and a tight grew threw him to the floor, three sets were heard exiting the room.

* * * *

Morning managed to flow in swiftly, between cracks, past open windows...
He groaned, never fully realizing how hard a carpeted floor could be, until now. That was life, he guessed. Although David realized moving to his bed was possible; he didn't feel like spending the night with Xavier's Carcass.
Footsteps caught his attention immediately.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty."
Full of mirth, deep. Sounded like a voice coming from someone named "Bubba."
Something hit him, quite hard really.
"Up, up, Cinderella!"
Two strong pairs of hands lifted him, throwing him into a corner.

"Pull the sheet of his face maybe he's dead." A Bubba again.
"I would be dead too if I had to smell your hairy ass all night long." Russian, but not Russian, Caucasian Russian.
"Yeah that's real cute Grigor."
"Any time Bubba."

Bubba, his actual name was Bubba?
Suppressing an urge to laugh was what he normally would have done, however considering those incredibly tight plastic thong type things digging into his skin every time he might have tried, David didn't even think of it.
The sheet was lifted from his body.
"Nope," Exulted Bubba. "Still alive!"
They herded him to the door, minding carefully various pieces of waste or discarded novels as they did so whilst eyeing him, then various parts of his house.
"Oh, Blender!" Grigor praised, snatching the miniature gray appliance up with one hand and holding a small flashlight in his mouth.

David couldn't see their features clearly, he still felt hazy.
Apparently they'd seen fit to ransack his house of anything they felt was remotely useful to them, seeing as how the Caucasian Russian just stole his 'fruit mixing super dicing machine of fruitiness.'
So much as they didn't paint his geisha doll -
Goobers Green. They pained his geisha doll Goobers Green.
Bubba threw him down, right next to his front door.
Grigor sniffed the air.
"Stank ass bastard." Bubba remarked. "Shove his ass in the' shower." Grigor was more than glad to.

* * * *

When he came out Bubba was waiting.
"Draw the towel off ugly, we got a suit for you."
David looked at him weirdly.
Bubba shook his head, clearly this guy wasn't up for this anymore than he was, none the less he was hesitant about letting a guy do it... What guy would do it? Well unless you were gay of course but...
He kicked David in the foot. "Come on man, I'm not gonna' jam my foot up your uh..." Ah, he was hesitant, this was good news indeed.
What did he have to lose?
He did so; he was wearing shorts anyway.

"Thank god." Bubba was visibly relieved, throwing him a suit he departed, slipping off to his living room.
It was solid in color, deep gray. Solids were always good, 'least it wasn't some plaid or velvet piece.
He slipped them on, combed his hair and basically did what he did for any other formal occasion, spiking his hair was a natural attribute that he wouldn't go without. He walked to the living room.

"Looking good little Cater!"
Bubba again, Grigor seemed to sulk in the shadows all the time, normally he wouldn't have liked being called little but in this case he would keep his mouth shut, Bubba's arms were as big as he was.
It was like, well, Bubba wasn't fat, David knew that, in fact he was muscular, fit like himself, it was just that his arms were as big as he was!
Seemed like it...

Stepping in front of him, Bubba proceeded to fix David's collar and choke him with a red and white/gray diagonally stripped tie.
"On the move, Limousine's waiting."

Grigor and Bubba followed him, blender and painted Green Geisha doll complete with mustache in hand.

Fafnir Chapter Five - What occurred in ONI Facility 04
Date: 26 August 2002, 6:08 pm

"The Josh witch lived happily ever after..."
Sleepy...
So very tired, so warm...
Soft chair...
"Happy, happy witch."
She would slither about in that soft leather chair, with massage function, a cold one in her right hand with some Soundgarden music... Yeah.
This was such a cozy place, she couldn't see all too well but hey she had a beer, and some kick-ass music and-

"Reporting as ordered ma'am!"

Stop shouting!

Uh, Ma'am?

SHUT UP... SHUT UP!

Captain!

Laura snapped out of her daydream with a muffled cry, eyes flying open in an instant. "Ah, yes lieutenant." She managed to make this sound at least half-professional. "Take you station seaman."
Had the biggest headache, long night.
What had she been doing? Other than listening to the base half the night when all the people stationed there played their favorite song, Laura couldn't remember much, what a big hangover.
Last time she'd had one of those was two months ago, as a matter of fact she knew first hand that braving a 'chunk spree' was pretty dangerous.

Usually such kind of behavior, (drinking, fooling around with music, sleeping at your station) was frowned upon, and those responsible for such acts would be punished, yet this wasn't your standard issue military branch, an those it employed were not your standard issue soldiers. Seemingly they were more like pirates or rogues than trained pilots or marines; but when push came to shove they were the best the UNSC had to offer.

Officers were trained to perfection, marines and ODST could survive anything provided they had the right materials, and their training had been more thorough than a good 86% of the regular armed forces.
A squad of Marine Force Recon could sweep across an open field in the middle of winter on the sunniest day of the year and still remain hidden.
Flights of fighters could initiate bombing runs on miles of strips of land covered in SAM sites and still come out of the fray unscathed, such was the skill of those stationed at ONI facility 04.

Slipping her position, it could easily seen how tired Laura looked, her eyes were baggy, and her usual slump was more pronounced, amazingly enough though she retained her looks, that same flawless figure.

Momentarily her eyes smoothed over the officer on duty, Alec Duran.
His was a decent figure, not one that models would kill for but decent enough to warrant say; payment of one million credits to achieve.
Slim build, still muscular, plain brown hair and strange gray eyes, Strange too that he'd be about, he was a light sleeper though, and had a lot of energy.

For a second Laura thought he was blushing or something, but it disappeared quick enough to warrant a second guess.
It wasn't like she had any sort or romantic interest in him, though a few of the female staff did; most attention he would get would be 'friend', though not even that since the guy was under her command. Love wasn't a good idea in this profession.
Well not with ONI anyway, marines maybe, but not ONI.
Once some guy had tried, his dearly beloved was found the next day, her wrists cut; six bullets and the word "S.O.F.O.N.I" carved into her chest.

She knew him too; really well, Laura was in fact a Cadet at the time; he would frequent the bar where she and her squad mates hung out; taking a scotch/fruit-punch combo at the counter.
Following his wife's death he walked to that very same polished pine surface in full dress uniform, shoved an M6D in his mouth and blew his brains out the back of his skull.
Obviously captain Trenton never drank there again, neither did her friends.


Rising from her now uncomfortable seat, she worked the kinks from her neck and back, grasping her forehead with her left hand.
Bloody throbbing was getting worse.

"Alec," She croaked. "Remain at your station, I'm going to go freshen up."
He nodded in confirmation, obviously tense but otherwise unaffected. He swept his hand across some data character and began to read... something.

"My eyes are blurry?"
Laura didn't like that sensation. Blurry eyes meant sickness or glasses, neither of which sounded too appealing at the moment.
She would grope her way to the door, slowly but deliberately, and move for that ever so famed ladies room.

So bright, walls pained white, lines of sinks in the far corner, a cabinet near the door and six stalls opposite. Laura moved directly for the mirror, which of course wasn't blurry as she got closer. Her face was still without flaw; well there was flaw if you counted the barely noticeable 'circles under the eyes,' however those weren't permanent.

Of this she was glad, looks counted for a lot in this world. But her head hurt a lot, it seemed like someone had just run over it five times with a transport truck.
The door flew open then, admitting a middle-aged woman that was surprisingly even more breathtaking that Laura herself, a natural blonde with an aura shouting 'love slave'.
Twin blue eyes took in the room at once, softly of course, with a gentle ease.

"Morning Cap'." Her voice was Texan in nature, soft and mild though. This newcomer slithered her gaze over Laura before frowning. "Another long night?"
"Yeah, you happen to have any Tylenol? This headache I got is killing me."
The woman was clad in a loose fitting BDU suited for jungle warfare.
"Sure thing Laura'." She unbuttoned a small pouch in her tactical vest and handed her superior a white plastic jar.

Wasting no time in her task, the Captain poured out two tablets swallowed them both, drinking the water straight from the silver tap.
"Thanks Private."
"That's Helen to you miss."
Laura nodded. "Fair enough Private."
Helen smacked her head, then slipped into a stall and locked the door.

Captain Trenton paced off rather catlike, despite the throbbing, yet steadily diminishing pain in her skull. A few minutes of break wouldn't hurt. Most notably the Soda machine.
It was kind of large, bearing "Vanilla 344G" about its shining surface.

Hobbs and company were there; sitting at a table slurping of some soup and sipping whatever they bought from the machine.
"What's up little L? Come on, have seat!"
She obeyed of course, after she'd gotten her own drink, an 'Orbital Hellfire' that tasted remotely like grapes, spices and milk, resting herself across from Hobbs, who sat on Fergus' right.

"Little Captain, what's up!" Jacobs rubbed her head, forcing her hair to twist at odd angles; she poked him in retaliation.
These people weren't ONI, they were ONI Peregrines, classified as a separate branch and therefore immune to executions of honor, basically what happened to that guy's wife. She could hang with them.
"Don't you poke me." He exulted, pulling her hair.
It took a few seconds but-
"Ouch, I give!"
Everyone laughed. "I thought you would."
She gave them an evil look. "You're picking on me just because I'm the only girl that would dare sit near such an ugly face!"
Hobbs burst into an uncontrolled fit of laughter.
"Ouch."

"Boo-woo Jacobs." She arose, snatching up her soda.
"Not so fast little L." It was more a controlled protest than anything else; none of them were the possessive grabby type, thank the gods for that.
She shook her head and reluctantly sat again, eyeing Hobbs. "What is it?"
"Ok well, you would not believe this, we had a contact we didn't log yesterday! We were in the 'Forbidden Zone' on patrol duty, when we came across what looked like a news crew. When we circled around for another pass we confirmed it! Anyway, we made left and fired off into the cliff wall and -
He started to laugh hysterically.
"We fired off a missile and crushed their van under an avalanche!"
She grimaced. Bad protocol, to bend it was one thing but to totally break it was quite another. "Hobbs!" She accused sternly, hearing murmurs of uh-oh all around the general vicinity.
Laura was notorious for having an anger streak almost as bad as her father's.

"I expect that logged and accounted for in a maximum of ten minutes! No slack, you know what you're supposed to do, stop acting like a seven-year cocky dip-shit and carry yourself more like the pilot you wish you were!"

Jacobs lowered his eyes, feeling the insult deeply; saying that was like telling a marine his honor was worth shit on a stick and actually having that same marine believe it. Or at least that's what Laura thought; maybe marines didn't even believe in that. She was truthfully quite stupid on that subject...
And made no claims whatsoever to its truthfulness.

"Sorry Hobbs," She stated solemnly.
All he could do was offer a nod in return, his eyes full of rage, his lips thin lines.

She continued despite the obvious anger of those assembled.
"This sort of irrational behavior will not be tolerated Hobbs, rules can be bent, but they cannot be broken." Laura was indeed spouting off a bold statement, she knew that, because she had broken almost every rule in the book on any thinkable occasion and gotten away with it. Still...
These pilots had to be taught a lesson in the chain of command; you fail your job, the ONI branch fails you.
That was the way it was.


"Yes ma'am but I -

Laura was about to continue the conversation when Hobbs just dropped dead silent. Why would he do that?
Then it hit her, Cole.

"Captain could I speak with you a moment?" She stood. "Yes sir."
"In private."
"Of course sir."
She followed her father for a time as he led her to his office, seemingly enraged judging by the sound of his breath.

Cole would sit in his high-backed chair and issue her to sit in the one opposite, without delay he continued.
"I don't appreciate you playing little giggle porn star with the troops Captain."
What was he getting at? He was always like this! Always bitching at her for some reason or another, she couldn't remember a time when he actually -

"This behavior will not be allowed in this branch miss Trenton, is that -

"Clear? All you're ever concerned about is military protocol!"
He frowned. "Captain you are out of line."
"Am I? Do you even know the meaning of the word friendship dad?"
He stood, gaining a higher vantage point, this was often used in intimidating new recruits, as one would often feel vulnerable when they were forced to sit and a figure of greater power stand.

"Captain your blatant disregard for the chain of command has not gone unnoticed, you call on your vaunted friendship even though article ONI 932 strictly forbids it." His tone was matter of fact. "You are lucky the first punishment is a mere warning."

Or so you think. Laura chuckled inwardly

"Little prissy behavior cannot find room in this military, think back on your family, did any of them ever disobey orders the way you have?"
She turned from docile swan to enraged bull in moments, her cheeks a light shade of red.
"What would you know of family?" She shrieked, rising too to her feet. "You're so stuck up in politics you've already forgotten the meaning love and friendship! Did you even notice you have two wonderful daughters, myself not included, too, a wife? No, how could you when as the stuck up bastard you are, are stuck up in your office sitting on your fat ass while people die for you?"

That had to have made a mark. Cole reacted quite strongly, she wasn't afraid, no she was too angry for that, but she did have the slightest thread of doubt.
"You Captain, are hereby confined to your quarters until further notice!" His face was much like her own; now only more... angry.
Of course she was female and he was male, she possessed a delicate beauty that he did not but his face had the same look, not the same features.

"An ODST is waiting to escort you there." Said he. "You are dismissed!"
Her face grew tight. "Yes sir."
Oh god... What had she gotten' herself into? Laura didn't like this one. Obviously he'd planned the whole ordeal from the start, otherwise there would have been no ODST to shepherd her away.
What a fool she was! Thinking to challenge his authority with such an outburst. But she wasn't one to dwell on such things for long it had no benefit. So she just accepted it.

Saluting, backing off and turning heel, she was out of the room in moments, and promptly pressed against the wall by an ODST with a height of about 7'0.
"Remain calm Captain, and I wont have to use force."

She complied; there was no other choice she had.
With an uneasy aura he patted her down, possibly enjoying it though he gave no indication of it, he was too much a professional for that.
"I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your sidearm."
She gave it to him, hesitant at first then with more confidence. She was in good hands; she wouldn't do anything stupid.
His hand shot out in that instant and pressed hard against her stomach, Laura grunted, though this was little more than a sharp exhale of air.
The ODST let his hand fall once again on her short coat; the appendage slipping between the small silver buttons feeling the cool flesh beneath, then drew forth a small titanium combat knife. He waved it in front of her face suggestively.
She shrugged.

I forgot about that one.... Her mind insisted stupidly.

"Hands behind your back please."
She set her hands in such a position and winced as she felt the cold steel of handcuffs close about her wrists. Grudgingly she trudged before him, occasionally pushed if she slowed pace.
They passed Hobbs and his wing, still sitting at that very same table. He smirked in amusement; his face beat red, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh.
The ODST glanced at him and narrowed his eyes. In one hand he held Laura of course, but in the other, away from the eyes of any but Hobbs, he flipped her combat knife so the light glinted off it in an eerie manner.
The color drained from Hobbs' face at once.

ODST were renowned for their ability to scare battle hardened veterans shitless enough to soil themselves, the epitome of what a true killer really was. Only the select few had what it took to brave that kind of training, nothing would phase these guys.

Once they arrived at her quarters, the ODST unlocked the cuffs and diverted her to the floor.
"Thanks." She managed to say whilst constantly holding in a dull throb in both her kneecaps and skull.
"No prob. Little L."

Honestly Laura didn't know whether everyone on the base knew her or not, but it sure as hell seemed like it, because whenever she was around their moods always seemed to lighten up just that much, like she was an angel or something. If she'd heard it from anyone else she would have laughed, but hey... No, that was just fairytale dreaming. Although that would be cool if it wasn't.

He departed without any further words, sliding though the door with one reverberating thud as she heard the mechanism lock. The lights flicked on and she made her way to that single object of salvation, her soft, cozy bed. None of the regulars enjoyed what the officers did...



Laura woke in a cold sweat, her clothes soaked with the stuff, her eyes fearful and her breathing quick; full of terror.
It was happening again, that dream where someone looking exactly like she did but, much more attractive and several years younger. About seventeen, she figured.

"Lights."
They snapped on at once, obedient always. Her quarters were pretty barren, save for her bed, a solid oak desk, a shelf, a nightstand and a closet, neat and tidy. This was as good as it got for her, unless of course she was promoted, which was unlikely.

Atop her desk rested a... desk lamp and a log book, gracing the nightstand was a plain gray bedside lamp and a book titled "Mathematics/Language for Dummies"; she was never very good with numbers but she scraped by, the language aspect was just there for reference.
Obviously in the cabinet were the few garments she had, consisting of a standard marine BDU, two naval officer uniforms, three sets of civilian clothing, two pairs of black combat boots, three pairs of dress shoes, and a few miscellaneous... things.

Ghosts and echoes, kind of funny really, heh, heh. Actually she remembered a book titled with that one time, she burned it though, Cole had given it to her in apology for intentionally throwing her favorite doll in a sewer when she was little. Her memories were pretty vague.

Shaking her head, she relieved some of the 'vertigo' that seemed to be pounding on it. She knew she wasn't that high off the ground but for some reason she always had the feeling after waking up.
Laura slipped the covers from her person, and felt the cold sting of the titanium floor on her bare feet. She really ought to have bought some sort of carpet, but was never in down anyway.

Plodding across the floor she realized her uniform was gone. She was clad in a standard issue "long-john" style shirt and shorts. For a few seconds she paused, reluctant, afraid at first, but came to the conclusion that she'd probably torn it off before she started to sleep.
When she noticed the garment in a heap on the floor near her bed, she nodded. That was satisfying enough, wasn't like someone could have taken her clothes off without waking her up.

Laura moved into the rest room joining with her room. Small as it was it housed a shower stall and the like, though all in close proximity to each other.
Slipping from those clammy underclothes she wore and stepping into the show, she shut the door and turned the "hot" dial.
Heating was instantaneous, providing maximum comfort to its user. Immediately Laura began washing her silken hair, splitting it into two parts and rubbing them. Momentarily she realized her hands moved to the center, and felt the dreadful, deep scar there.
That one was from training.

Pilots of all kinds were trained in capitol ship evacuation, through this dreadful course you had to make your way to an escape pod in an actual battleship currently in service being bombarded by two of its brethren and shot up by a squadron of longswords one-hundred strong.
If you weren't careful the pilots had a field day and shot missiles galore at your way to safety, vaporizing any occupants within.
Actual combat training was an understatement. Slaughter was more or less the word to use; that was why the UNSC had such resilient soldiers.
Needless to say Laura was knocked off balance when the ship suddenly threw itself diagonally to avoid a MAC shot, it still hit but it only skinned the ship and severed three decks in half, killing the crew and trainees currently located there.

This scar had been the price for her; she slammed hard into a crate full of MA5B Shredder rounds and nearly split her skull in half, had she been wearing a helmet she would have broken her neck.
Once her squad had come to the rescue, they lifted her and rushed her steadily weaning body to a pod, taped her up as best they could and floored it back to the training camp.

When she was finished with the shower she stepped out and fogged off the mirror, gazing at her body before wrapping a towel about herself and walking back to sit in a chair provided courtesy of ONI.
For a few minutes she just sat there reading a paper on physics, but grew bored and stood just as the door flew open to admit the ODST who'd brought her here earlier, complete with this... big tray of food.

"Oh uh..." He was nervous, she guessed he didn't know how to deal with this.
"Sorry Ma'am I didn't realize you were uh...." He turned to the door and let it close in his face.
She smiled from ear to ear. They were the best friends you could ever have.
"Its fine; nothing you haven't seen before." She brushed a clump of hair from her eyes. "Though I'd appreciate it if you'd knock."
He turned; emitting no emotions of displeasure, what human man could when in the sight of Laura wrapped only in a towel? He seemed rather amused.

She liked the attention, of course Laura would never admit it but she did, being a spontaneous creature born as a dragon in Covenant mythology. For some reason she found their way of life intriguing, more so than any dull earth-born zodiac or religion, and studied it whenever she could.

"Give me a minute." She moved to the cabinet, snatched up a set of 'civie' clothes and moved into the rest room.
"Sure thing." He called.
She let the towel fall after she closed the door, and took a gander at the stuff she grabbed. Wow, a black halter-top and some cut-off green 'jean shorts,' not the most proper of things, still, good enough.
Pulling them on hurriedly Laura headed back out to greet her guest.

"Since you're not leaving I assume you have something to say?"
He shook his head. "I was supposed to keep you company but I figured that could wait till' after the inter-branch sparring matches."
Laura swore.
"How considerate of the old man, I wanted to see those."

Monthly each branch of the ONI garrison elected a boxer to champion their cause for the prize of 20000 credits to the winning team, matches would take place weekly from 1:00am to 12:00pm nonstop, this was where rivalries could be solved without mass bloodshed.
Before each cycle, champions trained themselves. These matches were furious and often took a lot of energy; thus any action against the enemy teams before then would disqualify the aggressor if the plans were found out.
During the cycles however bribes and such were not unheard of, once or twice there'd been tag-team matches, which were pretty cool to watch.

Laura could still remember the rosters, word for word; she played them out in her mind as she recalled seeing them.

Note: Three Divisions people! Keep it clean I don't want any more slip-ups this time; last month we had to call in the MP.
-Preston Cole

ROSTER

Peregrines:

Team Leader: Kevin Jacobs
Trainer: Daniel Hobbs
Boxer 1: Chris Yevins
Boxer 2: Jeremy Forrest
Lackey 1: Orin Fergus
Lackey 2: Tommy Locks
Lackey 3: Wendel Alabaster

Creeps

Team Leader: Braud Vasta
Trainer: Percy Wazzwell
Boxer 1: Sandy Adams
Boxer 2: Ashley Unmetts
Lackey 1: Eric Lonnie
Lackey 2: Nolan Kipps
Lackey 3: Adam Bluemoore

FAFNIR Crew

Team Leader: Laura Trenton
Trainer: Richard Dorchen
Boxer 1: Greg Quizmoss
Boxer 2: Y'moreen Hellitops
Lackey 1: Alec Duran
Lackey 2: Zosma Lauren
Lackey 3: Uvriel Ishda


The Peregrines were the ONI pilots stationed at the base, a rowdy lot, but they held your back and were actually quite fun to hang out with if you weren't on their bad side. Lead by the very likable Jacobs, whom one could often turn to if they had something on their mind; the falcons had a distinct advantage mind wise.
They didn't bring in strength but they were sure as hell patient, and liked to take down the opposing team by sabotage and other methods of mechanical confusion.

Following them were the Creeps, the Marine/ODST combo, obviously the most well-rounded team, bringing both strength and intelligence into the ring, these guys were by reputation and nature, natural killers, a few times there had been accidental injuries.
Once an ODST was fighting a pilot, the ODST struck the guy in the temple with a mild right hood and knocked him flat, later it was discovered the guy on the receiving end had permanent brain damage and was forced to take honorable discharge from the core.


To top them all off, ever since the new top secret project was underway, her future crew had seen fit to make a team their own.
Arguably they had the best leadership.
Yours truly. Laura remarked dryly.
Such a position of value wasn't self-proclaimed either, people looked up to her, and they had said so. What the crew of the FAFNIR lacked in strength or strategy they made of for in their ideals, ethics and spirit. Consisting of several characters from the fool to the chiseled warrior, they were arguably a ragtag, but still tightly knit group
Their leadership, motivation, and stubborn refusal to surrender seemed to be their strongest point.

The ODST coughed in annoyance. "You always see those things little L, oh and by the way I don't have to go around calling you captain seeing as how you're out of uniform without official documentation."
He smiled. "Civ."
Laura frowned, changing the subject.
"Whatever, you heard anything from my dad? Seemed pretty pissed off last we met, I'm still the Captain right?"

The FAFNIR was almost ready, and through some grueling 'auditions' for CO of the new prototype, likely the only prototype, She'd come out on top of over fifty selected candidates. A capable ship needed a capable captain. Without her father pulling any strings she won through, managing to best every other choice in almost every category save textbook strategy, which she often invented as she went along.
Unpredictable was the best way, Laura thought.

"As far as I know, yeah."
She nodded her satisfaction, and smiled. "Go ahead and set it over on the desk there."
He nodded and strode to it; gently setting the tray away from anything the still sizzling food could spill on. They had a good cook that was for sure.

"If you don't mind I'd like to eat, Captain eats alone soldier, dismissed."
He laughed. "I don't take orders from women in Civilian clothing, see what I do to them..."
The ODST took a step towards her on the balls of his feet then leapt, pushing her playfully before laughing, turning heel and departing.

The staffs stationed at facility 04 really were like pirates, they had no respect for anyone out of military clothing, and thus anyone not in uniform was rendered helpless in the chain of command unless it was a special occasion.
Hell, they still screwed around even when in uniform.

She promptly ditched the stuff she was currently wearing and exchanged it for a standard officer's set. Sighing in relief, Laura sat, and immediately began to chow down the food he'd brought, which consisted of a grilled steak, 'brushetta whatever it was called' bread, and a bottle of concentrated fruit juice.
Honestly, she didn't care what it was, it could have been poisoned and she still would have eaten it.
She was so god damn hungry.

Memories of happier times would flood to her; she remembered well her dog Streamer, a purebred Siberian husky broad in chest and muscle, straight in back, firm in flank and proud in stance. His eyes fierce, burning blue orbs of determination, an accomplished warrior in body and a snide, intelligent mastermind beneath.
With but a wag of his hypnotic tail and a shake of one powerful paw, he could be your friend forever, with but a glance he would be in your heart for eternity. When those ears perked up in happiness and his lips drew back into an amused smile, you're guaranteed to be cheery in spirits instantly.

A thin fur coat with coloring a thick snowfall on winter's eve, midnight black shrouding beneath for eternal darkness, majestic in demeanor with patterns that could make a professional artist cry out for his lack of skill.
Nature was absolute; nature was the epitome of true beauty, such as the example of Streamer.

Good times, all dead and gone because of "Daddy Dearest".
She gulped the last of the juice down and proceeded to read a book on Einstein's theory of relativity. Not that she had the slightest inkling of it since she was so bad at math but she liked to look at it and imagine herself coming up with the answer nonetheless.
Basically passing time, Laura continued to read.

* * * *

"Admiral on deck!"
Like a perfectly positioned line of wind up toy soldiers, the ONI Marines snapped to attention in unison, rifles shouldered.
Their numbers read three hundred strong, and their formation was reminiscent of a parallelogram. They stood in lines of twenty, each line several ranks deep. Between each section was a wide row large enough to support two warthogs abreast of each other.
Standing centermost of Facility 04's large courtyard each marine waited patiently for a very anticipated arrival, Preston Cole's equal.

He strode in acting much in the way a king would, as if he owned the place. A bulging mountain of muscle and intellect, soft eyes as green as the grass he gander with brown pupils as beaten as the paths trod, bald cranium silent plains in an autumn dusk.
Rhythmic tapping greeted that expected silence, his pristine uniform decorated with countless medals and insignia showing rank.

Tap... Tap...
Marines uncounted inhaled, uneasy, waiting for something. "Its him." A middle-aged sergeant with a robust demeanor remarked.
He turned so suddenly that some of the marines in the front lines instinctively jumped.

"As you well know I am Augustus Timber!" He spoke with a distinct southern accent, loudly and clearly with small hints of menace.
It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but those that understood the meaning were frozen, the color draining from their faces as if they'd seen legion upon legion of ghosts out for their blood.

Augustus' wind bitten brown skin accented perfectly the dull orange, deeply set scar running horizontally from right temple to left cheek and ending at his neck; ridges of fire set inside Nevada.
"Recently I've been told some stuck up little schoolboy excuses for marines have been doing dip-shit around here! I have come to change that!" His pearly white teeth formed unattainable syllables, each one cutting away your will to resist his word.
"You will be formed into some semblance of effective soldiers, best marks ever for any facility have been 100.99 percent! I expect you to do better! Got that Marines!"
Their response was instantaneous, without slightest semblance bordering on hesitation or insubordination.
"Sir. Yes sir!"
"You're damn right...!"

The mutated vocal chords and sadistic, brutal combat methods made Augustus Timber a near legendary figure to those marines that had heard of or seen him. A common boast was "That man could take down a Cyborg."
Every strand of truthfulness in that could be questioned, but if one was to ask a marine under him, he or she would simply nod and walk away, going pale all the while.

"Now, which one of you sorry excuses for soldiers thinks he knows how to run the core?"
Silence.
Augustus managed a small nod, more or less an impulsive gesture, short as the wind blows and the sunrises.
"Move your asses!" Incredibly loud! Ears are bursting, bleeding!

Down ramps contorting they trod, to entomb themselves within Facility 04's training sections. Herded like cattle they were whipped by over-eager drill sergeants shouting cries ranging from "Come on, I thought we were training soldiers here!" to "All right dirt bags, as of right now you are all, Maggots!" and the occasional "I didn't know they piled shit that high!" Strange was the UNSC.

Their training may have been brutal off camera, but Augustus timber multiplied that tenfold, systematic killing.

Corporal Mires Corona rushed passed a descending whip, dodging the explosive crack of its serpentine coils, weaving left and right or diving over writhing officers.
"Move it!"
A few blades cracked the air and wound crimson ropes all o'er his back, impulsively he turned snatched it while it was rising, yanking the wielder to him, executing a curt spin and greeting the sergeant's face with his elbow.

Spinning away he released the handle and fell off the side of those titanium-slanted platforms of death.
Above Augustus Timber watched him, his grin feral, he was much akin to a lion.

Mires would snatch that handle from the air, and bring his-own weapon to bear on an unsuspecting drill instructor. "Fight back!" The corporal shrieked. His prey writhed now screaming in pain; he was promptly knocked from the ramps, safety line pulling taught. However he fell in such a way that his body was disproportionate, and strung in that very line that had tried to save him. He'd strangled himself.

Marines everywhere heeded his cry, brining their empty rifles to bear, smashing their weapons into skulls and groins, a hill of ants 'whipped into an angry frenzy'.

Above, Augustus watched still, eyes alert, demeanor radiating purely sadistic amusement.

In seconds, Mires came to the conclusion that the melee was over. Augustus was, amazingly enough, standing next to him. "I want to see your face in the dirt soldier." His eyes were narrow, his hands tense.
"No." He would reply. The UNSC didn't kill of their soldiers of no reason. This wasn't the UNSC though. This was ONI.
"Insubordination." That single word, so... purposeful.
Augustus drew his M6D, and shot him in the face.

Fafnir Chapter Six - Getting the Party Started
Date: 12 October 2002, 2:47 am

"You can't be serious!"
"I'm dead serious Augustus she isn't fit to command that ship."

Cole never really shouted, well, he did, but not often. His eyes would scan those deep green orbs of Augustus Timber, looking for something akin to leverage.

"You couldn't control your little girl so you lock a grown woman in her room?" This statement, Cole resolved, was sarcastic; though he did not detect such a note in his friend's voice.
"That's not the issue Augustus!"
What this was, was Laura's constant frolicking with people lower in rank, insisting it was the 'voices' talking, such behavior was not becoming of any captain.

"But it is, Laura Trenton is the best god-damn Captain you have and you god damn well know it."
He would frown, then, clearly angry, yet still managing to hold it.

"For Christ's sake Augustus, that's easy for you to say, you came here to train marines in whatever god forsaken sadistic ass way, you even stopped by her house and brought her fucking dog!" Augustus shook his head. "Alright man, I'm just saying, talk to her before the big bash is all."

Another five dollars in the swearing jar... Cole thought.
Sighing, he nodded in resignation.
"Alright, but contrary to what you and even she thinks I do care I just -
He took a deep breath.
"I don't want to see her get hurt."
"That's natural, being human isn't wrong."
"Bring her dog to her quarters would you?"
"Sure thing."

* * * *

Physics... Geometry... Academic-English, Yaking Scrabble and the 'Giant Laser?' How did that get there?
Honestly, for once she didn't know. Almost through all the books, then she'd be bored as hell. Fucking confinement to quarters. Bullshit.

In any case Laura was pretty tired, she would have fallen asleep at the desk but her eyes were blurry again, so it was resolved that she would lie on her bed, which she did in a matter of seconds, practically leaping into it.
She lay placidly there, sleeping.
The light was dim and the shadows plentiful, since those very same lights automatically slipped down a few shades when the internal sensors detected a drop in activity.

Dreams

Primordial mishmash of the elder races, fall to the warrior the triumph of victory, it shall rain crimson lifeblood and maiden shall weep, love be lost to the tears we cry for you, show strength yet courage known not thy falter.

If it was indeed a flawless day then blood rained forever, men and women screamed for their families and war was absolute. Picture blue skies, pelicans were screaming down, great gray plumes of smoke behind them, blue luminescence detonating never-ending.
Lo! One has reached the sandy surface! One has reached the beach, rejoice, we live!

Until a barrage of plasma fire tears from the trees, Blue-black orbs, Anti-Matter. Everyone within that fated vessel is torn to pieces as bolt after bolt scores its hull, raining unearthly hellfire.

In the sky the pelicans continue to fall, however those last two lucky enough to make the beach line -
The winger's left side is clipped by a mortar round, spinning uncontrollably it ploughs through a squad of black clad solders and explodes after ramming into a cliff-side.

Two figures fighting, one a black clad soldier, the other an Elite Covenant clad within shining silver-black armor.
The Elite is stabbed through the heart, and as the black clad soldier turns a... UNSC marine stabs him to death with a bayonet?

Minutes pass and this... Vision torments our dreamer until her face slides in again. Those unsettling emerald eyes and silver sparkles, her fair pale, flawless features...

NNNNNNNOOOOOO!

Again Laura flew from her rest, rolling cleanly from her bed and grunting, as she slammed hard into the floor. That would leave a bruise.
Again that dream had come to her, again she'd seen the flawless beauty; again she'd been tormented with those horrid visages.

For an instant the door of her room edged open and her attention was immediately transfixed, a snout poked through, and the door eased open even further to admit a dog... Then Laura noticed the tag. Her dog!
He bounded forward and landed in front of her still shaking form, though it wasn't just fear, there was excitement too. Of all the places she never would have thought Streamer here.

Until the fat bastard -
No muscled tree with a face like a lion strode through.
"Hello." This was barely a whisper.

Oh please, what was this thing talking about?
She was quite embarrassed concerning the present situation, having just twisted from a bed filled with stank and whatnot, full of disgusting fumes clad only in sweat and a drenched officer's uniform.
Laura buried her face into the mane that was Streamer.
How pathetic she felt, he would make her much like a stick, could this man reduce you to any less it would be a piece of pond scum. Yes, she realized. He could he just didn't.
By now her face was red, her breathing something resembling 'oh no.'

"Uh..." Laura managed. "What?"
"Hello."
Jesus Christ, low-base ear pounding siren of deafening might!

She knew this man, quite simply she would call him Uncle Augustus, the Timbers and the Trentons were of the same family tree, it was just that Cole was her adoptive family, Laura knew she was not Cole's daughter by birth.
"Uncle!" She would groan.
"What?" Another whisper was sounded.
Streamer turned his gargantuan head and barked. This sound was bone jarring, reverberating. It would echo off the walls, giving an impression of eventual hearing loss.
He was such a cute dog, always so full of mirth, although Laura knew that if a thief of any sort made his or her way about he would most likely shout 'Oh hello, everyone's asleep right now in the basement so feel free to take what you want. Oh the million dollar jewels are in the little box in the mistress' bedroom!"

Not to mention the fact that the thief was Augustus, come to steal Streamer away. A very loud thief at that, had any law enforcement officials come to the scene, their eardrums would have burst to sound slightest.

"You know what your voice does, and you know that pets aren't allowed on premises!"
He shrugged. "So?"

What kind of a response was that? Not at all professional, heh, she almost laughed. So many questions, it was like a prolonged game of scrabble or sorry, which had such complicated rules.
"Come on Captain, get yourself ready, take a look at this billboard." He handed her a small piece of laminated paper attached to a clipboard.

SCS: Fafnir notice of elimination.

Former Status: NOW PENDING.

Nomination recalled.

Laura didn't give a damn, she knew that Cole would try something like this, it hadn't been announced publicly yet, therefore the captain's position was left open.
"Come on, we've a ball to get to."

Augustus' eye lit up. "You show dignity in the face of defeat, a true leader; it was a mistake for your father to doubt you."
Oh, well, she knew that. It was always a mistake to doubt the best! Nevertheless, she'd a party to get to, and that son of a bitch would be waiting. Likely everyone else was already there. Laura had an idea though... Just before the nominations...

"Uncle could you wait a moment?"
He stomped the floor, clearly annoyed. He was a military man to the core; thusly he wished to get moving.
"Fine."

* * * *

Fuck, when in the hell was L supposed to get here? People around the base said she and Cole had had some 'family quarrel' a few days back and she ended up cooped-up in quarters, just before half the base was on maintenance call and all the personnel around sections F through K needed to bunk up with their counterparts.

Laura obviously wouldn't have been notified, the Lieutenant guessed. By now she was probably trapped in some sort of mess or another, Alec felt like leaping of and saving her, the classical shining knight helpless woman scenario, but there was protocol to follow and... stuff.

Helen moved to his side, and he shrank back, frowning. The perfume she wore was so god damn strong it could smoke out a nest of hornets. "Hey Alec, you seen Laura?"
Apparently she was searching for the elusive captain too, a trait he couldn't afford to waste.
Such things were true; that Alec was attached to Captain Laura, but still, he felt it was an officer's sworn duty to look out for his own, even if that meant unorthodox measures.
"I'm gonna' go and look."

Helen put on a pleading face. "But there are ODST guys at the door... You're an officer, you don't want to get hurt."
He tensed. "You're staying here, I outrank you."
She smiled. "So are you."

Obviously Helen didn't mean he was going to sit in this... particularly big room stuffed with desk jockeys because she told him to; so what was this commotion all about?
All around people seemed to be clustering, gander intent upon the entryway open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
Immediately Facility 04's band stopped playing a classical piece and switched on a CD player for effect.

Before them stood Laura, linked arm-in-arm, with Augustus Timber.
They stood for a time, intentionally playing to the beats of the song, nodding their heads simultaneously and moving front and center.
As doves on crimson horizon, everlasting image tribute to peace, an almost see-through dress caressed every curve upon her, UNSC Captain Laura Trenton. Thin straps hugged desperately to each shoulder, this garment bordering on 'slut', ending off just as it would cover the navel.
Contrast to an angel stood he, one known as Augustus, this tall angel of death dominating all inside. People could've sworn the man was armed, clad within standard UNSC officer's uniform, medals decorating it like grass to soil.
Thusly both marched, thusly, as one Helen and Alec strode calmly out, either one noticeably nervous, still managing to hide most of it though.
"Come on, you know you want it." Alec began.
Rather shocked Laura didn't seem to note that his hands were already there, guiding shepherds to every step taken, so light and limber that those high-heeled shoes she wore refused to click from hardwood boards.
She was taken aback, Alec supposed. Honestly he'd been waiting a long time to do this, carefully planning every motion taken as soon as he set foot to this gathering. He swept around, imitating some merry-go-round, dipping his charge gracefully, a swan bowing, elegance of practiced master. In truth he searched her eyes all the while, they were slightly protestant, her features not quite where they should have been. All muscles he felt (rather slyly of course) were tense, like she expected something to burst into flames. The pair arose, then dipped once again after doing another series of motions. She leaned to his ear.
"I'm only doing this to save face you know." Quoted Laura.
"No you're not."
He felt a slight tremor rake her body, almost hidden completely, followed by a very relaxed feeling in the areas he held. Alec would have smiled, when he heard Laura release a breath, which had probably been held in earlier.
Alec and his newfound dance partner continued for some time, until chatter cut airborne once again.

By now crowds were gathering, talking innocently amongst themselves about various things ranging from politics to who-had a crush on-who. Rather childish type stuff, but no one really cared.
Taking chances was one quality Alec did best, so he followed through with it.
"Come on." The comm. Officer muttered to his superior.
Had she even had time to protest, he believed she wouldn't have done so, despite this she had not had the time anyway, with Alec snatching an iron grip of her wrist, dragging her away towards the back doors, black titanium things.
Now in a narrow alley, he released his grip saw her stumble.
That had to have been embarrassing.
Was he fated for this corruption, he did not know; Nonetheless he managed to catch the slightly shaken captain, and gently place her on her feet.
"Thanks Alec." Laura mumbled in response.
He liked that voice.
"You know..." He stepped forward, causing Laura to step back, eventually placing the small of her back against the cold brick wall opposite.
"Your blood is, - He brushed his fingertips against the small scar situated on her neck, slender and white. "Rather inviting."

Alec leaned in, but was cut short millimeters from her lips. Something crashed against the leftmost door. Buffoons!
Both shot into reality following a jump.
In moments they were through the previously named doors and standing on the hardwood floor, a woman in a white lab coat wearing small silver-lenses sport shades stood by the main entry, flanked by a Russian and a very large African-American, both with hands in their flowing black trench-coats.
"Halsey!" Augustus and Cole gasped in one subliminal motion.

"We've come for the one called Duran, Alec Duran." Her voice was of hounds and emu, demonic to say the least, with an average body, cropped blonde hair and one menacing stature despite a seven-foot height.
With single motion she drew forth two twin instruments, depressing either trigger, everything seemed to slow. Bullets slammed into the barrel as various contraptions clicked into place, gunpowder mixed with air, hammers- ignited sparks and 9x25mm AMAX rounds soared through wave after wave of oxygen.
The MP5 wielding Doctor Halsey, creator of the SPARTAN II Project, smirked regally. The muzzle velocity alone would probably knock down anything she encountered.
Deep red hues started splashing everywhere as ONI spooks fell one after the other like dominoes, clawing futilely at the air in vain attempt to cling to life.
True to their training, the ODST door guardians leveled their MA5B assault rifles toward the maniac woman, but were stopped short of firing in quick order.
Bubba and Grigor had previously retrieved old-fashioned Russian-made Baikal MK-141 shotguns; each with ten round capacity, loaded with Flechette shells. These they pushed calmly into either man's face, and fired as one. Since 'splash' wasn't a priority here, the faces of both ODST were simply cut in half, blood and brain matter spraying everywhere.

Looking on in mock interest, Alec remained somehow untouched by the entire drama, simply staring as if enthralled by some greater power. He saw Hobbs leaping here and there to avoid glass shrapnel while he leapt across a bar table, bottles of corked alcoholic beverages exploding behind and underneath him while Halsey tried to peg the unfortunate pilot.
For a moment it seemed he would make it to the door, until a bottle of vodka exploded in front of him, sending glass shards into his legs and causing him to slip on a table which was slick with the blood of his compatriots.
Grigor came down hard afterwards, yanking his arms through the air in a cruel thrust and practically smashing Hobbs' skull with the blow.
If somebody fired a round or tossed a rock, they'd probably kill one of their good friends; chaos was now absolute, as if this place was a soccer stadium in riot.

Bubba tromped on, a rhino covered in spines, silent, merciless self-proclaimed master of all. Any in his path would be gored upon a horn, the Baikal MK-141, which he held and used with abandon.
His plight was rather dull up until a specific time; mostly he kept shouting inane quips as he marched through the crowds before him. Not all was as this was however, for he'd now come near the back entrance.
Truly his eyes lit up when he saw them, Alec Duran and his little whore.
Several bodies lie about them; Halsey had probably been aiming not to hit her prize via stray rounds.
He leapt as sudden as a shark would in some beach attack, landing in between either he sent a backhand in Alec's general direction, resulting in the poor ONI spook's head snapping back, practically knocking him out.
With that same motion he slipped his hand about Laura's neck, bringing her to the wall, gasping for air. Two finely chiseled hands clasped stupidly to his wrist on reflex.
"I'm going to have to have some fun with you..." Bubba smiled.
He was cut short however; a well-placed kick sent flames up his groin.
Dropping his captive, Bubba refused to clutch the 'wounded' area, and saw that the good Captain was already trying to claw away towards a discarded M90 Shotgun.
Obviously those rumors he heard were true; these people were indeed fighters, warriors to the end. He'd enjoy breaking them.
"Damn it you fudge packing- He dove as Laura turned, bringing his right knee down with full weight onto both of those comely legs while his arm fell like an anvil to her chest. This would likely send spasms through her, but just in case-
He snatched the M90 away, throwing it towards a pile of corpses, and drew forth a combat knife.

His captive would struggle admirably, clasping both hands about that wrist and amazingly enough, pushing it off for a short time. The knife and the user however, would not have it. Bubba merely pressed harder, grabbing all fingers on her other-hand, and snapping them back, hearing several cracks.
Laura screamed aloud and convulsed. "No!" Cried she.
"You'll be doing much more than that."
He smashed that hand to the floor, and grabbed her left ear, using the knife to cut half of it off. The screams and tears that followed were quite satisfying.
He enjoyed this in a sick, twisted way. He was worse than Augustus, relishing; bathing in the pain and suffering he caused others. How misleading Bubba's cheerful exterior was!
Overhead Halsey continued to spray what small pockets of living remained with her suppressing fire.

Her end was near, it came swiftly, a biting pain as the she felt the muzzle flash of an old model weapon, felt the bullet enter her skull.
Oh shit, dead already? That sucked.

Augustus, the roman soldier of old, screamed in rage, releasing upon his former companions the skill and shear awesome power of pure hatred. On moved the sword, on moved the Death-bringer, on moved the soldier, on moved the army. On moved he who was Augustus Timber, on moved he who would be the scorned.
Ear shattering hiss-
No longer, He would whip himself to some sort of ripping effect and throw the vaunted assailant onto a kitchen burner, causing it to writhe in agony before he stabbed it to death with a butcher knife.
The room was covered with zombies; churning masses of formerly loyal ONI Spooks maddened by some neural-chemical agent, which probably coated Haley's bullets.
They were stirring now, coal black eyes churning with frenzied vigor.
"Err heh, heh, heh-Ha, ha, ha!"
Several sets of claws raked his flesh; skin tearing like many Band-Aids shorn from scabbed wounds, causing him to scream in agony. Three more scars.
"Raaa-aah!" To Cole's right flew the Butcher Knife, right into the former man's ribcage, puncturing his left lung and tearing even farther, damaging kidneys.
The Admiral was no man to leave a job as dirty as this, letting his entire weight fall to concentrated downward elbows, bringing Cole down under - Six feet under.
How much more must he take?

Apparently not much more, for as he sprinted to the room's center Grigor pushed himself from beneath an odd mountain. Everyone here had been killed, since he was no man to dwell on such supposed tragedies, he merely continued on.
Grigor opened his rather sickening mouth (which was currently filled with blood and innards) to reveal painstakingly white teeth, complemented by four insanely sharp fangs.
"Feel the might of the Vampires traitor!" Spouted he, firing once, directly to Augustus' mid-section.
Which ended the fight in quick order, or so he thought.
Amazingly, as always Augustus had moved impossibly fast, this former blast having no effect whatsoever, since Augustus was no longer there, but beside him, sending his big meaty fist Grigor's way.
White angels could do nothing here, holy intervention, miracles, Hell no.
Instead, Grigor swung about and caught that fist, turning it aside effortlessly, with feline grace.
"Purebloods have always been stronger!"
Admiral Augustus was flung hard to floorboards stained with lifeblood belonging to his comrades, literal crimson paint, true meaning to two words: "Dead Sea."
For no reason did any zombie advance, as if they were waiting to be commanded, yet cheering on their champion.
Grigor followed through, caught to the pure glory of combat and engulfed in frenzy, both of those mighty clawed hands carved downwards, causing a massive tremor to the prone form of Augustus.
Nerves in pain he would surge upward in his rage, bearing Grigor down, pounding the fool to oblivion.
Yet what of Halsey?

She could not stifle her laughter, that pure mirth given to all.
Grigor's blood now coated him.
Die you bloodthirsty fuck! Teach you to harm even one hair on her head!

With a twist, Augustus snapped his neck, and shifted his battered, bloody form to she, standing on the raised dais.
Blood ran freely from either of his eyes, his left leg ached, his nose was next to broken, and his breathing haggard. He took a step forward, and snapped, breaking into a dead run.
Laura!

And oh, yes ladies and gentlemen... I am evil. To quote Murphy (I think.)
"If you're feeling good; don't worry, it won't last long."

Cutting this Chapter Short,

-Knightmare Wolf of the Merry Marines

Fafnir Part Seven - A cryptic Message
Date: 29 October 2002, 9:34 pm

/Start File/
/Video Transmission Status - Sent.

/Encryption Code in Place...
Code Redirect: * * * *
From: CCS Tides of March> Onboard AI: 343 Guilty Spark.
To: Sol system, Grid 244, UNSC Sol-core 54th Fleet.

His eyes blazed hotter than any sun, a cold and senseless determination to bury the past and get on with the present, some all-encompassing force of subverted evil.
"The task must be completed."
His voice pierced the gloom, a reverberating crescendo of soothing music.
"You are aware that your judgement is flawed." This was calmly spoken, as if the creature bearing such a burden was quite ready to kill the newcomer without a second thought.

"I have treaded many nights to keep my presence hidden from those who would seek to stop me; kept myself well shrouded, and I know that even now my brethren dies for what I have done."
A hacking laugh spewed forth. "You are a failure!"
Instantly, through impenetrable darkness the rustling of magnificent robes could be heard, eternal shadow on the winds of winter falling, swift and easy motions.
"Be aware to you and your kin that you will not stop me; rejoice and know that the sixty-fifth shall come to be!"

The darkness subsided in a blinding flash of white light, giving way to an ever-pouring abyss, glimmers of hope. Upon a cobblestone floor of majestic colors, silver with pure white, stood the black-clad shadow, wraiths of enigmas untold.
His imposing, yet simple garments rippled as he was left to stand sentinel by his own will, flames trailing from him like snakes, weaving around him with the caressing, pleasured embrace of a lover.
At his feet rested a black creature.
In his hand rested the weapon, a fragile sword, this single Katana engraved with alien runes that hurt the eyes. Its blade was wrought of simple colors, silver, the writing- thin lines black in coloring.
It's point rested but millimeters above the floor, violet streaks of blood in a puddle beneath it.

The newcomer hadn't even broken a sweat, yet the creature, having never even made contact with the other's weapon, was in its death throes.
He dropped his hood.
The creature shrank back, gagging in horror.
His eyes were perfectly clear. So clear you could see right into his skull, see the nerves and organs therein, a pale match to his braided crown of hair, which ran to mid-back in monotone white and gray bases. His lips were thin and unforgiving; his ears were pointed as any sword.

"Take the blade, Feyrbrand, and my daughter will come to you, and collect the dragon who is sleeping and the loyalty that is resting, just as my sons and daughters would have done.
All through the second to the sixty-fourth who was called Solar-frost, and return back to me that which is my right, from the sixty-fifth to the first, the end and the beginning so that the rebirth may begin anew."
He let go of the blade, and in the air it floated, and came to rest on a pedestal.
"Guard the Aninshorn with your life, and the lives of your people, for it is the means to an end." This was rather empathetic.
Something had changed in the black creature, something profound.
"Very well, First Revancer; he who is and was later, Executor Alariel; I shall do as you ask. When she comes, your gift will be waiting."

He who was called Executor Alariel strode with humility from the chamber.
Rough whisper followed.
"At last, it is mine." Feyrbrand rasped.

>>Transmission Interrupted!
<Redirecting Binary Codes...>
>>Temporal Distortion Detected!
>>Invalid Timestamp!
Command Code: * * * *

/END FILE/

Redirect Transmission.
Source: Alpha Echo Sol, grid three, re-route code, Savior Class F/B-22 Strikecraft Relay to:

DDCI Burning Eternal

PROCESSING....
Task Complete.

Replay Transmission: Y/N
Y
Return>

His eyes blazed hotter than any sun, a cold and senseless...

She was still breathing.
"Ugly leather necked greenhorn!" Augustus Timber cried aloud.
Crack!
Down swung Bubba, unseated from his hellish throne, but Augustus Timber was unrelenting. The subtle cock of an M-90 Shotgun, that ever so swanlike flick of a wrist, a trigger-finger applying just the right amount of pressure.
Ka-boom!

Bubba was no more, several 3cm tungsten coated titanium darts in his chest cavity. Augustus' own personal blend o' mayhem.
"Get up little girl!" A firm hand heaved Laura out of unconsciousness just before she'd have collapsed, sending her away to safety.
He turned.

"Augustus Timber!" Laughed Halsey.
"Come and get it you stupid bitch!"
They charged.
Knights of light and dark clashed, their weapons used as ancient weapons once were, staffs built to be solid oak had long since passed into titanium, one among many metals used to create firearms in this new age.
"You're getting old."
"And you're not?"
Blocks and counter-attacks were traded like wildfire, solar coronas crackling from the sun.
Augustus arced right with a front snap kick, landing his blow off the vampire's left hip. How did he know? Quite simply... The woman should've been long dead.
Halsey grimaced and returned in kind, backhanding the unfortunate man and following in to slam her knee straight into his gut.

"Ugh!"

Augustus Timber retaliated as if he was a wolf, rearing back and striking his nemesis with forces equal to hitting someone with a sledgehammer at high speeds.

Formerly injured...
She merely stepped back.
"You were never the one." Halsey nodded, let slip her weapon, and shot him to death.
Only Augustus didn't want to die.

* * * *

Laura heard that shot rather keenly, on the run and flooded with adrenaline, gimping alongside Alec.
Despite this, she grimaced when it came.
"August- aaaaahhh...."
"He's dead." Alec nodded to ease her mind, whether or not this could be seen through all the blood spurting out through several wounds-
Remained to be seen.

They trudged along the 'pit', a series of ramps leading downward toward the Airbase. Smooth, relatively colorless titanium surfaces greeted them dully, Laura was unsure whether she should start talking to all those little faces she kept seeing, or not.
"Only..."
She jolted, inhaling a small speck of dust.
"Three more..."

Alec looked to his left and right, skyward, as if attempting to ascertain whether something was about to jump out and eat them.
"Miles..."

If someone were to look up, simply up, they'd see shooting stars flying east to west as if they were schools of fish, ever watchful and silent walkers of the depths. In truth, they were, since they were among few beings that could actually survive in hard vacuum.
Not alone in such plights, but survivors nonetheless.
Strange thing was... Every single comet... a blue fireball.
Blue... fireball...

"Duck!"
Alec shoved his superior over, rolling downward seconds after. Laura, being in no position to resist, moaned and complied.
"What..."
He swiveled his head, looking again.
All meteors passed by.
Feeling rather stupid Alec groaned, heaving his Captain into a standing position and dragging them both along again.
Close one. Alec's mind snickered.

*Tthzzzzzzzzzzzzzzmmmmnnn........ *

Laura's eyes widened, causing her to make a leap of faith over a considerable height towards some inane refuse below.

*Crash! *

"Get the fu -

KABOOM!

The ramp just behind exploded in water-like fury, singular plasma mortar detonating where she had been standing only moments before.
Screaming over well-depleted lungs for only seconds as the air was sucked away with brutal efficiency, suddenly boiling to extreme temperatures.
She felt her ear cauterize, rather painfully at that; followed by sudden numbness in her broken hand. 'Least it didn't hurt anymore.

"Ugh1?"

The Captain hit the ground rolling, coming to a stop slightly winded, but otherwise unhurt. Tall stack of marine bodies indeed.

Come on, get up, you have much Prophecy to unravel, my dear.

"What?"

The Dragon craves Blood.

"Who's there!"

The First and the Last there will be.

"I don't have time for this!"

Keep in mind, my lady. They are coming. The Dragon craves blood. You will either be the Prelude, or the Footnote. Make your choice.

Great, a delusional captain, what a fix this is. Laura's mind was spinning funny colors, her eyes were blurry, and for some reason she was short of breath...
What just happened?
One minute... The party, the next, barreling full speed out of a plasma mortar's blast radius and almost killing self. Note to self... Remind self to check self's hazard pay.

She smiled, seemingly calm and composed. An ironic situation really. From all hell breaks loose to skizo, to super-Laura to...

"My ear is missing..." Captain Trenton remarked dully. "MY EAR IS MISSING!!!"
She sprinted for the closest building.
Naturally, it was the Airbase medical facility.

He watched in amazement, clearly baffled. This was proceeding rather quickly. How she could move like that after what she'd endured... impossible. That was just it. All of it was impossible!
Alec slithered away from the flames on the upper level, his glowing eyes like golden stars, tiny pinpricks.
His form landed in her previous place moments later.
Simple jump, Alec thought. Only about twenty feet...

Before him waddled a Grunt, bedecked in eccentric forest-green armor.
Up the ramp and right next to him.
Come out of what very few enfolding shadows actually left, it canted it's head toward it's obvious superior, beady eyes kaleidoscopic and fruity colored.
"Agarix!" He croaked.

"Get your people on that ship Jamma Kayo, it's captain, I will lead to you. Remember, the only reason you made it here alive, with humanity unawares is because of our intervention... Don't mess this; or I may start to accidentally make your voyage one hell of a bad vacation." The vampire replied.

Kayo gestured, causing several glowing circumferences to slide out into the light. Fourteen-plasma pistol wielding Jackals with no shields, and an elite with a bad attitude.
"Alright Kerdel, let's get moving." Kayo instructed.

Alec watched them go, straight towards the SCS Fafnir.
Security wouldn't stop them. He'd seen to that. Besides, there were other things to attend to.

* * * *

"You wanna' Play little girl?" Augustus strained behind parched vocal cords.
He struck Halsey across the face with a sound backhand, yanking back on his foot, which was already behind her ankle.
She dropped to the floor, spreading fresh blood coating onto unto a formerly liquid blood pool; and rolled away, performing a slight flip upward, onto her feet, to be pushed back down again as Augustus booted her twice in the rib cage.
The 'Doctor' yelped in perfect accord, each blow biting deeply.

He gripped her rather vulnerable throat, lifting her high much as Bubba had done earlier, only he didn't have quite the same grip. Naturally, Halsey exploited this.
She snapped her hands off in some rather bored gesture, flipped cleanly around and nailed him in the jaw with either foot before detracting and landing like a cat, surging forward and literally shoving him into the wall.
"Pathetic." The Vampire remarked.

Augustus tensed, and shook himself free, pieces of rubble scattering around his muscled, bloody figure.
Calmly, he cracked the muscles in his wrists and neck, slowly easing several pain nerves.
"Ah..."
Breathe in; breathe out.
"Come, human. After so many years... This is all you have?"
He craned his neck.
"We're just getting started."

* * * *

Laura was looking at a mirror.
Her ear... Was perfectly fine. No blood, not even the slightest hint of her body ever being-
What? Her 'Skull Scar' was gone too.

Instantly she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening, Laura slowly retracted it and opened her mouth. No fangs, that had to be good.
What in all possible scenarios...

* * * *

He knew what had come to pass. An uncertain future he gander, weaving his magic web in steady majesty.
So uncertain, yet so predictable, quite sad if you thought about it. Their future looked bleak indeed, and needless to say, more than one would be dead in the end.

Executor let his transparent eyes fall on his own hands.
Two hands, ten fingers. Ten curved- six-inch Black claws.
His own magic was beginning to subvert him. He was turning into the very thing he hated most.
Of course he knew this to be inevitable, but he also knew that it meant he had less time to complete his task. Right now, the ensured survival of the Sixty-fifth must be made well in hand.
Doing this one thing would require a very exhausting effort.
"Reaver Kandras, prepare the regents. We shall begin the Planar Ritual shortly."
Executor did not turn to survey the dark corners of his... 'Home away from home.'

There were many enemies to be had, and they would be alerted, had he done so. They were watching. All of them- all those too numerous to name. Covenant, the damned 'gods', even.
Dark times ahead.
He however, would succeed. For the Revancers of Aginas did not fail.


( 8- )-|--<8 ----

<XXXX|::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::-

Now what on earth is happening here?
Confused?
You should be.
The Past comes back to haunt you.

Thaydo Utas,

-Knightmare Wolf

Fafnir Part Eight - The Dynamics of Entry
Date: 13 November 2002, 9:24 pm

SCS Fafnir, Loading Bay 02

First Lieutenant Matt November looked into the dark, scary.
His plaster gray standard-issue combat fatigues felt seven sizes too large, probably more fear and paranoia than anything else. UNSC 'Standard Issue' wasn't exactly synonymous with quality goods, though.
"At ease Marine."
He nodded to his immediate superior, Uvriel Ishda.
She was a far cry from 'pretty' in every way, with incredibly dark-brown eyes, which Matt was seeing as pieces of coal. Had a fat nose too, but a nice smile.
He looked from right to left, checking the faces of his squad. 'Echo' and 'Splash'. No one knew his or her actual name anymore.
"Dark in here... Scary." Echo commented.

Matt couldn't really see their faces, he tried yes, but that didn't mean he could actually do it, since everyone was wearing some form of gas mask or another. Everyone save Uvriel.
Maybe that's why she dropped first.

"What the-
Splash was cut off when Uvriel started to convulse, coughing up blood- and likely her own lungs and heart- seconds later. Biological warfare, not a usual method, but effective nonetheless.
"Don't drag over it." Matt calmly held his fellow marine back. "We've got better things to do, and apparently someone to kill, lets get to it.
This someone, or something, is using some sort of toxic spore to get the job done, and obviously their objective is the Fafnir. We, gentlemen, have a job to do. People aren't supposed to be here just yet...
So if it moves, shoot it."
Splash and Echo nodded. All three were professionals in their field, each one knew that; and had been in situations like these. Civilian as they were, undisciplined, and ignorant of actual combat procedure, it was only right that they invent their own.
The 'soldiers' stood grimly, already hunching to stand of the balls of their feet, with their heads bent. No one had said it better than ancients, who'd constantly quoted "Make your every day stance, your combat stance."
More effective than people thought it was.

Battle rifles in hand; they traversed their little scene like vultures easy for weary prey. Down and around a bulkhead, crouching in a grate, off toward the massive hatch.
"Nothing here." Echo echoed.
All of them were thinking the same thing; no one needed voice their thoughts, however Echo always saw fit to do it even when it resulted in dropping the team into hotter water. Not that, that matter either.
"Keep it quiet."
Something above them broke loose, denting the floor as it hit and practically punching through the floor and straight into a vat of reactor coolant.

Matt knew what it was for too. The ship's three hundred some MAC Cannons needed an extensive amount of power to fire, and in this case they operated under their own power, meaning the source itself needed to be constantly at just the right temperature to fire the Cannons effectively.
Thusly, such coolant tanks were situated below every docking bay, near Fafnir's main reactor, and just behind every Cannon.
This, he thought to be interesting. He didn't know why really, but it just was.
Especially when you could hear the stuff ebbing below you, as if it was natural, a constant swathing sound that seemed to soothe your spirit.
Only right now it just served to scare the hell out of him. The titanium-plated floor kept creaking with every step taken, complementing the roiling sea below.

Cree-

Splwish... Sloish.... Slwish...

Eeeeaak

Despite each fragile sound he knew the bays themselves had been thoroughly supported, crossbeams, nets, rigging, they were set in the superstructure, which meant they actually acted as a support themselves.
"This is Tango Niner, we have visual on deceased officer, dog-tag DDC-22-334."
Splash was whispering into his com-thing.
"Suspect biological weapons use, all crews advised to use appropriate precautions. Tango Niner out."
Shadows danced around them, making them seem like little imps. There were a few bright lights, yeah, but the radius of each wasn't very big, not with main power off.
Stuff was bright, barely visible or not there.

"You two check ops. I'm going to have to link with Echo Alpha."
Slight pauses followed.
"Aye sir."

Matt hadn't made it ten steps however, when something in his head just started talking.

Don't ask questions; just do what I say.

"What the-
"Sir?"

If you want to live...

"Nothing-

Down!


The main hatch exploded in blue motes of flame, crushed under its own weight as it flew clean out of the wall and yawed across the massive chasm of the loading bay and pushed into the coolant tank like an armor piercing round-
Which caused the floor to splinter and crack, the support it gave being the cause of its own destruction. The entire apparatus crumbled, gradually slipping out of the epicenter, catching Echo, Splash and Matt unawares.
They had good balance though, and managed by some extreme measure to remain standing.

Several black wraiths charged through the smoke, heedless of the dangers lying in wait. Splash, closest to where the hatch formerly was, let off three shots before his weapon was gone, and he was on the floor with three of his own rounds in his face.
Echo actually managed to let off about half a clip before his head disappeared.
Green flames were already dissipating.

Matt was lucky. He'd managed to duck behind a few crates.

Behind the shadows strode two figures, one with a height of about four feet two inches, the other... Dominating the room with an 8'6 frame.
On the left was an elite. On the right was a grunt.

Loading Bay 02, Previously

Kayo crouched just outside a set of massive doors, composing a hatch. Kerdel was across from him. The Jackals waited in a staggered formation, somehow retaining shape for what was known as a 'Dynamic Entry.'
"Charges ready." Rasped an Everlasting. Special Forces.
The Jackal took up his assigned position.

"Three."

Each one calmed their breathing.

"Two."

Their weapons hit peak charge.

"One."

The Jackals tensed.

"Go, go, go!"

<Disturbed - Enemy >

The charges exploded and sprayed the doors with molten liquid, collapsing them under their own weight, and sending them inward, across the room with every ounce of force admitted.
The Everlasting charged in, greeted rudely by 7.62mm human 'Shredder' rounds, which tore into their ranks with reckless abandon.
The first let off a total of three bullets, based roughly 11.25 militerra-seconds apart before one of the Jackals overtook his position. Leaping from point A to point B it arced downward as if it was an anvil, snatching the rifle- still the human's hands- and brought itself into a ninety-degree L as it slammed the butt of his weapon into his stomach-
Which flung the pathetic flesh-wad across its arm and splayed him to the floor- as it set its clawed digit on the firing mechanism and buried three bullets into his skull.
In five more militerra seconds it was off to secure the area, noting the presence of its companion dealing with another threat.

* * * *

The Jackal charged in after its companion, spotting his target it chose another one. This specimen was farther back; meaning it seemed to have more time to fire its weapon. It did not waste that time.

Before the Jackal could move more than an inch, the first two rounds were upon it.
They were fast, but the Jackal was faster.
It swerved around the first, which was in a linear curve toward the floor. It hadn't made a warped trajectory, but it was already starting to break apart.
The second round shot cleanly over him, the reason being he'd just made a belly flop and started sliding along the floor-
Until he noted six more coming straight for where he would be mere moments later.
Time was on his side though.

He slid those clawed digits forward, and pushed off on his palms, using his momentum to catapult into a forward flip. The human projectiles slammed into the floor behind him and ricocheted off to some harmless angle.
This time the Jackal pushed off of its feet and sailed into the air as twelve more rounds came straight for him.

Flip!

Duck!

Swerve!

Lunge!

Dive!

Arc!

Bend slooowly...

Flip!

Go!

Sixty centimeters...

Five more rounds shot out of the barrel...

Thirty centimeters...

Four more rounds...

Close!

The Jackal kicked the human's weapon upwards; causing one final depression of the trigger as the 30'Th round cut through the air and made its way toward the roof. Half the clip, the Special Forces 'Everlasting' Jackal noted.
.0003 Militerra seconds later the Jackal kicked Echo in the side of the head with his right foot and shoved its heel into his face, breaking his nose and jaw.
It caught his shoulders and front-flipped over him, yanking itself into a disproportionate angle in mid-air and raising his fully charged wrist mounted plasma pistol only to let off the overcharged gob and totally vaporize Echo's rather thick skull.
The human, who had been on a diagonal fall since the Jackal's foot crushed his face, fell at last with no claim to ever having a brain.
The Jackal landed soundlessly, and slipped off to aid its brethren in securing the docking bay.

This entire exchange... Had taken a total of three seconds.
Far too long

Fourteen blurry shapes gradually collapsed into solid Jackals, their motions painstakingly exaggerated, somehow slow, They ducked and swept around each other, blows ringing on a constantly crumbling battleground.
Victory rituals now complete, those Jackals disappeared from normal eyes, and crouched opposite their next intended target.

Kayo and Kerdel walked rather briskly onto the crumbling floor.
"We're in." Kayo whispered through his comm.

* * * *

"Son of a bitch! They're right on top of us sir!"

Terranus Vector Constellation, Surrounding Space of Reach II, Rear-Guard Cruiser "Tyranny of Oppression"

Captain Franks dropped his steely blue eyes to his tactical screen.
One little red dot- and one little blue dot. A big green dot, (The planet) and a yellow dot- His ship.
They'd been chased around for over two hours, one lively game of cat and mouse, though a more appropriate term was how long can your ship survive till that Covenant CCS Class Battleship gut you from stem to stern.
"Archers ready on port side, all tubes!" Shrieked Tactical.

There was no hesitation. "Let 'em have it!"
His ship, the Tyranny of Oppression, rocked to one side rather violently as over 600 Archer missiles broke away, splitting apart and heading for the enemy ship at blinding speeds, trails of vapor slithering dully in their wake.
Just about half were cut down when small little hull mounted point defense guns made themselves known, their deadly plasmatic weaponry more than sufficient to break through the Archer's shells.
Again, half of those were still coming down hard.
Each one detonated by several seconds interval, though the packages should have let them off in simultaneous motions, exceptions did occur.

To his satisfaction, the blasted Covenant ship's shields flickered away, allowing the other blue dot... (Currently out of view) to fire its MAC Cannons.
Each of the two successive shots hit home, driving clean through the enemy's hull, causing the ship itself to spin out of control and eventually explode.

The attack had made itself apparent only twenty minutes prior, the fleet guarding the planet had been hard pressed to guard against such an attack, but so far they were doing an exemplary job, given the circumstances. Nothing could change the fact that they were losing, but they were still doing well.



"Get the Falling Darkness up on my view, we need to make contact with Ramsey's fleet, apparently the ONI spooks have something up their sleeve."

Five Minutes Later. . .

Engineering's Tech/Bridge guy spun his polished black dress shoes in crazy loops. "Communications is established sir! Crystal clear!"
"Excellent-

The ship sounded as if it would crack in half when a plasma torpedo found its way starboard, like the little boar that it was it shoved through deck after deck, having gone straight through a weakened section in the ship's battle plate.
"Communications are off line!"
Franks cursed and slammed his fist down.

"Stealth corvette sir!"
His eyes narrowed.
"Keeper of the Watch, verify my target and give me a firing solution!"
"Watch-keep acknowledges sir!"
"Keeper of the topside, level firing vector and arm our MAC, get those missiles running hot!"
"Topside-Keeper acknowledged!"

The Tyranny of Oppression fired off her emergency thrusters, counting on the force of the constellation's very odd forces of gravity to hurl it out of the way. It worked. The MAC charged to a point of minimum firing-power and hurled its deadly thermonuclear hellfire towards its intended target.
Seconds later Two hundred Archer missiles followed suit.

A waste of firepower, some might say. But people had no idea how strong Covenant shielding actually was. "That was a mistake-

No one could have spoken that long. Not under current circumstances, it was amazing Franks had even managed to say that much.
His insides pasted to his ribcage just as the ship threw out a violent gravitational pull due to the shear force involved with that final shot. The crew hadn't even righted their "hulking crate" before firing that MAC, causing an extreme force to pull the ship out if its alignment with the star and launch itself straight towards the stealth Corvette seconds after weapons had fired.
Thank all that was holy the MAC round never had a straight path in the first place. The Archers fired off erratically too, half of them speeding towards the Stealth Corvette, half of them slamming into the Tyranny of Oppression's hull and detonating with deadly force, ripping holes in almost every deck and throwing their crews to very agonizing deaths.

-[ Sickening crunching sound, a barely audible groan as everything goes black ]-

Franks awoke on top of some control console that kept letting off gradual sprays of 23 Amp currents.
Amazingly enough he was still alive.
But he couldn't move.
His world slid back into focus at its own pace, little gobs of gray and red resolving into figures, letters...
Bodies.

Some were twitching... some were impossibly still. Others were rising and sinking.
Funny thing was... All of them were floating.

He tried to speak, but he couldn't scream. Tried to move something, anything, but he couldn't breathe...
His body smacked into a big red button.
"Oh..." He tried to say.
It ended in a weak gurgle.

D i s t r e s s B e a c o n

His mind stammered.

UNSC Rear-Guard Destroyer "Falling Darkness", Terranus Vector Constellation

"Captain the Tyranny of Oppression just shot off thermal!"
One snag after another...

"Easy now, Ensign." Flowed the calm, reserved voice of Captain Veers Cameron. "No need to start choking yourself.
Keeper of the Watch, glue your eyes to my star charts and report any oddities with all your half-ass mathematical calculations."

"Aye sir." Replied Glace Hills, a young woman with a talent for violent uprisings.

"Keeper of the Topside, I need a silent alarm relay to all navy personnel, man stations on full alert."
"Full alert status ready Captain." Quoted an old veteran in his sixties quite dryly.
"Weapons, get that MAC running hot and release all safeties to the Shiva missiles."
"Understood sir."

With each task done, Veers continued. "Comm. Do we have any friendly calls in range other than ourselves and local traffic heading from Reach two?"
"Negative sir."

His soft crimson eyes scanned the bridge crew. Ragtag bunch, yeah, but some of those career veterans too. Not many these days, considering average life spans of such people were five minutes.
"Head us forward at fifty Helm."

His ship jerked slightly as the main engines flared to life, causing it to move toward the Tyranny of Oppression's last known location at moderate speeds. As UNSC Navy forces, it was their sworn duty to investigate any odd happenings with fellow Navy personnel and aid in any way they could.
"Sir I think our scanners are malfunctioning... Because I've got a very likely signature reminiscent of a Covie Stealth Corvette." Chimed the Keeper of the Watch.

"Alright people..." Veers' eyes narrowed, causing his charismatic, happy-go-lucky smile to sprout. "Let's roll."

ONI Facility 04, Airbase Medical

This wasn't right. She was gone.
Alec shook his head again, paying tribute to one of those many times in which he had done so. Where in all possible places could she be? Not far, he hoped. Halsey would flay him alive if he failed to pull his end of their bargain. Laura and her sappy Uncle Augustus were becoming rather troublesome.
Something stepped into view, no, charged into view, slim, black and evil. Wearing a marine BDU.

Her fist cracked across his face as he turned to face his newfound opponent, blinding him momentarily until his broken nose slid back into place.
Laura punched again, and again. He caught both fists and pushed as hard as he could, simultaneously bringing up his right foot, snapping it into her ankle. She pushed back shoved him into the wall.
That kick hadn't even phased...

"There you are..."
"That a sausage in your pants, or a .45?" Laura queried snidely.
"It's a sausage." Alec replied.
"Liar."

He moved as if he was a giant bull, heaving her away rag doll style. Not quite counting on her hand actually going into his pants before he had the momentum-
She snapped off three shots in mid-air, all toward his center of mass, not even bothering to break her fall she slammed into the wall just as the three rounds contacted.

His blood splayed outward, and he coughed twice. He was... Dying.
Winded and out of breath, Laura managed to slip off four words. "I told you so."

Just when Alec opened his eyes and started to stand. "Damn woman, that hurt. Now get over here so I can rape you."
What...

Run.

"What?"
Alec must have though she was talking to him.
"You heard me, L, get over-

Run!

"What are you talking-
Alec's eyes started to glow- dull golden yellow.

For the sake of Executor run woman!

Alright- that was enough.
Laura pushed with all her strength and angled toward the exit, breaking through a pair of flimsy doors and out onto the runway, still somewhat winded but otherwise... unhurt, again.
Alec's head smashed through, roughly one meter away. "Get back here..."
She started dumbly at it for what seemed like forever, until she gathered her courage, walked up and stared into his eyes.
"Who's your Daddy?"
Laura might have laughed after her brief commentary but- right about- five seconds before his entire mass came crashing through to snatch her up.
"Cocky little hussy." He sneered, throwing her across the asphalt and landed her smack dab on top of a Warthog's steering wheel.
Aside from every little ache and pain- which seemed to be subsiding fast- she felt fulfilled, somehow alive. Alive!

Christ she didn't know whether to thank god or wish her old hell back.
Over some rather gory two to four days, and all in double hours this had happened.
Sometimes she just wished she could sit back and let everything take it's course, let it all flow off and stop... And she'd wake up and see that this was another bad dream.
This, however, was not one of those times.

Wham!

Either he was in something of a hurry or he just plain sucked at punching things- because his fist buried itself into the engine, and apparently wouldn't pull away. Wasting no time in retreat, Laura wove her way across the Warthog with more finesse than she should have ever been able to do and made a double-take full sprint towards the biggest thing she could see.
Over ten kilometers in width, and probably two times that and more in length.
Right now it looked half what should've been.
"Get back here and face me like a man!"
Some 'man' he made.
Ten paces, meaning... well, she didn't really know, but strangely enough, more stuff exploded.
Before she could turn back to look six types of plasma projectiles, composed of various rounds- impacted several areas to her left and right a few yards in front.
Yeah, she could feel the intense heat, but not for long. Her blistered skin was already smothering itself back into perfection.
She could get used to this...

To the right, roll now!

Laura ducked in time to see Alec whip the thing aside as if it was nothing more than several bothersome flies, causing it to skip over her prone form like any rock on water.
Pressing off, feeling well the Warthog's underbelly as it cut a deep gash into her back, she drilled a heel full force into his shin and felt it snap like it was a twig.
Losing initiative was a bad thing, so she decided it was time to get it back.
Alec collapsed and tried to snag a piece of her clothing, ultimately failing when she dropped her steel-toed combat boot into his gut and expended several bullets in the task of making his face and midriffs look akin to cheesecake.
Growling boars couldn't match her fury, she was bearing down on him with an unmatched madness, loosing pistol-whips, neck snaps and roundhouse kicks whenever he tried to rise, a serial killer matched by no other.

Enough!

This is my kill voice, my! Kill, kill, and kill!

It is overcoming you, leave him; he will get up again. You cannot defeat this foe without aid!

My kill! Die! Her mind kept screaming bloody murder, who, was Laura to deny it?

Bow!

"Argh!" Unholy pain to every nerve!

The Captain doubled over in agony, clutching her head with much more force than necessary. Honestly she felt that her skull was going to burst.
Only her torso did the job first, after Alec started kicking it much as she had his own.
"You like that Captain?"
He grabbed her tactical vest, and heaved her upward, following through by grabbing her hair and yanking her head back. She struggled, but considering he was handling her as he would any child she couldn't do much.
"You try to run... you won't be getting up."
Oh, Laura wouldn't even think about that. There would be no more running.

UNSC Rear-Guard Destroyer "Falling Darkness", Terranus Vector Constellation,
Last known co-ordinates of the "Tyranny of Oppression"

"Arriving on present location now sir, I'm picking up a random distress beacon, but I can't read squat, and I ain't got no indication of any Covenant presence in the area."
Veers shook his head.
"Captain, what do we do?"

There was a foreign presence here, one that did not belong. Veers knew it was there because... he was that presence. He was too calm, too understanding to be human.
"About thirty minutes ago we all knew we were picking up traffic from Reach II, since then it's been increasing at increasing rates. What the hell's going on down there?"

The Keeper of the Watch answered his call with flawless elegance. "They're spreading warning of Covenant attack as usual but..."

"But what?"

"Some barren place classified as hostile and uninhabited with... ONI Facility 04 sir."
So now ONI was into the equation. The bastards needed help; he wouldn't deny it. Maybe they could gain some insight as to what the next big thing was.
"Somebody go find that marine... D'crose, get me the first recon."


SCS Fafnir, Loading Bay 02

He shoved Laura into the airlock, not really caring if it caused more injury or not.
"Bridge, L."
She actually looked as if she was going to comply, until she saw the bodies. Dead mercenaries, and a big cracked floor.

"My... my ship..." The Captain muttered incoherently.
"Suck it up, bitch." Alec snapped, throwing her over the coolant pit...
"Why Alec?"
He laughed. "They always ask right here, its like a goddamn Hollywood movie, the defenseless camera-grabbing sex-icon asks the grand question."
Laura frowned.
"Alright, I'll tickle your palate.
It all started with Halsey; do you really think humanity created all the augmentation shit? Bull. Muscle mass simply can't be enhanced that well.
There are no genetic tags, no superhuman selections, no Super-soldiers.
Halsey created the Spartan-II warriors in her own image, the image on any perfect killer. They were half-breeds, like your beloved Uncle Augustus. Ever stop and think why everyone was covering his or her ears when he spoke?
His voice borders on supersonic frequencies, he, like Halsey, is a vampire."
"You're the one talking bullshit now, sailor boy." Laura chuckled.

"Am I? Or is it only that you don't want to face up to the truth?
After the Spartans fell on Reach, our good doctor sought to create a new batch, and she found the perfect place, right here in our place of employment- ONI.
It all started with the Carter family, David and some other twit. Bubba and Grigor- those two lovely gentlemen sent out to kill everyone- finished one loose end off so they could take the other one; rulebook procedure.
After they took in Carter-Dearest, they moved on to our base, and laid their little plans with you."
"You see, our world is a complicated place, politics... heh.
Remember the night you woke up in a bed of sweat with almost no clothes? You don't have any idea, do you? You hadn't even had the intelligence to realize you'd been raped. Stupid as ever, I suppose."
Laura was too stunned to even think about reacting.

"Halsey came to me after our rather 'unfortunate' night in the tower control-room, offering the chance of a lifetime- Immortality. Didn't you see how I acted... more at night? I used to think you had some form of intelligence, until now.
That was when I had my fun with you. You're great in bed, you know. You're just like the good little slave I imagined you to be." He continued rather brazenly. "Then come our little night at the ball, I was about to do it again, when the fucking gun-shot snapped you out of thrall. Halsey wanted you at that ball; that's why all the shooting started in the first place. No loose ends.
We obviously couldn't do it alone, so we snatched the help of some Covenant who were more than willing to give us a hand."

How could anyone betray a people in such a way? How could Alec do such a thing?
"Alec Duran... You son-of-a-bitch... Why the fuck does this all revolve around me?" Laura shrieked, pushing herself upward and taking a swipe at the vampire with a large steel bar. He stalled the clumsy charged effortlessly, and held her in place.

"You're Halsey's daughter, dumb-shit.
She craved immortality from the get-go; she's a vampire already and she wants to walk in daylight... she wants immortality even though she's already got it, ha.
A vampire, just like me... like you."

Beyond anger, or rage- Simply emptiness. "Alright genius... Why the hell do I have recurring dreams of bloodshed and the like?"
Alec paused a moment. "Could you be the one?" He looked into her eyes with those shining golden oculars of his, deeply, too deeply. "No, You're not." His tone disappointed.

He took a step forward, half-shoving her into corridor A-1- the heart of the ship.

Meanwhile...

UNSC Rear-Guard Destroyer "Falling Darkness", In orbit around Reach II,
First Recon, Lower Holds

D'crose nodded, watching every move, every little motion of each man.
Clad in simple military dress, they looked like desk jockeys. Appearance was deceiving. If anything, these men and women were far from it.
"Ten-shun!"

A single intoxicating thud resounded throughout the room.
Emotionless hazel eyes peered up at him, from a slightly shorter origin.
Corporal Erica McKnight.
"Where is Marshall Tiers?"

"Marshall Tiers is dead, sir."
D'crose swallowed. "Oh..."

For some time, all that seemed to occur were blank stares and a steadily building tension.
"In any case, Captain Veers needs you all in brief in about twenty minutes. Don't be late."

UNSC Rear-Guard Destroyer "Falling Darkness", In orbit around Reach II,
Ten minutes later...

The briefing room was pretty much barren, other than a titanium 'boardroom' table and some chairs.
"I'm sure you all know why you're here; so I'll skip right to the point." Veers stated plainly. "We've received a distress signal from some barren land. Facility Four... ONI."
Some may have expected gasps. Nothing happened.

"You're going to head in and ascertain the situation. If it's as we fear, and hostile forces are acting in the area, it'll your job to evacuate any civilian population and assist ONI personnel should circumstances permit.
The plan's going to be a little different this time, you'll be acting in combination with 31st Marine platoon personnel; these guys will be both your reserves and your blocking force. Use their support well, and don't give any shit to D'crose. Do I make myself clear?"
"Till the dawn drops, sir!" The First Recon exploded unanimously.

A unit motto; Veers supposed they had more heart into this mission than most others, usually they'd just nod, and give him a look that suggested they wanted him to get on with it. Despite what he thought he knew, he realized he didn't know these guys at all. Just as well, he supposed.

"You'll be inserted in a rather unconventional way too... Yer' gonna' be exiting the ship via self-controlled cryogenic pods fired from the starboard torpedo tubes. These pods will break away in mid-flight; meaning you'll need to enter the atmosphere in a Zero-G transfer. Be careful with the gravitational forces here, no need to have a skull crushed on part of equipment malfunction."
Some of them gave small, curt nods.
"Make your way to the surface at a steady pace, be careful of incoming air traffic, the 31st will be tailing you in various modes of transportation; Three squads, which means you'll be getting no less than three CSaR Pelicans for the entire operation. D'crose and his personal little lackeys will tail you first, assault pods."
Nods of approval this time.

"Next comes the final squad... In one of three Pelicans."
A six-foot guy named Neil raised his hand.
"Yes, private Grawson?" Veers responded.

"You said we were going in with three squads?"
"You are, two men to a pod."
At first he thought he'd thrown himself into hot water, but Neil merely nodded, and leaned back.

"Don't worry about the atmosphere, there's already a sizeable hole where plasma seems to have burned through. Everything else you'll need is already smart-linked to your HUD bands, any questions?"
Erica raised her hand.
"Corporal?"
"Standard equipment, I presume?"
Veers nodded.
"First Recon... You are dismissed."

They stood as one, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time. In another simultaneous motion they saluted, and filed out towards the armory.
To say he was proud of them... That was going too far. These poor saps were as good as dead.

Fafnir - Part Nine
Date: 22 November 2002, 11:24 pm

Day Three, Armor-haul, 001 DA (During Ascension)
Dear Seeker,

Just to Clarify for you, since these texts have been deteriorating over the course of time. I admit, as anyone should; that everything is a little... no a lot garbled. The great scribes do not know the cause of this, but are hinting at time anomalies.
Discretion is advised when reading such 'misused' materials, there's no telling what little imps are going to leap out!

What you all saw in the first parts- a vision of the future, a group of marines trapped in a small installation, pretty much being slaughtered by a lone swordsman with a taste for human blood. The identity of this brutal, ruthless warrior was never discovered.
Still in the future tense, a small wing of Covenant strike craft performing a strafing run- on a UNSC vessel called the 'Martyr' encounters some difficulty with the new lab-rat; a genetically enhanced killing machine. Was this before, or after the slaughter of those marines?

This (The Strafe on the UNSC vessel) is from an elite's (In the Covenant tongue a Torra) point of view. A gentleman named 'Kerdel'. A stalwart defender of the faith, this crimson clad zealot is strict with codes and regimentation.
In short, due to the actions of the lab experiment- (The Genetically enhanced Killer) the UNSC vessel is destroyed with very little effort, (not to mention casualty.)
-From there we slide to Reach II, a planet discovered by humanity a few thousand years in the past, protected by the mighty fleets on the United Nations Space Command. Our prime suspect here, a human named Eric Fields. We don't get to discover much on him, other than the fact that he has a sick stomach. His life will be addressed later, naturally by me.

At last, time shifts again into the past years of 2552 to about 2555 into a rather 'magical' place called facility four, an ONI post on Reach II in a newly discovered system; used to monitor the system-wide activity and base certain special projects.
Let's head into the control tower.
Alec Duran was just like any moderately skilled officer, knowing what he had to do, but for some reason still complaining. An average, pathetic little sub-planar human meat sack, as they usually come.
Captain Laura Trenton was his ideal crush, the perfect woman.
At this point we realize something profound, Covenant signatures on a human mainframe. Something that can be added to the new super-weapon; which turns out- to be a massive battle platform; called the 'Fafnir'.
Preston Cole is revealed to be Laura's foster father, and a very bad one at that.
After a slight misunderstanding, Laura is left with the night shift, Alec, a free trip to quarters, and Cole, one very angry progeny.

Changing perspective, reader; we look to the innocent guy, David Carter. He's an average fellow with a unique outlook on life, and a rather interesting pet falcon. Through some dull moments, he's targeted for some sort of an operation by three unknown attackers. True to human cowardice, he agrees to their plans.

Back on Reach II, Laura and her ONI cohorts spice up the moods with a night of party. Something odd is happening with Alec, but no one can put a finger on it.
Elsewhere, some place of the unknown, David Carter's brother Jamey- an ONI spook, is assassinated by several rather professional killers.

Laura Trenton, now imprisoned in her quarters for a 'crime she did not commit', reflects on the past and present with the help of a friendly Orbital Drop Shock Trooper. (By some references these were human special-forces units employed by the UNSC to assist the marine forces)
Augustus Timber, a man renowned for his unorthodox, often fatal training exercises, makes himself known to the Facility Four staff, up close and personal. By the end of the day over thirty human lives are lost.

The next day, Cole and Augustus are caught in some sort of an office or briefing room, arguing over some choices to captain the new vessel. Laura, or someone else?
It is agreed that Augustus will go speak with Laura.
The Admiral moves to speak with his Niece, and directs her to a party where the final decision will be made.
At the party, Alec Duran and a woman who'd previously lent Laura a human drug called 'Tylenol' (I believe this was used to relieve pain) waited for their good friend. Augustus and the Captain arrive just in time to become the 'life of the party'. (In case there is any confusion, this term is a metaphor, which was used to describe the best thing or the being or object that had made the best use at the gathering)
For a short time couples start performing dance, until the inspiration dies out. Alec takes Laura into a back alley...
Inside, all hell breaks loose.
A woman calling herself Halsey raids the ONI gathering with two compatriots, letting off rounds with abandon. Laura and Alec rush in to do what they can, even as Augustus fights for the life of every surviving member. This ultimately fails when one of Halsey's compatriots (Later identified as a man named 'Bubba') brings Alec into a daze, and begins to torture Laura.
Augustus has something to say about this, brutally 'murdering' the unfortunate fop and shepherding his niece to safety.
Seconds later the admiral is attacked by Grigor, he deals with the vampire shortly thereafter; and a duel between he and Halsey begins.

Laura Trenton and Alec Duran make their way to the airbase, where pure chance allows the two to be separated. Laura is missing an ear, which miraculously grows back. Alec, previously consumed in a plasma mortar blast, walks out, too unharmed. His eyes radiate a yellow gold.
Shortly thereafter, he meets up with a small group of Covenant warriors.

Several human sympathizers- Human themselves, are guarding an entrance to the SCS Fafnir.
A special-forces unit called the 'Everlasting' attacks these sympathizers. Somehow, these Jackals move incredibly fast. So fast, as to be unstoppable.
They clear an entrance to the mighty vessel, and com-link some outside authority.
Meanwhile, the battle rages in the space surrounding Reach II, valiant UNSC crews spearheading counter-attacks, and still losing numbers rapidly.
Following this, the pools of time had seen fit to shift, and reveal that Alec and Laura had locked themselves in a rather lengthy fight. Alec was the victor. He drags the Captain to the Fafnir, revealing many things- from rape to heritage.
It turns out that Doctor Halsey was never in it for the good of humanity, but personal gain, a vampire on a mission. The Spartan II project was a fluke. She sought to create the perfect killers from the view of a perfect killer. Human genetic tags- meant nothing here. Augmentation...
Still nothing, human simply cannot endure such a thing.
Each Spartan was given Canite blood. In simple terms, the Spartans were half vampires.
Just as it is revealed, Laura is a half vampire, that Alec... Is a half Vampire!
The Carter child was taken for the same reason. You see that, yes? He was to become a new... Half Vampire- a new Spartan.
That's the funny thing about Vampires, they seem to pop up everywhere. (Forgive me, Seeker, I ramble once again.)

High in orbit the UNSC fleets guarding Reach II pick up a distress signal from Facility Four. By accident, or design?
The First Recon is sent in to investigate... After a briefing, which occurs on short notice, the First Recon and its marine blocking and reserve forces prepare to depart.

In any case, I cannot continue writing to you by my own hand. The Queen calls- and she is impatient. She is kind, but impatient with matters such as these. Perhaps she and I can grow to trust each other? In truth, I do not know.
I will return shortly, however, no doubt with bad news.
For now, I invite you all to peer into my viewing glass and vision pools. I hope, for your sake, that these reputed time anomalies do not suck you in with them. For I doubt that even Rhias the Dark could save you.

With utmost caution,
-Maugrim Furyhammer, first Reaver to the Lady and Queen of Aginas

We're going with what?

"Could anyone tell me what the hell this is?"
"That, Sargent Stacker is what's going to save your life." Corporal Erica McKnight replied nonchalantly.

She didn't like Stacker. He was a morale booster, maybe a motivational speaker. But he was a marine. For him such an occupation was perfect. He had the mouth, and the skill to back it up. He was the perfect choice for a Sargent, aside from the quiet kind.
Maybe that was why she didn't like him. Because he was better than she could ever be. Not in skill or experience, but just being himself, keeping his cool through the worst of it all, yet retaining a defiant, loud-mouth demeanor.
"That's funny Corporal, I thought I saw a First Recon."

Erica didn't answer that; too busy thinking about how the UNSC was pretty evenly matched these days. Both men and women on serving lists in equal number in every role. Pretty pathetic though, that when humanity was finally starting to get stuff right, it was being killed off.
Watching Stacker open a weapons locker, she couldn't help but notice how much bigger a Marine's weapons seemed to be.
It wasn't the size that mattered in these times, though. It was what they were packing.
Stacker yanked an MA5B and slammed a clip in. Naturally, he forgot to flick the safety on.

"Sergeant, safety your weapon or I'm going to do it for you."
He turned with an evil eye already plastered to his mug face. "This military does have rank structure, soldier!"
Yeah, she did hate Stacker. "Sir, safety your weapon, sir, or I'm going to do it for you... sir."

Somebody was pacing up to him, no, was standing next to him- another Marine, by appearance. They started whispering. Evidently what was said called Stacker to be pretty pissed.

Erica carefully slid a rifle from the weapons rack.
Black coloration, slightly shorter than an MA5B, with about half the ammunition capacity.
The rifle itself was fitted with a Dual-LAM, and oddly enough, a flash suppressor. Not that, that would do any good.
It fired off what seemed like a standard 7.62mm round. Such things could easily fool someone, until the round hit.
In fact, they were covered with little hook-like spikes, which if handled correctly couldn't hurt you. Being fired from a gun, that was different. The round would exit the barrel, and proceed towards the target like any fin-stabilized bullet. After entry, the round itself starts to dissipate, liquefying as if it was water. It may not seem harmful at first, but considering you've already got internal cavities the size of small oranges, and the inability to pull out the round safely because of those little hooks...
Which brought her point to the fact that they were filled with white phosphorus. Anyone's guess what that did.
Standard First Recon issue, the ever-so-subtle Cougar AC-34 Assault Rifle.
Secondly, she grabbed a weapon called an MD6-2; your standard M6D Pistol, only elongated, this one too, fitted with a flash suppressor. This weapon was used not only with First Recon, but every other UNSC Spec Ops unit.
To venture a factor...
The weapon would fire discarding sabot rounds. Entry into the target was obvious, due to the harpoon shape. The end result? Fatal, since these rounds often carried the insides of the subject through the exit wound with them.

Quickly, Erica ensured that all equipment was effective and ready. A common question was why take two guns when you already have one? Well, that was simple. People carried a sidearm for a time of not if it broke, but when it broke. This way they'd have a reserve.
She settled a HUD onto her right eye and clamped it down.

"You ready Corporal?" Stacker queried.
Every living warrior that there ever was knew that checks were necessary to ensure that nothing went wrong with the equipment being used. If it did, serious problems could happen.
She knew that it was the Sargent's job to check all personnel before 'Green Light' was given; but she didn't like the fact that it had to be her equipment too. More so than anything else she treasured her gear. Family... She had none.

"Ready as anyone can be, sir. Scared shitless."
Despite hating Stacker, you couldn't help but feel all, mellow when missions came close.
He started feeling along the weak points of her atmospheric 'skull-suit', ensuring that every little piece joining pieces to other pieces had no flaws or over-stretched areas.
All of the Marines were laid back, sitting and chatting. Numerous key phrases kept echoing into her general area.

"Man, I don't think we're going to make it this time."
"That's bad luck, man." Another replied.
"Yeah..."

Her First Recon were all situated around what looked like a giant table, reviewing notes and orally going over possible tactical scenarios.
"Sargent, these Marines, are they fresh out of basic?"
He flicked her HUD's switch into the 'on' position. "Look left." She did so.
Had he chosen to ignore her? She knew many people who would. Not many people warmed up very well with trained killers.
"Sargent..." Erica mumbled.
"Look right." Again, she followed his instructions.
Just as she'd brought her head to a stop, Stacker leaned in. "Yeah." The Marine squad leader whispered.

From across the room Private Wooly Castor was watching both Stacker and McKnight.
Being the ranking officer, Stacker had checked his marines already. First Recon and UEG Marine forces were inter-linked units, one occasionally operating off the other.
Stacker looked over an atmospherically sealed air mask, and set it across McKnight's head, clamping the supple cloth-like material in place. Despite a fragile appearance it was actually quite durable, and rumored to be capable of stopping some types of rounds with minimal damage.
He nodded, and turned to re-check the rest of the First Recon.
The UNSC taught its fighters to look out for their own, be they of the same unit, station and/or profession or not.
Erica moved over to sit alone beside the window. Watching the stars. She took something out of her pocket and started playing with it.
"Check this out, man." Private Fred Campbell spoke at last. His good friend had been standing with him the whole time. "She's sharpening a fucking custom-made solid titanium combat knife... with a rubber grip."

"What's so odd about that? A lot of combat knives have rubber grips..."
"No she's sharpening a combat knife with a rubber grip." Wooly insisted.
"Yeah I know, I'm going to reply like I just did two seconds ago. A lot of combat knives have rubber grips these days."
Wooly rolled his eyes and mumbled something foul.
"She's sharpening a combat knife." The Private sounded slowly.
"Yeah."
"You know how people use sharpening stones?"
"Uh-huh."
"Our good friend the Corporal is using a rubber grip to sharpen her combat knife, which need I remind you has a tally chart labeled 'Souls presently burning in Hell' and evenly spread, exact one centimeter lines weighing in at a rough twenty three strong head count. You want proof? Go ask Cheesehood. We had him check with his scope."

They had Private Cheesehood, the Squad's best sniper, use the scope of an S2 AM to look at a combat knife? One thing he could have said was 'You need help.'
His tongue however, betrayed him.
"I'll do just that." Wooly countered.

Sargent Stacker got there first. He strode through the doors with his MA5B shouldered, and a clipboard in hand.
"Marines!" He shouted much too loudly. "To your rally, on the double!"
They finished off their conversations and equipment checks, and filed out. Stacker himself started to leave.
"You heard the man!" One of the First Recon mediated. Loyal as ever, they hefted their belongings, and moved to follow Stacker.
Seeing that others were pursuing, Stacker moved off towards his own rally point.

Wooly stepped from his hiding place. Shortly thereafter he took a seat at one of the many benches in the room. How could he fight something as ferocious as the Covenant War Machine? How could anyone do it?
They were unstoppable. He'd heard stories about the blue variety, which were the simplest, lowliest of elite-kind decimating entire squads in no more than one minute.
Heck, he'd even heard one story about three grunts, who took down two Fireteams of Marines with their highly versatile plasma pistols.
Wooly honestly didn't know if he, or anyone else in his squad, would last more than thirty seconds at the most. Superheated plasma flying at you, blistering your skin before it even touches you... Sucking away the air you breathe and leaving a nasty acrid odor...
He finally decided to look up from his five-second misery, and found himself staring directly into the eyes of Corporal McKnight; First Recon's now ranking officer.
Wooly couldn't help but jump back, terrified half to death over the sight of the blonde haired, green-eyed woman (proven to be a killer) looking at him with kindness and reassurance.

It took a little while, but he settled back and regained composure.
"What's up, Private Castor?" Erica spoke without emotion.
"I... I can't do it, what if I get everyone killed? Because of my mistake, everyone is killed..."
She shook her head. "Just watch your area, cover your team. Warthogs are going to cover you."

What she was talking about, the Warthog; that was the standard UEG light reconnaissance vehicle. The M 12 LRV or 'Warthog' as the Marines called it.
It was a fairly durable thing, capable of high speeds while still firing its mounted gun with deadly accuracy. All that mattered was the shooter. However, they weren't fighting any human foe...

"We'll be fighting Covenant!"
Her right palm smacked into his shoulder in what was definitely not a show of kindness.
"You listen to me, if that's what you want, to sit here and rot while everyone else dies for you; No one else can stop you. I just hope you remember who you've failed today."
Some might have thought it funny that he was talking to a HUD equipped store mannequin. That was what she looked like, since nothing could be seen of her actual claims to humanity, probably due to the fact that it was all under a close-fitting atmospheric suit.
She turned without another word, and moved off to the entryway.

Could he do it? Dare he face with his squad and assault the most powerful destructive force humanity had ever known to exist; and attempt to win out?
His friends, his brothers, sure would. They were the true heroes, to him. The guys who could do anything for humanity, those few you could count on. But war was about fighting for your cause, wasn't it?
About defending something you cared for, doing what no one else could do.
A lot of people said it was...
But hadn't Erica said that he'd be failing everyone if he didn't go, didn't fight. No, he wouldn't fail; the Sarge had taught him that failure was not an option. Drilled it into him the day he set foot in boot camp. Besides, if he failed, the Sarge would send him to hell. But at least he would die protecting- no he'd die and protect his squad. He wouldn't let down the man next to him.
"Corporal!" He exulted.
The FR paused.
"Wait for me!"

Erica looked to him, and tapped her HUD.
Wooly flicked his own on, and watched the little letters scrawl across his eye.

Audio Activated...

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, you know the drill. Mission code word... Is, Ashes."

Audio Deactivated.

Wooly shouldered his gear, and walked out the door. "Thanks, Corporal." He called.
"Hey, Wooly! Hurry your ass up! Tell the guy in there with you to move his ass too, we've got pods to share!"
Pods to share. Oh right, one squad was sharing entry with the FR guys. The Corporal seemed like a pretty good person, if she was going to be nailed for his lack of spirit...
"What other guy Fred?" He tried to act confused.
"Wasn't someone in there with you?"
"No."
"Huh, I could've sworn I saw one of those FR people in there..." Private Campbell insisted.
Time to pull weight and cover. "No, dude, you must be seeing things."
They departed with a small glimmer of hope, even in the midst of such an important mission as they had been given, they could find some mild humor, and actually bring a meaning to it. Such things were really quite amazing, Wooly figured. Just up ahead was their indicated point, the CSaR Pelicans they'd be using for their mission.
Fred gasped. "Wooly look!" Everything was normal; the squad was busy loading any last-minute supplies onto the pelican. Stacker was giving his psyche speech, getting his men ready for battle. Hell, all of the tech guys and gals were readying Skyhawk Jump Jets for departure. Not only that, but a reassuring voice had just started talking over ship-wide com. Neither of the marines could hear it though, their complete attention was transfixed on the only eccentric thing they saw. "Chips!" Fred called.
However, Private Chips Dubbo wasn't what they were thinking about.
Stacker waved his hand. "Go, go, go!" The Sargent cried.
For a second Chips looked as if he might respond, but hurriedly turned and leapt onto his waiting ride into battle. He was well liked, funny and always ready with an inspiring remark, even when in the middle of a firefight. Not unlike Stacker, actually. Fred quickly followed Chips in.
Wooly followed suit, taking a seat second from the Pelican's astoundingly wide hatch; next to Private Cheesehood, Squad's Best Sniper. Following him, the Giant took a seat parallel to Cheesehood.
"Hello Ladies and Gents." The Pilot's carefree, cheerful voice smiled over their Pelican's internal speakers.
"I'm Lance Corporal Jason Sins, and I'll be your pilot this evening. While on board my craft there will be no smoking, no drinking, no eating, no discharge of excrements, no weapons fire and absolutely no sexual intercourse with the identical sex. If you have to hurl chunks please use the friendly man in front of you, but be forewarned that in the event of a water landing you may be used as a flotation device."
Some of his squad-mates laughed.
"And as your final warning, keep your arms and legs inside this vehicle during flight time; we are ETA twenty minutes and counting."
Wooly could already hear the JOC communications guy. "All units, Ashes. Say again, we have confirmation of code word Ashes."
"Right on time!" Fred chuckled.

Somebody else was talking over Net frequency now. "Hell yeah! Ashes to Ashes people!" Lance Corporal Sins dropped his skilled hands onto the Pelican's elevation, bringing up the throttle in a gradual climb. The drop ship's fusion engines flared to life and brought them two meters off the flight deck. He closed the hatch with a light tap of one big red button, and switched his frequency to cover Charlie Squad, the guys in the back. "Hold on tight now."
He shoved his body back into the seat and pushed up on the yoke, grunting as the force impacted his lungs, and likely those of his co-pilot and everyone else in the Pelican too.
Seconds after the initial rush, everything settled back to normal.
Wooly was gasping for air. He preferred not to cough his lungs up. Looking to the mighty warrior clad in black Mjolnir armor, he started to think they might actually have a chance after all.
"Jes - us Christ!" Cheesehood shouted. "We're going with a Spartan!"

Fafnir - Part Ten
Date: 24 November 2002, 7:00 pm

Day Four, Armor-haul, 001 DA
Dear Seeker,

At last I have time to write to you again.
If you should worry, Seeker(s), do not ponder much concern over my absence, the Queen, it seems, merely wished for a question or two. I do not speak ill of her in any way, but it is really quite nerve wrecking. However, the good news is that I was within my domicile in about two hours. The walk was a long one, down Aginas' streets. I have had a great deal of time to reflect on my actions, for this city is a wondrous place, a place that resets your whole view... on everything.
Quite simply, the streets are one of the safest places you could possibly be. Thanks to the Queen, we here, the inhabitants of Aginas- have a good life, and an almost carefree existence. Our city is once again reaching her former glory- possibly with the potential to surpass the old under the Queen's most legendary ability to... Do everything she does.
Her skills and adeptness with the magical and martial art Xava'Cordarite are beyond comparison.
Unfortunately for me, though, I was chosen to be her apprentice. How I wish we were one in the same, that she was Liadian, like me... a soulless wandering spirit, never quite knowing where you're going and unable to resist a calling to knowledge. Perhaps that is why I was chosen? Because I am one who has been for many millions, and will likely be for millions more. I have seen stars crumble. Perhaps... Again with the perhaps, it was because I was the greater in experience.
Somehow, I cannot see this as the case. She has existed for a mere seventeen and a half years, and already she has gained a greater knowledge than I could ever hope to posses. She left the strangest message today. I think it was written in black ink, but I could not be positive. I believe it to be a scroll of magical runes. Something about 'Passive Elementalist gating.' What this could mean, I do not know.
Another strange occurrence of the day; was that we had received various threats in scroll and ink format. The Imps brought them in at the crack of dawn, straight to Lower Guardian Firgast's post. He is a Nightgale of some merit, and would have no cause to disrupt his reputation. The Lower Guardian discarded these messages as worthless trash. Or rather he would have done so had the Queen not wished to see them for herself. Whence that cursed message touched her gauntlets, it began to flash. Had the letter possessed a sense of smell?
In any case, the runes scrawled out in some sort of a message, which now has her head over heels to locate the source. Afterward, the thing burst into flames and nearly turned me into a burning pyre, had it not been for the Queen I would not be a smoking husk!

Ugh, Seeker I trouble you too much with my life, as always. Perhaps tonight I will go to the Cryshal Lake Udan, or to the Eshma Gardens in Silvershadow Palace. Aginas, in all its beauty is never more beautiful than it is at nightfall. For within the cloak of night, can true beauty shine. On with our timbre tale, Comrades.

Thaydo Utas, Thane Ekire Alore,
-Maugrim Furyhammer, first Reaver to the Lady and Queen of Aginas

Flaming Ashes

"One minute!" Jason Shrieked.
One of Jason's crew chiefs gave Stacker a hand sign.
"One minute!" Sergeant Stacker Echoed.

Tactical Grid Sector Zeta Three, Outskirts of Facility 04

He could already see Cheesehood ensuring that his S2 AM Sniper Rifle was clamped to it's harness, the merry little marine happily ensuring his weapon wouldn't flip off, go ballistic and misfire. Smart.
Wooly prepared to jump, tensing his muscle so he could make a quick one and get to cover.
Immediately the Cheesehood's hand pushed him back. "Relax!" He shouted over incredibly loud engine drone. "We're gonna' hit, and when we do I don't want your neck snapping!"
He nodded. Everyone respected Cheesehood, and though he was a mere rookie like everyone else, he had a knowledgeable cut to him, one that could not be denied. People reckoned his advice like that of any Lieutenant or Squad Leader. Things between him and the rest were also pretty affectionate. He was always the first to get the girl, the first to volunteer for the suicide mission and the first choice for a CO. He always did what was right.
However, because of his fondness for cheese, and his very odd family name, all of his squad-mates called him 'Cheese-string' or 'Cheddar.'
"Oh mother of all that's holy don't fall out!" Jason, the pilot, called.
Just ahead, straight out of sweet November's foghorn a fuchsia colored T-framed drop ship slid into view. Its relatively weak, rapid fire belly-mounted plasma cannons had already started to scorch everything within their greedy little range of effective damage. What did that mean? A very unlucky CSaR Pelican!
Jason veered diagonal, intending to fly straight through the pods, but then again considering he wasn't flying a SkyHawk...
He figured his ship probably wouldn't fit, and even if it could there was still that minor issue of shrapnel from all those vehicles stuck in between the enemy ship's gravity beams.
"We're all going to die!" Somebody cried.
Damn, this was might very well hill him, but he had to try, had to try and save everyone.
"Raaaaggghh!"

KA- WHAM!

Shhhrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaa

Each tiny fraction of an impact jarred him back and fourth, cut his nerves and shattered his bones. Each little feeling felt like he was being hit by six million fifty cal. Bullets per second. And his stomach... that was crawling out of him. Alive, eating as if it was gangrenous!
From what little he could see before he lost control, the Covenant vessel had sheared the Pelican's roof clean off. Both of them were looking to land in the same place. It was his co-pilot that saved him. Acting quickly and surely to both experience and training, Timothy Gauss set their ship to auto landing. Being much more resistant to motion sickness and such other ilk than Jason, he was able to keep an eye on various activities. He knew that Jason's initial intention had succeeded- more so than was expected.
The Covenant ship impacted the Pelican pretty hard, its sleek, almost blade-like hull combined with a greater mass causing it to cut the roof of the hold off, but this also sent it careening into certain death. Luckily, that death was another Covenant drop ship. They'd pretty much body-slammed each other, their U prongs clashing like swords and refusing to give. The end result was simple. Boom.
"Hey, marines!" Timothy queried, concerned. "You alright back there!"

"We're good!" Cheesehood replied just as the Pelican glided to a stop, its hatch opening on reflex.
Wooly grunted; shaking what vertigo he could off of his currently 'slumbering' brain.

Jason's co-pilot, Timothy, was currently notifying every possible power-that-be of all recent happenings, which needless to say, were pretty grim. "Pillar twenty one is down, I repeat, Pillar Twenty one is down!"
Wooly heard PTB reply too. "All units be notified, Pillar twenty one is down, say again, all units be notified that Pillar twenty one has been forced to land."
Seconds, which seemed akin to minutes- passed before another trans.
"Pillar twenty one be advised, reinforcements are already en-route. Pull your asses into cover and await First Recon."
"Why the hell can't D'crose's squad scramble! They're closer!"
"They're occupied, you have your orders, now move!"
Timothy punched the Pelican's Dash. They were stuck here.
Angered beyond belief, he looked at the bloodied space where Jason should have been.
"We've got a KIA- "We need a map!" -Lance Corporal Jason Sins." He spoke into the Radio, then looked to a machine called a Cartographer. Its screen was blank.
"No can't do Marine, whole electronic system is fried after impact, radio only works because it's got its own power source." He tried to stay calm, pulling an M6D.

Wooly shook his head, cursing silently. No map meant blindness, and blindness meant death. Most often the side with the best intelligence won through. Which in turn meant somebody would have to do some looking into bad corners.
"No map, sir!"
Stacker wasted no time. "Alright Marines, Battle Teams of two, secure this Pelican, Fire Team leaders, go find me some cover!"
Everyone paired up instantaneously, and sprinted from the Pelican's bay, leapfrogging it to various locations while shouting helpful info.
One man would move forward a few steps, find some form of cover, and then the other man would move forward, find cover, and the process would repeat itself. There was always someone to cover the other.
Wooly could swear he kept hearing voices, but he knew they were his fellows.
"Ridge over here, ninety degrees Pelican hatch's right just by the river bed!"
"River runs deep, delays until a bush!"
"Damn man, Facility Four is over two kilometers away!" That was Cheesehood.
"Stow it, Marine!" Fred had just called.
"Ridgeline over here, looks like we can climb!"
The Spartan calmly walked to stand shoulder with Wooly, its imposing, very much inhuman figure dominating everything in their little locale.
"Lets go." His calm, leveled and reassuring voice graced. Who was Private Wooly to deny? He started off at a light jog, and was rather amazed to see that the Spartan was matching his jog, and was walking rather slowly. Wooly started to jog faster, as fast as he could. The Spartan was still walking.
"Cover." The Spartan said out of the blue, almost causing him to trip. He managed to make it out as a roll, and slid up into a crouch. The Spartan now moved, and reached his destination in a rough two seconds. He'd been walking.
Wooly started to move. He didn't like their present situation. Dawn was already in progress. Sunlight just started to peak over the tree line, and they were stuck here between a ridge, a bush with a river leading into it from the Pelican, and an imposing dirt road.
It seemed as if there were a few hills mixed in too.
Dropping prone, the presently dull-hearted marine surveyed his angles. His MA5B's safety was still on, but just for added caution, he kept his trigger-finger on his rifle's guard.
The Spartan jogged up to the side of the road, and rolled behind a rock. His hand angled to the road, then a finger pointed. He slid an outstretched hand along his helmet. Wooly gave him a thumb up, and started to chat into his radio.
"Roadway up ahead, we might be able to knock on their front door with a loud bang." He said.
"That wouldn't be a morally correct idea, Wooly." Cheesehood commented. "You've got two Fire Teams just ahead of you, about five Grunts, two Jackals, and an Elite. The other two... look like Hunters."
His stomach lurched. "How in god's name do we get passed them...?"
Turning to the Spartan, Wooly mouthed the word "Hunters."
The Spartan gripped his rim-like helmet protrusion, a meaning akin to 'I see.'
"Heads up people, we've got Covenant coming in on the river." Fred croaked.
Wooly quietly arose, and scuttled for a better position. The Spartan followed. "This is Alza Two Twenty Four, I recommend we retreat to the ridge. If we rig a web up now, we might be able to make it before they get here and catch them off guard with an ambush."
"Suggestion noted, Spartan Two, Two Four." Stacker quipped.
"Understood sir."
"Alright Spartan, let's go!"
The massive warrior nodded, and clutched his rifle to his chest. The two ran, or rather Alza jogged, Wooly ran. Wooly was never very good at running, but the Spartan kept pace, staying at his side as if they were best friends. Wooly liked to think the Spartan knew that everyone was going to be fine. He leapt over a slight drop only to trip on some random rock. He would have fallen if not for Alza-224, who'd caught the back of his pack, just in time; and dropped him a few paces ahead.
He assumed the others had seen them, because as soon as they appeared on a hill overlooking Jason Sins' Pelican, they broke full sprint toward the riverbed.
Wooly could hear the Splashes of their feet as they impacted the water, sending ripples in every direction. Trees swayed back and forth in harmonious ritual, the sun had broken mid-sky and risen high-point. Already the area was bathed in white light. Visibility was perfect... for both sides.
"Sir we can't be this far out, we have to stay close to the Pelican!" Cheesehood protested through comm.
"Triggers down men, triggers down!"
Wooly heard what was obviously the leader of the enemy patrol say something too.
"Xifhs gsvn!"
Very much unlike a Spartan, Alza muttered thus through comm. "Marines, he just told his little bitches to 'crush them.' I'll tell you what."
Stacker shouted. "Take Cover!"
The Squad, which had already been spread and in pretty safe locations to begin with, tried to find something, called 'actual cover.'
"WE will form a giant can opener..." Alza-224 continued as two green streaks of plasma shot passed him. Wooly snapped off two shots as tracers, and followed through with about half a clip to nail a single grunt. "Save your ammo, marine!" Stacker berated him.
Blue jolts seared the air and started burning into one of the marine's shoulders. Stacker wasted no time in dragging the wounded man behind a large boulder and smacking the smoldering piece of titanium away with the butt of his MA5B.
"Three round burst!" He choked off through immense heat.
His squad followed directions to the precise second.
The Spartan pulled back the MA5B's slide, causing a clearly audible snap. "And we will open..."
"Dear God help me!" The wounded marine shrieked rather girlishly.
"A giant can of whup-ass."
His speed was unbelievable! The Spartan shot across the center of the dirt road, which was now turning into a glass road like something out of a fantasy tale, and opened fire with reckless abandon. Several gobs of plasma seemed to be aimed directly in his path, but nothing seemed to hit. How fast was he moving?

Alza himself knew exactly what he was doing. Two Jackals stood shoulder to shoulder as the maddened Spartan strafed them. Perfect...
As the last of his shield strength started to dissipate, he banked a Fragmentation Grenade off of a tree, and made a diving roll for the other side of the road, and the boulder that would save his life.
Seeing the grenade, both Jackals naturally leapt aside in equally graceful rolls.
Damn! He shouldn't have been so stupid! What a waste of Grenade...
Only both Jackals had moved directly into the lines of sight of two sniper teams, Cheesehood and his spotter, Drake, along with two very talented women named Claire and Alexia.
Just before the mission had actually started they'd received personnel replacements. Cheesehood and Drake were formerly the best, but ever since their companions had been bedridden due to some influenza that hadn't been detected by the bio scanners. They had two equals to contend with.
"Fire!"
Alexia and Cheesehood seemed to have fired at the same time, however Cheesehood seemed to have a bit of a faster trigger finger. His target flew back a few feet, landing it behind its Covenant brothers-in-arms. Amazingly enough, it got up with a graze and started looking around. Alexia's merely flipped aside by freak chance, the Shrapnel from the Spartan's grenade striking its shield and sending it sprawling.
Seeing there were snipers about, all three Covenant Fire Teams ducked out and away, behind rocks, into hastily dug trenches from a battle two hours previous, and even into trees.
"Covering fire!"
The Marines, in one group of five, (Stacker with them) had already started moving up the path and into better positions of attack. They now had fire superiority, and it was rather stupid not to exploit it. Occasionally the Covenant would stick its head out to fire only to have it blown off by Cheesehood or Alexia.
"You lousy bastards!" Chips cried aloud. "You're all gonna' die!"
He was known for overly dramatic battle cries. Despite their overbearing manner they always seemed to brighten hearts.
"Watch the one to your left Wooly!" Somebody warned.
"Reloading!"
"Wait a second where the hell is the elite!" Fred piped fearfully.
Wooly watched the Jackals raise themselves with shields at just the right angle. The little beasts started to lay down suppressing fire whilst their very capable grunt companions spread into semi-circle formations and started a crossfire. Essentially they were firing in a giant X which brought their weapons to bear on everyone.
"Rounds low!" Stacker fumbled, attempting to reload his MA5B.
"I need covering fire over here!"

"Flanking squad in position, hauling ass!"
Stacker fell dead with multiple holes burned clean through him; armor and all helped cauterize his wounds. Somebody tripped over Stacker's armor and screamed in agony as his foot started melting off.
"Stupid bastards!" Cheesehood skipped. "Find fucking cover or I kick your ass myself!"
One of the doomed marines started to drag their wounded companion into the bushes.
As if he'd yanked them out of some long dream, they pulled aside and lay in prone positions. But it was already too late. The forest was writhed in flames- the immense heat already starting to blister their flesh.
Wooly was crying, and unable to scream. He watched as Fred started to swallow some of the heat, could almost feel his friend's lungs burning apart. This was what war was like?
"Fall back!" The reassuring, angelic bulk of Alza-224 appeared.
Spartans were like a godsend, those holy saviors that made everything all right again, those few that the Covenant simply couldn't stand against. Wooly felt Alza's hand circle his back armor plate and push him into the river. The Spartan started to do it with every body, living or dead.
"You like that!" Called one of the former flanking members.
"Make 'em count!"
"I've got the ugly bastards, they're hiding in the smoke just across those two rocks!"
By now the insistent roar of multicolored flames was drowning out almost every sound there was, greedy tongues gobbling up grass, trees, animals even. The putrid stench of decaying flesh was unbearable.

"I can't breathe!"
"Pull back!" Cheesehood insisted.
Alexia, Drake and Claire had all taken up Sniper Rifles, and systematically started taking down any Covenant pursuers. Where one shot failed three more would follow. Where one Covenant dropped with a 'One Shot' kill two or three others followed it into the abyss.
They were fighting a losing battle in a raging inferno. The instant one single Covenant had fired his plasma-based weapon, it had caused a chain reaction, lighting the forest aflame with ease. Those flames too, had spread quickly.
"They're retreating!" The Flank squad, which was now a mere blocking force for the retreat, dove into the riverbed and started rolling around, uncaring whether or not their weapons were being damaged. They had to get the heat off!
Alexia started coughing. "We should head away Cheddar, can't see much and I'm starting to feel like I'm getting the worst of- she coughed -second hand smoke!"
Alza shifted out of the flaming undergrowth, various branches and leaves clinging to him in last ditch efforts to survive. Indeed, they numbered many, so much so that the Spartan looked like the giant pillar of Christmas Eve, or some otherworld being.
"Where is the First Recon?" He spoke toward Alexia.
"What the hell happened to the elite?" She questioned in return.
"It's dead!"
Both dove into the riverbed at the exact same time, the Mjolnir-clad Spartan creating a tremendous splash. Water had submerged them both, and not a second too late the flames erupted over them, soaring like great geysers of dooming winds. Under the water, the world was airless and safe, yet still deadly, given enough time. Above its surface, the world was sure death. To be consumed in flames that turned everything to glass, so hot did the unnatural kiln burn!
Alza pulled the breathless sniper along with one hand as he scaled his way to the opposite end of their tunnel of hope.

Wooly looked on in disbelief, his torn clothing, raw, burned, and blistered body of little matter to him at this moment. What in all hells had happened back there? A good deal away Timothy, the former Pelican's pilot, was shouting to his heart's content with the powers-that-be.
"We've got wounded, we need a fucking ride out of this shit-hole before we have even more KIA on our hands!"
"No need to worry, help is already on the way." JOC replied emotionlessly.
"The First Recon's gone!"
Cheesehood shook his head kicked the radio into tiny pieces.
"What the hell are you doing!" Timothy wavered hysterically, on the verge of tears.
"Look east." The sniper said simply.
Wooly watched the two guys standing by the riverbed, waiting for Alza, Alexia and Drake to surface. Cheesehood joined him shortly afterward. Smoke seemed to be winding its steady path down towards them. Wooly knew his eyes were stinging from it, knew his lungs were filled with it. But he didn't care. The Spartan had saved his life in that firefight more times than he could count. The skirmish itself had been disastrous. Seven good marines for what, a confirmed five Grunts and maybe a Jackal?
Hell, they'd even managed to lose Sargent Stacker.
He looked to his left, watching what seemed like a perfectly fine tree, its oaken branches spreading like some black widow's web.
"On the path, Pelicans to the east coming in hard!"
"We know." Cheesehood replied reservedly.
Much to his disgust, the Sniper started to inspect his wounds, feeling each little crag, trying to replace every patch of skin and sterilize each cut with what little medical supply he had left.
He was half way through jamming a stitch into his arm when two figures surfaced. The gasping form of Alexia, trying feebly to breathe as coughs raked her form, and Alza-224, his black armor now tinged with flecks of silver.
Immediately Cheesehood finished his stitch-job and rushed over to Alexia, who Alza had gently laid face down on the ground. Wooly noted his words. "Listen to me! Cough the rest of that shit out of your lungs and don't stop coughing. You pause and you're dead you hear me marine?"
He grasped her waist with both arms and pushed somewhere near her stomach, which had obviously caused Alexia to start vomiting. Not very safe, but the woman probably couldn't breath anyway.
Wooly tried to shake off what pain he could, stopping his futile maneuvers when Alza appeared out of thing air in front of him, smearing a one centimeter thick clot of ash off his visor.
"Alright, whoever's still combat able, move your asses and secure a perimeter, we don't need another dead soldier. Your ride out of here is mere meters away."
"Yes sir!" A few acknowledged the Spartan.
He strode up to Cheesehood. "Those Covenant up the path might decide to attack. We need to hunker down until that D-ship arrives."
The Sniper nodded, and Alza continued on. "I'm thinking one minute till it gets here."
"What about Claire and Drake?" Cheesehood mouthed.
"They're gone." Alza replied quietly. "Either the flames or the Covenant, but they're gone."
Wooly shook his head. He'd have to endure this for how many more years? The resilience of everyone else amazed him. Cheesehood had made it without a scratch. Only now to wait for the-
"Pelican coming down!" All in a few minutes, several dead marines. It was just as the Pelican was landing that he realized they'd left the bodies in the fire. Tags in all. There would be no burial for them. His heart wouldn't let this go for a long, long time. -
"Veers? We don't know no fuckin' Captain Veers!"
"Who the hell are you!"
"ONI Spook division, Casper team; at your service."
Cheesehood cut right to the point. "We need a ride out fleet-side, we've got wounded."
Two black clad... No two shadows- leapt out of the Pelican.
One of the more battle-ready marines attempted to climb aboard, when something stopped him short. Was that an M90 leveled on his heart?
"Wounded first, shit-head." The air chaffed him.
He turned, and helped load his companions. Wooly watched Cheesehood and Alza load Alexia, (who was on a stretcher) into the Pelican's recesses. They brought Wooly after that.
"Before you go, drop your hog off, I'm going to go see if I can save some of your... friends."
One of the Shadows nodded, and disengaged the Warthog's clamps. The UEG light recon vehicle slid off and landed with a thud. Wooly blinked as the ship's engines powered up. The hatch started sliding shut...
"I'll make sure you get there safely." One of the spooks had climbed aboard and taken up Gunner's position. Cloak disengaged, he was just like any normal man. Only he was wearing an elite's armor and a modified helmet that looked like a gorilla's head.
His entire apparatus was a sage variation. Shielding for your average grunt... These guys had it.
Where was-
He watched Cheesehood take up Driver's position, silent, and full of determination.
Alza climbed aboard and rested in the final seat, riding shotgun with an M90.
Right before the Pelican's hatch closed completely, he heard Alza's final call.
"Punch it."

They were going back in to save others. Which was of course, a suicide mission. Each on of them knew it. Wooly could picture the Warthog zooming down the road to Facility Four; its courageous operators standing proudly, in epic proportions forever emblazoned on history's template.

Through blurry eyes, Alexia watched as his first tear splashed on the deck.

Fafnir - Part Eleven
Date: 27 November 2002, 3:27 am

Cheesehood yanked the wheel as far as it would go, spinning the Warthog through a complete three-sixty degree turn; crushing several very unlucky Covenant warriors. As always, Alza-224 was completely silent, inspecting his weapon. The ONI spook was just too creepy to look at, his odd, uncaring demeanor making him seem like an undead specter.
"You got a name spooky?"
"Yeah." The ONI Spook replied sarcastically. "Go shove it up your metallic ass."
Cheesehood laughed. "One very uneventful kilometer to go gentlemen."

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* * * *

Blast it all, Seeker, these heathen temporal anomalies are more than I'd bargained for!
My viewing pools and visions have been scrambled, my spells are flawed- scribes and soothsayers are restless, yet they dare look to us for advice!
I fear that our tale must be cut short, Seeker. The Queen calls for an assembly, it appears that the Revancers are failing again, those many nights we'd spent rebuilding our empire... And I fear it is all for naught.
Nonetheless I feel it is my duty and obligation as the teller of this tale to inform you of what had happened during the last hours of the conflict, for you can no loner read the scrolls themselves. Like all magic, they are failing. If only we could find a way to rebuild them!
The blasted Forerunners of the past and the future, it is they, their 'temporal machines'. The fools have wrested the fabric of reality.
Were it not for the Queen's magic, the people would have killed her by now, for she is a Forerunner herself. I pray that the magic does not fail entirely, If it did, I would fear for not only her safety, but mine as well. The burning letter, the failing scrolls. Dark times are again coming upon us.

Regardless, you shall know the tale. Shortly after the brave motion of Alza and his compatriots, t he First Recon directed themselves to the Crash site. They'd been betrayed by D'crose. The five surviving members made their way to Facility Four, and succeeded in securing a route off the planet.
Wooly and Alexia retired shortly after the explosive bout, and attended various wartime peace missions as observers and what other things have you.
Alza and Cheesehood succeeded in their own task, rescuing six hundred ONI staff members with the help of Alza's partner, Aras-119. They managed to board the SCS Fafnir before the warship took off, and have not been seen since.

The pilot known as Jacobs succeeded in his various heroic maneuvers, allowing eighty three transports to escape to the fleet waiting in orbit as he held off over twenty three seraphim interceptor craft... alone. Needless to say, he was destroyed after his eighteenth kill. He did however, win the title of ace.
Alec Duran, about to kill Captain Laura Trenton- was himself killed when an elite named Kerdel sliced his unnatural physical form into tiny squares with the help of a plasma sword. With the Dying Captain Trenton in hand, the elite strikes a deal. The Fafnir, dodging various forms of plasma decimates a fleet of Covenant warships nine hundred strong. The funny thing was... It had no crew.
After arriving in the Covenant home system, Kerdel brings the body of Captain Laura to his king, Yalan. These events would spark in motion the creation of a being that the universe had never seen before, a creature in a league of its own. Futures held for it many things. The weapon had single handedly slaughtered entire companies of human Marines, with nothing but a plasma sword. No clothing, no reinforcements, no traps and no strategy- a plasma sword, and nothing more.
Whatever happened to Halsey and Augustus, you ask?
Well, let's just say they could never have fought better.

Ah, Seeker wait a moment, I've found something! Just let me see if this slight bit I have left is enough...

[ Your view ripples, as if you're looking into a pool of water. Close your senses, and hear nothing but the repeating arcane words of Maugrim Furyhammer. "Luna Hectos Alariel, Kcalos Eshma Donoman - Theayro..." FLASH. ]



A single grunt waddles down a purple hallway, sniffing to its heart's content. "What a ship the elite's brought back to us!" The tiny creature thinks. Its hallways are dim, its corridors devoid of all life. But... what's that sound?
He looks to his left, and spots the source of the annoying sound. Red streams, pools of...
"Uzumri!" The Grunt shrieks in fear. "Uzumri is bleeding!"

That's odd Seeker. I've never seen that piece before, in any of the visions.
I will need to address these at a later date. For now, I bid you farewell. More visions are coming to you... I can feel them in the water, the air. Feel them in the living flames themselves. Be warned, Seeker. The Rebirth is coming...
It is coming... The past comes back to crush the present and make it right again. The Future clashes with the past, the future overruns...
And we are powerless to stop it.

Farewell, Dear Seeker, this be the last time I write to you...

With fear in heart and truth in mind,
-Maugrim Furyhammer, First Reaver to the soon to be dead Queen of Aginas

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