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Lights flickered, sparked, and died while walls trembled and cracked as the blast ravaged the empty wing of the facility that housed the biological agent. Conversations were cut short as the shock wave permeated the thick Titanium-A walls of the fallout shelter. The lights winked out momentarily, scientists and security guards alike held a collective breath then breathed a sigh of relief as the backup generator whirred to life. They assumed a loss of the main power was the worst that would happen, but Jason Matthews knew better. The ONI employees were all safe for now, he was sure; another rebel drop-ship was inbound to pick up the unconscious Spartans littering the halls, but the scientists on Ajax would watch reports on television as the mutated soldiers were dropped into ONI military installations. For now though, all Matthews could do was just sit and wait for the inevitable search and rescue operation.

Out of the select few things that could make Admiral Bill Jennings wish he wasn't the head of ONI, the shrill ring of a phone at three o'clock in the morning was the worst of them. Like most military personnel, Jennings was able to go longer without sleep than most civilians, but just because he could do it didn't mean he wanted to. The call was inevitable, really, the admiral's favorite baseball team had gone into extra innings and as a sports fanatic, he had insisted on staying up to watch the game, much to the chagrin of his wife. Fate, it seemed, was not a fan of sleep.

Reaching for the receiver, he found himself wishing the phone would play a soothing melody to ease him out of sleep instead of being jarred awake by a nerve-grating tone that had accompanied the devices for hundreds of years. He silenced the ringing by lifting the receiver to his ear; a sleepy "Yeah?" was all he could muster at this hour.

"Sorry to wake you Admiral, one of our research facilities was just attacked by a large rebel force." The voice was calm despite the information it conveyed.

"They hit a research facility?" Why?

"Yes sir, biological weapons research on Ajax."

Jennings bolted upright as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, his wife mumbled and stirred beside him. "I'll be at the office in thirty minutes." They know! Dear God the rebels know! The admiral was wide-awake now and even skipped his traditional morning cup of coffee.

Twenty-seven minutes later Jennings was sitting in his plush office chair poring intently over wordy status reports. After reading the last page he tucked the papers into a red folder marked 'Top Secret' and closed it.

"These reports are worthless," he told his second in command as he filed the folder away in his desk. "One of these days I'm going to have someone explain to me why it takes four pages to say that a biological agent was possibly released and that's all they know." Jennings paused to massage his temples before continuing; "We need a squad of ODSTs on the ground to assess the situation." If there is any ground left.

"It has already been done sir," Captain Doug Pikins said from across the desk, "They should be coming out of slip-space near Ajax within the next few minutes."

A set of pale blue eyes opened slowly, blinked twice, and gazed up from the ground at the rubble that was once a security station. Confusion set in first; the owner of the eyes didn't know how he came to be buried by thick slabs of heavy concrete in a crumbling building. In attempting to wiggle free, he was surprised at his ability to move the slabs that would have flattened a normal man. Firmly planting his elbow on the floor, the Spartan curled his arm and lifted the rubble with relative ease. With a quick, powerful shove two slabs were sent hurtling through the air and came crashing down on a polished steel desk accompanied by a resounding metallic crunch.

The Spartan grinned at the results but his expression quickly melted into an angry grimace as a burning pain flared in his neck. With a newly freed arm he reached up and felt a thin object lodged just above his shoulder. Wolveryne removed the annoyance with powerful yet careful fingers and inspected it.

A needle?

Memories flooded the Spartan's mutated brain as he stared at the bloodied object held in gauntleted hands. Remembrances of surgery and pain flicked through his mind like a poorly edited movie; the scientists had given him new skin. Metal skin. Anger began to burn as he recalled a happy childhood full of possibilities before they took him away and turned him into nothing more than a machine to do their bidding. Finally he recalled every facet of his training, every word uttered on the subject of combat raced through the soldier's mind and laced his veins with sweet adrenaline.

Wolveryne snapped the needle between his thumb and forefinger and dropped the projectile as he stood to an imposing two and a half meter height. He took a step toward the elevator but a familiar object on the ground caught his eye and gave the behemoth pause. Yes, it was his head, it would complete him. After slipping on and securing the helmet Wolveryne headed to the elevator, he had three brothers somewhere in the base and together they would destroy ONI starting with this very facility.

The drop-ship cruised through the sky of Ajax low enough to cause trees underneath to dance and birds to scatter and chirp their protests. The vessel alighted gently on the battle-scarred, body-strewn clearing next to the security building as the rear hatch was lowered. Troy Palmer drove a buggy small enough to fit through the wide halls of the facility from the back of the Pelican with three additional rebels riding on the attached flatbed. Even with their motorized cart it would take the better part of a day to remove the MJOLNIR armor from each soldier and bring it all back to the ship. In addition, they needed to load up the individual bodies once they had all the armor secured and to top it all off the quartet of rebels were forced to wear bulky bio-suits that further slowed their efforts.

At least the Spartans are knocked out, Palmer thought as he motored into the security building through a blasted out wall. According to reports from rebels that had survived the assault, the first Spartan body would be in the security building. It took less than two minutes for fear to grip the soldiers as they stood in a Spartan-less room with rifles clutched in shaking hands. Troy composed himself enough to start giving orders but didn't bother hiding his fear.

"Okay," the big rebel said with a trembling voice, "we're going to leave the buggy here and return quietly to the ship." He paused to swallow hard before continuing, "From there we will report in and leave the planet."

With no objections the foursome trotted as quickly as they dared back to the drop-ship. Once inside, Troy immediately tore off his helmet and went to the pilot seat while the remaining three closed and sealed the rear hatch. A loud metallic thump on top of the ship gave the rebel pause as he reached for the radio. Four pairs of eyes stared at the ceiling with wide-eyed fear hoping the sound was nothing to worry about but at the same time knowing they wouldn't be leaving the planet alive.

Troy winced instinctively as an armored hand smashed violently through the roof of the ship and gripped the rebel's head with five thick fingers. The skull cracked and sunk giving the assailant a firm grip with which to lift the flailing rebel. A scream escaped his lips, the Spartan's fist balled, crushing Troy's head like a ripe tomato.

The three remaining rebels watched in a horror-induced stupor as the body was released from the monster's grip and fell limply to the floor. A pair of grenades were dropped through the new opening and rolled innocently toward the rear of the vessel. The soldiers turned in a panic to open the hatch but each one knew it was a futile effort. Less than two seconds later the walls of the shuttle were painted crimson with rebel blood.

Three miles north of the facility a Pelican hovered just above the forest as a squad of four ODSTs fast-roped to the surface of Ajax. Wishing the soldiers good hunting, the pilot eased the shuttle away from the treetops and rocketed back to the UNSC Atlas floating just outside the planet's atmosphere. From the cruiser, the video footage from the ODST's helmets would be relayed to ONI headquarters, giving them information about the squad's findings in real-time.

The elite soldiers moved silently through the thick grabbing underbrush keeping their heads on a swivel to constantly check for possible rebel threats lurking in the foliage. Clad in black lightweight biohazard suits, the squad was nearly indistinguishable from the tree canopy shadows that covered them.

An hour later the four soldiers crouched just inside the tree line and gazed out at the ONI research facility. Using his helmet's zoom function, Sergeant Tom Spielman surveyed the rebel drop-ship and the inside of the ruined guard station.

Most of his military career had been spent with the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, and he wouldn't have it any other way. A soldier through and through, he enjoyed being in the thick of a firefight but his specialty was stealth. Sneaking behind the enemy and taking them down silently would never get old for the sergeant. Some said he was merely afraid of attacking the enemy head-on, to that Spielman would just smile and nod. He could understand why they would think that; they had never been stalked by an ODST and couldn't fathom what real fear was.

"Looks clear," Tom said as he disengaged the zoom with an audible whir of electronics. "We'll approach that hole in the wall one at a time and keep each other covered. Pay special attention to that drop-ship, if there are any rebels still alive that's where they'd be hiding."

With that the sergeant roadie-ran across the clearing and pressed his back to the wall. The waning sunlight glinted off the grey visor of his helmet as he slinked along the barrier to the jagged opening. Once there the ODST trained his battle rifle on the rebel drop-ship while Corporal Alan Redding proceeded across the green expanse and shimmied along the wall.

After getting into position the ODST tapped his leader on the shoulder twice, signifying that he had Spielman covered as he advanced further. The sergeant slipped through the open barrier and sprinted silently to the nose of the drop-ship, crouching and covering the security building as he arrived. Another ODST materialized out of the foliage and took Corporal Redding's place by the wall, who in turn advanced and covered the crumbling building while Spielman methodically cleared it.

"It's clear." Tom said over his COM from within the building. "Let's take a look inside the drop-ship."

Less than a minute later the squad had regrouped and commenced the inspection of the vessel.

"The hatch is locked from inside." Redding said from behind the ship

Sergeant Spielman backed away from the Pelican as he looked it over. Coming around to the front he spotted the hole just above the windshield and called Corporal Redding over.

"Give me a boost onto the nose," he said, gesturing with his thumb at the ship.

Redding obliged and stood next to the Pelican with fingers intertwined into a makeshift stirrup. Using his fellow ODST's hands as a step, Spielman clambered onto the drop-ship and slithered to the window accompanied by the scraping sounds of metal rubbing on metal. Clicking on a light attached to his helmet, the ODST peered into the vessel and nearly lost his grip. The scene through the glass looked like something out of a low-budget horror film. Severed, mangled limbs were strewn about the interior with aplomb and entrails hung from seats and equipment like cooked spaghetti.

Tom switched off the light but the visceral image was burned into his memory and reappeared in gruesome detail with each blink of his eyes. As he slid off the Pelican he knew the memory would fade in time. They always did.

"Someone or something must have hammered through the hull," he began as the ODST unit gathered for a report, "Then whoever did the hammering just dropped a grenade through and left the universe with three or four less rebels."

"Sir," Private James Wilson asked, "How would one go about 'hammering through' the hull of a Pelican?"

Tom Shrugged, "I'm not sure, I'm not convinced it was a friendly unit that did it, either. From what I can gather, the rebels in that ship came on some sort of scavenger mission after the fighting was done, ONI has a lot of technology that people would love to get their hands on. Something spooked them bad enough that they left their buggy here and went back to the ship."

Private Stephen Mazlow chimed in, "Spartans?"

The sergeant shook his head, "Not likely. If a Spartan happened upon a group of rebels he wouldn't chase them back to their ship, he'd just put a bullet in each head and be done with it. The one thing I'm sure of is there are about a hundred scientists in a bunker at the bottom of this facility and every minute we spend out here is another minute whatever did this," he gestured to the Pelican, "has to find them. So here's the plan. Corporal Redding, you take Private Wilson and search the even-numbered floors, Private Mazlow and I will take the odd numbered floors. When you find something you seek cover and contact us, I don't care if it is a scientist or an Elite, do not engage until we are all together. Everyone got it?"

Three armored heads nodded in unison.

"Let's move out."

The elite squad moved as one entity into the security building. Stairs were preferable to elevators due to their open nature, but a heavy concrete slab blocked the only flight descending to lower levels of the facility. With no other choice, the ODSTs filed into the elevator and dropped one floor down. The blast that had released the biological agent also disabled every security light in the compound. Night vision was switched on as the soldiers cautiously stepped out of the metal box and scanned the hallway with rifles raised. It wasn't the green, scratchy night vision of the past, the technology built into the ODST's helmets sent out a pulse, much like a bat flying at night, and returned the geometry out to one-hundred meters.

The software updated the image over three hundred times a second and any ambient light was captured and helped process colors. The pulse was even sensitive enough to discern individual wrinkles on a face and textures on a wall. The ODST's had learned the ins and outs of the equipment in training, all they really cared about right now was that it worked as advertised and they could see threats clearly in the inky darkness.

Satisfied the hallway was clear, Redding and Wilson slipped silently through a windowed door, descended two flights of stairs, and emerged on the second floor. Speilman and Mazlow continued down the corridor on the first level far enough apart that a single grenade wouldn't take out both of them, but still close enough to discern hand signals. At each intersection the point man would kneel and peek around the corner while the second soldier provided cover. Windows and doors leading to an assortment of labs and offices were cleared in the same manner. Fifteen minutes into their search both COMs came to life with the voice of Corporal Redding.

"We've got something here."

Spielman signaled for Mazlow to follow him into a cleared office, the last thing the Sergeant wanted was to be surprised by an enemy while using his COM. Once in position, the ODST kneeled and motioned for Mazlow to cover the door, then responded.

"Go ahead, Corporal."

"It was a Spartan, he went into an office about thirty meters in front of our position. I don't think he saw-"

Redding was abruptly cut off by the sound of shattering glass followed immediately by the screech of rending metal. The corporal's voice came through the COM again but this time it was only an unearthly scream punctuated by a metallic cacophony of battle-rifle rounds exiting a barrel and impacting MJOLNIR armor. The shriek was truncated by the unmistakable sound of snapped bones but the macabre symphony continued. Through the COM the pair of ODSTs heard a wet smack, a slow gurgle, then silence.

"Second floor. Now!" The sergeant commanded.

Mazlow was the first to zip around the corner but collided with something metal and immoveable before taking two steps. Spielman heard the impact of metal on metal and exited with his rifle up and ready; the sight of a Spartan smashing its combat knife through Mazlow's silver visor greeted him. The body instantly went limp and crumbled to the polished floor. Without another thought, the lone ODST's rifle barked, sending a trio of 9.5mm rounds into the Spartan's shoulder, dropping his shields.

Before Spielman could unleash another burst the super-soldier batted the rifle away and easily lifted the ODST by the neck with a single hand. With his free hand the Spartan removed the soldier's helmet, he wanted to see the face of fear before he killed it. To Marauder's surprise, the face was grinning as if it knew something the Spartan didn't.

A brilliant flash of light illuminated the hallway as the grenade in Spielman's hand exploded. Shrapnel tore through armor and soft flesh as the bodies were thrown in opposite directions down the corridor. When the corpses had finally come to a bloodied stop, silence reigned in the facility once more.

From inside the back of a S.W.A.T. van parked outside the Gains Apartment building, detective Brian Kramer watched through video feeds as an elite police unit stacked up outside Ivan Kazlov's residence. He had always wanted to join the city of Hawking's Special Weapons And Tactics squad, but a minor leg injury during his final tour of duty prevented him from meeting the physical requirements. The wound had long since healed but it had done enough damage to keep him off the force.

At any rate, it was always a joy to watch the officers in action, but this time, he was sure, there wouldn't be any action to watch. If Kazlov had any intelligence at all he would have long since fled the city and taken any evidence with him. Raiding the rebel's apartment was a long shot, Kramer knew, but as a detective he also knew that even the most absurd searches could yield fruitful results. After a perfectly executed entry and subsequent search, the S.W.A.T. element leader's voice lit up the van's COM.

"Nothing here, sir, the place is spotless."

The commander sitting in the van turned to Kramer on a squeaking chair, "Sorry, detective."

Brian dismissed the apology with a wave, "Don't worry about it commander, I didn't expect to find much."

The Shotokan blackbelt clambered out of the van and returned to his waiting car. Hawking's chief of police told him to use any means necessary to track Kazlov down and he was running out of options. Every scrap of information the detective managed to glean on the rebel spook turned into a dead-end. With his mind made up, Kramer pointed his car towards home, if he was going to pass as a rebel then he needed a haircut.

Admiral Jennings watched a replay of the ODST massacre in stunned silence. Even during the second viewing he couldn't believe what he was seeing, yet every gruesome detail was playing before him and the video couldn't lie. A pair of Spartans had butchered the elite squad as if they were mere cattle. Jennings was pulled from his musings as the COM on his desk came to life.

"Admiral, there is a Lieutenant Leiter here to see you." The female receptionist said.

"Right, send him in." Jennings replied, thankful for the distraction as he switched off the video.

Half a second later the room seemed to shrink as the six-foot-three frame of Lieutenant Sam Leiter filled the office. "You wanted to see me, sir?" His copper skin, black hair, and dark piercing eyes made woman stare as he walked by and his gravelly voice made them faint.

Admiral Jennings motioned to the chair opposite his desk. "Have a seat, Lieutenant."

The two-hundred and thirty pound officer eased into the chair with surprising grace.

"I have a simple job for you that will garner a nice chunk of hazard pay." Jennings began. "I'm assuming you've seen the footage from the incident on Ajax?"

A nod

"Good, I need four Spartans dropped near the facility and you came highly recommended. Be ready by oh' three hundred, you leave as soon as the UNSC Atlas gets back and refuels. Once the Spartans are on the ground you are to stay there until they get back, should be a quick operation."

The lieutenant stood and snapped a crisp salute. "Yes, sir. I'll be ready."

Leiter exited the office and shut the door, leaving the admiral to think over his plan again. Ever since Radont killed his commanding officer, Jennings had been getting no less than thirty letters a day demanding the Spartan's execution. ONI accountants frowned on simply killing a multi-million dollar soldier, but being killed in action was a whole different story. The admiral was almost certain Radont would die on Ajax, when it came to skill, he was average at best compared to his fellow super-soldiers.

Of course there was still the problem of the rouge Spartans to be dealt with. Eliminating a threat of that magnitude would require a Spartan of superior skill, and there were none faster or stronger than Radont's own brother, Gray Fox. Adding Bugsy and Legion to the roster was a no-brainer, the quartet of soldiers had fought in so many battles together that they were often considered a single entity when deployed as a unit.

It was this very camaraderie that had the admiral worried. They would not simply stand aside and watch one of their own die, which forced Jennings to have a plan in the event that Radont made it out alive. 'Newly discovered information' could easily be leaked to the media that would turn Sergeant Winfield into a butcher of unarmed civilians and Radont into a bonafide hero.

Either way, he thought, it was a win-win situation.

Despite his outward calm, Jason Mathews was growing anxious. It had been four hours since the blast and so far there were no signs of an ONI rescue attempt. The assassin leaned back in his plush chair and stared at the waist-high marble barrier in front of him while only half listening to the conversations around him.

"Hey scientist-man," an overweight, red-haired security guard said as he strode up to Matthews, "It's your turn to stand for a while."

Jason didn't bother lifting his eyes from the marble wall, "No thanks, I'm quite comfortable where I am."

The guard fumed, "I don't recall giving you a choice, now mo—"

Matthews shot him a look of pure venom.

"I, um… I'll… I was just joking, man." With fists clenched the guard stormed through the crowd to the opposite side of the room and glared at the assassin through narrowed eyes. Jason would have to keep an eye on that one, embarrassed bullies were prone to making rash decisions and would stop at nothing to redeem their pride.

Having witnessed the spectacle, and satisfied no violence would come of it, the guard at the door returned his attention to the thick glass window that looked into the hall.

"Looks like we're safe now," he turned to address the room, "the Spartans are here."

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