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Different Codes; Part One
Posted By: Tin Can Man<david@tbex.com>
Date: 12 September 2005, 4:53 pm
Read/Post Comments
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Program Init…
Syst. Check…
Receiving Message…
Unknown Code…
Running Filters…
[Open Voice Transcript]
3…2…1...
Open Record View (#'s)
Unknown File…
Converting…
Play? Y/N
Y…
Loading…
//We are the last. Our pride is all we have. The great monuments are all we leave. We have shed the mortal coil. We see the light, and walk as one towards it.
Unexpected Halt.
Cont? Y/N
Y…
Loading…
// The Rings are Our last, Our only hope. We will trust, and have faith. The Flood shall no longer wash our banks. The stone will be rolled back, the light shall destroy. We will not die, yet neither will they. Our brothers will sleep a long slumber, as shalt we. Balance must exist, no matter how grudgingly. Equilibrium. The Scales of the Gods. Our Hearts have been weighed, and we climb the stairway to the skies.
The Skies ignite.
[End of message.]
Replay? Y/N
N
Save? Y/N
Y
//Interesting…
[Incoming Message]
[From ?]
Open? Y/N
Y
I Have Found You.
I Have Watched From Afar.
I Have Trod On Angels Rings.
And Burned Them With Demons Fire.
I Have Followed The Hunter and the Hunted.
And Found You.
So Have They.
A Friend Of A Friend.
[End Of Message]
'Oh No.'
He stood up slowly. I have found you. The words rang inside his head. So have they. That meant ONI had found him, despite all of his careful movements, the covering of all his trails. There was only one way out of the building., which was at the bottom of a kilometre of rusty stairs, an unused, unworking elevator, and, of course, a whole ONI hunter/killer squad between him and the exit. Ah, well, he needed the exercise.
He picked up an outdated M6C pistol and a standard Kbar from the metal worktop, flicking the safety catch off with his grimy, callused hands, and wiping the knife with a dirty rag. His eyes gleamed cruelly in the moonlight, his battered scarred face hidden in the shadows, concealing it from view. Not someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley. He brushed the dirt, grime and God-Knows-What off the barrel, then stood, pistol lowered, in front of the door.
Five.
He could hear light footsteps.
Four.
The whine of night vision goggles and plasma weapons.
Three.
The sound of magnetic lock-picks.
Two
The last weapon checks, voices confirming their situation.
One
The door burst open, revealing three black clad figures, armed with the new hybrid human/Elite plasma rifles. They swarmed in, surrounding him in a standard triangle.
"Freeze!"
____________________________________________________________
[Open File; ONI Spec-Ops M294]
M249 - Okay. We've got him. L395, M273 and M834 have him at gunpoint. This'll be simple.
H234 - Don't underestimate him.
M249 - My men know how to do their jobs Hood. The glory days are over. Accept it.
H234 - It may have been ten years, but...
M249 - All the rest of them have been brought in, and... dealt with. We have plenty of experience with persuading them.
H234 - *sigh* Bring him in for questioning then. I'm sure the Elite 'Council' will love a little chat with John.
M249 - I knew you would buckle old man. They should be at the exit now. L395, how are you doing? L395, respond please. Ramolee, respond!
H234 - I told you not to underestimate him.
M249 – Oh shut up, you geriatric old fool! I don't care what he may have done for humanity! He is going to be taken down, one way or another!
H234 – When Nosolee hears of this…
M249 – Don't make me laugh. Neither you, Nosolee or even Johnson, or any of the 'Old Guard' have enough power to stop us. He's just a Spartan, like all the rest of them. Suit or not.
H234 – *sigh* Well, I've enjoyed our little chat Keyes. Make sure ONI give you that juicy little promotion you've been harking after. Also I would check to see how the pair you sent to guard the exit are doing.
M249 – What do you mean?
H234 - *clicking noises, most likely a computer keyboard* Have a look.
M754 - [Abrupt Transmission Loss]
M564 - [Abrupt Transmission Loss]
M249 - You've been on his side all along, haven't you! You set us up!
H234 – Perhaps. ONI underestimated to many people Miranda. Goodbye.
We will not meet again.
M249 – ONI will find you. No-one manages to hide from us.
H234 - Perhaps. But I will do enough damage before my time is up.
M249 - *Gunfire* [Abrupt Transmission Loss.]
H234 - *sigh* We weren't always like this.
Hood sat back in his chair, looking at the body of Miranda Keyes. She was slumped in the plush leather chair. Her features, twisted by time, stared blankly up at him. The bullet hole clean between her eyes, still had wisps of gunpowder smoke dribbling lazily upwards.
[New Message]
[From ?]
Open Y/N
Y
I Abandoned The Fruits Of Eternity.
For The Fruits Of Humanity.
I Became The Shield That Sings.
And Then The Sword That Pierced The Rings.
The Wind Has Become A Gale,
And None But The Spartan Shall Avail.
A Friend of a Friend
[End of Message]
____________________________________________________________
"General Johnson!"
Another reporter. Every day. Every single day. Couldn't he get some peace? Even at the ONI headquarters, some dumbass reporter always asked him some dumbass question. Straight from the dumbass book. This is going to be a long day.
Pulling out an unlit cigar, shoving it awkwardly into the side of his mouth. He had kicked the habit years ago, but hey, it was his trademark pose. He turned around, scratching his chin stubble. Needs a shavehe thought.If I were back in boot camp…
He didn't finish the thought, for it wasn't a reporter he was looking at, but a tall ONI Lieutenant, with brass buttons polished so highly he could see his face in them. Not pretty. You lost it Johnson. Got fat. Ugly. Stuck behind a goddamn desk, watching as other men go out to fight and die. Not the happiest of thoughts.
"What is it?"
"News from command sir."
"Well, spit it out!"
"Lord Hood's gone AWOL."
Johnson almost choked on his unlit cigar.
"Say what! I thought you said…"
"It was during the Spartan,containment operation last night. He shot Miranda Keyes, then commandeered the ONI Copter outside."
The Lieutenant leaned in conspiratorially.
"Some say, well there are rumours, that he escaped with 117
"John!"
Johnson's mind raced. If it were true, then all the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, just as they had planned.
The man looked uncomfortable at the mention of the name.
"Well, we don't normally use their names, it's against procedures."
The man's messenger beeped.
"Eh, um, General, um sir, you, um, have to come with me."
He looked apologetically at the General.
"It's standard procedure to take all personnel who had contact with a suspect within twenty-four hours for questio-"
But his words were cut off by the black pistol aimed at his head, the silencer poised like a snake waiting to strike.
"Don't move." The words came out of Johnson's mouth as cold as ice.
"I am getting out of here. You are coming too, one way or another. You will do as I say, without question. Any attempt for heroics, or to call security, will result in your immediate death. Understood?"
The man nodded rapidly, fearful eyes looking at the gun.
"Good." Johnson picked up his large overcoat. Britain was cold in winter. Nobody would look twice. He put his hands in the large bulging pockets, concealing the gun from view, yet still aiming it at the young man's back. He was tired. Tired of being a useless figurehead for the Office of Naval Intelligence. Tired of being deliberately mislead, deceived, used. He almost spat in anger. This, this was the only chance of staying alive and restoring the UNSC. Suddenly they were at the door. He cursed as he noticed the butt of the gun poking out of his pocket. Damn! He would have to be more careful. No alarms were blaring, no automated turrets coming out of the marble floor or black clad figures running at him. So far so good.
"Open it." He said, indicating the eye scanner next to the door. The Lieutenant bowed forward slowly, making eye contact with the scanner, then punching his code into the keypad.
"You first. I insist."
They walked through the glass door, the Lieutenant shivering in the cold winter wind. They walked along the silent streets to a small back alley.
Garbage and refuse swirled through the air, and the smells of five hundred years neglect filled the General's nostrils, almost making him gag. The Lieutenant looked decidedly green.
"Down here."
The young man walked fearfully down the street, his shining black shoes steadily gaining a coat of dirt that no sonic clean could fully remove.
Looking around, Johnson pulled the pistol out. The man began to cry, the tears flowing down his face.
"Oh God sir, please don't kill me! I don't want to die!"
Johnson considered him, then raised the pistol and hit him hard over the head. The man was unconscious almost immediately, landing hard in a stinking pile of old vegetables and discarded food.
"That wasn't in the plan, you know."
A man stepped out of the shadows, nudging the immobile body with his foot.
"Oh shut your chili-hole Stacker. Would you have shot a man in cold blood?"
"No," Stacker admitted, "I joined the Marines to protect citizens, not kill them. But leaving him alive could be bad for us in the long run. Well, our ride is ready, I'd just finished fuelling her up." He reached up and pulled aside a dirty sheet to reveal an old, pre-hover Warthog. He patted the bonnet fondly, flicking a fly of the paint-work. " Been through a lot, me an' her."
"Yeah, yeah, keep the sentimentality for later. Hopefully ONI won't notice I'm gone for a while yet. But once they do, there'll be trouble. And I intend to be far away from here by then."
"Point taken."
The two men climbed into the Warthog, joints creaking with age. Stacker took the starter chip out of his civvies, inserting it smoothly into the slot. The engine purred to life, a low growl of noise. He gunned the engine, and the Warthog roared into the night, leaving the alley and the Lieutenant behind.
But he was not unconscious. The young man lifted himself up, patting his coat down to get rid of the dust and dirt. He pulled a small microphone out of his pocket, switching it on.
"He's gone."
"Catch Him. Do Not Let Him Escape."
"Of Course Sir."
"I Will Be Sending… Associates."
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