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Guns of the Enlightened: Chapter 1
Posted By: Zerodev<alex.miglio@gmail.com>
Date: 22 November 2006, 5:25 pm

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Chapter One

Time Unknown, Date Unknown
Alien vessel, Earthian Sol System

John drifted back to reality. His eyes slowly opened, revealing a bright room that resembled a laboratory. The thin haze of sleep began to lift, and he began to wonder what situation he had gotten himself into. He could not remember where he was, but he was determined to find out.

He tried to move, a bad idea. Pain shot through his shoulder and leg. He then began to realize his situation – where was his MJOLNIR armor? John still did not know where he was. Worse, though, was that he did not remember what happened. All he knew was that he was lying in what seemed like a laboratory, in pain, without his armor, chained to the bed – John groaned, realizing he was pinned in his position.

Luckily for him, his captors, as he now thought of them, did not realize he possessed superhuman strength, even without MJOLNIR. He worked the shackles on his wrist until they were warped enough, then the same for his ankles. John rubbed the blisters on his wrists as he sat up and surveyed the room. He noted nothing except his "bed" and the bright, not-quite-fluorescent light five meters above him.

Where the hell am I?

His memory was gone. He barely remembered who he was and what he stood for. Was this a dream?

He saw a seam appear on the wall. The crack began at the intersection between the wall and the floor, and started to move rapidly upward. John quickly realized this was no ordinary seam; this was a door appearing in the wall. He sprang from his bed and ran toward the rapidly expanding crack. He crouched next to the opening, hoping to surprise who, or what, was coming.

It worked.

Almost too well, though, as the Spartan was able to sneak out behind the befuddled man in what looked like a hazmat suit.

"Too easy," he muttered. "What on Reach is going on here?"

Mindful that he was without his suit, the Spartan stealthed his way down a few corridors, looking for clues about his situation. These halls, while strange and foreign, seemed familiar. The walls and floors were a faint, metallic purple. John hated the color purple, he just could not remember why. He spotted no doors of any kind though, or at least any that John could see. Nothing.

"Who was that guy?" John thought to himself. Or was it really a guy? John was so intent on sneaking out he had failed to take a solid look at the man in the hazmat suit.

Just as John was beginning to think he was completely lost, he struck gold. He found a window that peered into a room with military gear in it. It was not just any gear – his MJOLNIR was dangling, in pieces, on the wall.

A flash of anger and despair washed over him. John cursed that he would allow himself to be captured along with his armor.

It did not matter anymore. What mattered now is that John had to get in that room. He searched high and low for an opening or a vent, anything that might get him into that room. He pounded the glass once, to no avail.

"Damn," he said to himself, "there's got to be a way in."

Another seam opened in the wall. John smirked – he always was the lucky one. He crouched near the opening until someone stepped out. Only this was no ordinary someone.

The towering hulk that lumbered forward froze John for a second. A mass of blue armor plodded out of the door, just as John remembered why he hated the color purple. He snapped out of it in time to take advantage of this opening. He dashed behind the monster as he stepped out of the room. The Lekgolo did not see him sneak past. It did, however, smell the human.

The armored beast wheeled around just in time to miss John melting into a shadow nearby. He stood there surveying the room for what seemed like hours. Fortunately for John, it was meal time, and the Hunter did not wish to be left with slop.

When the coast was clear, John quickly darted to the MJOLNIR on the wall. Relieved that he was able to get back to his armor, his situation was still bleak. Normally it took a team of technicians to help get his armor on. John was alone. How could he get this on in time? John knew how to mount the armor on himself, after years of practice. It would take him hours, though.

"I might as well ask someone to help me," he chuckled.

He knew this was no laughing matter, but he had gotten out of worse scrapes. John hurriedly began to slip into his armor. He slipped on his leg plates, followed by his boots. It was taking too long. He sped things up, putting on his torso plates next. The armor felt odd, almost as if it did not fit properly. He was getting started on his left shoulder when his heart nearly stopped – he heard that same noise he had now heard twice before.

The door was opening.

John tried to run and hide, but it was too late. The Hunter had finished dinner, and so had his bond brother. They came back in time to see John sliding into a dark corner. One Hunter bellowed and punched the alarm. The other started at John, who deftly and barely dodged the Hunter's charging-spine attack. John slid under the door as it was closing behind him.

He had not dodged the attack. Pain coursed through his side and John left a streak of blood as he ambled down corridors, not nearly as fast as he could. He now had a major problem. The MJOLNIR he was wearing was weighing him down, and he was hurt. Because he only had half of the armor on without the power supply, it actually felt like a ton. John had to ditch the armor. He hurriedly removed the armor he had on and stashed it in the only corner he could find. He hoped he could return to fetch it. He also wished he had a can of biofoam or two.

John ran until he came to a large steel door. It bore a strange, blue symbol that somewhat resembled a familiar insignia – the UNSC emblem.

"What the hell?"

Unfortunately for John, the door was immovable, even with his extra strength. Fortunately for him, the door groaned and began to open. John hid next to the door until he saw who – or what – came out.

It was a Spartan. This Spartan had his armor. John normally could tell the Spartans apart, even in armor. He did not recognize this one. Still, John was relieved to see a familiar "face."

"Where are we, Spartan?"

No answer.

"I asked a question, soldier. Where the hell are we?!"

The Spartan's answer was like a whip crack on John's spine. The Spartan's communication system opened up and he heard a quite unfamiliar voice.

"You are in your final resting place, demon," boomed an evil voice.

In a flash, the Spartan, or the creature clad in Spartan armor, had John's neck in its gauntlets. He started to squeeze as John struggled to free himself. John's vision began to blur and go black. He was near the end. Master Chief struggled but the effort was futile. He started to think about his days back on the playground, his training, Captain Jacob Keyes…

"Drop him," ordered a deep voice.

The being relaxed his grip, its head cocked in a quizzical fashion.

"He is our only hope, now if you kill him, I will personally have you rendered in four and devoured by a horde of Unggoys. Drop him!"

The MJOLNIR-clad creature removed its helmet with one hand, revealing Unih V'ulamee, a Sangheili of the Mirratord special force.

He answered, "But, Arbiter, he has been a thorn in our side for nigh two eras, why must we persist in these games?"

"He is of great value, and the high oracle demands it," replied the Arbiter.

"Very well," said the V'ulamee, as he gently lowered John's prone body onto the cold floor, "but I cannot stand this much longer."