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Joshua Solomon bit his lower lip nervously as he, along with a small group of other Marines, were ushered hurriedly into the cramped escape pods. The ever-tough Sargent Avery Johnson barked orders to the men and women boarding the twelve-man lifeboat, urging them to get on faster and strap themselves into the acceleration chairs. The Covenant had infiltrated the Pillar of Autumn, and Captain Keyes had initiated Cole Protocol, Article Two. The Protocol was basically an abandon ship order and a last resort to protect the ship\'s AI, Cortana, from falling into the hands of the Covenant scum.

A whole horde of emotions twisted through Solomon\'s mind, ranging from extreme fear that had him on the verge of panic, to terrible loss and sadness that made him want to huddle into a corner and sob. The doomed battleship was the only survivor of the battle of Reach. He had watched helplessly from the Autumn\'s bridge, as his home for the past five or so years was glassed out of existence by the alien race. Fresh out of boot and assigned directly to the Pillar of Autumn (well-trained medics such as he were in high demand), Solomon had never seen anything like it. Reach was the human\'s top defense and military base, protected by huge MAC guns. Yet the Covenant had ripped through those defenses like a knife through butter.

Solomon hastily buckled the safety harness of the escape pod and briefly closed his eyes as the lifeboat\'s door closed. Victory seemed virtually impossible. How could they win the war now that Reach was gone? How many people had died on the planet? Worst of all was seeing the Master Chief as Captain Keyes told him of how they lost communication with all of the other Spartans fighting on Reach\'s surface. Though the Chief had admirably showed no emotion on the outside, the slight slump of his armored shoulders made it obvious that inside the Spartan was devastated over the loss of his brothers and sisters.

Solomon felt loss of his own as he remembered Reach. Not only was it the military\'s top base, but a beautiful planet in its own right, with its fresh air and tall mountains. The air was natural and cleansing, unlike the recycled crap he now breathed in space. He remembered his training on the grassy land as a medic, the many imposing military bases, heavily guarded science labs where they created AIs along with battleships, and how determined he was to be a good soldier. Reach reminded him so much of Earth, and seeing it destroyed was like watching his happy, privileged childhood go up in smoke.

He opened his eyes as the pod jerked away from the Autumn with an explosion, and began its rapid, unsteady decent to the unknown ring world below. The rockets below the pod attempted to stabilize the craft, and though they managed to smooth the lifeboat\'s decent, Solomon had a feeling they wouldn\'t make much difference in the landing. He didn\'t want to think of what would be down on the mysterious ring, otherwise known as Halo. All he knew was that he needed to recall every ounce of training he learned.

Solomon had no choice but to lock all non-medical memories of Reach away. All that dwelling on the planet\'s downfall accomplished was hurt him and hinder his abilities. This was the time to prove to himself and his parents that he could be a valuable part of the UNSC. Both of them stated that he was "too soft" to be anywhere near the military, but he was dead set in proving them wrong. No way was he staying on Earth while there was a galactic war to be fought.

"Hang tight Marines," Sargent Johnson shouted in his harsh, rugged voice. "Pilot says we\'re almost there." After a moment of mental preparation, Solomon knew he was ready for the challenges ahead. His fingers tightened around the edge of his acceleration chair, as his stomach seemed to do gymnastics inside of him due to zero gravity. Once they entered the ring\'s atmosphere, the lifeboat\'s landing was bumpy and uneven, vibrating the entire vessel. Solomon was thrown against the safety harness along with the other Marines, and Sargent Johnson was forced to grip the wall until the escape pod ground to a stop.

"Sorry about that," The lifeboat jockey called from the front. "Take off was too rough for a smooth landing." Solomon watched as Johnson shot a dirty look towards the front, his dark eyes narrowing briefly before he stood up again.

"Alright, all of you, we need to get away from the ship. Those bastards will be drawn to this hunk of junk like flies. Make sure you have enough ammo incase a gas-sucker or a split-lip decides to show up. We keep moving until we get a radio from someone. I\'ll call for evac. Be careful; we don\'t know what the hell is on this thing."

"Hoorah!" Every Marine shouted. The escape pod was filled with brief clicking as the troops unbuckled their safety harnesses and hopped out of the vessel. Solomon was last, knowing he\'d have to stay behind the lines incase a fight started while the Marines were putting as much distance between themselves and the pod as possible. His stomach continued to churn while he jumped out and felt his boots sink into thick, spongy grass. The lifeboat had crash-landed in the middle of a rolling valley. The tops of a sparse line of trees had been broken off where the lifeboat had come down, and on the ground, a relatively deep trench trailed behind the vessel where she had skidded to a stop. Two other escape pods had landed in the same area, and the Marines aboard rushed out of their yawning doors to join the others, followed by the pilots, their pistols drawn to their chests, eyes scanning the surrounding area for any trace of an enemy.

However that went unnoticed, as a very space sick Solomon leaned forward and vomited. His stomach settled after that, but didn\'t save the young medic from feeling a rush of shame as he stood up strait, and walked briskly away from the scene of the crime. He didn\'t need the other Marines or Sargent Johnson thinking he was weak. He silently cursed himself for eating breakfast before departure.

"You okay, Soldier?" a familiar gruff voice asked. Solomon turned to find the Sargent behind him, his signature cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. Solomon snapped a salute and stood strait, his cheeks reddening in humiliation. Why did Sargent Johnson of all people have to see him lose his food in the middle of a crisis?

"Sir, yes sir!" Johnson took a drag of his cigar, studying Solomon with his piercing gaze, arms folded across his chest.

"Zero gravity takes some getting used to."

"Yes, sir!" Sargent Johnson was truly intimidating, especially up close. Dark-skinned, and unsmiling, he had an air about him that was no-nonsense, yet anyone who had been on the field with him knew he had a satirical sense of humor and was never shy in showing it.

"You\'re the medic right?"

"Yes, sir," Solomon answered, unsure where this was going.

"What\'s you\'re name, Marine?"

"Sir, Joshua Solomon."

"Alright, Solomon, get your supplies ready, I can tell we\'re going to be in a fight soon." Without another word Johnson shouldered his Assault Rifle and trotted towards a group of Marines at the far end of the crash zone. Solomon watched them disappear over a rise in a hill, and began to follow, taking his only weapon from its holster.

He looked at the pistol in his slightly trembling hand. The gun was a standard Navy issue that fired 12.7mm semi-armor piercing high-explosive ammo from twelve round clips. It wasn\'t meant to combat the larger species of the Covenant, like the Elites, but for Grunts it was sufficient incase he needed to defend himself. Solomon prayed that the pistol would remain holstered. He lacked any real combat experience, and despite seeing hordes of the small, red-eyed Grunts onboard the Pillar of Autumn, he was only able to catch glimpses of their armored generals, also known as Elites.

He never would admit it, but the aliens terrified him to the point he often had nightmares; Grunts, monkey-like with dark gray skin, and razor blade teeth beneath their gasmasks. Jackals, reminding him of a mix between a prehistoric raptor, and a vulture. Their beady eyes seemed to have X-ray vision, serving as the Covenant\'s sniper team.

Just thinking about them sent his spine shivering. Solomon stared at his distorted, barely visible reflection on the gun. His Turkish decent showed in his tan skin and thick, curly black hair. The only thing he inherited from his mother was his bright-blue eyes. He felt like such a coward, having nightmares about the aliens. Solomon was positive that the other Marines weren\'t so affected by them, as it wasn\'t uncommon to hear the others taunt the creatures, or harass their corpses. Solomon was afraid to even get close to a dead Covenant soldier, let alone fight one that was alive. However, he had to be brave and strong to be a good soldier.

"Solomon, hurry up!" A Marine shouted over her shoulder, as she followed Johnson over the hill. Solomon snapped out of his thoughts, and sprinted after the squad. He knew he had to be quick and at the top of his game for the wounded he was sure to have.

It seemed like hours as they traveled over one hill after another. Solomon had been trained to run for incredibly long distances, but his legs felt as if they were jelly and his muscles screamed in agony. The thick grass of the valley had melted away leaving the ground beneath their boots rocky. Large slabs of stone jutted out from the gravel, and the Marines silently weaved around them. They had come to a line of trees atop a large, U-shaped hill. He groaned inwardly at the thought of climbing another hill, but forced himself to continue, knowing that stopping here meant suicide.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, an oddly shaped vessel appeared over the horizon. He felt his heart speed up even more, and his adrenaline surge as the ship drew closer. He heard Johnson curse bitterly, before his mind started buzzing into near panic. The very monsters that haunted his nightmares were coming. The medic began to organize his training, staying to the back of the group. He felt his palms sweat and his mouth go dry. Solomon was tempted to run at this point, but knew he\'d be no better off alone in an unfamiliar world, and that he had a duty to heal the injured.

"Take cover, now!" The Sargent hollered. The Marines didn\'t need to be told twice, as they dove behind the large boulders of the valley. The Covenant dropship dipped forward slightly, the light shimmering on its lavender finish. The bulky mandibles of the vehicle\'s fuselage opened, and a group of Grunts and Jackals, followed by a few Elites landed in the valley. The Marines wasted no time in firing their automatic weapons, taking down a few Grunts. The Covenant soldiers returned the favor, the air whistling as the aliens fired their plasma weapons.

Solomon stayed low to the ground as the first Marine fell. He had taken a plasma bolt to the shoulder and lay screaming on the gravel. On his elbows and knees, Solomon crawled towards the wounded man. The air was full of weapon fire, the shouting of the Marines, as well as the barking and gibbering of the Grunts and Jackals, while the Elites bellowed orders in their deep, harsh tongue. Solomon finally got to the man, and pulled him by his combat harness further behind a nearby boulder.

The Marine\'s face was pale, and blood seeped from his shoulder socket, staining the rocks beneath him a deep crimson. Solomon tore away what remained of the Marine\'s uniform sleeve so the entire wound was exposed. Solomon cringed, while the man moaned in pain, as the charred remains of flesh stuck to the fabric. The man\'s remaining muscle tissue and skin had burned away from the remnants of the plasma bolt, showing black, carbonized bone peeking out of the ghastly wound. It left his arm hanging by a few tendons and the skin on the back of his arm.

There wasn\'t much Solomon could do on the field, other than clean the wound with the water from his canteen. He didn\'t want to risk mixing alcohol with the plasma residue. After all the dirt oozed away from the remaining muscle and bone, he proceeded to fill the wound with biofoam to stop the bleeding, then dress it accordingly with gauze bandages. He then injected the man with morphine to stop the pain, his 

hands trembling the entire time he worked, sticky with blood and grime. Solomon steadied himself as he measured the amount, found the vein in the Marine\'s good arm, and stuck the needle in.

"Y-you\'ll b-be okay, soldier!" Solomon stuttered, his heart still pounding, sweat and dirt drenching his brow. The Marine merely stared at him through blank eyes, his face as white as paper.

It went like that for hours, a few Marines falling, putting Solomon under back-breaking stress, as he was forced to shift priorities. Those that needed immediate care were treated first, as the medic crawled from one patient to the next, administering morphine and biofoam. It was nearly all he could do, as the group of aliens started to charge, hoping to overtake the humans, only to be warded off again by the rain of bullets. Thick blue and purple blood rested in the valley crevices like puddles, as Grunts and Jackals fell. Sargent Johnson emptied a clip into an oncoming Grunt, disintegrating the small creature\'s head in bright-blue splatters.

"Take that you freaky son-of-a-bitch!" He declared. One of the snipers managed to hit a Jackal dead between the eyes. She gave a loud, "Hoorah!" as the alien\'s brain exploded out of the back of its narrow, beak-like head. Its lanky, light-brown body crumpled and rolled down the steep hill like a limp bag of bones. However, these small victories wouldn\'t be enough, as more Marines were falling than were Covenant.

One Marine caught three Needler spikes in the stomach. She shrieked as pink crystal-like needles penetrated her armor and sank into her skin. Before she even fell, Solomon was already on his way to her, knowing what was coming next, and hopefully wanting to be able to pull them out before the real damage happened.

He knew the effects of every human and Covenant weapon on the body, and watched helplessly as the needles exploded. The woman\'s intestines were ripped from her body in a pink haze, and she was thrown backwards, arms and legs sprawled. He felt for her pulse once he reached her, and found nothing. His stomach sank and tears welled-up as he gently closed her eyes, and removed her blood-stained dog tags. "Clair Meyers, Tag # M72," they read. She wasn\'t a nameless or faceless patient. She was Clair Meyers, and only a few moments ago she had been alive. His officer had warned him that he\'d lose many soldiers on the field, but they failed to mention how horrible it felt.

Solomon was doing the best he could, but there was only one of him, and five wounded. The stress was getting to him, and his adrenaline rush was beginning to fade, leaving him with simply exhaustion and terror. Sargent Johnson had already called for evac ten minutes ago, for the third time since they crash-landed, but all Pelicans were busy. It seemed as if they were doomed, as Solomon was running low on supplies, and only a small group of Marines were left standing. The young medic felt as if he were going to faint under all the pressure, crawling from one wounded Marine to the other, as plasma and bullets flew around him.

If he were to get hit, then victory would be impossible, not that it already wasn\'t, but he had to keep the injured hydrated while also tending to their wounds and reassuring them. He let each one take a sip of his canteen, before he hurried over to the next.

"You\'re going to be alright," He murmured. "Help is on the way. It looks worse than it is, really."

"Sarge, there\'s no way we can win this!" Private Bisenti cried.

"Damn it boy, don\'t you think I know that!" Johnson yelled back. The aliens attempted a charge again, Solomon watched as a Grunt and a Jackal halted by the dead woman, and began to squabble in their barking, gibberish language. It might have looked comical if the situation hadn\'t been so grim. It took a moment for him to realize what the two seemed to be arguing about, until the Jackal lifted the dead Marine\'s arm, and began to chew on it. Its serrated teeth sunk into her flesh, seeming to taste the meat, before it dropped the arm. The Jackal spoke again to the Grunt, in what sounded to Solomon like gobbling, and then to his horror, the aliens began to drag to corpse away.

"H-hey!" Solomon yelled, withdrawing his pistol and holding it up. The Jackal and the Grunt stopped to stare at him, and he instantly regretted saying anything. The Grunt withdrew a plasma pistol, and Solomon froze, unable to speak or breathe. Suddenly, distant shots were heard, and a trio of Grunts fell dead in a pool of blue blood. This caught the Covenant soldiers off-guard and each one looked around frantically for the source of the shots. Then a blue-armored Elite was mowed down by a torrent of bullets. The Grunt and the Jackal gave a few yelps of fear, then retreated, leaving the body behind. He felt his heart slow, but his pistol was still raised in a quivering hand.

Solomon watched as this gave the Marines the chance they needed to turn the battle around. Automatic weapons rattled, and many of the aliens fell, their corpses rolling down the hill. Solomon felt a rush of hope as the Master Chief appeared, making his way down the hill, and stopping before a dead Grunt to take possession of the fallen creature\'s plasma grenades. Private Bisenti was the first to greet the Spartan, snapping a salute. Johnson was soon to follow after Bisenti called for him. Solomon edged closer to the scene, but continued to give water to the wounded.

"We called for evac, but until you showed up, I thought we were done for," Solomon overheard Johnson say.

"Don\'t worry," A cool female voice coming from the Spartan\'s armor reassured. Solomon figured that must be Cortana. He remembered the Chief had taken her from the Pillar of Autumn, when Protocol was initiated. "We\'ll stay here till evac arrives. I\'ve been in touch with AI Wellsley. The Helljumpers are in the process of taking over some Covenant real estate- and one of the Pelicans has been dispatched to pick you up."

"Glad to hear it," Johnson replied. "Some of my people need medical attention."

"Here comes another Covenant dropship," The Private announced. "Time to roll out the welcome mat!"

"Okay, Bisenti," Johnson barked, "Re-form the squad. Let\'s get to work." Solomon\'s blue eyes widened in horror at those words. He thought that they were done with fighting. The Master Chief turned to the sky and Solomon\'s gaze followed. Sure enough there was yet another Covenant vessel inbound. When the dropship arrived, she hovered for a moment, before the mandible fuselage opened, and a group of Grunts followed by and Elite dropped to the ground.

Solomon had enough; he focused on the injured Marine in front of him as the battle began. He heard the barking of automatic weapons, as he continued to work. He comforted himself in the fact that the Spartan was there to help with the fight, and that he wouldn\'t be much use anyway.

"Contact! Enemy dropship sighted! They\'re trying to flank us!" He heard a Marine shout. Solomon regrettably looked up in time to see the dropship in question release more aliens onto the field, including three Jackals, sporting their glowing energy shields. As the Marines attempted to fire upon them, it did no good, as the bullets merely bounced off the shields. Fortunately, this gave the Master Chief the perfect distraction as he flanked the birdlike aliens, and took them out from the side. A loud roar of surprise came from an Elite, as the Master Chief threw a plasma grenade in his direction.

The grenade attached to the center of the alien\'s blue helmet, causing him to panic and attempt to claw it off. A moment later, a loud explosion seemed to quake the ground. The plasma grenade filled the air with blue light, and Solomon peaked around the boulder he\'d taken shelter behind, to see the Chief hunting down the remainder of the Covenant reaction force.

A few moment\'s later he heard a distant rumble as a Pelican arrived. It circled the area once, then hovered above a crest of a nearby hill. A M12 LRV Warthog was hung near the end of the Pelican. The lightweight vehicle wavered slightly in the breeze, and was released from its catch. It bounced once on its heavy suspension, slid five meters down the hill on its large tread-tires, and was still. The Master Chief headed for the Warthog, while Solomon and the rest of the Marines went to the Pelican, helping the wounded that couldn\'t make it there themselves.

Once the last Marine boarded the vessel, the Pelican took off, and Solomon recognized the pilot as none other than Carol Rawley, or as she was better known by her call sign, "Foehammer." Though he hadn\'t met her in person, he had heard of her excellent piloting skills, and instantly felt relief that they were relatively safe for the time being. Despite the stroke of luck that Foehammer was in the pilot\'s chair, Solomon was too busy briefing Sargent Johnson to relax.

"How many did we lose, Solomon?" The Sargent asked.

"Just Meyers," He sighed, handing Johnson her dog tags. Solomon\'s eyes narrowed at the loss.

"Ah, she was a good soldier," Johnson murmured, his hand tightening around the thin, metal chain. "It\'s a shame. How are the others?"

"We have five wounded all together. Anderson has a minor laceration on her arm, and we have four others who are in critical condition. Holden, Amou, Benzing, and Porter all need immediate medical care."

"Brief me on their conditions," Johnson ordered. Solomon bit his lower lip thinking of them, and gave a curt nod. He had to be professional.

"Yes sir," He began. "Holden took a plasma bolt to the shoulder. I managed to stop the bleeding, but I\'m not sure the arm can be saved. The bone is completely black, and plasma wounds can be tricky to heal. Amou has serious laceration on his thigh, cut right through the muscle; he\'ll need stitches and possibly surgery, and while I was with another patient a Grunt got to him."

"I gave him the finger," A weak voice called out. The Marines gave a grim chuckle. "And the bastard bit it clean off!" Even the badly shaken Solomon managed a weak grin before continuing with his report,

"Benzing caught a Needler spike in the stomach, and his insides are basically meat. He\'s got a chance though, if we can get him to surgery. If not, he\'s got about two hours until the natural blood flow carries the fragments of the needle into his heart and cause massive internal bleeding. Porter got hit in the stomach with plasma, and it burned right through her. It\'s amazing she\'s still alive. I filled her with biofoam and wrapped her up, but I doubt she could be a soldier again if she even makes it to where we\'re going." Johnson gave a sigh, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Poor bastards. Sorry sons-of-a-bitches never got to finish the good fight," He paused then stared at the medic for a moment. "You did good, Solomon."

"I\'m sorry about Meyers, sir," Solomon murmured sadly.

"Marines die. Shit happens. End of story," Johnson growled dejectedly. "As long as you did your best, and she died for a purpose, it\'s okay." Though Sargent Johnson was tough, and often seemed heartless, he cared deeply for his Marines, and Solomon knew Meyers\'s death hurt him.

"Thank you sir."

"Dismissed."

Solomon gave a final salute, as he turned to sit. It had been a rough battle, and he was totally drained. He had to hand it to the Master Chief, he had great timing. He still shook with anxiety however, and he was sure to have nightmares, but for now he was safe and could doze.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tsukasa \'Tilamee strode down the halls of the Truth and Reconciliation, his yellow eyes narrow and infuriated. The human vermin had set foot on the holy relic, and was contaminating it with their very presence. That incompetent Shipmaster had let them flee from the battle of their precious planet, and now they were running loose on Halo like nasty little insects. He had to inform the Command Council of this Shipmaster\'s devastating error, and offer his skills to make it right.

Everyone in the halls of the ship parted as Tsukasa \'Tilamee moved through. He was indeed intimidating, reaching almost nine feet tall when he stood up strait. Though it was uncommon for Elites to be over eight feet tall, his position called for specimens of his race to be at the peak of height and strength. He had always been the biggest, even at birth. A large scar, lighter than the rest of his dark-grey hide, ran jagged from the joints between his mandibles to the base of his thickly muscled, elongated neck. He wore the spotless, black armor of a Special Ops. Commando.

He was a veteran of war, respected for the battles he had won and bled for. It wasn\'t arrogance that made him so formidable, it was the sheer attitude that could only be described as a mix between the words brutal, and just plain mean. He took lip from no creature, whether it came from the top of the Covenant hierarchy Elite or a lowly Grunt. The Prophets were the only ones he obeyed. Those that were busy making repairs on the ship glanced over their shoulders at the officer before getting back to work. \'Tilamee took no notice, his mind mulling over the problem at hand.

He never underestimated his enemies, a mistake many of his kind made with the humans. Though in the air they were no match for the Covenant; on the ground humans were resourceful and strategic. They had already captured a valuable base, and he begrudgingly admitted to himself that they had taken many victories. He had a feeling that if this infestation was allowed to continue, Halo would fall. The huge Elite reported directly to the Council, and now this news was big enough to be told to the three Holy Prophets themselves. \'Tilamee stepped onto the gravity lift that led to the command deck.

"Identification," One of the six black-clad Elites demanded, extending his hand as soon as \'Tilamee exited the lift. \'Tilamee withdrew his identity disk, and handed it to the officer, who in turn inserted it into a handheld reader. \'Tilamee admired the Elites, for though he was about a head taller than any of them and knew he was intimidating to most, they showed no sign of discomfort or nervousness as they studied the data his disk held. "Place your hand in the slot," He stated, gesturing to a second machine.

The machine in question was a large rectangular, black box. The slot on the side of it reflected the green light from inside the machine. \'Tilamee did as he was told and placed his hand inside, though these new security measures were rather annoying, he knew they were necessary to protect the Prophets and Council. Politics were a bit sore in the Covenant, and a few assassinations had taken place. He felt a stab of pain as the machine took a sample of his tissue for the computer to analyze and check if his DNA matched that of the disk on file.

"Confirmed," Another Elite stated. "You are indeed Tsukasa \'Tilamee, scheduled to meet the Council of Masters in twenty units. Please hand all personal weapons to me, and take a seat in the waiting room." \'Tilamee gave a nod and relinquished his weapons, including two plasma pistols, three Needler guns, one Carbine, and a string of plasma grenades he kept slung across his back. He always kept a good arsenal, for as he learned the hard way in battle; it never hurt to have a shit load of guns in a place where it seemed unnecessary, than to not have those guns and that unnecessary place get attacked.

Rather than a first come, first served, rank and importance were key in getting inside the Council. It wasn\'t exactly his favorite means of customer service, but he had to admit it came in handy at times like these. Thanks to his rank as head Commando, he only had to wait for a moment before he was called into the Council chambers. Inside was a podium that was stationed in the middle of a huge crescent shaped table.

In the middle of the table sat a minor Prophet, hovering a few meters off the surface. This was due to the antigravity belt all Prophets wore beneath the many layers of their ruby and gold robes. \'Tilamee assumed it was to remind everyone who and what he was, or an attempt to make himself appear supernatural in a way. The Prophet watched the Elite take a stand behind the podium through his bulgy, obsidian black eyes. The Prophets were thin and physically frail, but what they lacked for in strength, they made up for in wisdom.

On the Prophet\'s shoulders was a complicated headdress, spangled with rubies and gems and wired for communication. The wires that wove through the headdress spun together to hold a microphone before the Prophets thin mouth. Though \'Tilamee had great respect for the Prophets, he couldn\'t help but wonder how his thin shoulders held up such a large decoration. An Elite assistant stood next to the Prophet, and \'Tilamee felt a surge of dislike flow through him.

An aristocrat named Soha \'Rolamee looked at him with more of the same. The Prophet\'s assistant outranked him, and he forced himself to keep his mouth shut. He never had liked \'Rolamee, and waited for the day he\'d be beheaded for a stupid mistake that neither he nor any of his Commandos would make. The Prophet however, seemed to always have a liking for him, and gave a quick statement.

"Tsukasa \'Tilamee has come before the Council with grave news. Humans have set foot on our holy ring. He wishes to contact the High Prophets of Truth, Mercy, and Regret and tell them of the Covenant ground troops\' attempts to exterminate all humans, and ask that the Shipmaster in charge of the battle on the humans\' planet that they referred to as "Reach" be punished for his mistake. Is this true \'Tilamee?"

"Yes, Excellency," "Tilamee lowered his eyes as a sign of respect.

"The Council has already conferred your request to speak to the High Prophets, and have contacted them for this particular meeting. They shall offer their presence in a few moments." As soon as these words were uttered, the holograph pads at the base of the table came to life, and three transparent images appeared. The High Prophets of Truth, Mercy, and Regret looked down on him from their decorative floating thrones, thick robes cascading around their wiry frames.

"Excellencies," \'Tilamee greeted humbly. "I have grave news for you."

"We are aware of the humans\' presence on Halo," Truth\'s white hologram stated. "How are the ground troops disposing of the filth?" \'Tilamee flinched inwardly. The humans were severely underestimated. That was the mistake of most Generals, and it had cost them.

"Humans prove to be resourceful on the ground, as well as tactful. A group of them took over a Covenant base, and our casualties are high."

"Maybe you should have sent in your precious Commandos, or are they too incompetent to handle apes with guns?" \'Rolamee sneered.

"Hold your tongue, you spoiled little worm!" \'Tilamee snarled. "I don\'t see you dying for the cause!" Nobody insulted his Elites. They were his family, and he\'d do anything and everything for them, even die for them if it were called for. Though Commandos were often dispatched far apart and were busy commanding their own units, they were a tight group. \'Tilamee handpicked and trained every one of them; he poured his blood, sweat and energy into their success in the Covenant, and not even a privileged aristocrat deserved to doubt or insult them.

"Do you know who I am?" \'Rolamee questioned, standing to his full height.

"A sniveling coward hiding behind five layers of overshield!"

"Enough!" The minor Prophet shouted angrily. "\'Rolamee, quiet yourself! \'Tilamee, if you speak with such disrespect to a higher officer again you will be severely punished!"

"I apologize, Excellency," \'Tilamee murmured, though shot a dark look in \'Rolamee\'s direction.

"As do I," \'Rolamee said, mimicking \'Tilamee\'s glare.

"Never mind," Regret\'s image waved a hand as if to brush the matter away. "You say that they\'ve been victorious as of late?"

"That is correct, Excellency," \'Tilamee agreed.

"That\'s impossible!" Mercy\'s hologram cried, slamming his three-fingered fist onto the armrest of his throne. "They\'ve defeated our Generals?"

"I am devastated to say yes, Excellency. Many Generals underestimate the humans and so they get cocky. That arrogance cost us a valuable base. I request we send an Ossoona, to collect more information on the humans, their weapons, and their home planet."

"Noted," The Prophet of Regret said, his image rippling slightly. "An Ossoona has already been dispatched with a three part mission. Capture a human construct, or as they refer to them "AI," observe the humans themselves, and then capture a senior of their military."

"Who in particular, if I may be so humble to ask, Excellency?" \'Tilamee kept his eyes lowered, showing deep respect.

"One who possesses the title of Shipmaster," Truth\'s image answered. "They call him, "Keezz." Once he has been captured, will you accept the duty of protecting this ship? He is an important member of the human race, and they will want him back."

"What will he be used for, Excellencies?"

"If humans are as strong as you say, we need leverage. Also it would give us the chance to get valuable information from him. Do you accept? Failure to this assignment would be grounds for severe punishment," Truth explained, his large eyes blinking slowly.

"I accept, Excellency," \'Tilamee answered without hesitation. He\'d do everything in his power to make sure that the humans were destroyed.

"Very good, \'Tilamee," Mercy\'s hologram said. "You have proved your loyalty to the Covenant many times over, and we trust that you will not fail."

"Excellencies, there is one more issue, I\'d like to address." Truth had already read his mind, and replied,

"We understand and appreciate that you are upset, but the Shipmaster has been given a chance to correct his error and cleanse this ring. We now must depart, you may take you\'re leave \'Tilamee." With that, the High Prophets\' images vanished, and \'Tilamee backed away from the podium.

Failure meant punishment, if not death. He imagined \'Rolamee\'s face twisted with pleasure if we were to fail. He told himself that \'Rolamee would never feel that pleasure, because there was no way he\'d fail, but in his mind there was that twinge of self doubt. Why had the Holy Prophets chosen him? Any one of his lower Commandos like \'Zamamee could easily take on this mission. He was built for tougher assignments than this, so why was he chosen to babysit a human? He shook away these thoughts. There was no way that he, Tsukasa \'Tilamee, would fail.

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