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Halo: Black War Part Two: The Prison Ship
Posted By: Raven<sonic_22@charter.net>
Date: 25 September 2004, 6:48 PM
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Author's Note: "Sorry. In part one of this series, the year I listed was way off. I hope you will enjoy the remaining parts of this series now that I have the correct dates..."
0351 Hours, January 23, 2556
on board human battle cruiser; October Flame
The Master Chief quickly ignited the frag-grenade he had grabbed just a moment before, and tossed it at the leader of the odd Elites. There was a flash of light, and a deafening "Bang!" as the grenade went off. Master Chief waited to see the Elite's dead body, but instead, it charged through the smoke and tackled the Spartan. Master Chief prepared to feel the super-hot energy blade sink into him, but instead, he was hoisted up on his feet, and let go of. The Elite stepped back, and de-activated its sword, as did the other eleven. Master Chief started walking slowly backwards, toward the shotgun that lay on top of an ammo crate. The Elite lunged at him, and belted Master Chief in the gut. "Now!" shouted the Elite, its voice raspy and low. The one that had been behind John grabbed him, and tore off his helmet. Master Chief blinked as the light reached his naked eyes. The leader of the group took his helmet, and threw it aside. The Elite turned back around, and punched MC so hard that he was knocked unconcious instantly. The Elite put him over its large shoulder, and walked out with the others.
0932 Hours, January 23, 2556
Unknown place
Spartan 117 awoke with a start as he was smacked with the butt of a plasma rifle. He was lying in a strange looking room. It was horribly bright, and the walls were a sickly looking purple and blue. He blinked tears out of his eyes and tried to adjust to the light. As his green eyes cleared, and his vision focused, he saw the same Elite that had knocked him out standing before him. "Up," it grunted, prodding MC with the tip of the Rifle. Master Chief stood up, and grabbed the Elite's wrist. He snapped it back and grabbed the Plasma Rifle from its immoble hand. The Elite roared in pain as it saw a long bone sticking out of its bent wrist. Master Chief pushed the Rifle into the Elite's gut and let off a burst of fire. The Elite didn't have its shields turned on, so the plasma melted through the mottled green skin,shredded its main organs, and fired straight through the door behind the Elite. Master Chief then kicked the dead Elite's body away, and went into the hallway beyond. "If only Cortana was still here," he thought, wondering where the heck he was. a passing Grunt became the Spartan's next victim, its face horribly disfigured from a full blast of plasma to the head. Master Chief was getting old. he had been in service for the UNSC for 27 years. He was an old model. The Spartan III project had shunted him aside. He was sent off to the October Flame, the oldest and slowest ship in the UNSC. It served as a freighter to ship off old and useless junk that the UNSC no longer had any need for to the planet Faldorr. Junk like Spartan 117. He was helmetless, his remaining armor scorched and rusty. Cortana had met a similar fate. She too had been pushed out of the way by new AI. She got deleted to make room for bigger and better things. Master Chief looked down the hall to his right, and saw a door. He opened it, and stepped into an odd room. It was circular, with a low ceiling, and no lights. Master Chief activated his dim flash light a and saw something move out of the corner of his eye. It was one of the black and gray Elites. It slammed its fist into a control panel on the wall, and the floor dropped out from under the Spartan. He fell with the floor, down into a big cargo hold looking room. The floor was somehow raised back up, leaving Master Chief in a huge room with hundreds of crates.
0943 Hours, January 23, 2556
on board Phantom class dropship, en route to surface of Faldorr.
Flakka the Brute stood inside the large holding area inside of the Phantom dropship. At least forty other Brutes stood by him, ready for the doors to open, and for the thrill of the hunt. Four Shadows hung from the bottom of the dropship. Flakka had always liked vehicles. They made him feel safe somehow. He cocked his Brute Shot gun, and bent his knees, ready to spring forward. The small moniter on the doors showed their position compared to Faldorr. They were almost halfway through the atomosphere. The doors would burst open, and Flakka would leap into the morning air, and fall at least twenty feet, due to a lack of hovering boosters on the dropships. He suddenly felt excited. Bloodrage was upon him. The humans had slaughtered his family back on his icy homeworld. They had came in the middle of the night and blasted his village and home to rubble. He would avenge their deaths this day.
Master Chief continued firing at the ceiling. He had the feeling now that he was in some sort of ship. If he broke through the walls, he would be frozen and suffocated before he could even say "oops," so he was aiming at the ceiling The Plasma fire finally scorched its way into the the room above. Another of the Elites peered through the hole. Master Chief mutilated its head with a short flash of plasma fire. The Elite yelled in agony and pulled its face out of view. A small "thud," sounded above Chief, and purple-black blood dripped down through the hole. He sat down, and leaned back against one of the many crates that littered the dark room. Master Chief inspected one of them. Words were etched into the surface. They spelled:
Day two, I have been on this prison-ship for two days now. It is owned by a small band of Elites that I have come to know as, The Shadowhunter clan. They are Ruthless,
and will soon kill me. I can see the hate in their eyes every time one of them comes down here to give me food. They speak of a planet called Faldorr, and a grand invasion. They say that as long as they live, the universe will fall under the might of the covenant. They do not know however, that I have a plasma grenade hidden under a loose crate in the back of this room. I could take all of our lives this very day. As each of these crates is filled with highly explosive fuel. I...
The rest of the words were covered in dry blood.
Master Chief's heart hammered. He peered into the darkness. Thinking about what the writing had said.
"So this is a prison-ship." He thought to himself. "They will soon kill me..." the words burned into the Spartan's mind. They had to be stopped. Master Chief ran to the back of the room, flashlight activated, and tried to lift all of the crates. They were bolted to the floor. All but one. As he tried to lift it, the bolts shot across the room. The glint of a small plasma grenade caught John's eye. He picked it up. He knew what he had to do. He walked over to the middle of the room, and slipped the plasma grenade into his belt. He knew that he had to ignite it, but he couldn't. He didn't know why, he just couldn't.
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