Without Name or Number

The mild winters that Felix remembered on Eridanus II were nowhere to be seen as he scanned the horizon. Atop a barren mesa overlooking a scarred and ashen wasteland, the wind felt strangely warm rolling over him, gently rustling the ragged grey poncho around his shoulders. By contrast, there was something almost familiar about the sun disappearing behind the Asphodel City skyline — or there would have been, if not for the blood-red sunlight reflecting off the long stretch of plasma-scorched landscape between them, or the fact that Asphodel City was a mere husk of its former self, its once-proud skyscrapers half-demolished and fused into its foundations. Though he had been here for less than three months, he could already recognize the distant telltale howl of a dust storm approaching from the wasteland.
The sound of boots crunching into the dry dirt was heard coming up the side of the mesa from behind. A dusky-skinned man draped in a similarly worn poncho came to a halt beside him, his face still youthful compared to Felix’s weathered features — Varun, his second-in-command. “All refugees squared away for the night, Commander. Samir’s locking down the facility in fourteen minutes.”
“You go ahead,” Felix told him absently. “I’ll head inside shortly.”
Varun complied, wordlessly trudging off toward the entrance of the abandoned bunker at the base of the mesa. Felix pulled up his hood, turning his head as the wind kicked up a steady sprinkle of dust. His gaze was redirected toward the clutch of ramshackle huts he had built with the refugees, cobbled out of whatever scrap they could haul in from the city ruins. New Asphodel, the locals called it, though given how recently they had settled here, perhaps that wasn’t the correct word for them. Now over five hundred strong, the refugees were not survivors of Eridanus II’s glassing — no, that particular demographic had flocked to Luxor, under the relatively cozy jurisdiction of the UEG — but offworlders looking for somewhere quiet to hide from The Created. They had numbered fewer than eighty when Felix and his team had found them, close enough to scavenge from Asphodel City but far enough to avoid being noticed by areas resettled by the UEG.
Fortunately, Felix had remembered the location of the ONI bunker he had operated out of during Project ORION, and with some excavating, Samir’s expertise, and the tools provided by The Dismantled, they had managed to bypass the access codes and reopen the facility. And an invaluable boon it had proven to be, as the refugees received not only a plethora of tech and resources beyond their wildest dreams, but a place where they could wait out the frequent dust storms that were prone to materializing out of Eridanus II’s still-volatile weather patterns.
Like the one coming this way now, Felix reminded himself, picking up the pace as he strode through the makeshift streets with practiced familiarity. He stopped to peer into the mismatched curtains of the crudely assembled homes, carefully checking them one by one; although he trusted Varun to be thorough in making sure no one was left outside, he always did an extra sweep in case the village drew in any strays seeking shelter from the storm. Especially since this place attracts raiders like flies to honey. Even with our numbers, they’d sooner try their luck with us than with the UNSC—
Felix’s fingers suddenly closed around the M6D holstered on his left hip, hood flying aside as he whirled about and raised the pistol to face level in the same movement. Standing in front of the barrel was a green-armoured Spartan, likewise aiming an identical pistol back at him. But it was the deep gravelly voice that really set Felix’s nerves on edge. “Stand down, SPARTAN-116.”
Heart palpitating, Felix drew a slow breath. He blinked twice in quick succession, having never met this Spartan but immediately knowing who he was. “I haven’t answered to that in a long time. I’m not about to start now.”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“You’re right, Master Chief. I don’t. But ONI isn’t in the business of giving us what we want, are they?”
No response came forth from the Master Chief. Silence fell over the empty village for a brief moment, broken only by the faint whine of the increasingly vigorous wind.
Sensing that he was not about to get a response, Felix decided to pick up the slack. “Well, if you’re not here to talk, then we can either start shooting now or you can let me return to my bunker before the storm reaches us. What’s it gonna be?”
“Neither,” said the Chief evenly.
The sound of a sniper rifle chambering its first round could be heard from over Felix’s shoulder. Peering up and to his right, he spotted a second Spartan perched upon the nearest rooftop, and he could tell that the sniper — Linda-058, he guessed — had intentionally made her presence known.
A second later, two more popped out from the doorway below and the neighbouring house opposite respectively, their weapons also trained on him. 
“You’re coming with us,” uttered the DMR-wielding male. That one had to be Frederic-104.
“You’re coming with us, sir,” Felix corrected sardonically, doing his utmost to keep them talking. “Seeing as we’re doing this by the book and all.”
“Permission to bag him?” asked the female Spartan flanking him, presumably Kelly-087.
“Negative,” the Chief replied. Addressing Felix again, he pressed, “ONI still needs you, Spartan. Humanity still needs you.”
“Those are two different things, Chief. Two conflicting things, a lot of the time.” Using his prosthetic hand, Felix gestured to the wasteland encompassing New Asphodel, a portrait of desperation set to a bleak and unforgiving backdrop. “You don’t have to tell me what humanity needs right now. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“Last chance,” warned the Chief, a steely edge slipping into his already gruff tone.
“I don’t want to fight you, Blue Team,” Felix sighed. “Nyarai used to tell me so many good things about you.”
A collective pause could be felt from Blue Team, with Kelly visibly drawing back a little in spite of herself. “Nyarai’s dead,” she recalled. “We lost her during augmentations.”
“No. ONI repurposed her, assigned her to me when Dr Halsey made me... this. It was Nyarai who anchored me, taught me how to be a proper Spartan. And she always had my back when I needed her. She was...” Felix swallowed the lump that threatened to rise in his throat, and took a moment to steady his voice. “...she was my family.”
“What happened to her?” demanded Fred, his brusqueness not quite able to mask the hint of emotion in his voice.
Felix’s mouth tightened, the image of the dying Nyarai as agonizingly clear in his mind as it had been all those years ago. “She gave her life on Alluvion,” he murmured sullenly. “We were sent to eliminate the Elite called The Destroyer. We failed.”
Once again, silence settled over the Spartans standing in the street. The Chief did not lower his weapon, however. “Were there others?”
Felix gave a weary nod in response, then lifted his gaze upward once again. “Stand down, VELOX.”
In barely a heartbeat, four armoured figures shimmered into visibility on the surrounding rooftops — Varun, Lian, Eldar, and Samir, having received Felix’s alert when he rapidly blinked twice earlier. Unlike Blue Team’s MJOLNIR armour, they were equipped with the sleek, laminar combat skins bestowed to them by The Dismantled, with energy weapons to match. Their guns remained lowered for the time being, however, as Fred, Kelly, and Linda turned about in surprise.
Felix cleared his throat. “VELOX Three. VELOX Four. Don’t be shy, we’re among friends.”
Lian and Eldar’s helmets retracted with a liquid-like fluidity, the nanofibres integrating seamlessly into their armour with a mere thought. Lian nodded warily in greeting. “Blue Team. It’s been a while.”
“Sorry for... you know,” Eldar added, a little bashfully. “For what it’s worth, ONI didn’t tell us they were gonna fake our deaths.”
Looking around, Felix could practically see the last layer of cold imperviousness drop away from Blue Team’s demeanour. Sensing that the tension had subsided for the time being, he said, “Can we put away the guns now, please? You want to talk, there’s plenty of room for all of us inside the ops facility. We have two minutes before it locks us out with nothing but the storm for company.”
Slowly, the Chief lowered his weapon, followed by the rest of Blue Team. Felix wordlessly jerked his head, and in response his Spartans nimbly leapt down into the dusty street, their combat skins receding to reveal their ponchos underneath. Linda was quick to join them, and even beneath her visor Felix could sense her watchful stare fixed upon him.
Both teams of Spartans made their way toward the bunker in mixed tandem, with the class 1s in particular eyeballing one another without a word. Felix walked astride with the Chief, tugging his hood free from the crook of his metallic elbow.
The stoic Spartan kept his gaze straight ahead as he spoke again. “I have my orders, Lieutenant Commander.”
“You’re also cut off from ONI right now until you have something to report,” surmised Felix, unfazed. “At least, you would be in order to minimize the risk of Cortana tracking you down. Am I right?”
“He’s getting on my nerves already,” muttered Kelly to Fred.
“Actually, he kinda reminds me of you,” Eldar chimed in from her other side.
She shot him a glare from beneath her helmet. “Choose your next words very carefully, Eldar. Back from the dead or not, you’re about to be stuck in a bunker with me for the next twelve hours.”
Samir snickered quietly, and likewise Felix found he couldn’t resist cracking a faint smile. This time he caught the Chief glancing his way, and remarked, “Thirty seconds in and already they’re bickering. You’re lucky to have them, Master Chief.”
“Yeah,” the legendary Spartan agreed. “Guess we both are.”