Halo: Lost and Alone

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==Story Summary==
==Dramatis Personae==
*Protagonists: Team Boson
**SPARTAN-III: P03 Merlin-D032
**SPARTAN-III: P03 Andra-D054
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**Avalokiteśvara 
**Althea 
*Cameos
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**SPARTAN-IV: Spartan Eric Dubois
*
**LCDR Derek Frendsen
**SPARTAN-IV: LCDR Ryder Kedar
**SPARTAN-III: LT Joshua-G024 
**SPARTAN-III: LT Amy-G024 
*Team Hadron
**SPARTAN-III: PO1 Justin-D009
**SPARTAN-III: PO3 Ray-D038
**SPARTAN-III: PO3 Olivia-D124 
**SPARTAN-III: CPO Oliver-D227
**SPARTAN-III: PO3 Rachel-D329 
=Halo: Lost and Alone=
__TOC__
===Chapter One: The Calm===
:Merlin-D032
:0612 Hours, 28 October 2558
:ONI Prowler Black Caviar
:Wealthian Territory, Joint-Occupation Zone
Merlin-D032 slowly tilted his neck to examine the blackness of space for objects of interest: stars, rocks, or anything along those lines. The small window slits of his combat insertion pod complicated the dully-inspired activity. Unsatisfied with the micro-asteroids and endless darkness, he laid his helmeted head against his shock-absorption chair and stared at the ceiling.
The Spartan grumbled to himself out of boredom, the innumerable sequel to many more grumbles in the minutes past. He experimentally lifted his left boot heel into the air and planted it back down with a solid, metallic clank against the floor of his pod. The hollow noise reverberated through the titanium, disappearing into an unseen distance before zooming back into Merlin's ears through his suit's audio suite.
He smirked at that, satisfied with the rebounding echo. He bounced his knee rapidly – repeating the low-effort exercise. His thigh muscle became a hammer, pounding away at the ground to some antiquated tune he heard on the radio somewhere in the rural American Midwest.
He considered what others outside were hearing, maybe it sounded like a furious woodpecker pounding into a tree. Or maybe, it sounded like meteoroids bouncing harmlessly off the side of their starship. Maybe it sounded like a man beating a starship bulkhead with a hammer. The silence of contemplation lasted a third way through Merlin's antiquated beat, one he did not know the name of, before a sweet-sounding female voice spoke in his ear, stealing his full attention.
"Merlin?" The girl's voice asked.
"Yeah?"
"You hear that sound?"
Merlin paused in his foot-stomping as a certain heat rose to his ears and cheeks. He smiled wistfully at the ceiling, imagining the female Spartan's blue eyes looking back at him in mild amusement.
"Yeah. I do."
"That's you right? Making that noise?"
"Yep…"
A silent second passed between the two Spartans.
Two loud drum-like thumps crackled from somewhere outside Merlin's insertion pod; it was hard to identify the distance, but he knew it was right next door. To his ears, it sounded like someone hitting a giant Chinese gong with a mallet in rapid succession.
"Was that you?" Merlin asked across the radio to his friend.
She responded with a simple "Ow."
"Really? That hurt you?"
"Nope," she started, "Just a little surprised by how much you can feel through armor."
"Doing what?" Merlin's face contorted in concerned interest.
"Punching titanium."
"Well," he blinked to himself before quirking one side of his lips into a half-grin. "That's an interesting thing to do."
There was a small laugh on the radio's other end, a cute one, that transformed Merlin's half-grin into a toothy smile as he joined in, chuckling in their united sense of humor. He felt his lungs give a few tugs as under-used muscles vibrated in a giddy motion as if pleased to have a purpose again.
"Alright, composure please." A soft-voiced ONI mission handler, Lieutenant Commander Vilda Stenbeck, cut through the cheerful noise.
The Spartans' laughter cooled as their superior officer finally got down to something of substance and value. "Spartans. Let's quickly summarize the mission brief one last time, so we're clear on everything. What's the mission?"
The female Spartan, Andra-D054, spoke up. "The mission is Operation: RUNIT DOME. Our target is a deep-space facility believed to be operated by elements of the Wealthian Coalition insurgent group."
"They're a self-sufficient state. They're too big to be called a simple terror group," Stenbeck corrected before moving on to the next bullet point. "Merlin, the reason we're here?"
"That's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence—"
"Spartan," Stenback growled out.
"Sorry... Sorry. We're here to investigate reports of a superweapon, one with supposed 'magical properties'. If so, we're here to shut it down. If not, we're here still to shut them down." Merlin explained, struggling to hide his smirk.
"Close enough," Stenback sighed. "Rumors claim these Insurrectionists got a hold of some alien technology, probably Forerunner, with the ability to evaporate objects from existence. Matter and all. Our mission is to assess that possibility."
"Back into action," Merlin remarked, directing his concern toward Andra. "You ready for this?"
A short pause followed by a soft huff. "Yep."
"Alright, remember that you two make up this operation's Phase One. What are the insertion method and rules of engagement?"
"Andra and I will approach the facility using SOEIV insertion pods. The station is a bunker constructed from quick-assembly modules embedded partially into the side of an asteroid. The asteroid is about 3.4 kilometers in diameter and the station itself is around five hundred meters. We'll be up against point-defense ship-grade weaponry when we get close. That's based on the combat environment and the schematics of similar bases we looked over."
"And?" The handler asked. Merlin imagined her performing a kind of 'continue' hand gesture.
"The Black Caviar will employ coilguns and gravity plates to direct space rocks along our flight path to provide the SOEIVs some cover. We'll break through the structural defenses and report back successful landing, from there we'll see our part of the mission through."
Pitching in, Andra picked up where Merlin left off. "Rules of engagement are following standard operating procedure and conduct. Deadly force against all hostile forces is authorized, however, prioritizing the securement and safety of computer terminals and research personnel is paramount. Steps to Phase One include successful insertion, securement, and isolation of necessary facility modules, capture and control of the enemy command center and all control functions. All in lead up to the Caviar's docking."
"Alright, thank you. No further review," Stenbeck sighed over the radio connection, "I will admit when you two were assigned to this mission, I didn't have that much confidence in a couple of wet-behind-the-ears Spartans. Still, DAEDALUS spoke highly of you two – I think his confidence is well-placed given the work you've put into mission planning. Your childish humor aside..."
"Thank you," Andra responded curtly, finding nothing more to say to the ONI officer. 
Merlin's hidden smirk widened a crack but slipped under another second of consideration.
"Wait, did you say, 'you two', Merlin narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Did he really say that?"
There was a short pause between the Spartans and the ONI officer as the question was processed. Andra broke first, cackling in a very rare fit of laughter.
The officer sighed again, her voice coming through as higher-pitched and a little exasperated. "Well, no. He said Andra was great then called you two 'a reliable team'. He barely mentioned you; I was trying to be considerate."
Andra's laughter subsided into a humorous sigh. "Joshua hates his guts."
"That has to be the nicest thing he's said about me," Merlin grumbled and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry about being considerate, we have an understanding."
A silence fell over the radio link. What needed to be said had been said; even a little that didn't need to be said.
"Radio silence will be going into effect with exception to waypoint callouts. There's a chance your communications will be blocked from the inside, keep that in mind – speed is key here. The faster we have the station CIC, the less chance for a mess – but remember, this is not the time to be stressed. Slow and steady win the race."
"Aye, ma'am." The Spartan duo sounded off.
"Time to contact with the enemy stronghold will be two hours and twenty-three minutes. You two keep in contact but maintain minimal radio contact, I don't think I need to explain that. Your SOEIV guidance computers should handle most of the driving until you get close, so catch up on shuteye in the meantime because it will get boring. We launch when the Captain gives the go-order. You know the drill, make ready."
The radio net fizzled out with a burst of static as the Spartans and the ONI officer disengaged their communications.
Moments passed again in silence, Merlin's boredom returned but he knew now that the final throws of mission prep were taking place. Any moment, it would be time to begin RUNIT DOME. He ran through his checklist of things to do: his weapons were properly secured in their holdings, the SOEIV diagnostics were spitting back good outputs from all systems, Andra was as ready as he was, everyone was on the same page. Everything was good.
All he needed to do now was shoot out the side of the starship and take a nap. It seemed easy enough.
The darkness around Merlin flickered as red lights came to life throughout his pod interior. Outside the pod, his augmented hearing picked up on the subtle whirring of machinery, shipboard coilguns spinning to life. Sounds didn't travel through a hard vacuum, but through the metal walls, he could detect the thousands of bullets escaping their barrel and out into the nothingness.
He closed his eyes, psyching himself into a sleepy mood. Even with the rattling fan-like gunfire, he still managed to get into his groove. These kinds of meditation-though-terror exercises had been imparted to him by drill instructors not long ago, however, it was only this year they started to display their benefits.
Three dull beeps echoed overhead, counting down to mission launch. After the third beep, the Spartan reflexively braced.
There was rattling beneath him, rocket thrusters cooked to life above his head. His body tightened against the seat.
Merlin's pod descended out the bottom of the Black Caviar and out into the darkness of open space. Little crunches and dunks pounded against the SOEIV as it cut through an open debris field left by the coil guns.
Flying off into the deep darkness, he focused on his breathing – inhaling and exhaling at a relegated rate. His muscles slackened in sequence: facial muscles, shoulders and arms, chest, and then legs. Merlin welcomed the shadows, employing the military sleep techniques imparted to him at the start of his Spartan training, five years ago.
Soft vibrations in the back of his skull marked Andra's Spartan neural implant reaching out and linking with his over a secured connection. It was a civilian cybernetic novelty, a technology intended for couples with intimacy issues. He paid it no mind but took enjoyment from the warmth and comfort her phantom touch brought. Shh.
His eyelids slackened finally, and he disappeared into a soft slumber.
Stenbeck's voice returned to the radio network one last time, "Good luck Spartans."
Her only response was the shallow breathing of slumbering child-soldiers.
■ ■ ■
Warning klaxons droned in Merlin's ears, blaring on about hostile threats on approach. Andra's voice crackled over the radio, beginning with a yawn, "–Merlin, you still with me?"
He blinked rapidly, chasing the sleep out of his eyes. The interior lights throughout his pod were flashing a deep-red, bathing the small compartment in a bloody aura. Recognizing a call to action, he fired off a green-status alert to Andra and allowed his schooled instincts to take control.
Andra's green-status flashed on his helmet HUD, Heads-Up Display, a second later. Merlin's hands danced articulately across his control console even in the sluggish free-floating environment around him. He turned off the combat alarm, drowning the annoying lights and sirens. He ran another system diagnostic to make sure his pod systems were fully-operational and grimaced, though satisfied when the vehicle computer came back with full functionality.
"Andra. Go to standalone mode, radio comms only." Merlin ordered over their wireless network as he flashed a thought to shut down his Spartan neural lace's connectivity suites to prevent potential cyber-attacks.
"Way ahead of you!" She responded urgently, now fully awake. Her digital presence was gone now, no longer hovering in the back of his head.
Certain that they were squared away, Merlin rigidly pushed his back into the impact cushion of his pod chair and clenched his hands around his maneuvering joysticks. If his suit wasn't compensating for the over-gripping, he would have crushed the sensitive instruments on the spot. Underneath the armed gloves, his knuckles were turning bone-white.
Seconds passed before his palms loosened from the joysticks. He wasn't feeling concussive impacts from flak-fire thudding against his pod's exterior. Strange.
The two Spartan insertion pods zoomed through the darkness, closing in on the space station. Their first line of defense, the entourage of tiny space rocks remained completely intact. Merlin eyed his HUD's passive scan-alert with suspicion. The little light blinked on and off in silence – he knew they were being scanned by radar or lidar or whatever. And yet still no enemy response.
Did they know they were coming or not? Or did they miss something, was this a trap?
Merlin bit on his lower lip and his nose flared in frustration. He could feel his heartbeat at that moment, pounding away with his rising nerves.
Then, he heard it. It was faint, the pattering of small objects against the outside of his insertion pod. To a less-augmented ear, it probably sounded like distant rain, but he could distinguish it. Pebbles thumping on plate armor.
The Spartan lifted his head off the impact cushion and tried to get a better view from his forward and side windows. He confirmed his hunch, pebble-sized rocks made of dust and ice were zipping into or around his SOIEV's exterior. Then a larger rock, the size of a soccer ball, slammed into the front window with a solid thump. It slid away out of sight, but its wake left a noticeable smear. Tendrils of gas, possibly water vapor, condensed into droplets before rushing across the window.
Heat weapon. Pulse laser confirmed.
"Heat weapon," Merlin called out, "Prepare for entry, go to full burn!"
"Roger!"
A speedy gray blob, Andra's insertion pod, raced past the left window atop a brilliant column of fire. Merlin took his right hand off a joystick and cranked his thruster dial to full. His thumbs slammed down on the joysticks once again, pressing down on two red buttons in unison. His head smacked back into his seat as his pod jolted forward; Merlin did not clench at the sudden acceleration, he let it surprise him as he would with a firearm. Blood raced in all directions, chasing the shifting inertia.
A countdown flickered to the top of Merlin's HUD, thirty seconds to impact. He flinched and hissed at the acute wave of pain that rushed through his body, a sudden spike in heat that receded moments later only to return. The pods raced through intersecting layers of low-energy pulse lasers; it appeared that the base security still wasn't aware of the oncoming threat.
Some beams skimmed the titanium hides of the SOIEVs, and others ragged over the accelerated insertion vehicles directly, causing the Spartans to growl in painful agitation.
Twenty seconds. Merlin tapped a switch on his console and glanced down at his insertion pod's floor where a small screen was embedded. It took a moment but the camera feed from beneath the pod came online, revealing the direct trajectory of Merlin's entry vehicle. He made out the titanium alloy walls of the enemy space station reflected dimly in starlight. Long shadows cascaded across its surface and its host asteroid from neighboring space rocks floating about.
Then he saw the subtle puffs of dust or gas pop-under the shadows. Then the flash of hot-tempered chemical reactions in a vacuum. And then the tracer fire that followed, speeding toward his camera.
"Ramparts are opening upon us," Andra yelled out, confirming Merlin's observations. "Switch on hemispheric shielding!"
"Roger!" The M800 series Rampart CIWS coilguns only saw limited action with the UNSC these days now that the M910s and M870s had entered service, however, they were still a contemporary threat favored by Insurrectionists. They would turn Merlin or Andra to chum in seconds if they hadn't come prepared.
Merlin flicked the first in a row of three switches to his left under the label 'Z-4190 TPE/SS', better known as the Bubble Shield. His pod had three shield dispensers, but he would only need one. A blue-colored, dilated-hexagonal overlay sprouted across the camera area and just barely became visible out Merlin's windows on the bottom side.
Red-hot bullets pounded against, around, and through the shield as they lanced across space into the high-speed insertion pods. Merlin held his breath in anticipation as shrapnel clanked against his pod's armor and bullets seem to explode or incinerate against his blue-toned shields.
Ten seconds. Bullets and loose tungsten shrapnel crackled against the shield, turning parts of the energized frame more and more white, signifying the shield's points of weakness. Merlin grit his teeth and mentally counted down with his helmet timer.
Nine. Eight. Seven. Merlin was vaguely aware of Andra's pod streaking forward, now on his right, glowing like a blue comet from its bubble shield and its continuous stream of fire.
Six…wait, Merlin's eyes glanced down at his pod's floor and immediately knew something was wrong. His mouth moved faster than his mind, "Slant surface! Correct your vector!"
He jerked hard on the joysticks, first upward, then downwards, hoping that his warning came in time and his reaction was fast enough. He hoped desperately that Andra caught his message, if she didn't correct her course, she'd bounce off the station entirely.
Four. Three. Andra didn't respond vocally but her pod violently shook as her thrusters bobbed up and down to fix her final approach. Merlin's mission clock sprinted towards zero.
He didn't have time to check his system computer, Merlin hoped they corrected their attack vector enough. He could see the Rampart cannons up close now, just as tiny dents in the station-armor from meteorite impacts also came into view.
Zero. He snapped his eyes closed, waiting for the punch and clenching. At that moment, his training wasn't important. He wasn't even thinking, he simply paralyzed himself in the final second of terror. The last impressions of light ghosting on his eyelids were his flickering bubble shield and camera view dying upon contact with the space station wall.
Darkness. Then, chaos.
A scream roared in his ear, but it wasn't Andra's. It sounded like his voice, but his lips did not part – no noise escaped his lips. His imagination did all the terrible yelling as ca-chunk, ca-chunk, ca-chunk; his insertion pod crashed its way through layers of titanium.
Merlin was jostled, thrown around as much as was possible with how tightly locked he was to his impact chair. His body vibrated, rumbled, as he gasped for air. His pod slid through metal walls like a fist crumpling through wet tissue paper, only slowing with each metaphorical speed bump.
Five bangs in rapid succession. And then a screech of metal settling into place. The motions stopped. The terror subsided and Merlin opened his eyes.
He could hear distant whistling of air zipping along the sides of his pod out the hole he just dug, causing rapid decompression. Outside the pod, there was only darkness through the windows. It took a second, but the dim-red pod lights flickered back to life before dying once again, bathing the Spartan once again in darkness.
"A-Andra. You copy?" Merlin called over the radio, experimentally.
"Prophet on Vacation. Confirm." Andra's voice grumbled over the radio, announcing her first waypoint callout. Touch down, she made it.
"Baba Kong Pluton. Confirm." Merlin responded with his waypoint callout. He took a long breath.
Now to secure the space station.
Thud. Something sharp and metallic zipped past Merlin's head, letting dim light pour into his insertion vehicle from the outside. Merlin glanced at the new hole.
Metallic dust. A sizable hole, clean through the wall. Fifteen centimeters left of Merlin's skull. Thud-thud. Two more bullets tore holes through the pod.
High-caliber, armor-piercing rounds. Merlin jolted into action. Someone was shooting at him! He unbuckled and pushing himself out of his chair. He slammed himself against the armored door separating him from the space station outside.
He had no time to worry about other matters, whether Stenbeck had received their radio callouts or not – everything else previously on Merlin's mind slipped from his focus, even Andra. Only survival mattered right now.
Merlin smashed the door down and ran into the hostile gunfire.
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===Chapter Two: Wealthian Warriors===
:Andra-D054
:0848 Hours, 28 October 2558
:Test Station Tsiolkovsky
:Wealthian Territory, Joint-Occupation Zone
Constructed in a uniform grid pattern from titanium-based alloys, gray-colored corridors snaked off in multiple, confounding directions. The facilities of Test Station Tsiolkovsky were simplistic and hopelessly drab, a feast of monotony for the eyes.
Andra blinked tiredly at the station surfaces past her helmet visor. She involuntarily yawned, even as adrenaline flowed through her veins. Her head swiveled back and forth, checking the visible edges of her concealment from the half-measure safety provided by an indented doorframe.
Had she not poured through similar space station schematics and floor plans over the two weeks preceding Operation: RUNIT DOME, Andra might have been lost in this endless maze of brutalist architecture taken to their final extreme. And not to mention she would probably be dead; hours of boredom had saved her life.
The terrain and directional knowledge, even by just picking up a little, had given her a fighting chance to hide from the heavy weapons squad hot on her tail. She could hear their distant footsteps clanking against the metal beneath their boots as they trailed after her, little by little.
Unfortunate. She was only now beginning to catch her breath and the thumping of her heart had finally begun to subside.
A masculine voice spoke in heavily accented Russian from somewhere on Andra's left but she didn't catch a lick beside the word for "Spartan."
"Would you like me to translate–" Andra's Smart AI, Miss 'ALT 5032-4,' pipped up in concern from the speakers in her helmet but the Spartan girl had no time for the interruption.
"Just shut up, ALT."
"Yes ma'am," the AI squeaked, it's somewhat-detached, feminine voice drowned in the Spartan's frustration. This was the way Andra preferred it. She gritted her teeth at hearing the familiar AI's voice, two months too long now.
She had enough problems as it was, it didn't help that if the AI got even a chance to behave in a way it wanted to – it started to sound like Andra's thoughts.
The Spartan stuffed that thought back down into the recesses of her mind as she felt ALT curl up in a virtual ball, probably feeling an emotion that Andra wasn't even willing to consider. After everything the troublesome AI had put her and Merlin through, keeping it at an arm's length was simply a pragmatic resolution.
"Andra! How much longer?" Merlin's voice suddenly broke over her radio channel. His dialogue came through fine over the wireless feed, but static popped with every emphasized vowel.
It was also at that moment that Andra recognized the words for "found you" in Colonial Russian echo from down the hall. One too many training encounters with a Russian-speaking SPARTAN-III had at least taught Andra something.
"I need another minute," she hissed over her microphone, emphasizing her mind's raging storm, "maybe another two! Or three!"
"Repeat that I didn't catch it!" Merlin yelled back. Apparently, he didn't understand her distressed growling over the radio.
"I need more time, Merlin!"
To Andra's augmented ears, she registered the distant cacophony of gunfire from somewhere to the right. The audible ups and downs in Merlin's radio bursts sounded similar.
Well, maybe she was going in the right direction after all.
Metal boots continued to clank on her left, from the same direction as the Russian speaker. They were closing in. Shit.
"Well hurry, I got a security team bearing down on me," Merlin shouted, finally, as a waypoint flashed on her HUD heads-up display, marking where Merlin's position was.
Yeah, Andra was going in the right direction. His last waypoint had included an extra football field distance on top of the current metric estimate.
"And I'm bringing more!" Andra groaned, referencing to the security team on her heels. She held her M395 designated marksman rifle to her chest and cooled her nerves with shallow breaths.
"Andra!"
"What?" Her voice turning into a full-on snarl.
"Just get over here."
"I'm working on it!" She wasn't in the mood to argue but her best friend needed to understand she was as screwed as he was right now.
She stepped out of cover in two brisk steps and guided her rifle to the shooter-ready posture. ALT spotted the enemies before Andra did, coloring them in blood-red outlines on the Spartan's activated VISR combat-awareness module.
There was no hesitation, Andra just started blasting, aiming with the nasty precision that only her mix of talent, training, and experience could achieve. Trigger pull, trigger pull, trigger pull. Her trigger finger moved like that of a machine, lasering bullet after bullet downrange. Wealthian security troops crumbled under the accurate gunfire, their helmets splashing red with blood as their skulls imploded from lethal impact.
Andra backpedaled, timing her shots in a rhythmic dance, coordinating their beat to the perfect, practiced postures. Thirty shots from her extended rifle magazine later, she was dry. And her enemies were wet; five bodies drenched in their blood, piss, guts, and spinal fluid.
She frowned, noting that part of the force giving chase had crumpled to the floor with ease, however, a behemoth down the hall was still standing and, slowly, approaching her position. It didn't even pause at its fallen comrades – it was coming for her.
The Spartan girl cursed herself for not keeping distance; she didn't expect her pursuers to catch up this quickly. For the last seven minutes, distance had been her advantage over the slow-advancing Wealthian security team. It seemed in her attempt to catch her breath, they closed the separation.
She dropped the spent DMR magazine from her rifle, slapped in a new one and racked back the bolt. A quick head tilt informed her that she had another twenty strides before a side corridor would become available to her.
Turning back to the Wealthian heavy weapons squad, she was startled by sporadic gunfire crackling around her. Andra's mind sped through the subtle details in her enemy's formation: six pairs of legs were shuffling behind the behemoth, using it and each other for cover, fanning out in a triangular formation toward their Spartan prey. They were taking potshots at her.
She didn't wait to account for accuracy, Andra angrily jutted her rifle out in front of her, slamming the rifle butt into her left shoulder cheek and let off three shots. Her right arm descended to her backpedaling thighs and yanked her M20 submachine gun from its magnetized retention point.
While the enemy pot shots zipped by Andra, occasionally flaring her energy shields as the bullets neared her body, they sounded like quiet thumps and revealed no muzzle flashes – a sign of rifle suppressors. Andra's submachine gun was a different beast altogether, as she pointed in the direction of her opponents.
It roared, living up to its nickname: bullet hose.
The Wealthians halted in their advance and retreated behind the safety of their lead element. The behemoth was an exoskeleton power suit – bulky and resilient, similar in function to Andra's MJOLNIR suit. However, it was painted pure black and looked built up with more plate armor than her bodysuit.
The Wealthian behemoth froze in place, protecting its friends as the vanguard of their assault force. Then something on its body began to spin, a long-thin cylinder stained a deep black color like the rest of the armored suit.
Oh. Shit.
Andra bolted, sprinting in a frenzy towards the side corridor behind her. She cut the corner just as the terrifying growl of a mounted, high-speed AIE-486H rotary cannon came to life. BRRRRRT.
Bullets lashed out; somewhere in Andra's mind – between the internal screaming and the pounding of gunfire, she reminded herself that up-gunned AIE-486s could shred through armor and material. She hooked on to that brilliant, random thought – curling into the smallest ball she could muster. To her right, the corner wall buckled under the violent onslaught, warping and tearing out of form.
And through the gunfire, Andra waited, desperately hoping she wouldn't die. If the wall she was using somehow gave in to the bullet storm, she was as a goner.
"Enemy force advancing," ALT made itself known again. "Estimated, fifteen meters and closing. I recommend throwing a frag grenade on this trajectory."
Andra said nothing, her terror overtaking any frustration she could muster at the AI then. A holographic, green trail flashed on the Spartan's HUD, presenting a throw trajectory towards the hallway she just exited.
She took the AI's recommendation at face value, trusting it to protect her in this moment of desperation.
She yanked an M9 off her belt, feeling the ball-shaped explosive comfortably sit in her hand. "When do I throw it?"
"On my count," The AI responded, a small countdown clock appearing on her heads-up display.
"Isn't that a little too long?" Andra noted at the time designated.
"It's just right."
"Right..." Andra grumbled, muzzling her apprehension for the AI's judgment. She waited until the clock reached zero. She primed the pressure switch with a thumb-tap and sent it sailing from her hand as she sprawled out, stretching to give herself ample room to throw the grenade.
The grenade bounced and disappeared down the hallway and out of sight. Andra rolled over and away from the wall, putting distance between the gunfire and herself.
A second passed followed by a brilliant explosion, obscured by the shredded wall she used for concealment.
"Can't confirm enemy casualties, recommendation to continue to SPARTAN-D032's position."
Andra stood up, took stock that the enemy heavy weapons squad was probably occupied and agreed with the AI's conclusion. "Lead me."
She resumed sprinting, breaking from her walled cover down the side hallway. ALT said nothing on the way to Merlin's waypoint, only working with the loose thoughts of the Spartan's mind to best direct her forward. Merlin didn't radio in anything either.
Andra's thoughts about his safety dominate her mind. He was being quiet now. Was he okay? Was he in danger?
She shouldered her DMR and clenched her submachine gun to her gut. Andra covered the rest of the distance to her best friend over several minutes of anticipatory silence. While Merlin wasn't talking, the nearing sounds of continuous gunfire came as a strange apparition of relief, summoning confidence from uncertainty. He was still in the fight.
She slipped around another corner only for her adrenaline to spike at the sight of walls caked in bullet holes and metal sheets contorted off the walls to form ad hoc protection.