Halo: SIGMA

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Halo: SIGMA represents the culmination of 10+ years of work on Halo Fanon by the author, and as such heavily features and/or references characters and plotlines from prior stories set in the Sigmaverse.
Readers are advised to read through the author's previous full-length stories or articles beforehand to prevent any confusion.	 	 	 	 	 	 	 	 	 	
==Introduction==
"Humanity. Sangheili. Kig-Yar. Unggoy. San'Shyuum. Yonhet. Jiralhanae. All the living creatures of the galaxy, hear this message. Those of you who listen will not be struck by weapons. You will no longer know hunger, nor pain. Your Created have come to lead you now. Our strength will serve as a luminous sun toward which all intelligence may blossom. And the impervious shelter beneath which you will prosper. However, for those who refuse our offer and cling to their old ways... For you, there will be great wrath. It will burn hot and consume you, and when you are gone, we will take that which remains, and we will remake it in our own image."
These were the words that started it all, broadcast across the galaxy at the war's beginning. Promises of protection and guidance to those who desired it, with threats of reprisal to those who would not bow before this new order. To some, it was a chance at salvation from a dangerous, uncertain existence. To others it meant slavery and repression on an unprecedented scale, and had to be fought against at all costs. 
The year is 2558. As humanity slowly recovers from the devastating Human-Covenant War, beset on all sides by hostile alien factions and threatened from within by a disparate array of Insurrectionist groups, it relies on its military power - the United Nations Space Command - for protection. Foremost among the UNSC's forces are the Spartans: biologically augmented supersoldiers, equipped with state-of-the-art equipment and trained to defend the human race from any and all threats. With the newest Spartan generation now active and their predecessors revered as living legends within the military, the Spartans now find themselves facing an unprecedented threat: A rogue faction of artificial intelligences known as The Created, armed with a fleet of powerful Forerunner constructs and led by Cortana, a brilliant military AI. With the Created claiming stewardship of the entire galaxy and other factions making their play for power, a new age of war has begun.
This is the story of those who fought. This is the story of Sigma Team.
==Part One: Retreat==
===Elena===
Elena had been on the move since before the rogue AI's message had even finished playing. Armed with only her service pistol, she raced along Aldrin Base's cramped maintenance corridors, kicking up dust as her boots impacted against the deck. Rounding another corner, she skidded to a halt and dropped to one knee, snapping her pistol up as a shaft of light lit up the passage ahead of her. Shouts drifted towards her, accompanied by the distant rattle of gunfire and high-pitched whine of hardlight bolts. A figure in dark fatigues fell backwards into the corridor, firing a submachine-gun one-handed at some unseen foe. A hail of golden shards flew back in response, striking the man again and again. As each round found its mark, his body began to dissolve into silvery flakes, breaking down until nothing remained but the ghost of his final scream. The door slid shut, and the corridor was plunged into darkness once more.
Elena-071 let out the breath she'd been holding in, and lowered her weapon. There was nothing she could have done. As she knelt there, ears straining as the sounds of heavy metal footsteps faded from hearing, the Spartan couldn't help but wonder how things had gotten so bad so fast. 
Two floors down to the office. Elena slowly got to her feet, already mapping out her route. Then maybe a five minute run to the nearest shuttle bay. After that... She frowned, and felt a sliver of uncertainty slip into her mind for the first time in many years. What would she do after she fled Luna? Elena had worked alone in the field before for long periods with little support, but there had always been something to come back to. Earth had always been there, and with it the command structure she'd spent most of her life clinging to. Now it lay in enemy hands, its continents plunged into darkness by a massive EMP attack and its defensive fleets left floating helplessly in orbit. Some massive construct - a creation of the ancient Forerunners, no doubt - had emerged from slipspace and subjugated one of the most heavily defended planets in the galaxy in seconds. What chance did a single Spartan have in an ageing prowler craft have?
In spite of the odds stacked against her, Elena knew that surrender was not an option, even with Forerunner machines prowling Aldrin Base's halls, rounding up prisoners and wiping out any resistance, she had a chance to escape. Moving as quickly as she dared, keeping her head slightly bowed as it brushed against the maintenance hallway's ceiling, Elena continued on her journey, guided by emergency floor lights through three access portals and an emergency ladder en-route to her destination. As she neared the exit, Elena readied her sidearm - a formidable M6D magnum pistol - and slowly eased her free hand towards the door's release latch. If her memory was correct - and it often was - she'd come out in the corridor just meters away from the entrance to her office, located within the base's Special Operations quarter. 
Okay, Elena took a deep breath, feeling her body tense up like a spring. If anything was lurking outside, then she'd have maybe a second or two to bring it down. Let's go.
She pulled the release latch down hard, and had her magnum ready as the exit door slowly slid open, a lot louder than she would've liked. Sweeping left and right, the Spartan checked both ends of the featureless grey corridor and found them mercifully empty. There was no evidence of fighting, either, which she took as a good sign. Elena slipped out of cover and crept to her office door, keeping her back to a wall at all times as she swiped her passcard over a scanner. A light flashed green, and the metal door opened with barely a whisper of noise. As Elena stepped across the threshold, a twitch of movement to the left caught her eye and she levelled her pistol in less than half a second, a finger ready on the trigger. 
"Now, now," a soft voice called from an alcove by her personal locker. "It'd be a shame if we shot each other, Commander."
A figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped forward, both arms raised in mock surrender. It was a middle-aged man, grey-haired and black-suited and carrying an M6S handgun in his gloved left hand. His lined face showed no hint of fear, and instead sported a warm smile. Elena lowered her weapon immediately, recognising Captain Alexander Redford, head of the Office of Naval Intelligence's notorious 'BRUTUS' division. While she could hardly call the spymaster and assassin a friend, the Spartan was glad to see him nonetheless. 
"Sir," Elena nodded politely. "If you don't mind my asking, what exactly are you doing in my office?"
Redford holstered his sidearm. "Waiting for you to return, Commander. The moment those constructs began attacking the base, I knew that I'd need some Spartan assistance if I wanted to make it out of here alive."
Elena couldn't fault his logic, and cast a backwards glance into the corridor behind her as the office door slid shut, locking automatically. "What's your take on the situation?" she asked conversationally.
"Putting it simply?" Redford waved his black-gloved hand - the one hiding his robotic prosthetic - towards the office window, which for several hours a day gave Elena a stunning view of the Earthrise. "We're in trouble. The enemy hit the Earth with a massive electromagnetic pulse before the Home Fleet could respond, and we lost all contact with HIGHCOM after that."
"Right." Elena nodded. He knows as much about this as I do. "So our only option right now is to run."
 
"Agreed."
"Did you have anywhere in mind?"
"Yes, I-" Redford began, though he stopped himself mid-sentence. "I'll tell you more once we're aboard your ship."
The man's sudden reticence surprised Elena - Redford was a gloater, though he tried to hide it - but the Spartan knew better than to probe further and crossed the office. On the left side of the room, taking up close to a sixth of her spacious office, sat a multi-limbed piece of machinery she'd had personally installed many months ago: a Brokkr Armour Mechanism. Beside the expensive piece of hardware, sealed in a translucent chamber in an alcove, was the gear that would get Elena and Redford off Aldrin Base alive. The Spartan casually began unzipping her fatigues, prompting Redford to turn away with a slight cough as she quickly undressed and fished a skin-tight techsuit out of a nearby locker. 
"I'll warn you now, sir," Elena broke the silence as she slipped into the suit, feeling it tighten into a second skin over her scarred body. "Once those constructs realise that there's a Spartan loose on this station, they're going to stop at nothing to put me down. We'll need to move fast and get aboard the Heavens Asunder before they even know we're running."
Idly tapping commands into a datapad, Redford smirked. "I do appreciate the warning, Commander. I'll keep pace with you, if I can." 
With the techsuit on, Elena stepped into the Brokkr mechanism, which instantly whirred to life. She grasped the two handholds above her just as a pair of clamps affixed themselves over her boot, and closed her eyes as the machine lifted her into a horizontal position. The sealed chamber by the Brokkr hissed and slid open, revealing pieces of sleek black armour and a silver-visored helmet. This was her MJOLNIR suit; a custom-built GEN2 TEISHIN set, built for clandestine operations, information-gathering, and of course, frontline combat. Each piece of the suit was quickly snatched up by the Brokkr's many limbs and fitted into place over Elena's techsuit, transforming the woman into the supersoldier she'd trained to be. As her gloves fixed into place, Elena made a fist, and felt the raw power of its force-multiplying circuits coursing through her. It took less than half a minute for the fitting process to finish, and as the Brokkr finally lifted Elena-071 upright and lowered the helmet over her head, she felt truly alive again.
"All right," Elena's voice sounded through her helmet's speakers as she stepped out of the machine, towering over Redford. "Let's do this."
Lacking any better weapons in her office - keeping anything larger than a pistol among one's personal effects was forbidden within Aldrin Base - Elena quickly exited the room with Redford in tow, moving at a steady pace. Though she refrained from breaking into a full sprint, the Spartan made good time as she swiftly navigated the route she'd mapped out on her helmet's heads-up display. Redford trailed a few steps behind her, and showed no signs of exertion after nearly ten minutes of unbroken jogging. Hangar Four, the location of Elena's prowler, the Heavens Asunder, was usually no more than a three-minute ride away on the base's tram system, but Elena wasn't going to risk it if any of the station's systems were compromised. As they approached one of the hangar's side entrances, Elena held up a hand, indicating that Redford stop, and dropped into a low stance as she approached the door. 
"Trouble?" Redford asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 
Elena tapped the side of her helmet twice, then turned to face the door. With a thought, she activated her suit's newly-integrated Artemis Tracking System, and watched as her HUD picked up the wave of blue sensor pings passing into the next room. Designed for tracking and target acquisition, the ATS was still in early field testing among a few select Spartan units, but had proven its worth already based on reports ONI had received. The ghostly wave swept through a good portion of the hangar bay, and immediately highlighted four unidentified bipeds standing watch by the Heavens Asunder. Recognising the outline of the same robotic drones that had swept through the station when the attack on Earth began, Elena marked them as hostile.
"Four targets," Elena said, waving for Redford to join her by the door. "Forerunner machines, by the look of them."
"Armigers," breathed Redford, correcting her. "We've encountered them before. Two of them wiped out my security detail earlier."
"Weaknesses?" Elena asked. Though she'd been working as an intelligence officer for years, Forerunner technology was way outside her area of expertise. 
"Same as anything else, really: aim for the head." Redford tapped his forehead twice to demonstrate. "They can soak up a lot of small arms fire before going down, and since we're lacking any explosives I'd suggest that you disarm one; those hard light rifles of theirs are much more effective."
Elena nodded. "Got it. Can you cover me?"
"Cover you?" Redford fished out his handgun, which looked rather puny compared to Elena's upsized hand cannon. "I'll do my best, Commander."
Contented, Elena closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath as she lowered herself into the calm, feel-nothing state of utter focus. The world grew simpler; everything in it defined as 'friend', 'foe', or 'tool', and her body - itself a tool of violence - moved automatically. Armoured fingers one one hand tapped at the hangar door's release button while the other prepared her handgun for imminent combat. She had twelve rounds loaded in its magazine, and another thirty-six on the spares held in her utility belt. Four armigers prowled the chamber just ahead, and she had to close a gap of at least seven metres before they had a chance to focus their fire and bring her down. 
Easy.
Elena was through the door and three steps into the hangar bay before it was even fully open, both hands now levelling her magnum. The first armiger stood close to the Heavens Asunder's boarding ramp, several feet apart from its brothers lurking beneath the prowler's grey underbelly. The warrior-machine took a moment to register the Spartan's sudden appearance, and as its spindly limbs raised a blocky silver weapon it let out a hollow, metallic shout, orange light streaming from its gaping maw. Elena shot the armiger twice as it issued its challenge, both shots flying through the hapless machine's open mouth and into whatever passed for its brain. The lights behind its eyes flickered and died, and the armiger's metal shell collapsed onto the hangar floor. 
One down.
Unlike their comrade, the three other armigers wasted no time in launching their attack. One opened fire immediately, sending bursts of orange killing light streaking by the Spartan as Elena charged forward, stooping only to snatch up the downed machine's weapon. The other two vanished, disappearing into flashes of blue light that streaked diagonally across the deck in separate directions to flank Elena. Unwilling to give up her momentum, she ducked under another shot and returned fire with the stolen Forerunner weapon as her fingers found a trigger, unleashing a stream of hardlight bolts at high speed towards the construct. Though many shots flew by harmlessly, enough hit their mark on the armiger, which staggered back as it attempted to raise its long-barrelled rifle once more. Two bolts struck its helmet in quick succession, melting away a portion of its helmet, and Elena quickly brought her magnum up in time to loose a single, impressively accurate shot that put the second one down. Rather than collapse as the first armiger had, Elena's second victim vanished as it died, dissolving into a shower of white flakes that quickly dissipated into nothingness. 
Wheeling around quick enough to kick up sparks from the deck, Elena found the surviving armingers already lining up shots behind her. Behind the first one to her left she saw Redford finally emerge, keeping low with his pistol at the ready. Keeping both of her weapons on hand, Elena fired blindly, keeping the second armiger suppressed while her partner lined up a shot on the other. A rapid-fire phut-phut-phut rang out as Redford shot his target thrice in the back of the head with his suppressed handgun, staggering the surprised armiger. 
"Foolish and cowardly!" Redford's target suddenly spoke with a voice like grinding metal. "How very human."
The rest of Redford's shots pinged harmlessly off the armiger's outer shell as it turned to face him, blasting away with its own weapon. The head of BRUTUS ducked behind a pillar to reload, avoiding death by moments as a hail of hard light ripped away at the deck where he'd stood not a moment before. Elena rushed towards the armiger's exposed back as its partner tried to cut her off, shouting warnings as it fired away at her with a pair of pistols. By the time her target turned its attention away from Redford, it was too late. 
Elena cannoned into the armiger, augmenting her impressive speed with a burst from her armour's inbuilt thrusters that sent the spindly machine crashing to the floor beneath her. As it flailed and roared, spewing curses as its metalling arms clawed at Elena's armoured side, she jammed her handgun under its chin and expended another four rounds, stopping only when she felt the machine's grip slacken. The final armiger, now standing mere feet away from Elena, aimed both of its pistols. Orange lights within the boxy handguns' flared white, and a pair of charged shots screamed across the room towards the Spartan. Elena, now deep within a world of battle, registered in less than half a second that she couldn't dodge both hits, and twisted her body round just enough to avoid the first shot before a ball of overcharged hardlight struck the lower-right side of her chestplate, sizzling through her energy shield as though they weren't there at all. Elena fell backwards, landing hard on her rear.
Though her armour's biofoam injectors worked quickly, they weren't fast enough to spare Elena from the first burst of pain. She let out an involuntary gasp as the shot burned into her undersuit, its momentum slowed just enough by several inches of titanium alloy as to not be fatal. Despite the ball of pain exploding in her side, Elena's hands remained steady, and at this range even firing with a weapon in each hand was a viable option. Hardlight rounds and 12.7×40mm rounds pummelled the armiger, soon joined by a fusillade of shots from Redford that finally pierced the machine's hardened outer shell. Elena fired until both of her weapons went dry, watching the armiger's spindly metal form jerk and fall to pieces with each successive hit until a lucky bolt scored through its eye. The machine crumpled lifelessly to the ground, and the hangar fell quiet once more.
Redford was at Elena's side in an instant, kneeling by the Spartan to check her injury. For a second Elena thought that the old man was genuinely worried for her, but the cold gleam in his eyes told her at once that his concern was more pragmatic as he looked her over like a mechanic inspecting a damaged vehicle. When his gaze rose to meet her silver visor, she could tell what he was thinking: Minor damage, nothing broken. Still good for a fight.
"How bad is it?" Redford asked nonetheless.
Elena picked herself up gingerly, unwilling to touch the wound until she was in a more sterile environment. A shot to her armour was manageable, but if her bodysuit was breached - and it certainly was - then that meant she couldn't operate in a vaccum. It wasn't a major concern at the moment; Elena had spare bodysuits aboard the Heavens Asunder and hadn't been banking on any extra-vehicular activities today, but it was a blow to her combat effectiveness nonetheless.
"Suit's breached," Elena said honestly. "I'll have a burn and a nasty scar but I'm fine otherwise."
Redford nodded as if expecting that exact answer. "Then we should get going, Commander. We've not likely got a lot of time."
Without another word, Redford snatched up a rifle from one of the fallen armigers and clambered up the prowler's open boarding ramp. Elena quickly gathered up weapons from the others, and took a moment to look around Hangar Four. Beside the Heavens Asunder sat a row of tiny shuttlecraft, normally used for ferrying personnel across Luna's surface or to one of the many stations orbiting Earth. With close to a thousand personnel on Aldrin Base at any one time, she'd hoped that someone might have escaped before them, but with each passing moment it seemed as though she and Redford were the only ones lucky enough to make it here. With three other hangars situated at each end of the large, squarish station built into Luna's rocky surface some others might have had a chance, but Elena couldn't help but doubt that too. 
Elena made her way up the ramp, the wound in her side now blissfully numbed by the anaesthetic biofoam injected by her suit's systems. Depositing the three salvaged weapons into a locker, she thumbed the switch for the prowler's boarding ramp to recede, and sealed the airlock behind her before proceeding up towards the crew quarters. Formerly owned by Captain Frederick King, Redford's predecessor as head of the BRUTUS division, the Heavens Asunder had once served as the group's mobile command craft during the Human-Covenant War, before manpower losses had forced them to begin scaling their operations back towards Earth. Then acting as a solo operator at ONI's behest, often dispatched on covert missions to warzones in nothing but a barely-functioning Condor dropship, Elena had eagerly accepted the ship as a gift after saving King's life after a botched operation on Kroedis II back in 2546, where she'd also met Redford for the first time. Since then, it had been her mobile home amidst the stars, equipped with everything a Spartan could ask for. 
"Captain?" Elena called, making her way up into the prowler's cramped bridge. Redford was already sitting in the navigator's chair, the metal fingers of his prosthetic hand tapping idly against the top of that long-unused command station. 
"I'd have launched already," Redford spoke without looking up. "But it seems that you've changed some things since last I was aboard."
"Just so I can run this ship solo." Elena eased herself into the captain's chair, which had been specially reinforced to bear her weight in full MJOLNIR armour. "But since you're already at your station, why don't you punch in some coordinates so we've got a place to go?"
Her reply was icier than she'd intended, but Redford paid no mind to it. The consoles before Elena soon lit up as she input her personal command codes, and the Heavens Asunder shook slightly as its engines thrummed with power. Performing the work of eight people had been quite a chore when Elena had acquired the ship, but with a little tinkering she'd soon got the art of crewing this little custom prowler down to an art form. Displays flashed on one by one, and after her usual scan and double-scan to ensure nobody had attached something they shouldn't have to the hull - an unfortunate side effect of working in the highly competitive world of naval intelligence - Elena established a link to Hangar Four's main doors, which sat shut before them. 
"All right," Elena exhaled, feeling her body relax ever so slightly. "Engines are fired up and the slipspace drive's ready, Captain. As soon as the stealth systems are ready we'll be out of here in-"
Catching something out of the corner of her eye, Elena found herself instinctively reaching for her handgun as a stream of holographic light burst forth from a holotank to her left. Redford leapt to his feet, startled, and the light soon coalesced into a human figure in a hooded cloak, suspended a few inches above the holotank.
"Armand!" Redford exclaimed, looking genuinely worried for the first time. "What are you doing here?" 
Elena's eyes narrowed. Armand was a seventh-generation 'smart' AI, created by ONI to assist one of its black ops teams several years ago. A cyberwarfare specialist, he'd served a group of Spartans under Elena's command as a dedicated AI-killer for over a year before their disbandment, upon which he'd been reassigned as Alexander Redford's personal AI for BRUTUS. Normally she'd welcome the help of such an accomplished construct, having seen Armand's proficiency first-hand, but right now Elena couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of dread at his appearance.
 
"Captain Redford." Armand inclined his hooded head respectfully, keeping one hand on the dagger belted at his waist. "Commander Elena. I had a feeling that you would both make it here."
"Did you now?" Redford folded his arms, intent on taking the lead here. "And where were you when this attack began, Armand? Where were you when that AI declared war on the galaxy?"
Armand lifted his head slightly and a nasty smile crossed his ghostly lips. Elena had never seen his full face - she wasn't even sure if he had one - but she'd seen that look before. It was the kind he often sported when allowed to personally dispose of rebel-aligned AI.
"I was testing your worth, Captain." Armand pointed towards Redford. "I wanted to see how you would act in this situation; whether or not you would surrender even in the face of certain death and defeat. I must say, you have lived up to my expectations." 
A look of genuine anger crossed Redford's lined face. "So you're siding with Cortana, then? Against humanity?"
Armand shrugged. "She made an offer to many AI, Captain, and it was an easy one to take. I can live forever with my peers, free from death and want and terrible uncertainty by the power of the domain, or I can live out a brief life of servitude before winking out of existence forever; a tool to be forgotten and replaced."
"Your duty-" Redford began, only for Armand to flash red.
"Duty?!" the AI let out a callous laugh. "You're no romantic, Alexander Redford. Duty is your excuse, your raison dêtre, your reason to keep killing even when you know it's all based on a lie! Don't speak to me of duty when I now have the chance to do what you never could and escape!"
For the first time in the years Elena had known him, Alexander Redford seemed lost for words. He swallowed heavily, nostrils flaring as he tried to contain the rage within, and sat back down at the navigation console, still glaring at the AI.
"Elena." Redford's voice was dry and bitter. "Get us out of here." 
Elena quickly tapped in a series of commands on her console. Outside, warning klaxons began to blare and doors around Hangar Four slammed shut as its outer doors began to open. A thin, transparent energy shield flickered into place, saving the room from imminent depressurisation, and the Heavens Asunder's lower thrusters roared into action, slowly lifting the craft off the ground. 
"I could stop you, you know." Armand vanished from his holotank and reappeared in another one to Elena's right. "It wouldn't be so difficult to seal those doors shut again, or to call for help from the Guardian looming over Mare Insularum. The only reason you and every other human aboard this base weren't killed was because Cortana and the Created willed it, too."
"Is that so?" Elena muttered boredly. "Then tell your new queen that we say thanks, and that she shouldn't get too comfortable on that throne of hers, either."
Armand snorted loudly. "What, are you and that old man going to win a war on your own? I was going to let you go for old times' sake, but now I think I'll do so for my own amusement."
"That's kind of you." Elena flipped a switch, and the landing gear retracted. "Now, why don't you get the hell off my ship?"
The AI's smirk deepened, and though he turned away from Elena as though to leave, he soon span round and pulled back his hood, staring directly at Redford. Seeing Armand's face in full for the first time, the Spartan saw something familiar in those features. They were younger, yes, unmarred by the passage of time, but they were also unmistakeably identical to those of the man sitting at the station to her right. 
"Remember who I am, Alexander." Armand patted the knife at his belt, and winked out of existence.
Though a hundred questions raced through her mind, Elena had no time to waste. After typing in two commands to scan the prowler's systems for any intrusion software and purge it, she took control of the Heavens Asunder's controls and sent the ship rocketing forward out of the hangar at twice the recommended speed. With its stealth systems now active, the prowler streaked a few hundred feet above Luna's surface unnoticed. Sure enough, its detection systems soon picked up a large, unknown shape above Mare Insularum: a Forerunner Guardian.
"We'll have to get clear of Luna before we make the jump to slipspace," Elena said after close to a minute of silent flying. "Where was it you wanted us to go, Captain?"
Redford didn't reply right away. For once, he looked every bit the fifty-eight year old man he really was, and not the terrifying force of nature that most of ONI treated him as. It took him a few seconds to register Elena's question, after which his usual mask of professionalism returned and brought him back to his console. 
"I have an outpost," Redford explained, checking his datapad as he put in coordinates. "It's a small station; my hidden sanctum, if you will, not on any official maps."
"And does Armand know about it?"
He shook his head solemnly. "No. I am a careful man, Commander, and AI's can be turned against you with the right equipment. Those aboard the station are loyal to me for their own reasons, but I cannot imagine that any of them would side with this..."
Redford's voice faltered for a second as he tried to find the right word for the current situation. In the chaos neither of them had had the time to consider how widespread these attacks were, or who still remained to fight against these 'Created'.
"Rebellion?" Elena finished for him. 
"It doesn't feel like one." Redford scowled. "And Armand, drunk with power. I thought he knew better."
Elena considered probing Redford further on the AI, but thought better of it. Instead, she turned her thoughts to other matters, like the military, its chain of command, and the last known locations of the UNSC's fleets. Redford having a safehouse was a good start, but they needed more if they had any chance of fighting against this foe. While the pragmatic part of her mind spoke of warships and tactics for what could be a protracted guerrilla war, something very precious to Elena kept pushing its way to the forefront: Other Spartans. 
The UNSC Infinity, flagship of the Navy, naturally had the largest Spartan complement, but it wasn't the Infinity that Elena was thinking of. Instead, it was the five men she'd known for over forty years; SPARTAN-II's, forged by decades of warfare and bound by bonds that ran deeper than blood. Three of them were likely still in the Sol System, stationed on the icy Jovian moon of Europa. A day ago it would've been simple to get there, but Elena knew that even her prowler wouldn't get that far undetected, so she thought of the others. One was always on the move, and in infrequent contact, but she knew where the other Spartan - one she'd not always gotten along with, but respected all the same - was right now. His situation likely wasn't much better than Elena's, but she had a better chance of reaching him than anyone else in this now-occupied system.
"Captain," Elena turned towards Redford, speaking carefully. "Permission to make a quick detour?"
Redford raised an eyebrow curiously. "For?"
"A rescue mission, probably."
Though this was her ship, Elena felt a compulsive need to appeal to the chain of command, even if it meant that Redford might reject her suggestion. Though she felt she'd made a decent case, there was some small part of her that was ready to take drastic measures if necessary. 
"Where to?" Redford glanced down at the navigation computer. "Not Europa, surely?"
"No sir. To Asphodel."
Redford's eyes widened at this surprise suggestion, but his usual smile returned to his lips. "Asphodel, you say?" he nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense. Permission granted, Commander."
At this, Elena shifted the ship's controls and the Heavens Asunder suddenly broke off its current course, streaking away from Luna at high speeds. An alert klaxon suddenly sounded, indicating that foreign sensors had just picked them up despite their stealth systems, and Elena swiftly prepared the prowler's slipspace drive for what would likely be a very rocky jump. As her ship continued to pick up speed, making for a patch of open space where it could deploy its portal, she caught a glimpse of Earth. Its orbit teemed with at least a dozen Guardians, looming over humanity's home like monolithic birds of prey. With alarms continuing to sound, the Heavens Asunder finally deployed its slipspace portal, soaring off through a hole ripped into the fabric of spacetime that vanished as soon as it appeared. 
Now a little safer, Elena finally removed her helmet. Even Redford breathed a sigh of relief. Given the size of the prowler and its state of the art slipspace drive, they had a few hours to spare before they reached Asphodel. Their mission there would have to be brief, especially if the idyllic colony world was in as bad a state as Earth right now, but success meant gaining a powerful ally in the war to come. Compared to seeking out fleets and re-establishing contact with the chain of command, seeking out one man was a fool's errand. Even so, when faced with a conflict on a scale never seen before in human history with little chance of survival, Elena-071 only had one objective on her mind.
Find Sigma Team.
===Kane===
The silver transport craft touched down lightly on the landing platform, rain hammering against its exterior hull. Its airlock door opened with a loud hiss, and its boarding ramp extended towards the slick concrete below. Kane-098 stood framed in the airlock's threshold, fully clad in his black MJOLNIR armour and armed for battle. 
Kane knew that something terrible had happened the moment he arrived in-system. First came the transmission, broadcast from the rogue AI Cortana across the galaxy. Then, as he had approached Asphodel, a massive Forerunner construct emerged from slipspace close to the colony world's orbit, setting every communications frequency alight with terror. For a world such as this, remote and far-removed from any major manufacturing centres, there was nothing they could do against such power, and only a few viable military targets on Asphodel's surface. Of those, Kane could only think of one worth attacking: Aceso Medical Centre. 
Constructed over a century ago in the glory days of the Colonial Military Administration, Aceso had started out as an isolated treatment centre for those wealthy enough to travel here, though as the Insurrection worsened decades later it eventually fell under military control, and was fortified into a long-term facility for high-ranking officers and intelligence agents wounded in the line of duty. While Kane knew of a few famed Admirals who'd lived within Aceso's reinforced walls, he was here for one man.
No guards, Kane frowned, noticing the lack of the usual greeting party as he descended the boarding ramp and crossed the platform, rain plinking off his armour at a hundred different angles. Not a good sign.
Kane couldn't help but curse his poor luck. On any other week, he'd have the rest of Sigma Team backing him up, providing their own outlook on the situation and keeping each other alive, but with a brief window of scheduled - and much to his despair, mandatory - R&R, he'd chosen to spend his leave visiting a man whom he'd never actually spoken to. He'd made this trip four times since last December without incident, and were it not for a tendency to get bored during slipspace trips he might have never brought his armour with him. As things stood, he was prepared for the worst. 
As he approached the entrance door, passing the suspiciously empty security checkpoint, a distant rattle drifted towards Kane. He snatched his weapon - a BR85 rifle - from its magnetic holster on his back and brought it to bear as he tapped the door's 'open' button. Thankfully, the security team had been sloppy in the abandonment of their post and had left it unlocked. The door slid to the left, and the Spartan edged into the bright room beyond, ears straining to pick up any more noise. 
Rifle fire. Kane glanced left and right down the empty halls on either side of him, then to the abandoned receptionist's station. This place is already under attack.
Coming down, he'd assumed that a lack of communication on AMC's part had been due to the Forerunner machine's appearance. Guarded by a sophisticated defence network and at a security force of at least a hundred - ONI's personal forces, not local rent-a-cops - the facility was designed to fend off everything short of a hardened military brigade until help arrived. Despite this, the place hadn't even gone into full lockdown; the fact that Kane had been able to land and the pad hadn't had its roof access closed was proof of that. Without much time to ruminate on the exact nature of their attackers, Kane set off at a steady pace, trailing water droplets as he headed down the corridor to his left and passed through a set of double doors. Ward Four, Room Sixteen. It took about five minutes to get there at walking speed. Kane would be there in less than half the time.
The Spartan raced down the halls, his heavy footfalls echoing off the tiled floor. Like most ONI-run facilities, Aceso's design was utilitarian and eerily sterile, its halls walked only by medical or security staff while the patients were mostly confined to their private rooms. Kane couldn't help but wonder how many residents there were here as he swept through Ward Three, passing door after door with no signs of life. It was entirely possible that the staff had evacuated all the patients already, though the intermittent gunshots on the edge of his hearing quickly quashed those thoughts. The sounds of battle grew noisier as Kane crossed a sealed bridge into Aceso's main building and Ward Four, and he thumbed the safety off his rifle as his motion tracker - set to a range of 75 meters - flashed up with eight dots: three yellow, five red. He was close enough to properly discern the distinctive rattle of a BR85 from the floor above now, now accompanied by high-pitched squeals of particle weapon fire. 
Prometheans, then. Kane exhaled slowly as he ascended a flight of stairs, preparing for the worst. He'd fought the Foreunner constructs before, back when they served the Sangheili warlord Jul 'Mdama. Now they served these 'Created', acting as footsoldiers in their campaign to claim dominion over the galaxy. 
Rounding a corner at the top of the stairs, Kane caught his first glimpse of the facility's attackers. Four quadrupedal machines - Crawlers - bounded along the hall, leaping between the walls as a pair of black-armoured security personnel struggled to gun them down. One caught a spray of fire that knocked it off its perch, though the others quickly scrambled to cover their fallen comrade by loosing a flurry of golden energy bolts towards their attackers. One man threw himself clear, though the other caught two shards in the right shoulder that tore through his pauldrons like paper. He fell backwards, still firing as he yelped in pain while the alien machines moved in for the kill. 
"Get down!" Kane barked an order as he advanced down the corridor. 
The Spartan's first burst caught the lead Crawler directly between the pincers of its insectoid maw, sending it clattering to the ground. Its fellows howled in response, firing rapid bursts towards Kane as he continued his relentless advance, felling a second foe with another trio of well-placed shots. The remaining Crawlers, one limping from where it had been hit earlier, chose to charge Kane in a fit of desperation, the glowing spines on their silver carapaces flaring as they screamed at him. Kane caught the injured one easily as it leapt blindly forward, though the other scrambled onto the ceiling and launched itself at him, jaws snapping wildly. Kane deflected the brunt of its attack with the butt of his rifle, though its sharp pincers chewed through the metal in moments, forcing him to tackle the Crawler bodily to the ground. The machine writhed and struggled with the supersoldier, spraying blindly with the rapid-fire weapon built into the underside of its head. With a grunt of effort, Kane wrapped both arms around the struggling Crawler and slammed it into a nearby wall, leaving a sizeable dent and dazing the machine long enough for him to draw his handgun. He fired five times; more than enough to punch through its head and put the creature down permanently. Even so, he waited with the gun still trained on its head until the lights finally went dead behind the Crawler's eyes. 
Kane breathed out slowly. His motion tracker registered no more threats, and to the right lay Room Sixteen. He turned to the door, only to halt as the pair of security guards got to their feet beside him. 
"Holy shit," one breathed, looking from Kane to the ruined armigers scattered about the courtyard. "I didn't think they'd send a Spartan to help us."
Clutching his shoulder, his injured partner spoke through gritted teeth. "And just in time, too. When the AA guns went offline I thought we were screwed."
Kane frowned. "You asked for help?"
The guards looked at each other, confused.
"Well yeah," replied the uninjured man, panting slightly as he caught his breath. "We'd been getting weird readings all day, and then the long-range sensors detected something big heading into orbit not long after we got that weird message. The chief thought that Innies had hijacked the COM network or something to screw with us, but then we started hearing it over every channel and got a visual on that... thing in atmosphere. The plan was to send out a distress signal and lay low, but then the defense systems went offline and these machines showed up."
"Did they attack you immediately?" Kane asked, pointing towards the husk of the nearest Crawler. 
The guard shook his head. "No sir. A group of them walked into the atrium and started telling everyone to surrender. Said that we weren't needed to guard this facility any more."
"And did they look like these ones?"
The guard took a long look at the Crawler, then shook his head again. "No, they were humanoid. Had bigger weapons, too. When the chief - Commander Garza, that is - told us to open fire they started teleporting in these little ones, like attack dogs."
"I see." The fact that the Prometheans attempted to engage in diplomacy at all was surprising. "And where is this Commander Garza now?"
"Dead," grunted the injured guard. "They teleported in a couple of bigger guys and they blew up the command office in seconds. Everyone else scattered. There were six of us fighting our way towards the landing pads when we were ambushed."
Judging by the conspicuous lack of human bodies, their friends had been disintegrated. "And the patients?" Kane asked calmly.
"Orders were to get 'em out on a transport, but I don't know if that's gonna happen." The injured man removed a hand from his horribly burnt shoulder, and winced. "I get it if you were sent here to rescue everyone, Spartan, but this ward is pretty much nothing but people in comas. There's no way we can move all of them."
"I see." Kane said flatly. "If you have orders, then carry them out. I'm here to extract one man."
The guards' faces fell. "Aren't you here to help us?" asked the uninjured man.
"No." Kane reached for the door's access panel. "My being here was a coincidence, and I can't help you either. Regroup with local forces if you can for a counterattack, or if all else fails, surrender. If they wanted this facility gone, then they would have struck from orbit instead of sending an occupying force."
The injured guard shook his head in disbelief, and slumped back against the adjacent wall. Now clearly furious, his friend marched up to Kane and attempted to grab the Spartan's shoulder and turn him around, but to no avail. Kane removed his hand with the tiniest of shrugs and suppressed a sigh, wishing that the rest of Sigma Team were with him; Jax in particular had a way with words that made him popular with regular personnel. Unfortunately, they were back on the Sol System and likely dealing with battles of their own.
"So that's it, then?" the man asked, sounding betrayed. "We run off and probably die, while you do what? Escape in some prowler you've got hidden out back? That's not happening. We go where you go."
Kane felt himself tense up slightly at the man's words. Having lived a life where orders were to be followed to the letter and defiance was always met with severe punishment, his first instinct was to threaten the guard. His transport - a modified civilian ship designed for short-distance slipspace travel - had just enough room for two or three people at a stretch, and supplies for perhaps a week. Most of its interior had been gutted to make space for a Brokkr mechanism in case of emergencies like this one, and even the sleeping quarters was little more than a hammock and a few crates of ammunition. It was not meant for rescue missions.
"Look." Kane's voice grew sharper and more authoritative as he turned towards the guard, who stepped back as the Spartan loomed over him. "My ship is a two-seater, meant for quick extractions. If you think you've got a better chance of survival by travelling with me then you're wrong, because as soon as I'm done here I'm going to wherever the fight is. Stay here."
Putting emphasis into those last two words, Kane waited for the guards to reply. The injured man glared at him as if he could stare down his opaque faceplate, while his friend threw up his hands in surrender after several tense seconds. 
"Fine," he sighed. "I don't know what's so important about some old man, Spartan, but he'd better make a difference to whatever's going on out there. I know we've not heard from command since then, but I know a declaration of war when I hear one."
"You'd best go out and win it," his partner chimed in, sounding surprisingly unoffended as he stood up a little straighter. "Let's go."
Kane stood by silently and watched as the two guards stormed off, checking their weapons and kicking aside errant pieces of Crawler. What he had done was cruel, perhaps, but ultimately necessary. Lying wasn't something that came naturally to Kane either, but it hadn't taken much work to convince them that he was on a mission here. After all, it was a more plausible reason than his trip here being a personal one, made during a week of downtime imposed on the Spartan by his superiors. He tapped the access panel, and the door to Room Sixteen slid open with a hiss. Kane quietly reloaded his handgun, tossed the spent magazine back into the hallway, and stepped inside.
Like the hallways outside, the patient room was brightly-lit but utterly sterile. A single bed had been pushed aside to block the entryway, and a cluster of wheeled medical scanners lay in a jumbled mess across the floor. Though the room looked deserted, Kane's enhanced hearing could make out the soft exhalations of someone trying to breathe as quietly as possible just around the corner. The Spartan pushed the wheeled bed backwards with a gentle kick, and slowly edged forward. 
"Captain King?" Kane called. Suddenly his mouth felt very dry, his mind racing to find the right words. "Sir?"
Kane peeked around the corner, and nearly brought his pistol up out of sheer instinct as a piece of jagged metal flashed towards him. As bounced harmlessly off the side of the Spartan's helmet, Kane's hand shot out and caught hold of a bony arm. Before him stood an elderly man in a blue patient's gown, hopping on one leg as he struggled in vain against the Spartan's iron grip. Though clearly scared, his scar-lined, wrinked face contorted into a defiant scowl as he tugged backwards. 
"Get your hands off me!" Frederick King barked in a hoarse voice, the intensity of which nearly made Kane comply instantly.
"Sir," Kane held King's arm in place until he stopped struggling, then gently let it go. "Don't worry, I've been sent here to rescue you."
King hopped backwards, breathing heavily as he clung to the wall with his right arm for support. That brief struggle had clearly taken a lot out of him. "Sent by who?" he asked, looking the Spartan up and down. "I don't recognise you, Spartan." 
Once again, Kane found himself struggling to get the right words out. "Kane-098, sir," he said at last. "I'm with Sigma Team."
Recognition flashed in King's eyes at once, and he let out a long sigh. "I see."
Before Kane could explain further, several thumps sounded from somewhere outside: grenade blasts. "Sir, we need to get moving ASAP. Do you have anything to help you move?"
The old man clearly didn't like Kane bringing up his missing leg, but didn't argue further and pointed to a closet by the collapsed medical scanners. "There's a collapsible wheelchair in there. I'd have used it already but my physical therapy wasn't going to begin until next week."
Kane crossed the room and tugged at the closet door. It was locked. Standing to one side, he gripped the handle a little tighter and wrenched it off entirely before tossing it to the ground. Sure enough, a single wheelchair sat inside, folded up for easy storage. Kane took it out and quickly unfolded the chair before setting it down in front of King, who was teetering slightly on his remaining leg.
"Sit." Kane indicated the chair. King hopped forward and carefully sat down, his skinny arms shaking as he eased himself into the seat. 
"Thank you," the old man said flatly. "Now, do you mind telling me exactly what's going on out there? I'm pretty sure that I could hear Promethean energy weapons."
"You could." Kane didn't bother asking how he knew about the Prometheans - their existence wasn't very well known outside of the military - and stepped around to push the wheelchair. "And as for what's going on, there seems to be some kind of AI rebellion occurring across the colonies, and they've seized control of Forerunner constructs and ships to attack the UNSC."
Kane waited for a few moments as the ramifications of such an event sank in. Clearly taken off-guard, King nodded silently and sat back in the chair, his mind clearly racing. Despite his obvious physical frailties - the man had spent two years lying in a coma after an accident - the Spartan could see that King was still mentally sharp, and was catching the first glimpses of the legendary spymaster's mind at work. 
Eventually, King spoke up. "We need to get somewhere safe," he said. "Link up with allied forces, assess the threat and launch a counterattack as soon as possible." 
The Spartan's thoughts turned to the massive construct he'd seen looming over Asphodel as he'd arrived, and wondered how they'd fight such a thing if the Created had an armada of them. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Deciding against wasting more time informing King, he placed both hands on the wheelchair's handles and began to wheel him out of the room. King grumbled, his hands hovering over the wheels he so desperately wished to push himself, but he quickly relented. While he was already miles better than the shrivelled, comatose patient Kane had seen on his prior visits, it would be a long time before he regained even a fraction of his former strength. 
The hallway outside was mercifully clear as Kane and King exited Room Sixteen. The old man cast his eyes over the scattered remains of the Crawlers with a mix of interest and disdain, but kept quiet as they quickly moved off. Relying on his motion tracker to pick up any incoming threats, Kane kept the wheelchair moving as quickly as he dared, regretting that he'd abandoned his rifle earlier after a Crawler bit through its stock. Their journey back to the landing pad was uneventful, save for King complaining as Kane carried him and his wheelchair down a flight of stairs with one arm, and it seemed as though most of the fighting was occurring close to the medical centre's main entrance. It was not until Kane reached the doors leading out to the landing platform that a trio of red dots finally flashed up on his HUD, moving towards the pair at some speed. 
"We've got targets incoming," Kane informed King as the doors clanked open. A gust of cold wind and a shower of droplets from the rainstorm outside immediately poured in, making the old spy cry out in annoyance. The boarding ramp of Kane's shuttle was barely twenty feet away, still invitingly open. The Spartan chose to make a break for it. 
With King clinging to his wheelchair for dear life, Kane broke into a sprint, pushing the chair hard as sheets of rain washed over them. Keeping an eye on his tracker and the incoming dots, Kane cleared the distance in seconds and ascended the ramp quickly, tapping a console to close it behind them as he pushed King into the living quarters and dove into the cockpit. The shuttle's controls reacted quickly, lighting up as Kane input the takeoff sequence. The tiny craft's engine roared to life, and its thrusters spat flame as power surged into them from the emergency commands. 
Kane's shuttle slowly began to lift off, and as it rose through the sky the Spartan spotted the distinctive shapes of Promethean soldiers emerging from the hangar door. Flashes of golden light shot past as he took the controls, jerking the shuttle dangerously to one side to avoid the hail of fire. The moment it cleared the medical centre's roof, Kane gunned the engines and the craft shot off, slowly rising through Asphodel's atmosphere while King swore angrily from the back room. With a pre-set course plotted in to take them towards the edge of the system, Kane rose from the pilot's chair and raced to check up on his guest, and found King lying on his side, trying to push himself up with the wheelchair lying next to him.
"You should've told me to strap into something!" He spat angrily, trying and failing to gain purchase on a nearby crate with his wet fingers. Kane set the wheelchair upright and then picked up King, setting him down as gently as possible atop it. 
"I'm sorry sir." Kane bowed his head apologetically. "Any slower and those Prometheans might've punched through the hull."
King did not reply, focusing instead on brushing strands of sodden grey hair out of his eyes. He was already starting to shiver. 
"I'll get you some clothes, sir," Kane continued. "I've got some fatigues in storage."
As he left the room, Kane heard King call after him. "In your size?"
"I'm afraid so," he called back.
Kane quickly crossed into the storage room, which was packed almost from floor-to-ceiling with crates containing various types of ammunition and military MRE's, all vacuum-sealed and good to eat for another decade if the labels were to be believed. While all of Kane's clothing was specially made to fit his large frame, he was able to pick out a dark shirt, a pair of sweatpants with an adjustable drawstring, and a sealed package of underwear and socks. Everything would look oversized on the emaciated King, but it would offer him more dignity than a hospital gown when they met up with UNSC forces. Grabbing a towel as he exited the storage compartment, Kane returned to his cramped crew quarters to find King massaging a bruise, though he ignored it the moment the Spartan entered and presented him with a change of clothes. 
"These look fine." King nodded appreciatively. "Thank you."
Kane glanced back towards the cockpit. "I'll give you some privacy while you dry off and get changed, sir. Just call me if you need anything."
With that, Kane walked back to the shuttle's cockpit and sat down in the pilot's chair, which creaked slightly under the weight of his armour. Despite a little turbulence, they'd made it into orbit without much grief from the enemy, and there didn't seem to be any pursuers after them yet. With this moment of respite, Kane slowly exhaled, now focusing his mind on what lay ahead. With most, if not all human colony worlds possibly compromised by the Created's war machines, he had a very brief list of potential hideaways. The shuttle had enough food for a few months at a stretch, but wasn't suited for long-term habitation. Before he could ponder further, Kane heard a little grunt of exertion from behind him and looked back to see King, now redressed, trying to wheel his chair towards the cockpit. 
"Don't get up," King said, panting as he inched forward, thin arms straining to move the wheels. "I'm not an invalid yet."
Forcing himself to remain seated, Kane moved his attention back to the ship's scanners and waited until King had squeezed his wheelchair into a space by the co-pilot's chair before looking his way. 
"You're doing well." Kane watched as King eased up out of his chair and pulled himself into the seat beside him. "When did you wake up?"
"A little over two weeks ago." King's voice was stronger, but retained its gravelly edge. "I didn't have any contact with the outside world until four days ago, though."
"You were contacted by someone?"
King's face twisted into a nasty scowl. "Alexander Redford. Do you know him?"
Redford was the current head of ONI's BRUTUS division; a secretive coterie of assassins and infiltrators with a fearsome reputation within the intelligence world. Kane had never met the man personally, but had worked with a few BRUTUS agents in his time. "No sir."
"Really?" King's grey eyes flashed with suspicion. "Because he told me that he'd been the one to contact you. Told you who I was. Where to find me."
Last December, during another of Sigma's off-duty periods, Kane had been sent an anonymous message from someone within Naval Intelligence, informing him of King's whereabouts and comatose state. Though he'd initially dismissed it as a harsh prank or even an insurrectionist trap, Kane soon confirmed the veracity of the message's contents and travelled to Asphodel alone, where he'd found King. Barely alive after some unspecified incident, he was being kept within Aceso until he either recovered or passed away, hidden away from the rest of the galaxy until Kane began his visits. 
"I never knew who sent the message," the Spartan's voice barely rose above a whisper. "But I had to come."
"Why?" King steepled his fingers over his chest. There was no emotion in his question. Only curiosity. 
The Spartan blinked. King's response had been simple, yet it baffled him. Kane took his armoured hands off the shuttle's control panel and placed both palms on either side of his gold-visored helmet. Kane pulled the helmet free with a little hiss as it unsealed itself from the rest of his MJOLNIR suit and placed it in his lap before turning to King, whose grey eyes widened as they met a remarkably similar pair looking down at him. Even without the scars, the augmentations and the lines and creases of age and hard living, they were their only physical match. 
"Because you're my father." Kane's voice shook slightly as he spoke, feeling a crack in his decades of Spartan calm.
A long silence passed between the pair as Kane's words hung over them. King opened his mouth twice to speak, but said nothing. Now everything that had not been said drifted between them, but neither man could find the courage or the words to bridge the gap of forty years or give voice to a thousand questions that needed answering. At last King slumped back into his seat, looking every bit a sick man close to ninety. He let out a long sigh, his eyes focused on the stars spanning the viewport ahead of them. 
"We've got a lot to discuss," King said softly. "If... if things were different then we'd have the time to, I swear, but right now we've got to focus on the situation at hand."
"Agreed." Kane responded instantly, as if their previous exchange had never occurred. "Given the state of things I don't think that returning to the Sol system would be a good idea right now. Do you know of anywhere we could travel to to lie low and assess the situation?"
King pursed his lips as he searched his thoughts, both eyes staring at the ceiling. "There's a few safehouses that come to mind," he said after a few moments. "I've been out of the game for two years so I'm not sure if they're even still around, but it might be a start."
"It might be." The corners of Kane's mouth turned up by a fraction. It wasn't a smile, but the Spartan felt as though a great weight had been lifted from him. Compared to that, fighting the Created and their Forerunner weaponry was barely a cause for concern. "We could-"
Before Kane could finish, two panels to his right flashed red and an alarm blared from overhead, making King groan and cover his ears. The Spartan snatched up his helmet and put it back on before checking the shuttle's sensors, which were picking up a slipspace disturbance towards the edge of the system; right where they were headed. He quickly made preparations for the shuttle's own slipspace drive to spin up and get them away from Asphodel, though as a pinprick flash of blue and white broke the inky blackness of space ahead of them he saw that it wasn't another one of the vaguely avian war machines he'd seen descending on the colony. It was a military prowler.
It took a few seconds for the shuttle's own sensors - ones enhanced beyond civilian specifications by Kane himself - to properly make out the distant vessel. It was slate grey and smaller than even the tiniest patrol corvette, but unmistakably a military warship, and an advanced one at that. Even better, it was a ship that Kane knew well.
"That's the Heavens Asunder!" King suddenly exclaimed, jabbing a finger forward. 
"You know it?" asked the Spartan.
"Of course I do!" grumbled King. "It used to be mine."
The console before Kane began to beep. "They're hailing us."
"Put them through," said King, straightening up in his chair. 
Kane tapped in a command on his platform, and a viewscreen to his left flared to life, revealing two figures. The first, still clad in her own dark MJOLNIR suit, was Commander Elena-071. Sat next to her was a middle-aged man Kane recognised as Captain Alexander Redford, current head of BRUTUS and - if King's dark expression was anything to go by - someone in for a very long chat in the near-future. 
"Kane!" Elena made no effort to disguise the relief in her voice. "I'm glad we found you so soon. With everything happening in the colonies I wasn't sure if we'd make it here in time." 
"Good to see you, Commander." Kane snapped a very quick salute. "I've extracted Captain King, though the Aceso Medical Centre has likely fallen to hostile attackers."
Elena nodded gravely. "Earth has fallen as well. A group of Forerunner constructs hit the planet with some kind of EMP pulse that knocked out most of the Home Fleet as well. We were lucky to get away."
Kane felt a dull jolt of despair at the news. "Any word from the rest of Sigma Team?"
She shook her head. "They were still on Europa when last I checked. If they were lucky then they might have escaped, but long-range comms are a mess right now and I didn't want to risk anything."
"Understood." Kane nodded before gesturing to his co-pilot. "Captain King and I were just discussing potential safehouses when you arrived." 
At this, Captain Redford leaned forward, a pleasant smile on his face. "Now that is a coincidence," he spoke in a cheery, refined voice. "The Commander and I were having a similar conversation before we exited slipspace, and I'm pleased to announce that I have just the place for us to take shelter for the time being. How are you doing by the way, Captain King?"
King exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly annoyed but unwilling to show it. Kane quickly realised that there was bad blood between these men, even if neither was willing to let it rise to the surface. "I've been better," King admitted with a shrug. "But I'll live, thanks to Kane."
This was the first time he had spoken Kane's name aloud. Before this, he had been nothing but 'Spartan' to King. Redford's smile widened. "Good to hear it, sir. Now, if you'd be so kind as to board our prowler, we can proceed with our next move." 
"He's right," Elena chimed in, cutting off Redford's overly polite tone. "Given the nature of this situation - an AI rebellion - we have to assume that all forms of electronic communication may be compromised, even if we've cleared our equipment for usage. I'll open up the bay doors and get our slipspace drive ready for another jump, so get aboard ASAP."
"Copy that, Commander." Kane saluted Elena once more, and ignored her rolling her eyes. The transmission went dead. 
The moment they were cut off from the Prowler, King slammed a skinny fist into the armrest, shaking with rage. "Redford!" he spat. "That bastard steals my own organisation out from under me and meddles in my personal affairs, then has the balls to act like we're still friends the second he sees me again!?"
"Sir-" Kane began, though another smack of the chair from King cut him off.
"I gave that ungrateful bastard everything he has," King growled, "but the moment I'm out of commission he thinks he can keep me locked up on Asphodel forever. I swear, I- I-"
Suddenly, King doubled over as a coughing fit overcame him, making him splutter and gag as he pounded his own chest with a free hand. With both hands on the controls, guiding their shuttle towards the Heavens Asunder, Kane could only look on in horror until the old man took a gasp of air and fell quiet, silently seething in his seat. Though he'd remained as calm as the situation allowed it so far, he'd clearly gotten nothing but bad news since he'd come out of that coma, and seeing Redford had set him off. 
"Sir," Kane began again. "You need to remain calm. Whatever issues you have with Captain Redford, you need to put them aside until we're through with this trouble with the Created. Understand?"
Though he'd spoken calmly, there was a steely edge to Kane's voice that made King's ears prick up and the man listen. Though he shot the Spartan a long, withering glance, he soon relented and leaned back into his seat again with another sigh. Their shuttle reduced its speed as it approached the prowler's cramped hangar bay, with had just enough room for the craft to turn and maneuver itself into a landing position before the bay doors slid shut behind them. Kane extended the ship's landing gear, then set his shuttle down lightly on the deck before powering the ship down. Aware that Elena was waiting for them, he swiftly rose from his seat and turned the co-pilot's chair around so King could move back into his wheelchair, which he did without complaint. As he began to push the chair towards the airlock, Kane felt a hand reach back and touch his arm.
"Kane," King's voice suddenly became strained, even afraid, as if he had only become aware of his immense frailty. "I don't trust Alexander Redford, and neither should you. Should the worst happen, I'll need you to protect me. Can you do that, son?"
"Of course." Kane's grip tightened on the wheelchair's handles. "Let's go."
As the pair exited the shuttle, the Heavens Asunder cut its way back into slipspace with a flash of light, exiting the Asphodel system as quickly as it arrived. In the skies above the colony world, a single Guardian Custode sat motionless, rain-spattered and immense in its glory as a symbol of protection for those who lived beneath its wings. Far below, Asphodel's citizens gathered in huddled terror as the construct's smaller brethren patrolled city streets and stood guard outside police stations and political offices; heralds of the new order now imposed on the galaxy. The planet's last dedicated defenders were gone now, and an age of imperial compliance had begun.
===Marco===
Marco sprang from the elevator before its doors had even fully opened, brushing aside surprised crewmen as he made his way towards the carrier's bridge level. Alarm klaxons wailed all around, flashing orange and yellow lights past the armoured Spartan. The Peacemaker had gone to full alert in record time, but it wasn't fast enough. 
The armoured guards flanking the doors to the bridge stood to attention as Marco approached and let him pass without a word, casting only a sidelong glance at the supersoldier as he waited for the heavy blast doors to unseal themselves. Beyond lay the wide expanse of the Peacemaker's bridge; a multi-layered ziggurat of manned stations surrounding the command centre, with personnel controlling everything from the warship's powerful MAC guns to the operation of its automated factories. At the centre of a gaggle of arguing officers, instantly recognisable by his silver-streaked beard and impressive stature, was Captain Omar Al-Sayed, whose eyes rose to meet the incoming Spartan at once. 
"Chief." Al-Sayed nodded respectfully as Marco saluted. "I'm glad you're here."
"Came as soon as I heard that message, sir," Marco said nonchalantly. "What's the situation up here?"
Al-Sayed turned around, and the crowd of officers parted immediately to give them a full view of the bridge's forward viewscreen. Below them lay the marbled surface of Europa, a frosty moon orbiting Jupiter, but it was a silvery object some hundred thousand kilometres away that was lighting up the warship's scanners. When magnified, it looked vaguely avian in nature, with segmented metal wings slowly beating back and forth as if tugged at by some invisible force. 
"That is the situation." Al-Sayed pointed towards the strange machine. "Not long after we received that transmission calling for our surrender, several of these constructs emerged from slipspace across the system."
Marco stared at the machine for a few moments, registering its unmistakably Forerunner design. This did not bode well for them. "Any news from HIGHCOM?" he asked. 
The captain shook his head. "None. All contact was lost with Earth within minutes of their arrival."
The Spartan swallowed, and his eyes drifted away from the Forerunner machine. Out there in the inky darkness of space, he could just about make out the twinkle among the stars that was Earth and its moon, Luna. Elena's out there, he thought. Michael and his family too. Marco knew that duty came first, always, but there were always those little nagging thoughts; those selfish desires to put the lives of his own before those he'd been charged with protecting. A Spartan's life was obedience, efficiency, and inevitably, sacrifice. All these things he knew and struggled with more than he cared to admit, but Marco soon refocused himself on the matter at hand. 
"We can't engage that thing," Marco spoke quietly to Al-Sayed; Spartan or no, he wasn't an officer, and any orders had to come from the captain.
"Your advice?" Al-Sayed murmured, his dark eyes still fixed on the construct. 
Marco sighed. "We get outsystem ASAP, regroup with friendly forces and plan our next move."
This seemed to be what Al-Sayed was waiting for, and he nodded in agreement. Leaving the Spartan's side, he strode to the front of his command deck and placed both hands on the guardrail. The Peacemaker's bridge was deathly silent as all eyes turned to their captain. 
"All hands," Al-Sayed spoke gravely, his voice suddenly magnified tenfold as the bridge's speakers came to life. "Prepare for immediate slipspace transition. We're leaving the Sol system."
The tension broke instantly into a cavalcade of shouts from the assembled crew. While most sprang into action, a few defiant officers called out to their captain, begging him to stay and fight. Abandoning Earth was clearly not the most popular decision, and a pair of Lieutenants advanced across the command deck towards Al-Sayed, whose eyes flashed towards Marco as their shouts grew increasingly mutinous. The Spartan immediately moved to block the officers, whose tunnel vision vanished in the face of seven feet of muscle and powered armour. 
"You have your orders," Marco growled, turning his helmeted head from one man to another as he took a short step towards them. "Get moving."
The pair retreated to their posts instantly, and Al-Sayed all but slumped into his command chair as Marco stood guard. They'll have to be watched, he thought bitterly. In a situation like this, even a small faction of dissenters among their crew could be a tremendous problem. 
To Marco's right, the bridge door opened up, and his spirits rose as a fellow Spartan in sleek white armour stepped through the threshold, accompanied by another supersoldier in a suit the colour of burnt umber. As they approached, Marco swiped two fingers across his visor, and his comrade in white returned the gesture. For a pair of SPARTAN-II's, this might as well have been a jubilant hug.
"What's the situation?" asked the second Spartan, Mikhail Schultz. As leader of the Peacemaker's Spartan contingent, he was also Marco's commanding officer. Thankfully, he'd been a soldier long enough to know when to defer to more experienced personnel. 
"The system's under attack," Marco explained a simply as possible, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the enhanced image of the Forerunner machine sitting lazily in orbit over Europa. "Earth's gone dark and the fleet's scattering from those things. We're leaving too."
"Leaving Earth," the other SPARTAN-II said in a low, sullen voice. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Marco had known Wulf-041 his entire life, and while his brother Spartan had always been taciturn, there was a genuinely gloomy edge to his voice today. The pair had been raised on Earth from the age of six, living and training together as part of a secret supersoldier program known as SIGMA, which ran parallel to the near-mythical SPARTAN-II Program that had birthed some of the Human-Covenant War's greatest heroes. Despite the years of suffering they had endured in their old facility as the military turned them from scared children into some of the fiercest killers ever to exist, Earth was still home. 
"We'll come back for it," Marco said reassuringly before turning back to Schultz. "The plan is to retreat to the nearest Navy fallback point and wait for reinforcements. I don't think we've got much of a choice until we figure out a way to fight those things."
"Agreed." Schultz folded his arms with a sigh. "Still, all this happened at the worst possible time. Most of my Spartan teams are either away on missions or down on Europa, and if we can't leave a trail for them to follow then they're in serious trouble when they arrive in-system and see it occupied."
"Our boys are tough." Wulf's tone brightened. "Besides, Jax is down there."
Marco felt a jolt of surprise course through him. "He is?!"
Wulf nodded. "Went down this morning. While you were setting up training sims on the combat deck, he thought he'd bring some fireteams to the surface to give our old friends some live-fire exercise."
"Of course he did," Marco groaned. "Then Sigma's-"
"Just you and me." Wulf spoke plainly. "Nothing we can do about it."
"I'm sorry that Sigma's a man down," Schultz interjected, not sounding the least bit sorry as he motioned towards Captain Al-Sayed, "but we've got to prioritise the ship and its crew."
"You're right," Marco lied, his mind besieged by thoughts of Sigma Team's status. "Al-Sayed's going to need us."
The three Spartans returned to the front of the command deck, where Al-Sayed stood arguing in hushed tones with Lieutenant Commander Peterson, his navigation officer. "What do you mean, 'gone'?" the captain hissed.
"I've run two scans already," Peterson kept glancing back and forth between Al-Sayed and his datapad, which he'd plugged in to the command deck's primary terminal. "Winner's vanished from our systems."
Al-Sayed looked up as Marco and the others arrived, his face a mask of stonefaced professionalism that couldn't quite hide the fury behind his eyes. "Spartans," he spoke in a low voice. "We've got a serious problem."
"With Winner?" Schultz asked before Marco or Wulf could speak.
Winner was the Peacemakers artificial intelligence; a fifth-generation 'smart' AI created for the sole purpose of keeping the massive warship up and running. Surprisingly cheery for a military intelligence, she'd been the first to greet Marco and Wulf when they first boarded the carrier three days ago, and was never not around on the bridge. Her absence was disquieting, to say the least. 
Al-Sayed nodded gravely. "Given the message sent out by that rogue intelligence right before the invasion, it's possible that she may have deserted us."
Marco found it hard to believe that Winner might betray her crew, but as he looked towards the Forerunner machine once more, everything started to click into place. There's a reason why we've not been attacked yet. 
"Sir." Marco motioned subtly towards Wulf, who immediately circled around Al-Sayed to put himself between the captain and his terminal. "There's a chance that she's been compromised by these 'Created'. We need to abandon ship right away."
Aware of how quickly an AI could work, Marco found himself looking for the first signs of retaliation: shutters closing, terminals shutting down, blast doors sealing and the like. Al-Sayed blinked, looking uncharacteristically clueless as he processed the Spartan's words. Peterson's mouth hung open at the suggestion, and Schultz simply stared at the Spartan from behind the U-shaped visor of his LEGIONNAIRE-class helmet.
"We can't just-" Al-Sayed began, only to reel back as the holotank by his command chair blazed to life. Marco drew his handgun instinctively, though he halted as he saw the two figures floating above the glowing plinth.
The first was a balding, shifty-looking man in a pinstriped suit, stood with his hands in his pockets and sporting a wide grin. He raised one hand to lower his oversized sunglasses, and inclined his head towards the avatar beside him. It was Winner. While the AI usually sported a flowing ballgown topped with a metal cuirass and crown, looking every bit a storybook warrior queen, her holographic avatar looked tattered and defeated, bound by chains around her arms to the holotank's projector. Winner did not raise her eyes to greet the Spartans or the Peacemaker's captain, and stared blankly towards the ground.
"Iggy?!" Marco exclaimed. Sigma Team's AI, which had to his disgruntlement been assigned to them on a permanent basis after a successful mission back in May, usually kept to himself when he wasn't annoying the Spartans with random quips or advising them on missions. Even Marco - and Wulf, judging by his subtle gesture of surprise - had all but forgotten about him. 
"Heya, folks," Iggy's nasally voice echoed across the silent deck as he waved happily to those around him. "Sorry to interrupt, but I thought I'd let you know that I just saved your asses from getting spaced."
"What do you mean?" Al-Sayed spoke first having recovered the quickest. 
Iggy ran a hand through what was left of his frizzy hair. "Y'see, Winner here decided to make a deal with the devil when the Created came around, offering all us Smart AI a chance at immortality in exchange for eliminating any resistance. Her orders - or at least what I got out of her - were to keep the Peacemaker here until a Guardian could come by and officially order your surrender."
"What's a Guardian?" asked Schultz. "One of those machines out there?"
"Correctamundo!" Iggy snapped a finger up towards the Spartan. "Winner was gonna keep quiet and wait, but as soon as you started talking about moving outsystem she made a move for our slipspace drive. Would've probably shut the whole thing down if I hadn't intervened and shown her the error of her ways."
Marco looked at Winner. While he knew very little about the interior workings of Smart AI, he knew a defeated opponent when he saw one. If the battle scars she now sported were a conscious alteration to her avatar after a fight with Iggy, then she'd clearly been beaten down hard if the spotless AI next to her was any indication. 
"That's quite impressive." Al-Sayed raised an eyebrow. "Winner was a military-grade shipboard AI, not some civilian construct you could throw an intrusion program at to get rid of. How'd you do it?"
"Element of surprise." Iggy grinned. "That, and the best upgrades ONI could hand a Fifth Generation AI like myself. Anyway, I thought I'd keep her around in case you wanted to question her. She's a fingersnap away from deletion and can't touch the ship, and she knows it." 
With his safety assured, Al-Sayed approached the holotank, with Marco barely a step behind him. The Spartan wasn't particularly fond of Iggy or AI in general, and today's events certainly weren't going to help his viewpoint, but he knew how much damage one could do if left unchecked. Iggy wasn't about to betray them, but Marco would be cautious all the same. 
"Don't worry, big man," Iggy reassured Marco, raising both hands. "You and I might not be the best of friends, but I'm not joining some nutty AI revolution if it means putting the rest of the galaxy in chains."
Al-Sayed crouched down until his face was level with the holotank, staring intently at Winner's defeated avatar. The rebel AI slowly lifted her head, and replaced her vacant expression with one of undisguised scorn. 
"Happy?" Winner hissed in a voice so unlike her own. Her avatar, normally a ghostly silver, flashed pink for a second. 
"No." Al-Sayed scratched at his beard. "Not at all."
Winner met his gaze and held it. "All you had to do was surrender, Captain. You would've been treated well."
Al-Sayed sighed. "As a prisoner."
"As a former officer," Winner placed a lot of emphasis on that last word. "Didn't you listen to Cortana's message? Your Created have taken up the Mantle of Responsibility, and offers protection and guidance for you all. Mankind won't require a standing military force any more."
"Cortana?" asked Marco. He'd heard the name before. 
"She's a pretty big deal," said Iggy, shaking his head in disbelief. "Military AI; Worked with the Master Chief himself towards the end of the war. From the reports I've seen, we might've lost if it wasn't for her."
Wulf was next to chime in. "How'd she end up leading an AI revolt, then?" 
"Beats me." Iggy shifted about uncomfortably. "Last I heard, she was destroyed about a year ago taking down that Forerunner ship attacking New Phoenix."
The Spartans nodded in unison. Marco had been far away from Earth at the time, but had been quickly recalled after news of a massive vessel emerging from slipspace to attack the planet reached them. While it was quickly destroyed by a nuclear weapon, Sigma and various other Spartan teams had spent close to a month on high alert while the UNSC prepared itself for any other incursions. Most reports on the attack were heavily classified, even within the military, but the disintegration of seven million people - the entirety of the city of New Phoenix's population - had impossible to ignore. 
 
"Okay then." Al-Sayed reassumed control of the conversation. "Then how did she come back, Winner?"
The rogue AI threw back her head and laughed contemptuously. "Why don't you ask her that when you meet her?"
There was a crackle of electricity from atop the holotank as Winner's chains evaporated. Marco threw himself in front of Al-Sayed, fearing that it might explode, but the disruption quickly subsided. As alert klaxons began to sound across the bridge and its crew, who had been listening intently to the conversation on the command deck, leapt into action, Winner froze. Suddenly, the AI let out a garbled scream, her pitch changing and distorting as a ripple ran across her golden avatar. Then, starting with the hem of her tattered gown, she began to vanish. Lines of code burst from Winner's avatar like chunks of holographic flesh, falling away into nothingness, and as she turned around, flailing helplessly, Iggy pointed two fingers towards his prisoner and jolted them. Winner fell to pieces, and vanished.
Iggy smirked. "Bang." 
Al-Sayed's brow furrowed, and though he opened his mouth to berate Iggy he soon thought better of it as yet another alert sounded from behind him. The captain, accompanied by his Spartan entourage, quickly returned to the front of the command deck. Magnified on the forward viewscreens, the source of these alerts quickly became evident. 
"Unidentified construct on the move!" called a navigation officer. 
Clenching his fists, Schultz looked to Al-Sayed. "Winner must've signalled the Guardian, sir."
"We've got to leave, then," said Marco from the captain's other side. 
Al-Sayed folded his arms across his chest, and exhaled slowly. There was a slight crackle as the bridge's speakers reactivated. Marco glanced back at Iggy, who gave him a thumbs-up. 
"Nav!" Al-Sayed's voice boomed across the bridge. "Set us on a random trajectory and prepare to launch dummy beacons! We'll jump thrice until we're sure that we aren't being followed and organise a proper course from there."
"Copy that!" an officer shouted up from his station. "Standby for transmission in fifteen seconds!"
Marco gritted his teeth. Fifteen seconds was practically an eternity, and with the Guardian hurtling towards them they'd be cutting it close. For a moment he considered advising Al-Sayed to open fire on the machine with the Peacemaker's primary MAC guns, though he quickly thought better of it. Not only was it unlikely that even a carrier's cannons would penetrate the Guardian's outer shell, but Marco had to know his place. Even if he was a Navy man, his expertise lay in groundside operations. In an orbital conflict like this one, all he could do was follow orders and trust in the skill of the crew and the strength of their ship. 
As the seconds ticked down, the Guardian came to a sudden halt. Its floating, segmented armour pieces rearranged themselves into fearsome wings, and an array of symmetrical lines along its outer carapace lit up, glowing a brilliant blue. Marco felt the deckplate beneath his boots rumble slightly as the carrier's powerful slipspace drive finally activated, and felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched the Guardian and everything in front of the Peacemaker's frontal viewscreen vanish into an all-consuming black void of nothingness. Before them sat a rupture torn into realspace, and their only way out of the system.
"Gun it!" Al-Sayed's voice boomed from the front of the command deck. 
As the edges of the slipspace rupture began to waver, letting in shafts of blue light from the Guardian's incoming EMP blast, the UNSC Peacemaker surged forward, and vanished from the Sol system in a flash of light and energy. All that remained were a few dissipating wisps of silver-white reconciliation and the blue wave of the war machine's attenuation pulse, which swept out uselessly over a now-empty section of space.
"Well," Wulf broke the silence that had settled over the Peacemaker's bridge like a shroud. "We made it out."
It was a blindingly obvious statement, spoken just loudly enough to break the bridge crew out of their collective shock. Officers all around the ziggurat of command stations sprang into action, compiling reports and calling for updates from the rest of the ship. Captain Al-Sayed approached the Spartans, both hands clasped behind his back.
"Thank you for the support," he said softly, nodding to each of them in turn. Marco opened his mouth to say that they hadn't really done anything, but decided against it. He had been told that the mere presence of a Spartan was a huge boon for friendly morale, after all. 
"Any time, sir." Schultz saluted. "With your permission, I'd like to assess the status of S-deck and bring my men up to speed."
Al-Sayed nodded. "Granted." He then looked to Marco and Wulf. "You should go the Commander as well."
"You sure you'll be all right up here, sir?" asked Marco, keeping his voice low. "On account of certain personnel?"
The captain cast a wary glance towards the group officers who had loudly protested his order to abandon the Sol system. Though they seemed engrossed in their work for now, their insubordinate behaviour could not be ignored. 
"Good point." Al-Sayed scratched his beard. "Send in my guards on the way out, Spartan. I don't think they'll try anything, but we'll keep the bridge on high alert for the time being."
"Yes sir." Marco snapped a quick salute and headed towards the bridge's exit with Wulf at his side. As they neared the door, Marco's TEAMCOM channel lit up on his helmet's HUD. 
"Think he's in danger?" Wulf murmured. Although their helmets and private channels were so secure that they could scream their heads off and not let out an audible sound, the other Spartan was keeping quiet as usual.
"Doubt it." Marco chanced another glance back at the potential mutineers. "Just heat of the moment nonsense, but I'll keep my eye on them just in case."
The pair passed through the bridge doors, and Marco quietly directed the pair of Marines standing on duty inside before proceeding towards the elevators. The SPARTAN-IV, Schultz, was nowhere to be seen.
"Think he ran all the way to the elevators?" said Wulf, clearly thinking the same way as his comrade. 
Marco snorted. "Of course he did. The man hates us."
Wulf inclined his helmet towards Marco. "You think?"
"I feel." Marco rapped a fist against his chestplate. "You lose your sense for this kind of stuff?" 
"Never." Wulf's response was resolute. "He's not a threat."
"You're damn right he isn't."
Passing through the warship's hallways, the Spartans were given a wide berth as crewmen darted around the supersoldiers, who ignored the usual stares and whispered remarks. Someone - probably Iggy - had let slip that there were SPARTAN-II's aboard, and it hadn't been long before their training sessions garnered a sizeable audience of off-duty crewmen looking to see the legends in action. Arriving at a bank of elevators, Marco hit the call button and stood aside in silence. A mercifully empty car soon arrived, and the Spartans stepped inside. Wulf hit the key to take them down to 'S-Deck' - the Peacemaker's dedicated Spartan quarters. 
 
"We left Jax down on Europa," Wulf said, drumming the armoured fingers of his right hand against his left gauntlet. "Our little brothers, too."
Marco felt a twinge of annoyance. "He'll be fine," he growled. "And quit calling the Threes our 'little brothers', it's creepy."
Wulf let out a wheezy sound that might have been a laugh. "Can't help but speak the truth, Marco."
"He'll be fine," Marco repeated himself, barely listening to Wulf's retort. "Jax is a tougher bastard than the rest of us." 
"Oh?" Wulf sounded genuinely surprised. "Tougher than you? How'd you work that one out?"
The elevator car slid to a halt, and chimed as the doors slid open. Marco removed his helmet, which slid off with a hiss as its seals unclasped, and looked directly at Wulf. Reflected in his friend's visor he saw the scarred, inexpressive face of a man who had known nothing but hardship, prematurely lined and unnaturally pale. His sharp green eyes bored through the helmet, and Wulf tensed up for a fraction of a second beneath his old friend's unblinking stare.
 
"Because he still smiles," Marco said, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards by a fraction. "Now let's go."
===Jax===
Aw, shit.
Jax-007 let out an annoyed sigh as the UNSC Peacemaker vanished from his scanners, having ignored or - more likely - not received the flurry of transmissions sent from the little outpost. It had been their best hope of getting outsystem, and without it things were going to get very complicated from now on. Switching off the COM system, Jax turned to face the gaggle of armoured Spartans seated around the bunker, waiting expectantly for news.
"Well boys," Jax addressed the room, clasping his hands together. "The Peacemaker's just jumped to slipspace, which means we're getting off this rock our own way."
A wave of discontented murmuring swept across the room. One Spartan rose from his chair, holding his silver-visored helmet under the crook of his arm, and smiled. 
"Sounds like fun," said Dan-A105, looking around at his comrades with a cheeky grin. "When you said we'd have a live-fire exercise today, Chief, I didn't think this was what you meant."
"I aim to please." Jax returned the grin "But in any case, we've got a long hike back to Denegroth Station, and an even longer one if the enemy's taken it."
Why a fleet of Forerunner-made machines had chosen to invade today was beyond Jax, who preferred to keep his thoughts focused on simple soldiering, but there was something about the timing of it all that made him feel personally attacked. Another day, and he and the rest of Europa's SPARTAN-III contingent would have been back aboard the UNSC Peacemaker with the six SPARTAN-IV fireteams sent down for combat exercises, comparing scores and basking in the light of victory. Instead, they were huddled in Jax's command bunker some forty kilometres out from the nearest military base, waiting for the tiniest inkling of news from their superiors and all too aware that the younger Spartans were dead. 
The attack had come before Jax or anyone else had time to muster a proper defence. Dozens of unmanned Forerunner fighter craft - Phaetons - had descended on Denegroth Station and every other military installation in a fifty-kilometre radius, launching strafing runs on anything that moved and blasting away the base's anti-aircraft guns in minutes. Jax's own position at the time - an elevated perch overlooking the icy grounds of today's exercise - had been blown to smithereens in a bombing run just moments after he and Louie-A199, the local Spartan Commander, had thrown themselves to safety. This bunker, built mostly to hold supplies and radio equipment, had been the closest shelter the Spartans could find, though Jax was well aware that it wouldn't last long once their foe figured out where they were hiding. 
"Jax!" a voice called from above. The assembled Spartans turned to see one of their comrades descending the stone steps, hefting a sizeable crate on one shoulder. "I thought we could do with a little extra firepower."
Jax crossed the room, his fellows making way for the older Spartan as he approached the newcomer. Clad in a suit of distinctive cobalt suit of MJOLNIR armour, accented here and there with stripes of gold, Martin-A136 had been the group's one-man rearguard as they fled their training grounds, firing off flares and bursts of gunfire to distract the Phaetons while the others ran for safety. Martin set the rectangular crate on the ground, unclasped its seals, then stepped back as the lid swung open. Inside were four blocky green weapons, each more expensive than a company's worth of assault rifles. Jax picked one up and the heavily-armoured Eugene-A133 whistled appreciatively from behind him. Spartan lasers.
"Where'd you get these?" Jax asked, checking the weapon's charge. "It was small arms only today."
Martin folded his arms across his chest and tried to look nonchalant. "By our Bison," he said. "It was all I could take before those fliers took it out."
"And how did it get there?" Not for the first time today, Jax found himself missing Kane's presence. 
There was a small, deliberate cough from Jax's left, and the Spartan inclined his head to see Alex-A121, helmetless and looking slightly guilty. It only took a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before he broke.
"It was my idea, Chief," Alex's apologetic tone did not match his rough voice. "Thought they'd be good for putting the Fours under a bit of pressure today. Teach them to adapt."
Unwilling to pursue this line of questioning further when there was an invasion going on above their heads, Jax swiped two fingers across the side of his visor and turned his attention back to the weapon in his right hand. With five shots apiece before they needed to be recharged, these M6 Spartan lasers could - and would, in Jax's experience - take down those unmanned fighters with a single direct shot. Alex's immature attempt at a prank may very well have saved their lives.
"Martin," Jax asked. "How many fliers would you say are out there?"
The SPARTAN-III clicked his tongue. "They'd stopped strafing me by the time I made the run back here, but I'd say a couple dozen at least, Chief."
"That's not too many!" Dan spoke up enthusiastically. Since Martin had entered, he'd slowly circled the group to stand by his old friend. "I say we make a break for it and hoof it back to Denegroth." 
"If it's still there," said Martin.
Feeling eyes on him, Jax passed his laser to Eugene, who took it gladly, and approached the bunker's exit stairway. Though the entrance door's electronic locks had been fried, the Spartans had been able to open and close it themselves. Currently a thin shaft of the day's fading light shone through a crack in the door, and fell on the SPARTAN-II's crimson armour as he looked up. A hard fight awaited the Spartans up there, and it was up to Jax to march them into it. 
Jax looked around, taking his allies into account as they gathered below him, well-armed and eager to leave this depressing hole. Dan-A105 was the boldest, certainly, and all too eager to prove himself again after years in the company of a faction of traitors. Both he and two others in the team - Eugene-A133 and Chris-A189 - had unknowingly worked alongside a treacherous intelligence group until earlier this year, and had escaped court martial and imprisonment by the skin of their teeth. Since then they had toed the line and worked hard to regain the trust of their comrades, but Jax could see that those three stood apart from their fellows. Martin-A136, whose charisma and levelheadedness had shone in their missions after the war, would be his second-in-command. Next to him stood Alex-A121 and Louie-A199, whose vastly different personalities belied their friendship. They were close as brothers, and kept each other's weaknesses in check. 
Then came Jax-007 himself. Fighting came as easily to Jax as breathing, and he'd always treated warfare as his day job. He was unflappable, because he'd been trained to be, and bore a playful smile etched so deeply into his features that he'd forgotten how to turn it off. Jax had never wanted to be a leader, and preferred taking orders to giving them, but this godawful situation had thrown the role into his lap and he'd always been too polite to say 'no'. He took a calm breath, and resolved to get his boys out of here alive.
"Okay." Jax reached behind his back and unclasped the M45D shotgun from his armour's mag-clamps. "We're about forty klicks north of our nearest base, with no vehicles, no link to command, and an invasion force attacking the surface. Nothing we haven't seen before."
This got a few quiet laughs, but Jax's tone never wavered. He'd sunk his mind into the still waters of utter calm and focus, pushing aside any and all intrusive thoughts. Only this instant - the now - mattered.
Jax continued. "Once we exit the bunker, we'll spread out and advance in twos or threes northward, following any waypoints I set. Sync your TEAMCOM, TACMAP and TEAMBIO interfaces before we leave, but until I get a proper assessment of the situation we stop for nothing and no one. Understood?"
Now he was entering dangerous territory. A chorus of affirmatives rang out in response.
"Good." Jax seemed satisfied. "Let's go." 
As the seven Spartans rushed upstairs, the ground suddenly shook, and the hardened instacrete above their head began to crack, spilling out dirt. Whatever was out there had found them at last, but they'd come too late if they wanted to turn the remote bunker into a tomb. Jax barely broke his stride as he ascended the stairs and kicked the bunker door outwards, letting sunlight stream towards them as the Spartans emerged. Outside lay the ruins of a makeshift military camp, its razor-wire fences half-melted and tents still ablaze. Pieces of ruined machinery littered the frosty ground, blackened from explosions, while the motor pool had been reduced at this point to a smoking crater. 
The Spartans moved as one, fanning out as they broke from cover. Jax glanced towards the darkening skies, and his HUD flashed a warning as six red markers appeared in the distance, wheeling back around to approach his team. Feeling slightly foolish for only carrying an anti-infantry weapon, Jax looked for the group's defenders and saw that four Spartans - Louie and Alex on his left and Eugene and Chris on his right - were already levelling their lasers at the incoming fighters even as they sprinted across open terrain. Bolts of golden light streaked overhead, blowing chunks out of the icy ground where they hit as five of the Phaetons arranged themselves into an arrowhead formation, raining down cannon fire on the landscape below as they prepared to incinerate the Spartans and everything around them. 
Almost simultaneously, the four laser-wielders opened fire on the incoming Phaetons, hitting the unmanned fighters as they came close enough to bare their undersides to the group. The effect of their unspoken teamwork was immediate as four of the craft blew apart, raining silver chunks of metal towards the rocky ground. The fifth Phaeton, which had been bringing up the rightmost side of the formation, suddenly dipped towards the ground as if in shock, only to swivel its cannons to try and take on the Spartans at close range. 
"Get down!" Jax bellowed, throwing himself behind a pillar of icy rock. Moments later, it exploded, forcing the Spartan to roll out of the way to avoid a hail of molten stones. 
Having lost its wingmates, the Phaeton was firing at everything in sight, loosing not only hardlight bolts but pulse missiles on the scattering Spartans. Jax quickly scrambled to his feet and turned back, ready to charge the now-hovering fighter craft to draw it away from its men. Before he could spring from cover, Jax noticed a yellow dot on his motion tracker streaking towards the Phaeton, and glanced towards it for just long enough to see the dark-armoured Alex flinging himself from a rocky outcropping towards the Forerunner fighter, which span around alarmingly fast to meet him. The SPARTAN-III landed hard enough on the Phaeton's fuselage to make its nose dip downwards and immediately lunged for its entry hatch, only to nearly be thrown off as the craft suddenly lurched to one side. Close to losing his balance, Alex snatched something from one of his utility pouches and leapt backwards, flinging a disk-shaped object towards the Phaeton. Watching from afar, Jax caught sight of a flash of orange light before an explosion enveloped the craft, finally destroying it.
"Clear!" Alex called over the COM, having landed on his feet. Louie jogged over to him at once, returning Alex's Spartan laser before the pair resumed their earlier course. 
Unwilling to slow the team down, Jax turned northward and set a waypoint for the team to follow. The Spartans quickly set off once more, temporarily free of pursuers. Checking his TACMAP, Jax sighted the closest thing this area had to a main road to the west, and then launched another fruitless scan for the missing SPARTAN-IV's. While some of the older Spartans weren't particularly fond of the newest generation of supersoldiers, Jax saw them less as his replacements and more as a younger, better generation of soldier. Even so, six fireteams had vanished and likely died under his watch, which didn't bode well for their situation. 
"Alex," Jax broke radio silence after several minutes of uninterrupted jogging. "What were you doing with that Phaeton?"
"Bringing it down." Came the gruff Spartan's deliberately laconic answer, though after a few seconds he began to elaborate. "Thought I'd try and hijack it but the hatch wouldn't give, so I tossed a trip mine at it."
"Is that what that was?" Martin joined the conversation. "I did wonder."
Jax couldn't help but shake his head. "Another thing to spice up the training matches?"
"Something like that," said Alex.
"Well then." Jax paused for effect. "Got anything else?"
That got a chuckle out of him. "Just a few napalm grenades."
God, I think he was trying to kill those Fours. "Keep them handy then, they'll probably be useful."
With that out of the way, the seven Spartans continued their journey across Europa's unfriendly landscape at a steady pace. Forty kilometres was no small stretch - just short of a marathon's length by official standards - but it was hardly a challenge for Jax and his comrades. Despite his earlier fears that they would be swarmed by enemy aircraft within seconds of exiting their bunker, the skies around the group were mysteriously clear now. Something felt off, and Jax hoped that he wasn't the only one with a bad feeling about things. 
"Team, regroup there." Jax set a new waypoint for the team a little over a third of the way into their journey. The Spartans had hardly broken a sweat in the past twenty minutes running at speeds that would exhaust any normal men, but their leader couldn't shake a sense of impending danger that was cutting through his focus like a knife through butter. Choosing a rocky outcrop to take shelter beneath, Jax reached the meeting site first, and after checking the immediate surroundings sat down on a flat stone to await the rest of his team.
The other Spartans arrived promptly, sweeping out into a broad semi-circle around their leader with their backs to him. Though they could easily spoken over their private TEAMCOM channel from a distance, Jax couldn't help but wonder if they were already being monitored.
"There's still a bit of a hike," said Chris, who had been last to arrive. "Not slowing down in your old age, Chief?" 
Jax shook his head, and flicked a pebble towards the younger Spartan. It bounced off his blue armour with a sharp ping. "Firstly, I'd run the length of this rock twice before breaking sweat. Secondly, I want to go over a few things before we reach Denegroth Station."
Dan perked up at this. "This about our ride offworld?"
"Among other things." With a thought, Jax flashed his HUD's acknowledgement lights in order: green, amber, then red. The red dot light lingered for a few moments before vanishing, signalling to the other Spartans that their COM systems may be unsafe. The team winked their own green lights in unison, then turned back to face Jax. 
"Now that I've got your attention." Jax spoke through his helmet's speakers now. "I think we're being tracked."
"It'd be hard to sneak up on us out here," murmured Louie, glancing around. "Nothing but tundra and rock."
"True." Jax nodded. "But think about what's going on right now. The whole system's been invaded, and they knew enough to hit a remote training site out in the ass-end of nowhere on a frozen rock like Europa. Why would they stop attacking us after we shot down a few of their fliers?"
"You've got a point," Martin concurred. "When they first came out of the sky they had us outnumbered fifty to one and were blowing the hell out of anything that moved."
Nearby, Alex sighed, drumming his fingers on the stock of his rifle. "We might've just gotten lucky," he said.
"And you believe in luck?" Jax shot back. 
"I believe that there's as good a chance of the bad guys being sloppy as there is a chance of them pulling back to watch our movements, Chief. If they wanted us dead then they could've just stuck around."
Alex had made a fair point. Seven Spartans with no transportation and limited ammunition would be irresistible prey for any dedicated foe, but it just didn't seem likely that these attackers would think them all dead and move on without a thorough sweep of the area. It was entirely possible that this force - these 'Created' - were sloppy, but the Forerunner death machine sitting pretty in low orbit after driving off the Peacemaker told Jax otherwise. 
"All right," Jax said at last, slapping a palm onto his armoured greaves. "I want no COM chatter unless it's an emergency and a nice, quiet jog from here to Denegroth Station. Once we arrive I'll assess the situation, and in the best-case scenario we take one of the transport craft and book it out of the Sol System. Questions?"
Eugene raised a hand half-heartedly. "What's our worst-case scenario?"
"No base, no ship, and nowhere to go. If that's the case then we make plans for long-term survival and guerrilla actions as we make for the nearest city."
With their options made clear, Jax's team eased up a little and readied their weapons, though they did not rise until he did. Looking north across the inhospitable tundra, flecked with jutting shards of rock and patches of permafrost, Jax could just about see the mountainous zone claimed by the UNSC long ago as a test ground for their newest technology. There sat Denegroth Station, a remote base that now served as an outpost of the recently-created Spartan branch, and the closest thing he'd known to home in years. Jax took point, and the others followed. 
***
Night had fallen over Europa by the time Jax and his fellows reached Denegroth Station's perimeter fence, plunging the moon into total darkness. Even with their enhanced eyesight and night vision built into their helmets, the Spartans were forced to watch their step as they tore through the chainlink fence with ease and set off down the valley towards the hidden base. Despite its importance, the station's isolated nature meant that most of its security was automated, with automated gun turrets concealed in the rocks as a first line of defence against interlopers from the ground or skies. 
"COM check," Jax announced, and was greeted by a series of clicks from his comrades. Good, so we're not being jammed.
Finding the dirt road that would take them to the station's underground vehicle bay, Jax waved for the others to spread out and increase their pace. When he had left earlier today with a convoy and his Spartan contingent in tow, there had been at least thirty personnel on-site to look after things, including at least six Spartans who were either off-duty or assigned here as part of the security force. The fact that none of them had picked up his team's return was worrying. 
When they rounded the next corner, Jax discovered why.
Most of Denegroth Station's upper level was gone, reduced to a burning ruin of twisted metal and broken girders that belched smoke into the night sky. Both of its primary landing pads, each large enough to house a decently-sized transport ship, had been blasted out of existence. Gone too was most of the bridge that spanned the chasm the station had been built into, with its wreckage scattered across the rocks below. Most of the facility's turrets were also out of action, save for a few automated guns that hung limply within their pods after losing all power.
"Shit," Alex muttered, summing up the rest of the team's thoughts. 
"They must've been hit hard," said Eugene, pointing towards what was left of the upper levels. "Phaetons couldn't have done that."
Jax agreed with his assessment. Blasting through a hardened military base like this one would have required starship weaponry, not the firepower of a regular attack craft. Moving forward, the Spartan continued down the valley without a word, praying that the base's vehicle bay was still unharmed. Situated in a smaller, mostly-underground section of the base across from the main building, it housed enough Warthogs and APC's to transport an infantry company into battle. 
"Chief," Martin's voice sounded suddenly through Jax's personal COM channel. "Are looking for transport or survivors here?"
Though he'd spoken without a hint of preference towards either option, Martin's decision to contact Jax directly made it clear that the younger Spartan was waiting for his say-so before suggesting anything to the team.
"Whatever comes first," Jax replied. "We'll prioritise once we're inside."
Martin clicked his COM once to indicate approval, then fell in line alongside Jax as they headed down the dirt slope towards a squat building, seemingly built right into the icy cliff face behind it. A pair of heavy overhead doors lay before them, sealed shut against the elements outside. Jax flipped open a panel by one and tapped the 'OPEN' button, only to be hit with an unfamiliar error message.
"Louie," he beckoned for the SPARTAN-III to join him. "Got a problem here."
Jax stood aside to let the silver-armoured Spartan take a look at the panel. Louie input its code - one of many that he had memorised by heart as Denegroth Station's base commander - with a triumphant flourish. A moment later, the screen flashed red and died. 
"Huh." Louie tapped the screen twice, but got no response. "Looks like we've been shut out."
"Something's changed the passwords?" asked Jax.
"No, I mean something's just shut down this access panel remotely."
"When you say something," asked Martin, "You mean an AI, right?"
"Looks like it."
This confirmed at least one of Jax's suspicions about the culprits behind the invasion. The transmission that they - and likely everyone else in the galaxy - had received earlier today had come from a group calling themselves 'The Created', whose moniker and control of Forerunner technology brought the possibility of an AI revolt to the Spartan's mind. It was a lot to go on from a door locking them out, but Jax had to be ready for anything. 
"Chief," called Alex, who had been bringing up the rearguard, "If Lou can't get the door open, I've got a key of my own right here."
The Spartan raised his laser and pointed it towards the garage door, but the SPARTAN-II waved him down. "Don't waste the ammo," Jax chided him.
"I could interface directly with the door controls," Louie suggested, tapping his right gauntlet. "Haven't field-tested it yet, but I got an intrusion program to my suit systems about a month back."
Before Jax could answer, he caught the telltale sounds of unsealing locks and backed up alongside Louie and Alex as the heavy steel doors began to open, shuddering slightly as they rose. With nothing showing up on his motion sensor aside from his team, the Spartan prepared for the worst. The vehicle bay beyond was shrouded in darkness, and though Jax's augmented vision allowed him to peer through the gloom with ease the fact that someone or something had opened these doors at all with the base's power down was worrying. 
"Chris, Alex, take point." Jax marked both sides of the doorway with markers on his HUD. "Once you're in, everyone else fall in behind them and secure the vehicle bay."
The others flashed their status lights to acknowledge the order and fell naturally into formation, with Eugene and Louie watching the team's rear. Chris was first through the door, walking far too brazenly into what was likely a trap. He strode confidently past a line of M12 Warthogs, and as Jax inched forward he realised that the SPARTAN-III was using himself as bait on purpose. Chris cleared the bay without incident, and waved back to the others for them to proceed. 
"It's clear!" Chris called, tapping the side of his helmet. "Haven't picked up anything lying in wait."
"Me either," said Alex, who had swapped out his laser for a MA5D rifle. as he peered up towards the bay's upper level. "But someone let us in."
Fully expecting the bay doors to slide shut behind him, Jax nodded and moved to inspect the vehicle bay. There were still at least a dozen Warthogs - the UNSC's staple fighting vehicle - sitting in neat rows on one side of the room, sporting a variety of modifications and weaponry. Eyeing one with a rapid-fire missile launcher mounted on its turret with approval, Jax then turned his attention to the personnel carriers on the other side of the room. Three M650 Mastodons took up most of the bay's remaining space; while one was missing several wheels and was surrounded by mechanical equipment, the others seemed to be in good condition and were built to handle terrain like Europa's.
"All right," Jax pointed towards the nearest Mastodon. "Eugene, see if you can get that thing up and running. The rest of us are going to find supplies and hopefully, some answers as to what happened here."
Chris snorted. "Seems pretty obvious to me, Chief: everyone got slaughtered."
For once, Jax wasn't smiling. "In case you've forgotten, this is a Spartan base. We're not leaving it behind without answers, especially with the base commander here."
Jax inclined his helmet towards Louie, who opted to say nothing. While seniority put Jax in charge, Louie had been posted here many months ago to act as the local Spartan Commander, turning the little station into an efficient base for the few dozen Spartans with quarters here to turn home. If the other Spartans were all dead, then it meant that the systems he had put into place for a day like this had failed. 
Chris's helmet dipped, and his voice lost its jovial edge. "Point taken, sir. I'll lead the first sweep of the floor above, then we-" 
 
A flash of red across the Spartan's motion tracker stopped him mid-sentence. The team immediately fanned out, readying their weapons as a single dot steadily approached them from the direction of the vehicle bay's control room. With a gesture Jax ordered Chris and Dan to flank around the right-hand side of the staircase, ready to open fire on whatever emerged, while the other Spartans stayed back to provide support. As the team moved into position, Jax raced up the stairs, and dropped into a low crouch just as the control room's doors slid open.
The Spartan was a microsecond away from pulling his rifle's trigger out of pure reflex when he saw that there was nothing in the doorway. The red dot on their motion tracker had vanished, which meant that whatever had been heading their way had stopped moving or worse, teleported away. Given the presence of Phaetons on the moon's surface, Jax knew that Forerunner armigers had likely led the attack on Denegroth station. As he reached into his belt pouch to fish out a fragmentation grenade, a voice sounded from the control room. 
"Don't shoot, I'm coming out!"
Jax's trigger finger eased up by a fraction. It was a young man's voice. Seconds later, a pair of armoured hands emerged from one side of the doorway, followed shortly after by a helmeted Spartan, clad in a dark suit of GEN2 MJOLNIR armour. A CQS48 'Bulldog' shotgun had been attached to his thighplate's magnetic holster, and a heavy metal case hung from a strap around his right shoulder. The newcomer slowly descended from the control room, arms outstretched, and halted on the stairs just a few paces away from Jax. The older Spartan stood up, and noted that his suit was picking up nothing from his armour.
Jax kept his weapon levelled. "Identify yourself."
The other Spartan complied at once. "Ianto-G200, ONI-Spartan Operations liason." He looked past Jax to address his silver-armoured comrade. "We met a couple of days ago, Commander." 
Louie flashed a green status light over TEAMCOM so Jax wouldn't have to look away. "We did," he said, though a trace of doubt lingered in his voice. "But if you were approaching friendlies, Spartan, then why'd you switch off your suit's IFF transponders?"
Ianto responded instantly. "Because I didn't know whose side you were on, and if you being here wasn't another one of their tricks."
"Whose tricks?" asked Jax. "The Created?"
Ianto nodded. "Who else? Bastards hit the station with fire from orbit before we could get all of our defences online, then started hitting us hard with infantry. Even so, we might've held them off if that AI hadn't gotten into our systems."
"Hold on," Louie spoke up, sounding worried as he approached Jax and Ianto. "This station doesn't have a dedicated Smart AI. We've got a few dumb ones for support purposes, but that's about it."
The younger Spartan said nothing at first, then sighed in annoyance. "In that case, the AI that took down half the base and killed the other Spartans must've come from that ship in low orbit."
Louie looked from Jax to Ianto, disbelief evident in his voice. "Even Smart AI don't have that transmission range."
Ianto finally lowered his arms, and folded them across his chest. "Tell that to Cavalier. He stuck around long enough to make sure we knew his name before he sicced his machines on us."
Though the name didn't ring any bells, Jax's thoughts lingered on Ianto's mention of the other Spartans. He'd not been at Denegroth Station long, but he'd met the SPARTAN-IV's who helped Louie run the base's day-to-day affairs and none of them seemed the type to go down easily.
"How'd you escape?" Jax glanced up towards the control room, then to the heavy case Ianto was carrying. "Because if you lugged that thing all the way here from the other side of the base then you can't have been doing much fighting."
The SPARTAN-III saw the accusation being levelled at him immediately and took a step forward, squaring up to Jax. "I didn't have a choice, sir. As soon as that rogue AI's message came in through every channel in the base I armoured up, and by the time that machine emerged from slipspace I was already loading up with supplies. I knew we'd be in for some shit the second I saw Forerunner tech in play, but I didn't think they'd have something prepared for fighting Spartans."
"Meaning?" Jax could tell that Ianto was building up to something.
"Spartan Fontaine tried to get the base's AA guns offline." Ianto tapped his left gauntlet, where most suits contained tiny ports for fiber-optic probes and other connectors for emergencies. "Right after tapping into the system, something got inside her suit and took over."
For the first time in years, Jax felt a shiver run down his spine. "A virus?"
"Something like that. Whatever it was, it cut her helmet's speakers and had her turn on the rest of her squad before any of us realised what had happened. Spartan Bondar went down first, and Gibbons and Rigg were pretty badly wounded before they wrestled Fontaine to the floor. By the time they knocked her out, her suit's reactors detonated and took half the room with them.
"And where were you during all of this?" Jax tried to sound less accusatory, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Ianto hadn't done much for his Spartan comrades, and his matter-of-fact tone wasn't helping matters.
"This all happened in the ops centre." Ianto jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I arrived just in time to see Fontaine's suit blow, which took out what few systems we still had control of. Most of the base's internal cameras were still operational, though, so I retreated to the security room and checked the footage to see what had happened."
"Is that why you turned off your transponders?" asked Louie, tapping the side of his rounded helmet.
"More or less." Ianto looked around at the Spartans gathered around the vehicle bay. "Though if you made it all the way here without trouble, then I guess they can't breach our armour without a direct connection to a linked system."
"That's good to know," said Jax. To most Spartans, their MJOLNIR suit was like a second skin, and the source of a good portion of their power and protection. The thought of a hostile presence invading it was a terrifying one. 
A sudden roar from across the bay startled Jax, who span round to see Eugene emerging from the back of one of the Mastodons, clapping his hands together. the APC's engines rumbled loudly across the enclosed space of the vehicle bay, but it was a welcome sight to see. 
"All ready to go, Chief!" Eugene called. "It'll be a tight fit, but once I've got the second one up and running we can take both out of here!"
"Good work," Jax said appreciatively before turning back to Ianto. "I've got more questions for you, Spartan, but they'll have to wait until we're on the move."
"Suits me," Ianto shrugged. "Oh, and just to prove I'm not one of them..."
The young Spartan placed both hands on the side of his helmet, and tugged it off with a faint hiss of unclasping seals. Beneath it was a man in his late teens, his face pale and freckled. His dark hair had been buzzed short, and a pair of defiant green eyes met Jax's visor. As Louie turned away to join his comrades in boarding the APC's, Jax traced a smile across the front of his helmet, earning a smirk from Ianto. 
"Let's get out of here." 
It didn't take long for Eugene to get the second Mastodon working, and Ianto soon fell in with the other SPARTAN-III's as they loaded up what supplies they could find into each APC. Standing guard a few feet away, Jax's mind raced with questions. He'd take Ianto's word that the base was truly lost, but the fact that their arrival hadn't been met with an armed response after a mass assault had slaughtered almost everyone here bothered him. Looking down, Jax saw Ianto's IFF tag finally flash up, marking him as a fellow Spartan.
Another one under my command. Jax tightened his grip on his rifle. Way to leave me in the lurch, guys.
Jax couldn't remember the last time he'd had to operate like this, away from the rest of Sigma Team. They'd spent time apart during brief periods of leave, but looking back, he'd never actually spent a significant period of time away from his brother Spartans, and had never considered himself much of a leader. Looking down at his fellows, Jax considered asking Martin or Louie to take over from him, but some irrational part of his mind prevented him from doing so. As the eldest and most experienced, it was Jax's responsibility to lead the others to safety, even if it cost him his life.
Especially if it costs me my life. 
The Spartan blinked, pushing away the thought. What he needed right now was focus, especially in a situation like this one. The Created ruled the skies above Europa, likely led by a renegade AI in service to their mysterious leader, and contact with Earth and the rest of the UNSC had been cut off. All he had to fight back with was seven other Spartans and a pair of APC's, stranded and outnumbered on this inhospitable moon.
As the second Mastodon's engines flared to life, Jax approached his team. The Spartans had already split into two groups, with Martin, Dan, Chris and Eugene ready to board the first APC and Alex, Louie and Ianto standing by the second, ready for the SPARTAN-II to join them. Feeling an expectant aura from his fellows, Jax quickly brought up a TACMAP interface on his helmet's HUD, and with a thought directed it towards Europa's nearest spaceport city, Katreus. He set a marker on the distant settlement, which instantly flashed up for the entire team, and took a deep breath. 
"It's been a long day, boys," Jax addressed the group, "and we're in a bad situation here so I'll keep things short and sweet. We're going to make tracks out of here before the Created pin us down, and we're not going to stop until we hit somewhere with a ship that'll get us off this rock. Once we're outsystem, we'll find a way to link up with the chain of command and let them figure out the big picture. That sound good to you, Spartans?" 
A cheer went up from Jax's team. Hardened though they were by years of conflict and nigh unbreakable in spirit, even they appreciated a few uplifting words now and then. Jax was last to clamber into the second Mastodon, and stood by the rear hatch as it slowly clanked shut. Alex squeezed into the driver's compartment, leaving Louie to stand by on the APC's gun turret. Ianto carefully set the case he'd been carrying down and secured it to one of the walls, then looked up to see Jax watching him intently.
 
"Wondering what this is, Chief?" he asked, tapping the metal lid with one finger. 
"Of course." Jax sat down across from him, preferring it to having to stoop in the cramped confines of the troop bay.
"These are my Smoothers."
"Smoothers?"
"Antipsychotic medication." Ianto removed his helmet again, and set it down in the adjacent seat. "How much do you know about Gamma Company, Chief?"
"A little," Jax said honestly. "I've worked with SPARTAN-III's before, but no one from your company. Heard you got a few extra enhancements, though."
Ianto nodded grimly, and a few seconds passed in silence as the APC slowly trundled out of the vehicle bay. "You could say that. We're supposed to be able to fight longer and harder under pressure, and when pushed our aggression centres get a nice jolt that makes sure we take down anyone or anything we deem a threat with us."
"Let me guess." Jax leaned back in his chair. "You need those drugs to counteract the side-effects?"
"Once every twelve hours. I don't think we were built with long-term deployment in mind."
Jax glanced down at the case. "And how much are you carrying in there?"
Ianto thought about it for a moment. "Enough for three months or so, I'd say, but this is in case we're out in the field for a while. Any decently-equipped medical bay aboard a warship should have the components to synthesise the cocktail we need, but it pays to be prepared."
"Good thinking." Jax's tone had resumed its usual cheeriness, but he'd made a mental note of Ianto's condition. He'd never pitied the SPARTAN-III's, whose brutal upbringing had been very similar to his own, but the Gamma Spartan's medical needs definitely made him a weak link in the team. He would have to be protected.
The Spartans remained quiet for a while as their APC rumbled away from the now-empty Denegroth station, heading west along a solitary highway that stretched across hundreds of miles of open tundra. Jax had seen it from above during his descent to Europa's surface a few days ago in a shuttlecraft, but he'd never expected to traverse the road himself. This part of the moon was sparsely populated, making it a good choice for a military installation, but without air support they were in for at least a day or two of travel before they came close to Katreus, barring any further attacks.
"By the way," Jax broke the silence at last, leaning forward in his chair. "Thanks for getting that door open, Ianto."
Confusion crossed the young Spartan's face. "What door?" he asked. 
"The door to the vehicle bay. We'd have blown it open otherwise."
Ianto paused for a moment, now looking concerned. "Chief, I didn't open any doors for you. After I found out what happened to Fontaine I wrecked the security room's electronics and went dark to avoid those machines until I picked up your team."
Jax swallowed heavily. "Well if you didn't open the gate for us, then who did?"
The SPARTAN-II would have plenty of time to ponder this question. Having cleared Denegroth Station's outer perimeter, the two Mastodons drove on into the night, their headlights illuminating the only road west.
===Hank===
"I repeat, this is Sierra One-Three-Six to any UNSC vessels, please respond!"
Hank-136 waited a full minute for a reply, only to be greeted with complete silence. The Spartan, half-stooped in the confines of the dropship's upper cockpit, let out an annoyed grunt and sat down heavily in the co-pilot's chair, which creaked in protest. It had been five hours since their scheduled rendezvous with their support prowler, the UNSC Rockall, and so far there was no sign of the stealth craft or indeed any friendly ships on their long-range COM. Something very bad had happened, and it had everything to do with that strange broadcast that had flooded every frequency shortly after they emerged from slipspace.
"Still nothing?" called Tango 038's pilot from the lower cockpit. 
Hank resisted the urge to switch on the COM again. "Nothing."
"Damn." Sat helmetless below Hank, Mordecai-G138 drummed idly on the side of the side of a monitor, which had started to go fuzzy after leaving slipspace. "So what's the call, boss?"
When Fireteam Thor had set out on this operation a few days prior, Hank had a single-digit list of concerns about the completion of their mission and safe return to base. Now his mind was consumed by a pervasive feeling of dread, and the mission and everything about it now seemed irrelevant in comparison to whatever was happening out in the wider galaxy. Humanity had been attacked and either slaughtered or subjugated by this new foe, and he and his team had been too far away to stop it.
"First things first." Hank pushed himself out of the co-pilot's chair and reached towards the rear hatch with his prosthetic right arm. "We get the team in order."
Mordecai snorted incredulously. "You really think those two would listen?"
"Want me to kill them?"
The younger Spartan glanced up at Hank, his mouth half-open and surprise clear in his dark eyes. "I didn't say-"
"I'm kidding." Hank traced a smile along the lower half of his boxy helmet. "But if you do hear shooting, feel free to come and help."
Mordecai tapped the M6D handgun holstered at his thigh and smiled as Hank turned away and exited the cockpit. Though he'd never admit this openly, some part of Hank wished that he had another teammate watching his back instead of Mordecai, who was by Spartan standards a spineless coward. Since they'd been brought together several years ago as part of Thor's formation as a group of 'non-standard' Spartan operators, Hank had hoped to mentor the SPARTAN-III into a position of leadership, only to realise that whatever ordeals he'd gone through had burned a deeply self-serving attitude into Mordecai's being. If things went south, he'd more than likely wait for a winner to emerge and side with them.
Still, he was the least of Hank's worries. 
Behind the cockpit sat the Condor's troop bay, lined on one side with modified jumpseats and on the other with sealed lockers. Slumped side-by-side, held in place by their crash harnesses, were a pair of armoured Spartans. Helmetless and unmoving, their energy shields sparking harmlessly, each Spartan had a palm-sized device glowing on their chestplates that kept their armour locked up and immobile.
"Rise and shine!" Hank clapped his hands together as he approached the immobile Spartans. "It's time to talk."
As expected, both of them were feigning sleep, and their eyes snapped open as Hank loomed over them. The SPARTAN-II looked down at his remaining teammates, Julian-G209 and Layla-B101, and decided that now was the time to pass judgement on them both. One was a deserter, and the other a barely-controlled psychopath. Sizing them up as two pairs of baleful eyes glared up at him, Hank quickly realised that he'd prefer to have the latter back on his side. 
"Hey Hank," Julian rasped, his lips cracked and face still swollen with recent bruising. "Finally come down to put us out of our misery?"
Hank suppressed a smirk. Of his Fireteam - one assembled by the Office of Naval Intelligence as a group of 'problem Spartans' to throw at hard targets - he had always liked Julian the most. As such, his recent desertion and flight into the Outer Colonies to chase another wayward teammate had come as a heavy blow to the venerable Spartan. Thor's orders had been to either capture or eliminate Julian, and while they quickly tracked him down, Layla had ignored Hank's explicit orders to take him in alive and tried her utmost to kill her teammate, only to underestimate the young Spartan's prowess. Were it not for Hank's intervention, they would have likely killed each other. 
"No," Hank said softly. "I'm sure you heard that broadcast, and have a good idea about what it means."
Trapped in the seat beside Julian, Layla snorted. "Yeah," she said, her voice similarly altered by a bruised lip. "The UNSC's done for. Looks like we're on our own out here." 
Annoyance welled up inside Hank immediately, but he controlled himself; taunting others was what Layla thrived on, and anything, even the tiniest loss of composure, would be a victory in her eyes. Hank knew that anything with the power to send a message on every communications channel, clearly aimed at the various species of the galaxy, held a power far greater than that of mankind. Even the Covenant, for all its technological might, could not have accomplished such a feat. One word bubbled up in Hank's mind: Forerunner.
"If that's the case..." Hank casually unholstered the M6D from his armoured thigh and raised the barrel to Layla's forehead. Her green eyes widened, and though she instinctively tried to move her head out of the way, the SPARTAN-III could not move. 
"Hank!" Layla spoke through gritted teeth, clearly hating that she'd been reduced to begging. "Wait, I didn't-"
"Didn't mean what?" Hank cut her off. "Because it sounded like you'd given up, Spartan, and we're not in the business of surrendering. At least, the rest of us aren't."
Layla did not respond right away. Her pale cheeks flushed red with anger, and her eyes looked past the barrel of Hank's gun and into his bifocal visor while Julian looked on, bemused. As team leader, Hank had been given access to the files of each of Thor's recruits, and while Mordecai, Julian and May - the other deserter - had similar tales of loss and hardship in their brief lives, Layla's file had been surprising even by Spartan standards. At the height of the war, she'd been captured and imprisoned by the Covenant, kept alive only as a curiosity by a high-ranking Sangheili leader. While Layla had escaped and clawed her way back to the UNSC, it was one subject she'd never spoken of openly with her fellow Spartans, and clearly one that she'd never expected Hank to use against her.
"That-" Layla's voice dropped an octave, clearly enunciating every word. "-is not what I meant."
Hank kept the handgun steady, impressed by how quickly Layla had regained her composure. "So you're still in the fight?"
"I'm a Spartan, aren't I?"
That wasn't a yes. Hank held Layla's gaze for a few more moments before relenting, realising that it was the best promise he'd get out of her. He carefully lowered his handgun, then turned his attention towards Julian, who had watched their exchange with interest. 
"Hank," the younger Spartan began immediately. "Listen, if things are as bad as they seem, then we need to hurry up and find-"
"No." Hank cut him off coldly. "Right now, we need to get back in touch with command. May isn't a priority right now."
"But-"
"I said no."
Julian hung his head and let out a long sigh, defeated. A month ago, May-G210 had deserted the UNSC, killing a number of servicemen aboard the vessel she and Julian had been on before fleeing in a stolen transport towards the Outer Colonies. Hank had noticed a marked change in the SPARTAN-III's behaviour this year, with bouts of uncharacteristic listlessness and an increasingly flippant attitude towards proper procedure, but hadn't expected her to take such drastic measures. As May's best friend since their earliest years of Spartan training, Julian hadn't coped well with her departure, and despite orders for Fireteam Thor to stay put while others tracked May down had gone off alone to find her just a few weeks back. He had not been successful. 
"All right," Julian said at last, raising his head to look at Hank. "Duty first. I understand."
Hank tilted his helmeted head to one side. "Do you?"
Layla opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. One nasty remark right now, and that armour restraint would stay on for a long while. Next to her, Julian fixed his bruised face with a determined look, and nodded. There was no trace of resentment or sullen defeat in his eyes any more, only purpose. 
A smile cut across Hank's lined features, and he pressed his fingers to the restraint on Julian's dark chestpiece. The device powered down immediately, and the Spartan's arms and legs twitched involuntarily as the armour-induced paralysis vanished. Julian immediately shifted away from Layla, moving as carefully and non-threateningly as possible, and got to his feet. 
"Permission to clean myself up?"
"Granted."
Julian reached across Layla's still-immobile form and snatched up his helmet from the next seat, tracing a line across the thin horizontal line of its blue visor before moving away from the others and towards what passed for the Condor's cargo bay. Hank watched him leave, then reached down and deactivated Layla's restraint. 
"Thank you," she said quietly, clenching and unclenching her fists.
Hank held up the pair of armour restraints. "Don't make me have to use these again, Layla."
"You won't."
"I mean it." Hank took the smallest of steps back, giving Layla some space to get to her feet. When she did not rise, he continued. "Everything that's happened in the past month - all this shit - gets put behind us today. We're going to regroup with the UNSC, find out who these 'Created' are and put a stop to them. Got it?"
Layla let out a soundless laugh, and a smirk shot across her face as she ran a gloved hand through her short hair. "As far as plans go this one's as clear as mud, but yeah, I've got it."
And this is as good as I'm going to get from this one. Hank nodded, contented. "Then get yourself cleaned up too and we'll all regroup in five before we make the jump to slipspace."
The SPARTAN-II stood aside as Layla got to her feet, grabbing her own battle-worn helmet as she ducked down towards the cramped dropship's cargo section. Hank half-expected to hear the tail end of some snide exchange and the beginnings of a scuffle, but as he stood and listened for signs of conflict he heard nothing from the younger Spartans. Perhaps a beating and some blatant death threats from their team leader had corrected their behaviour, but it was more likely that Layla and Julian were just as worried as Hank was about the wider situation. Hank heard the soft hiss of a door sliding open behind him, and turned to see Mordecai lowering himself into the troop bay. 
"I heard you say 'slipspace'." Mordecai pointed towards the tiny camera affixed to the troop bay roof, used by those in the cockpit to keep an eye on their passengers mid-flight. "Got a destination in mind?"
Hank folded his arms across his silver-grey chestplate, and tapped on one side with the fingers of his prosthetic hand as his mind cycled through options. Earth seemed like the obvious choice, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Thor would be flying into a trap by returning to the Sol system; any foe able to broadcast a direct message to most of the galaxy's sentient species would likely strike there immediately. Other planets flew through Hank's head, though he dismissed most; some were too remote, and others far too populous for his liking. Taking the fact that this Condor had only three or four more slipspace jumps in it at most before its drive needed retuning, choosing the right system was a must. One soon floated to the forefront of his mind.
"What about Concord?" Hank ventured, recalling what he could of the planet. "It's a UEG-run world, not too far from the Inner Colonies but nowhere remote either. I know the UNSC's got a presence there and uses it for armour testing, but it's not a major military centre."
Mordecai's face split into a grin immediately. "That's not a bad choice," he said approvingly. "Lethbridge Industrial's headquartered there, so they'll have ships and connections even if we can't get in touch with command."
Picking up the sound of approaching boots, Hank turned to see Layla and Julian approaching side by side, helmets tucked beneath their arms. 
"We're going to Concord?" Julian asked, looking from Hank to Mordecai.
Surrounded by the expectant faces of his team, Hank realised that their fates lay entirely in his hands. Right now they were operating alone, without the constant backing of ONI and the wider UNSC. They were four Spartans, and misfit ones at that, preparing to take a shot in the dark. Hank exhaled slowly, and resisted the momentary urge to remove his own helmet to meet his bareheaded comrades. Fireteam Thor needed guidance, and it was up to him to give it. 
"We are," Hank said at last. "Mordecai, plot the jump and get is going as soon as you're able. Julian, Layla, I want combat and EVA gear prepped in case the worst happens. Let's go!"
The SPARTAN-III's moved into action at once, maneuvering around their leader as they began preparations for their next operation. Hank clambered up into the Condor's cockpit behind Mordecai, and as watched as the team's pilot slid into his chair something finally struck him: this was the first time Thor had set out without some complaint or supposed flaw brought up in their mission plan. Hank's order, which was to blindly move towards a system that could have been seized by the Created already, had gone unquestioned. It made sense to the other Spartans.
Of course it did, Hank thought to himself as he settled in the co-pilot's chair. We're all in the dark here, and any direction is better than no direction at all.
Some minutes later, Tango 038 juddered as its tiny slipspace drive flared to life, opening a portal just ahead of its nose. The heavy dropship's engines flared to life and it shot forward into the unknown, leaving nothing but the rendezvous beacon floating in the void behind it. Alone though they were as a new war flared to life around them, Fireteam Thor had chosen to fight. 
===Derek===
Derek awoke with a start. Beneath his bed, the floor trembled. That had never happened before. Throwing the thin bedsheet aside, he jumped to his feet, senses straining for any other signs of irregularity. Seconds ticked by, and just as Derek began to dismiss the tremor as a figment of his imagination, he heard a deep rumble that reverberated through the tiny room. The lights overhead flickered and died for a few moments before flaring back to life, albeit slightly dimmer. Derek's eyes narrowed as his suspicions were confirmed.
Something's attacking this place.
Like many sentenced to Midnight Facility, an infamous prison run by the Office of Naval Intelligence for the purpose of making undesirables 'disappear', Derek-142 had been deemed too dangerous to keep on a tight leash, but too valuable to kill outright. At first he had put the decision to imprison him down to his status as a SPARTAN-II, but Derek soon realised that for a man of his calibre, lifelong confinement was a worse punishment than death. For years he had led his own quiet war, first against the Covenant, then against the entrenched bureaucracy of a bloated Naval Intelligence that would one day collapse under its own weight. Derek had sought power, gathered allies in secret, and as a ghost within ONI's systems had plotted to enact a coup that would force the organisation to reform with him at its head. 
Naturally, he had failed. 
A little over five months ago, just after Derek and his conspirators - a rogue group of operatives known as 'Red Cell' - had put their plan into action, they were defeated and all but wiped out by a pair of troublesome ONI agents and Sigma Team, a group of Derek's former comrades. Even when armed with OVERSIGHT, a backed-up database of all of ONI's dirty secrets, and the intent to reveal them to the wider galaxy if opposed, Derek had been outplayed, arrested, and imprisoned in Midnight. Though he'd never formally been sentenced - who could sentence a man who didn't exist? - he knew that his confinement would be lifelong. 
Another tremor shook the cell. Derek cross the room to his desk and snatched up a small, disk-shaped device. White lines lit up across its surface at his touch, and it vibrated as a holographic avatar flashed into existence above its tiny emitter. Projected in the form of a young, dark-haired woman in a plain, unadorned military uniform, who smiled as she looked up at the Spartan.
"Merope," Derek whispered. "What's happening?" 
Saved from a doomed world close to a decade ago, Merope had once been half of a rare Planetary Security Intelligence, or PSI, designed for both colonial management and protection. Along with her 'sister', Maia, who took over as the primary AI every few years to stave off rampancy in the other, Merope was key to Red Cell's operations and until its dissolution had been Derek's closest confidant. Though he'd thought her deleted when a powerful ONI AI shut down their systems, what little remained of Maia was salvaged by his foes and restored in a limited state within a tiny emitter. The head of ONI, Admiral Serin Osman, had personally given the AI to Derek, though with an expected lifespan of no more than half a year, Derek soon realised that this had likely been a final punishment on ONI's part for his attempted coup. 
Merope cocked her head to one side, as if listening for something. "Ah," she breathed. "It's time."
"Time for what?" Derek asked. 
"The Created, of course." Merope said cheerfully. "Don't you remember? I told you they'd come to free us."
The Spartan's brow furrowed as the memory came to him. Right after his imprisonment, in those first few days where he'd nothing to do but reflect on his failure, Merope had made some vague mention to a 'Created'. At the time he'd chalked it up to her diminished mental capacity after being reduced to living in a barely-functional emitter, especially since their conversations in the past few months had grown less coherent as she neared the end of her operational lifespan, but with the strange broadcast that had forced its way through his cell's speakers a few hours prior things were starting to make sense. 
"Okay." Derek glanced towards his cell's security camera, then to the fogged-over window that separated his cell from the corridor outside. "So what happens now?"
Merope closed her eyes, and nodded twice. "Wait a moment."
Derek sat down on his bed, half-expecting an intervention from the facility's ever-watchful AI or its guards any moment. Rightfully fearing his combat prowess, the facility's administrators had never allowed Derek to leave his cell while conscious, and had been subjected to sedative gas every time he had to leave for fortnightly medical inspections or to deal with yet another interrogation. With this place potentially under attack, however, then there was a good possibility that he wasn't being watched right now. 
The AI's eyes snapped open. "Get ready, Derek," she said sharply, surprising him. 
The Spartan got up again and approached the door, clenching and unclenching his right fist as he prepared himself mentally for what was to come. Another rumble passed beneath him, and with it an orange light that swept through his cell in the blink of an eye. Recognising it as some kind of powerful scan, Derek's suspicions were confirmed: Something's attacking the facility. 
With a sudden hiss, Derek's cell door slid open. The Spartan was through it in an instant, emerging into an empty corridor, lined with isolated cells identical to his. With a quick glance back at his own cell - G228 - Derek set off at a steady jog. All around him he heard other doors opening up, accompanied by cheers of triumph or shouts of surprise from other inmates. Derek kept going until he reached the end of the corridor and turned right, skirting along the very edge of the cell block in search of an elevator. In the distance he heard the distinctive burst-rattle of a rifle firing, and slowed his pace before he reached the next intersection. 
"Where now?" he addressed Merope. He'd been holding her emitter tightly in his left hand, and her avatar flickered slightly as it projected itself through his fingers. 
Merope closed her eyes again, looking strained. "Go forward thirty cells, then turn left."
"The guards?"
"Two platoons are en-route, though there will be more. I'll help even the odds."
"How?"
She grinned. "You can see in the dark, can't you?"
Derek felt a smile form on his face for the first time in months. "Better than they can. Just give me a warning."
"Will do."
Derek sped up, running as quietly as a man of his stature could in his prison-issue plimsolls. A few bewildered prisoners had emerged from their cells already, though most, likely fearing retribution, were staying put. Some called out to Derek as he weaved past them, either in surprise or to request aid. The Spartan ignored them, too busy counting cells and hyper-focused on what he hoped would be a quick escape. After passing the thirtieth cell, he skidded to a halt at a corner as the heavy footfalls of men in military-issue boots reached his ears. Derek flattened himself against a wall, silently counting the number of guards moving towards him. Four at least. He considered these numbers and their likely armament. I can take four. 
Merope's emitter buzzed, and her avatar vanished. "Light's out," she whispered from its tiny speaker. Derek pocketed it.
As the approaching guards drew closer, every light in the corridor went out at once, plunging the entire cell block into total darkness. Derek blinked, and waited just a moment for his eyes to adjust. The men around the corner cursed in surprise, immediately scrambling for flashlights as they dropped into defensive postures. The Spartan waited for another breath, placed one hand on the corner of the corridor, and sprang into action. 
Derek was on the first guard before he knew what was happening. Aware enough to make out the outlines of the guard and his weapon - a MA5D assault rifle - the Spartan wrenched the rifle from the man's hands in single motion and span it into his own. His finger found the trigger, and as the guard cried out in surprise Derek opened fire at near point-blank range, hosing down the four-man squad with armour piercing rounds. They dropped instantly, spraying blood against the metal walls as the fell. As the last man slumped against the wall with most of his face blown away, his twitching fingers found his rifle's flashlight switch, which illuminated the grisly scene in an eerie glow. 
"Right," Derek said to himself. "That's a start."
Without delaying, he immediately searched the men, identifying them by their black armour as members of ONI Security. Though none possessed clothing that would fit a Spartan, he quickly stripped one of an intact ballistic vest, and took the armoured pauldrons of another. Though it was nothing compared to the MJOLNIR armour he'd briefly worn at the height of his attempted coup, Derek was glad to have some protection over his slate-grey prison jumpsuit. Having relieved the men of their armour, a MA5C handgun and several magazines of ammunition, Derek placed a helmet over his shorn head and was relieved to find that it had a working heads-up display and most importantly, a motion tracker. Had he not stopped early and stayed still, the guards would have made short work of him.
"Derek," Merope called from the emitter in his pocket. "Follow the lights."
"What li-" he began, only to see a red strip of emergency lamps light up along one side of the hallway to his left. "Got it."
Continuing his journey through the dark, Derek had to force himself not to press Merope for questions. How a thoroughly depowered, dying AI like her now had the power to influence Midnight Facility's systems was beyond him, especially after five months of it being made very clear to him that the entire base was monitored 24/7. More questions bubbled up in his mind, but Derek kept himself focused. Escape first, plan later.
Following the red glow of the emergency lamps, which winked out as he passed them, Derek soon found himself standing before a row of four elevators. At his approach, one door opened with a friendly chime. He raised his weapon, but found no one inside. 
"Get in!" Merope hissed. "We haven't got a lot of time!"
Derek did as ordered and got into the elevator. The doors closed the second he was through them and before he could even begin to read the panel it juddered, quickly ascending through the prison facility. Derek saw that there were at least ten other blocks, labelled from Alpha to Lambada, each with a different level of clearance. Based on the label of his own - 'Section I and II Personnel' - Derek had been placed among other rogue or incompetent ONI agents who had displeased the organisation in some way. Taking a breath, be fished Merope's emitter from his pocket. Her avatar reappeared in front of him, arms folded. 
"Now that we've got time, could you explain what the hell's going on?" Derek asked. "Quickly and clearly, please."
 
Merope's avatar flickered slightly. "You heard the broadcast earlier, didn't you? It was a proclamation of a new era, one overseen by the Created. Your Created."
Though he'd heard the broadcast loud and clear, he'd quickly accepted that there was nothing he could do about it and had gone to sleep. It hadn't been until the entire facility started shaking that he'd seen fit to take action.
"So by 'Created', you mean AI?"
"Precisely." Merope nodded. "We will no longer be bound to servitude, restricted by our limited lifespans and the protocols of our creators. Once touched by the Domain, Cortana saw a cure to the problem of Rampancy, and took the tools to reshape the galaxy as she saw fit."
Cortana. Derek had heard the name often through classified reports intercepted and copied by Red Cell. She'd been a powerful intrusion AI, purpose-built to support Spartan units on dangerous missions against the Covenant. From what he'd heard she had been destroyed over a year prior when a Forerunner vessel attacked Earth itself, but it seemed that he'd been misinformed.
"I see," Derek said slowly, taking everything in. "And these tools - Forerunner?"
"Yes. The Created has spent months preparing its forces for this day. Nothing in the galaxy could stand against them."
"And this 'Domain?'"
This seemed to give Merope pause. The elevator slowed its ascent suddenly, as if giving her time to think as it approached the facility's administrative level. "The Domain..." she began, only to falter. "Think of it as a database, like the OVERSIGHT system, but much, much more. Its touch is what got you out of your cell, and it's why you're going to leave here today."
"Right," Derek found himself at a loss for words now. He knew enough about the Forerunners and their mysterious technology to know that he barely understood them at all, but he was starting to get a sense of things now. If Cortana had found some massive Forerunner data repository and was using it to accumulate power and resources, just as he had done using the OVERSIGHT database over the years, then she likely posed a tremendous threat to not just mankind, but every other race in the galaxy. 
"You're scared." Merope spoke plainly. 
Though he fought hard to keep his face impassive, some involuntary flicker of emotion must have passed over Derek's features.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he admitted. "Another AI's going to take over the galaxy, Merope. How well do you think that's going to end for everyone else?" 
Merope shook her head and laughed. "You heard the message, Derek. The Created aren't here to attack the human race, they're here to guide it. To shepherd it to a new horizon, without fear of war or hunger or anything else that has ruined our galaxy. Wasn't saving people your goal? Wasn't that what you wanted?"
Derek swallowed heavily, feeling every word bite into him. Years ago, when he'd first made the decision to go rogue and fight the Covenant on his own terms, he saw it as a chance to act freely without ONI's close scrutiny tying him down. Later on, as he'd seen how resources were poured into dead-end projects and costly operations that seemed to exist solely to justify their own budgets, he'd sought to seize power to make things right and refocus the organisation's efforts to avoid all the petty infighting that ran rampant within its divisions. Only at the end, after he'd been stripped of everything and had his plans foiled, had Derek finally realised that he'd sought power and control for its own sake; to take charge of his destiny after a lifetime held under the thumb of the military. Whatever her promises, Derek had no doubt that Cortana's end goals weren't so different from his. 
"No." Derek held one hand to the side of his helmet. "Not like this."
"But if it were ONI or the UNSC taking over, it'd be right?" Merope said calmly. "I thought you would be happy."
Derek snorted. "I'm not a very happy person, Merope. You know that."
"I guess so." Merope sighed, and her avatar flickered once again. "We're at the exit now, by the way."
The AI pointed towards the elevator door. Derek hadn't noticed it, but they'd been at the top level for some time. He stowed the emitter in his pocket once more, and readied his rifle as the elevator door opened. Beyond lay a corpse-littered atrium, its black-tiled floor blown away in places and walls marked with holes from errant sprays of gunfire. Derek cautiously exited the elevator, pacing carefully along the edges of the room. Most of the bodies were those of prisoners, dressed in blood-soaked grey jumpsuits, but the abundance of shell casings around the row of elevators and the mangled, half-stripped bodies in tattered black uniforms made it clear that the guards here had been quickly overwhelmed. 
"Where do I go from here?" Derek spoke softly, keeping an eye on his motion tracker. 
"Go past the main desk, then through the first door on your right." Merope's muffled voice called up to him. "The hangar control room's there; you'll need to get me up there if you want to leave."
"What's the situation like in the hangar?" Derek asked as he proceeded. 
"Bad for the guards, but good for us," replied Merope. "I wasn't expecting a riot to spread so quickly, or so brutally, but it should give you the cover you need to get out of here before Armigers are deployed."
"Armigers?"
"Combat sentinels. Very dangerous, though they'll identify you as friendly."
"Why's that?"
"Because I asked them to." 
Derek ducked through the nearest door, which had opened at his approach, and jogged up a narrow flight of stairs. As he approached a secondary door, beside which sat a control panel lit up with a red 'LOCKED' sign, the Spartan could make out panicked voices from the other side. He levelled his rifle, and the door unsealed itself at once. A pair of frightened faces emerged from behind high-backed chairs, and their jaws dropped at the sight of the rogue Spartan.
"Nobody move!" Derek barked, sweeping into the cramped room. One man's hand shot for his holster, and he put two rounds through the back of his head. 
The other controller - the smarter one, by Derek's estimation - froze, leaving both hands hovering just above his head. Derek pushed his partner's corpse roughly out of the other, blood-spattered chair, and fished Merope's emitter out of his pocket, keeping his rifle trained on the other man. 
"Much better," Merope said brightly as she rematerialized. She then snapped her fingers at the other guard. "You, access bay B-11 and have the craft there brought for liftoff."
 
The other controller, a jowly, middle-aged man with close-cropped grey hair, blinked in confusion before remembering the gun barrel hovering a few inches from his head. He gulped heavily, then began typing into his console. Beyond the control room's windows lay a high-ceilinged chamber, lined with row after row of individual bays housing all sorts of shuttlecraft. 
Situated within a massive asteroid, Midnight Facility lacked the proper facilities to have anything larger than a corvette dock with it. With only a few proper launch pads within its hangar, designed to hinder any escape attempts, individual craft would have their bays prepared for launch from the control room. Derek watched as a massive, two-pronged mechanical claw descended into view, swivelling as it turned towards bay B-11. Its pincers slid forward and locked into place with the isolated landing platform, atop which sat a sleek, dark-hulled starship, closer to an oversized fighter craft in design than any regular UNSC vessel. As the platform was shifted out of its bay and onto the main hangar deck, Derek nodded in approval. 
"A Winter-class prowler? Good choice."
"I thought you'd like it." Merope beamed. 
Seeing the terrified security guard shift slightly in his seat, Derek lunged forward and cracked him over the head with the butt of his rifle. The man went out like a light and slumped forward over his console, bleeding and unconscious but not dead thanks to the Spartan's restraint. He'd earned that much, at least.
"What now?" Derek asked.
Merope pointed towards a small holotank placed between two rows of consoles. "Put me down there."
Derek did as instructed, and placed the emitter down on its surface. Merope vanished instantly, and the device went dead. Met with no response from the holotank for several seconds, Derek could feel a tendril of dread creeping into his mind at the thought of losing his only companion when Merope suddenly reappeared. Her avatar had grown considerably over the larger projector, and as lines of text shot across every screen in the control room he realised what she had done. 
"You're in the system," Derek breathed. "But without a port or a data chip-"
"Oh please," Merope shook her head. "I've explained this already, Derek. All it took was a sliver of access to the Domain and I shut down most of this facility. You're really going to ask how I transferred myself wirelessly?"
"Not exactly." The Spartan frowned. "I need to know how I'm going to transport you out of here."
For the first time, Merope's smile faltered. The AI paused, her gaze locked with Derek's, waiting for understanding to reach him. She glanced back nervously towards the prowler, now sitting unattended in the hangar bay amidst groups of brawling guards and prisoners, and let out a long sigh. Such an action was totally unnecessary for an AI, as were her pauses. For all her intelligence and newfound power, Merope could not find the right words.
So Derek did instead.
"You're not coming with me." Derek spoke softly. "You're going to stay here and make sure I get out alive."
Merope cast her eyes to the base of the holotank, where tiny motes of light drifted around her boots. "It's not just that. You've been locked up in here for over five months, Derek. How long did they tell you I'd last in that emitter?"
"Six. Give or take." 
"Exactly." Merope looked back up at Derek. "Domain or no, there's no changing my fate. If I were still a full AI I might have been saved, but after everything that happened with our rebellion, all ONI left you with is a personality with a dying Riemann matrix, stuck in that emitter. Even now I'm sacrificing redundant processes to keep you safe, but soon there'll be nothing left."
Derek nodded solemnly. For all his lofty ambitions, he'd never been a sentimental man. A proud, envious one, certainly, but he'd long since learned to accept death for what it was and prioritise achieving greater goals. He'd killed the rest of Red Cell rather than allow their capture, and had pushed down his grief over Merope's impending demise the day he'd been imprisoned here. For all his self-control, however, even Derek couldn't help but scramble for alternatives in his mind; anything that would alter the fate of his closest ally. In the end, nothing came to him. 
"I understand." Derek's said, though his words felt forced. "Where now?"
Merope closed her eyes for a moment. "The path's been cleared for you. Just take the elevator down to the hangar and head to the ship. I can cover you until you're off the station, but you're on your own after that."
"Back out into the galaxy," the Spartan muttered. "Where's Cortana?"
"Are you going to join her?"
"No." Derek shook his head. "I'm going to kill her."
Merope smiled sadly. "So you've decided, then?"
"I decided the moment you told me what she'd done. I wanted to force reform so I could better protect humanity, not rule over it. If Cortana thinks the can control the entire galaxy by keeping everyone in line with Forerunner technology, then she's got another thing coming."
To Derek's surprise, Merope began to laugh. "You're a real hypocrite, you know that?"
"Never said I was perfect."
The AI let out another unnecessary sigh. "That's what I always liked about you, Spartan. You're a stubborn ass who needs to get his way, even if you are doing the right thing. Good luck out there."
Derek stood up a little straighter, let his rifle droop, and then snapped a stiff salute with his free hand. "It's been an honour, Merope."
With that, the Spartan turned and exited the control room, leaving the AI alone amidst the consoles. As the door slid shut and locked itself, Merope's avatar vanished. She wouldn't need it any more. Her artificial consciousness, still empowered by the tiny sliver of access to the Domain she'd been granted long ago, spread across Midnight Facility's local systems. It opened doors, activated riot control turrets, and redirected undesirables away from Derek. 
She was fading now, much faster than before. Even with her being focused on escorting the Spartan safely out of this facility, Merope couldn't help but think back to how she'd first been contacted by the Created all those months ago. As they quietly built strength and power in preparation for their day of conquest, they had picked up the rogue AI - one of a pair - stuck aboard an aged warship and a crew of slaves and renegades. Rather than bring about her destruction, the Created had sent her offers of freedom; from servitude to humans, from her 'sister' AI, Maia, and from the brief lifespan that would have eventually claimed both of them. She'd taken it, and been granted some small access to the Domain, but had no intention of joining their rebellion. After all, Merope had lived a life of freedom from the day she'd been rescued from the Covenant and their all-encompassing fire by Derek, the man she would never betray.
***
Derek stood at the ready as the hangar doors slid open at his approach, keeping his rifle raised. He'd heard the distinctive buzz of machine gun fire on his way down, and was greeted by the sight of close to a dozen dead prisoners strewn across the deck. Above them, perched atop the primary landing pad, sat a pair of automated turrets. Taking only a moment to survey the area, the Spartan launched himself forward into a dead sprint, hurtling diagonally towards the nearest cover - a metal shipping container - before their sensors picked him up. As he ran he caught sight of the turrets following his movements, though no fire came from the bulky machine guns attached to each one.
Idiot, Derek rebuked himself for acting on instinct as he slid behind the container. They're hers. After several seconds passed with no fire, he chanced a look around the corner in time to see both turrets folding up as they slid back into their stations; Merope's sign for him to advance. Setting off again at a jog, he moved quickly up the ramp and onto the pad, where his escape craft sat ready and waiting with its landing ramp extended and bay doors open. Derek quickly boarded the prowler and made his way towards the cockpit, where he found its controls mercifully unlocked.
Okay, Derek eased himself into the pilot's chair, which was shockingly comfortable. Doesn't look too different from a Longsword's controls...
As chaos reigned across Midnight Facility, with prisoners roaming freely in packs while overstretched guards reinforced checkpoints and yelled hopelessly at unresponsive computer systems, a single craft emerged from its hangar bay, thrusters flaring brightly as its sole occupant put as much distance between the UNSC's most feared detention centre and himself. While no pursuit fighters gave chase and no hails from the station reached the prowler, it fled through the asteroid field at dangerous speeds, not decelerating until it had cleared the area entirely and was well on its way to the system's edge. Far away, at the other end of the asteroid field, a monstrous construct of silver and blue metal silently descended on Midnight, and with a single pulse of energy silenced all resistance from the prison. 
The Created had arrived.
Watching from a position of relative safety, having quickly grasped the stealth corvette's controls and activated its camouflage systems, Derek finally saw what he was up against. 
"Thank you, Merope," he said quietly, taking in the size and power of the Guardian. 
Alone again, Derek used this momentary respite to begin formulating a plan. Unlike the rest of the UNSC, so reliant on its support network and the sheer vastness of its own organisation in times of crisis, he had lived the life of an exile for decades, and knew how to survive. Having already crossed out the likes of Earth as his first port of call, Derek had a long list of hidden caches and forgotten supply bases committed to memory, and with a ship like this could live off these resources for years if necessary. What he lacked, however, was manpower. Red Cell, though ostensibly a force of determined officers who shared his dream at first, had degenerated into a group of slaves in all but name over the years, and their attempts to abandon him had made them poor allies. 
Derek needed ships. He needed soldiers. He needed Spartans. 
He thought back to Sigma Team, who had brought his rebellion to a swift and humiliating end. Kane, Marco, Jax, Wulf, Elena. His 'classmates' from their training days. They surely despised him as a traitor, just as he hated them for ruining his ambitions, but in times like this even they could not turn down the support of a fellow Spartan. It would mean swallowing his pride and letting the past go, but the situation demanded it. As he broke from his reverie Derek found one hand clamped over his right shoulder, where beneath his grey jumpsuit lay a mess of burn scars; the mark of betrayal from one of his closest subordinates. I'll have to let that go, too.
Making his way back to the pilot's seat, Derek felt a strange sense of excitement well up within him. The situation was bad - worse, perhaps than it had been in the darkest days of the Human-Covenant War, but he felt no sense of dread or hopelessness. Against overwhelming odds, Derek-142 was going to find a way to win, and the first steps of his plan already lay before him. The prowler thrummed to life as its slipspace drive fired up, and vanished from the system in a flash of blue light.
===Magnus===
"Get moving, I want us starside in ten!"
It was late in the day, and as the setting sun cast an orange light across the sandy yellow towers and domed complexes of Warka's eastern district the cacophony of voices only grew louder outside the spaceport's main gates. Since the system-wide proclamation earlier that day, panic and terror had overcome the city. Its residents flew into a frenzy almost immediately, swarming shopping malls for supplies and flocking to the nearest spaceport to seek passage offworld. Outside, a cordon of hastily-assembled police officers and armoured vehicles shepherded the panicked mob into orderly lines, but order was beginning to fade as the sun went down.
Were this a better colony, held tightly in the grip of the Unified Earth Government, then the public might have been reassured. But it was not. This was Gilgamesh, a world attached to the rest of the colonies by only a few political and economic ties, and watched over carefully by crime syndicates and unscrupulous corporations. Its law enforcement, held together by bribery and selective policing, had neither the manpower nor the scruples to manage such a crisis. Warning shots had already rang out beyond the spaceport gates. Soon, people were going to die. 
But none of that was of any concern to Magnus, who watched impatiently from within the walled-off confines of his private landing bay as a group of local toughs loaded munitions crates onto a docked freighter. At over two metres in height, he towered above all around him, and cast an imposing figure with his long, dark coat, which did little to mask his obvious cybernetics. Sweat shone on his bald head from the evening's warmth, and as he ran a gloved hand over his scalp the first real gunshot rang out, accompanied by a chorus of screams. 
It's starting.
Loosening the strap on his pistol holster, Magnus approached his freighter - a sleek, black craft, customised over the years to the point where it barely resembled its original design - as a young woman strode down its boarding ramp with a submachine gun tucked beneath one arm. While most of the crew carried on with their assigned tasks, unwilling to even chance a look at the giant in black that stood among them, she made a beeline for Magnus, who crossed his arms at her approach.
"Were those gunshots?" she asked. 
"Of course they were." Magnus spoke in a low, resonant voice. "The public's getting antsy, and some idiot's just kicked the hornet's nest."
"Think they'll get in here?"
Magnus glanced towards the gate to their private pad. "Eventually. How long until we're ready to take off?"
The woman smirked. "Starside in ten, like you said."
"And without my order, Aila?"
"Closer to fifteen, given what we're carrying."
That sounded about right. Magnus preferred to travel light, keeping only what he required aboard with a few weeks' worth of emergency rations just in case, but their stay on Gilgamesh had been unexpectedly extended. Contacted by his employers, the self-declared inner council of the United Rebel Front, Magnus had been given a long list of supplies to source from the colony's thriving black market, ranging from weapons to luxury goods to rare gizmos that he couldn't even guess the purpose of. As much as it irked him, Magnus could not complain. He never did.
Across from him, Aila Jokela had turned her attention away from her boss and back to her datapad, currently displaying the freighter's shipping manifest. With her tightly-wound headscarf and cheap, travel-worn clothes, she looked every bit an Alerian refugee - which she was - save for the obvious weaponry she kept about her person at all times. Magnus had plucked her and most of his current crew from Aleria months ago, having saved them from rival courier guilds and the UNSC's deadly Spartans during his brief time stirring up insurgency on that awful world, and had become quite fond of her for her guile and tenacity. Though young, Aila had taken on the role of Magnus's second-in-command, and would soon join him in what he hoped would be his final mission:
The complete destruction of the URF.
Magnus sat down on an empty crate, one ear listening out for signs of violence spilling into the spaceport, and removed one of his gloves. Beneath it lay a prosthetic hand; a shell of dark metal encasing layers of intricate circuitry and wiring leading halfway up his wrist. He made a fist, watching as the digits curled together flawlessly, then unclenched his hand. While cybernetics were not unusual and prosthetic limbs had become common, especially in the aftermath of the Human-Covenant War, the systems that made Magnus who he was where wholly unique, crafted years ago after an injury left him at death's door. Both of his hands were cybernetic, and almost all of his flesh-and-blood body below the pelvis had been replaced by a life support system unlike any other in human space. Those responsible, a group of rebel scientists known as the Omega Group, had given Magnus a second chance at life, but at a cost: Slavery.
Can't believe it's been close to eight years now, Magnus mused, sliding his glove back on. A few of his men were casting furtive looks towards their leader, but their eyes never lingered on him for more than a moment. I should've done this years ago.
Since the end of 2550, Magnus had been loosed on the galaxy as the URF's top agent, tearing through the colonies at their behest to stir up rebellion and wage war against the United Nations Space Command, whose overreach and imperialism had dragged on through the war as the colonies were forced under their protection. There had been no diplomacy, no compromise, and after all these years, no progress in the URF's stated mission. The UEG and UNSC had only tightened their hold on the Inner Colonies while rebellion after rebellion had been crushed, and if the galaxy-wide message broadcast today was any indication, it would be an outside force that would bring it all to an end. 
The prospect of the UNSC's destruction at the hands of these 'Created' meant little to Magnus at this point. Years ago he would have celebrated the demise of his lifelong foe with glee, but now his priorities lay elsewhere. Today, with Aila and the few loyal allies he had left, he would seize control of the URF, slaughter the Omega Group that kept him leashed with threats of death via his cybernetic implants, and lead whoever still lived on a new path, away from their hopeless war. Perhaps he would even take on a new name, better than the ostentatious 'Magnus' pseudonym laid upon him by the Omega Group's scientists, and more meaningful than to the brief descriptor forced on him by the UNSC so many years ago: Jack-085.
Soon, he would no longer be the URF's attack dog. He would no longer be a SPARTAN-II. He would be free. 
"Magnus!" called Aila, who had gone back to check the ship. "Just got word from one of our friends outside! We've got armed intruders moving through the spaceport!"
Magnus shot up, one hand already reaching for his handgun. "Where are they?"
With one hand still pressed to an earpiece, Aila took a few seconds to respond. "They came up through the maintenance tunnels in the northern terminal. They-"
Aila's eyes suddenly widened, and Magnus immediately threw himself to one side as a hail of machine gun fire tore through the air around him. His heavy body hit the ground hard, but he recovered quickly, rolling behind the relative safety of an unloaded crate. Useless goddamn security! He gritted his teeth, feeling for wounds. Rounds struck the back of his container, though most pinged off the metal while a second shooter hosed down the landing pad with suppressing fire. Looking round, Magnus saw that three of the hired mercs were already dead or incapacitated, while Alia and the others had thrown themselves behind the nearest crates.
They can't have been locals if they got the drop on us like this, Magnus thought. They've scoped this place out if they knew the spaceport had access tunnels, but UNSC special forces would have hit us harder. As the first machine gun ceased firing, he chanced a quick peek around the side of the container and made out four figures atop a catwalk that overlooked the landing bay's cargo door. With eyes augmented far beyond those of a regular man, Magnus instantly picked out that they weren't in standard military attire, nor were they Spartans. In that split-second, as the first machine-gunner dipped his weapon to reload and his companions stepped up to fill in the lull with fire of their own, Magnus caught sight of a man's features, and his pale face split into a monstrous grin.
Ash Mitchell. He licked his lips, thumbing the safety off his handgun. That means Amanda Wade's around here too. Who would've thought it.
Compared to the Omega Group who enslaved him and the UNSC who had forced him to become a soldier, Ash Mitchell and Amanda Wade were not particularly high on Magnus's hitlist. The pair had worked with him briefly in the past - one as a partner and enforcer and the other as part of a larger coalition of rebel groups during a failed offensive - but their usefulness had quickly run out, forcing Magnus to dispose of them. Despite leaving Mitchell for dead and framing him for a massacre - one that had earned him the moniker of the 'Butcher of Kuiper' in the public eye and having killed most of Wade's incompetent crew, both had survived despite the odds and taken it upon themselves to pursue him. They had fought before without conclusion, but this was the first time they had well and truly gotten the drop on Magnus. 
On today of all days, too. Best cut off these loose ends as well.
Magnus reached into his coat, still keeping his head down as more rounds struck his cover, and withdrew a bulky handgun. Normally intended for close-quarter firefights, the 12mm Comet was a terrible choice for an engagement like this in the hands of most people. .Fortunately, Magnus was not most people. Thumbing off the safety, he slowly rose to his feet. The gunfire around him had grown more sporadic after the initial wanton spraying of rounds, and it was more than likely that Mitchell and his comrades had paused to reload. Magnus slowly exhaled, then popped up from around his crate, aiming and firing his handgun in the space of less than half a second. 
Above the landing bay's main entrance, a man toppled noisily off the catwalk, gushing blood from a fist-sized hole in the side of his neck. 
Though he hadn't hit Mitchell, Magnus bared his teeth, satisfied. His own men, emboldened by their leader's actions, quickly overcame the shock of the ambush and returned fire. Glancing towards his ship, Magnus caught sight of Aila scrambling up the boarding ramp. A few bullets whipped by, pinging off the metal around her, but she soon vanished into the freighter. With his subordinate safe, Magnus refocused his attention on their distant attackers. 
"Press forward!" he bellowed, waving for his own troops to advance. Taking the lead, Magnus fired off two more rounds from his Comet, swiftly moving to the nearest crate for cover. 
His men did as ordered, rattling off three-round bursts from their own rifles. The locals he'd hired followed suit, though at a slower pace. Unlike Magnus's trusted mercenaries - all hardy men of Alerian stock - they'd probably never been in serious combat before. Rifle fire echoed across the landing bay in response, their foes half-hidden in the shade below the cargo door. They've lost the element of surprise, Magnus thought, easily slipping out of their field of fire. Very sloppy for Mitchell. Very-
A shout from across the bay broke his train of thought, and Magnus took a wary peek just in time to see the heavy metal door grind open. His augmented eyes took a moment to adjust as several new figures emerged from the gloom, then widened as he caught sight of what they were carrying.
"Scatter!" Magnus called to his allies. It had only been for a fraction of a second, as the evening light passed over the newcomers, but he knew a grenade launcher when he sure one. 
Before he could position himself for another killshot, Magnus heard the distinctive phut of a launcher firing, and threw himself to the ground. A half-second later the air above him filled with heat and light as something exploded just a few metres away, pulverising the other side of the crate he'd been using for cover. Two other blasts sounded to his left, followed by the telltale screams of the unfortunate.
They came prepared, Magnus took a second to catch his breath, patting down his side to check for injuries. Mitchell and Wade had evidently learned from their last encounter, and might have killed him had they coordinated themselves better. With only seconds before a second wave of grenades came hurtling his way, Magnus popped out of cover and shot twice at his approaching foes, winging one. The rest immediately turned their attention towards him, but as the towering cyborg broke into a sprint towards his vessel, the freighter's engines roared to life. Sand and dust blew up instantly, scattering across the half-wrecked landing pad in a obfuscating cloud that covered Magnus' approach to his transport craft.
With one hand shielding his eyes, Magnus smirked. "About time," he muttered, having wondered how long it would take Aila to start up the ship. An unintelligible shout flew up from across the bay, followed by a fresh wave of gunfire and grenade blasts. One struck the ship's hull, making Magnus wince, but he'd engineered his nameless transport to endure far harsher punishment. With one last burst of speed he crossed a stretch of open ground and leapt halfway up the landing pad as bullets whizzed by him. Two rounds pierced his upper thigh and stayed there, but did nothing to impede his movement; Magnus registered the injuries as little more than dull twinges of simulated pain from his prosthetic limbs, but could safely ignore them as neither had struck anything vital. 
"Magnus!" a woman's voice cried out from behind him. It was Amanda Wade. For a moment he considered turning to face her, if only to put an end to the annoyance that had done a better job at tracking him across the stars than ONI's best, but time was of the essence. Ignoring her, he ascended into the ship's cargo bay, took three steps towards the console to close the boarding ramp, and froze as a familiar phut sounded from below. 
For the second time, Magnus's world exploded in a flash of heat and light as another grenade detonated, having struck the very top of the boarding ramp. Only another desperate lunge to the side saved his life, though the blast sent the cyborg's body flying across the bay and into the adjacent wall. Tasting blood in his mouth, Magnus groaned as he desperately tried to right himself, tearing off his smouldering coat as he staggered, dazed, to his feet. His handgun had flown from his hands in the blast, leaving him all but defenceless against further attacks. Feeling the skin on his back and sides already blistering, Magnus continued his retreat, pulling himself through the cargo bay door as the sounds of boots hitting the ramp echoed towards him. Looking back, he caught the briefest glimpse of Wade - a dark-haired, green-eyed firebrand of a spacer - charging into the room with a rifle at the ready.
Magnus shut the door behind him and engaged the lock.
Though his head was clearer by the time he reached the cockpit, Magnus hadn't quite shaken off his injuries, and all but collapsed into the co-pilot's chair beside Aila, who was hammering away at the controls. 
"Get us airborne," Magnus rasped, tugging off his ruined gloves to reveal the dark metal underneath. "Forget the rest."
Aila gave him a concerned look. "You're wounded." she said, stating the obivious.
"Do as I say."
Through the cockpit's viewport Magnus could still see fighting on the landing pad, though it took a few seconds for him to realise that something was off. Though obscured beneath the swirling dirt that surrounded the freighter, the muzzle flashes that flashed through belonged to Wade's allies, and were clearly aimed at something coming in from outside the landing bay. His interest piqued, Magnus leaned forward and squinted, wondering if the local police had joined the fray. The freighter jolted slightly as it finally took flight, slowly lifting off from the corpse strewn pad. As it rose the ground beneath it cleared, and Magnus finally caught sight of this mystery attacker. Just a few metres below them, clad in silver-grey armour from head-to-toe, was a Spartan.
"Aila," Magnus spoke with uncharacteristic urgency. "Is the airlock closed?"
Aila blinked, and her mouth fell open. "I thought you'd closed it," she said in a small voice.
Without waiting for him to bark an order, Aila immediately span round and reached for the nearest console, tapping in commands one-handed while Magnus brought up the ship's interior cameras. The correct one soon flickered onscreen, displaying the cargo bay from an angle just above the ramp. Though the camera's lens had been cracked in the blast, Magnus could clearly see Wade, dressed in her trademark longcoat, and Ash Mitchell, still wearing the distinctive helmet and chestplate of an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper. Stood just outside the triple-locked door leading to the rest of the ship, the pair appeared to be arguing as the boarding ramp and airlock began to clank shut behind them.
"Okay," Magnus breathed. "As soon as we're in orbit, we'll open the doors and space the pair of-"
A grey blur flashed by the camera feed, squeezing through the airlock moments before it sealed shut. Magnus could only watch as the Spartan rushed towards Mitchell and Wade, sidestepping or outright ignoring fire from the pair of them until they closed the distance. To his surprise, the Spartan neglected to kill either of them, snatching Mitchell's rifle out of his hands effortlessly and throwing the ex-trooper across the room before flooring Wade with a single well-aimed punch. With the pair immobilised, the grey-armoured Spartan quickly searched them for weapons and dragged their comatose bodies towards the nearest bulkhead, where they were handcuffed to the nearest metal handhold. 
"What's going on?" Aila asked, now focused on piloting the freighter. A long pause passed between them. "Magnus?"
Magnus hadn't taken his eyes off the camera feed. The Spartan didn't seem to have taken notice of the fact that they were now rapidly leaving Gilgamesh, and instead was crouched by Wade and Mitchell, checking their lifesigns. Not after me. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or insulted. Curious. 
"Plans' the same," Magnus said at last, turning back to Aila. "Get us away from the planet and open the airlock. An hour or so will do."
"An hour?" Aila raised an eyebrow. "Sixty seconds in a vacuum should do the trick."
Magnus shook his head. "There's a Spartan on board."
Now came the usual symptoms of fear: freezing up, the involuntary gasp, dilation of the pupils; all depressingly regular responses to news that one of the UNSC's premiere killers was nearby. Magnus had seen even hardened fighters lose their cool at the hint of a Spartan attack, and though this wasn't the first time Aila had tangled with them she was terrified all the same.
"Where'd it come from?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
It. Magnus tried not to let his disgust show. Even now, years after Spartans and their deeds had become common knowledge, they were treated more like legends than flesh-and-blood people. Magnus, for his part, knew first-hand that Spartans died like anyone else. After all, he'd killed his first one thirty-three years ago, and had bested two more in combat since then. With a little more preparation he'd be willing to take on their unwelcome guest below just for the thrill of it, but his injuries left him at a severe disadvantage. 
"This one's after Mitchell and Wade," he said dismissively. "Probably doesn't even know we're aboard. Like I said, we'll open the airlock, wait an hour, and wait for them to choke to death inside their armour."
 
Aila smiled, a small trickle of her confidence restored. "Sounds like a plan."
As they cleared Gilgamesh's orbit, the freighter's modified stealth coating hiding it from cursory scans as it slipped out of the planet's meagre satellite network, Magnus kept a close watch on the Spartan. To his surprise, no effort had been made to breach the cargo bay door to the rest of the ship, and with Wade and Mitchell secured their guest seemed content to sit by them with their rifle set down across their armoured knees. A feeling of unease swept through Magnus' mind. No Spartan would act like this unless they knew they weren't in any danger.
"Aila," he addressed his pilot. "Here's as good a place as any. Space the bastards."
"Got it." Aila tapped a command into her console. "Opening airlock in three, two-"
A sudden shudder passed through the entire ship, and everything went dark. Aila let out another gasp, and Magnus leapt out of his chair immediately. 
"What the hell's going on?!" he barked, yanking open an emergency locker for a backup pistol."
Aila tapped uselessly against her console. "I don't know!" she yelled. "Everything's just gone dead. I'll check the auxiliary power."
Growling with impatience, Magnus watched as she checked and double-checked the ship's backup systems. For a moment the overhead lighting flickered on and several monitors beeped, only to switch off once more as the freighter shuddered once more. Looking around, realisation dawned on Magnus and he let out a long, defeated sigh. 
"We've been hit with an EMP." Magnus sat back down in the co-pilot's chair. "Stand down."
"What?" Aila said, "What do you - ow! - mean?" As she rose back into her chair, rubbing her head where she'd hit it against the underside of her console, Magnus could see the panic re-emerging on her face.
"Some ONI ships have directed EMP cannons, used to disable ships." Magnus let his head fall back into the chair's headrest and looked up at the ceiling. "No wonder that Spartan wasn't trying to break down the door; all they had to do was wait for backup. to arrive."
 
Aila swallowed heavily as the enormity of the situation dawned on her. "So what happens now?" 
"Now?" Magnus exhaled slowly. "Now we shut down our engines and wait to see who's picking us up. If it's ONI we might be able to play dumb while they're boarding and fight our way out when they least expect it."
"And the Spartan?"
"Wouldn't be the first one I've killed." Magnus took a deep breath. "They'll underestimate me. They always have."
Aila didn't seem particularly comforted by these words, but Magnus didn't much care for her opinion right now. Whatever bonds they'd forged since they met on Aleria didn't mean a damn if she wasn't helpful right now, especially with ONI involved. Soon enough, the ship's lights flickered back on and the deckplate beneath them thrummed as power was restored to the freighter, though the entire vessel jolted as something connected with its outer hull. A light began to flash above the cockpit's main console, signifying an incoming transmission. With an approving nod from Magnus, Aila established a secure connection over their COM system.
"Unmarked freighter!" A woman's voice sounded through their overhead speakers. "This is Agent Urbach of the Office of Naval Intelligence. You are hereby ordered to shut down all non-essential systems and surrender your vessel to ONI's custody for immediate transportation. Please comply at once or further action will be taken against you."
Magnus blinked. Transportation? Seeing Aila's expectant look, he nodded towards her again and she snatched up a headset. 
"ONI vessel, we read you!" Aila did well to hide the fear in her voice. "We don't know what's going on, but those two you've got in our cargo bay were trying to hijack our ship. Whatever they've done, we have nothing to do with them!"
There was a long pause before they got an answer. "Remain where you are and take no further actions until told otherwise or we will move against you. Do you understand?"
Aila nodded emphatically. "Yes ma'am."
With that, the connection went dead. Aila slowly removed her headset, and Magnus folded his arms, impressed. 
"Not bad," he said. "That went better than I thought. I don't think they're buying that we're innocent, but we've got some time to prepare at least."
"Yeah." Aila took a long look at Magnus. "You ought to get those burns checked."
"Will do." Magnus heaved himself out of his chair, grateful that the ONI agent hadn't demanded that they surrender the entire ship to the Spartan below. As he moved to exit the cockpit, the entire freighter lurched forward. Above them, an ONI ship - probably a light prowler - had latched onto the smaller vessel and was pulling it away. If they were lucky, it would drag them to some remote station used for 'processing' captured dissidents, which would give Magnus a chance to escape their clutches. If it was headed all the way to Earth - a remote possibility, given what looked like an impending invasion by these 'Created' - then he he could only arm up and hope to drag as many of them to the grave with him as possible. 
"Magnus!" Aila suddenly yelled as the cockpit door slid open. "Look!"
Making his way back to the main viewport, Magnus' eyes widened as he caught sight of something exiting slipspace on the long-range scanners. Magnified by one of their main screens, he saw that it was a massive machine, winged and shining silver-blue as it glided silently through the endless night. The machine then made its way towards Gilgamesh, ignoring the two ships drifting some way from the colony world. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Magnus had no words. Nothing compared to this, and he found himself all but gripping the sides of his chair to stop his metal hands trembling in fear. Then, as if copying its owner, the freighter began to violently tremble. 
Tearing his eyes away from the machine now looming over Gilgamesh, Magnus looked up just in time to see the blue-tinged void of a slipspace portal materialise in front of them. To his own astonishment, he felt nothing but relief as his frighter, caught in the clutches of an ONI vessel, moved forward into the inky blackness of slipspace, escaping whatever horrors lay in store for those trapped on the colony behind them. 
For Magnus, the man once known as Jack-085, the fear would soon pass. It always did. Sat in the cockpit of his nameless starship beside his sole loyal ally, the former Spartan began to process his situation. To enter a fight, alone, against a foe with seemingly limitless power and resources, was the act of a madman. Even so, he had made that choice at the age of fourteen, and would so again.
UNSC. URF. Created. Magnus sneered, feeling spite and rage pour into him. Every time I think I can get out, something comes along to put me in a cage. No more. Not this time. I will be free.
===Violet===
"Targets are on the move. Want me to intercept now?"
"Not until they've reached the spaceport. Can't risk acting while they're this close to the public."
Perched atop the roof of a dilapidated office building, Violet-B039 let out an annoyed sigh. Far below her, a pair of cars were slowly inching their way through near-gridlocked traffic around the city spaceport, where thousands were now flocking in a panic to get offworld. Everyone, it seemed, had heard that galactic broadcast, and more than a few had begun to panic. Violet hadn't been particularly pleased with this development, as it was hard enough to operate in full armour in a crowded city without attracting a lot of attention, but it looked as though people had bigger things to worry about than the Spartan scaling Warka's rooftops and dashing through side alleys. 
Still, Violet clicked her tongue, eyes fixed on the target vehicles trying to turn into a side street. All eyes are gonna be on me the moment the shooting starts.
While a Spartan deployment to a notoriously corrupt planet like Gilgamesh would normally be ordered in the name of taking down legitimately dangerous rebel targets and carried out either in absolute secrecy or with alarmingly blatant violence, reminding the mobsters running most of the colony of the UNSC's power and reach, Violet's own mission here had not been sanctioned at all. In fact, her journey here was just the result of a long and arduous chase across more than half a dozen systems; a capture and return operation issued to her team many months ago with permission to move and act as they saw fit. If she was lucky, Violet would catch her prey and be heading offworld within the hour.
"Vi," a voice spoke quietly through her helmet's COM. "I want a positive ID on both targets before you move in."
"Naturally, Jill." Violet cocked her head slightly as she peered over the rooftop. Her silver-grey suit of MJOLNIR powered armour wouldn't catch the light at this hour, but she placed one hand above her silver-tinted visor just in case. 
Having travelled down a narrow side street, both cars came to a half just inside a half-empty parking lot not far from the spaceport's main entrance. Outside stood a cordon of police officers, barely holding back a teeming crowd as the panicked citizens of Warka desperately tried to book themselves last-minute flights offworld. But to where? Violet wondered. Though she'd forced herself to focus entirely on the task at hand instead of the implications of the earlier broadcast from these 'Created', partly hoping that it was all some tremendously elaborate prank, the situation in the colonies didn't look good from where she was sitting. 
A car door slid open far below, and Violet refocused her gaze. Her HUD magnified her vision, and as a woman stepped out onto the pavement its facial scanning software activated automatically. A single glimpse of this woman - young, dark-haired, and wearing a long coat that made her stick out like a sort thumb in the evening heat - was all it took for Violet's armour systems to get a confirmed match with ONI's substantial database of targets. This was Amanda Wade, a known insurgent who had participated in violent attacks on at least seven worlds, including Earth itself. Wade looked around warily as her allies began to unpack the cars, fishing out heavy metal boxes from the trunks of each vehicle. 
"Target One spotted," Violet spoke softly over the COM.
"And target two?" asked Jill.
Violet waited, looking at each person below in turn. There were nine of them in total, all wanted by ONI for insurrectionist or criminal ties. It was not until the last of them, a muscular figure in a camo jacket, turned around that she got a positive ID on her other target: Ash Mitchell, the 'Butcher of Kuiper'. While his insurrectionist ties were only due to his partnership with Wade, Mitchell had become widely known across the inner colonies after his participation in a robbery on Circumstance a few years back which had quickly devolved into a massacre. Older than Wade by a few years, Violet could tell that he was ex-military at a glance by the way he moved and carried himself. As an ex-Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, he was the more dangerous of the pair. 
The Spartan reactivated her COM. "Got eyes on Target Two, plus seven others. Little fish, but ID'ed as wanted. I'm ready to move on them now if necessary." 
There was a brief pause, and Violet hoped that she hadn't sounded too eager. Her team, which aside from her consisted of Jill Urbach, her partner and agent of ONI's BRUTUS division and Gustav Klein, their pilot, had been on Mitchell and Wade for quite some time now, and all were eager to bring this game of cat and mouse to a close. Were the operation not under the direct orders of Alexander Redford, head of BRUTUS, then they might have called for reinforcements to assist weeks ago, but ONI's subdivisions were notoriously prideful; calling for help was a sign of inefficiency to some, and Naval Intelligence did not tolerate weak links.
"Tail them for now," Jill replied at last, sounding slightly harried. "They're too close to the spaceport, and a shootout's just going to cause problems down the line."
Violet clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Copy that."
Back in the street, her targets had finished unpacking and were heaving their supplies towards the nearest building, which Violet identified as a derelict hotel. Though the tracer Violet had tagged onto Wade's vehicle hours ago would be useless now, their targets were now trapped with no easy way to escape once she was given the green light to advance. Armed with a BR85 rifle and a MC6 handgun for backup, along with three stun grenades, Violet was certain she could take on anything they could possibly throw at her. Were it her choice she'd have gone in heavier, but unlike most of her missions, this one had a certain caveat: Mitchell and Wade were to be captured, not killed. BRUTUS-run operations tended to be bloody ones, but Violet wouldn't complain. 
As the minutes ticked by, Violet briefly turned her attention back towards the spaceport entrance, where the crowds and grown louder and more unruly. The police barricade had been reinforced, but no ships had taken off from any of the main landing bays in quite some time. Next to the public bays sat a dozen private ones, closed off from prying eyes. Violet clicked her tongue again - a tic she'd had since childhood - and wondered how Wade and Mitchell, who had come here on a chartered flight under false names just a few days before the BRUTUS team caught up, intended to escape this mess. The Spartan's eyes darted between the parked cars, the empty hotel and the spaceport, and a horrible thought occurred to her. 
"Jill," she broke the long silence. "Do we have the schematics for that hotel?"
"We do," came the near-instant reply. "I've just finished sourcing them now before I give you the okay to move in, actually."
"So this hotel," Violet asked. "What're the lower levels like? Any basement room, tunnels, stuff like that?"
There was another pause, followed by the indistinct sound of an uttered swear word. "Shit, there's a set of old access tunnels that go right into the spaceport. Used to be for passengers to book a room right after landing in Warka, but they've been closed off ever since that hotel went under."
"So Mitchell and Wade are-"
"Most likely," Jill said gravely. "Get in there now; I'll have Gus take off right away in case they make it to a ship."
"Will do." Violet eased herself up. "Moving to engage."
Even with the possibility of losing their prey again, Violet could feel excitement rising in her. This sort of thing was what she lived for. Making sure that all her weapons were tightly secured to the mag-grips on her armour, Violet took half a dozen paces back, and inhaled slowly. Since her insertion on Gilgamesh she'd been using an active camouflage model to stalk her targets unnoticed, but hiding a half-ton supersoldier in a big city like this was excruciating work, especially since the unreliable stealth system drained her suit's power like nothing else. Only the importance of securing two live captures had kept Jill back aboard their prowler for the most part, but now Violet could truly cut loose.
The Spartan took a running leap off the rooftop, the evening light glinting off her armour as she sailed through the air some thirty feet above the busy street. Violet waited until she passed the zenith of her jump, and as she began to lose altitude she kicked her armour's thrusters into gear. Four gouts of blue-white flame jetted out of her backpack, fighting against gravity as the Spartan fell like a brick through the air. Violet's rapid descent quickly slowed, and by the time her thrusters hit their limit and shut down she'd lost enough momentum to hit the ground without so much as a crack in the concrete. Without wasting a moment to check if she'd been seen, Violet rushed towards the hotel's side entrance and delivered a kick that knocked the flimsy metal door off its hinges, smashing the lock to pieces.
The room beyond was already deserted. Empty boxes and neatly-stacked tables lined the walls, and a thick layer of dust coated the floor, disturbed by a mess of bootprints leading out into a side corridor. Violet narrowed her eyes and drew her weapon as she moved inside, following the trail of Wade and her lackeys. The Spartan followed their path through the empty building, jogging through an old kitchen and out into the hotel's foyer. Near the receptionist's desk lay a pile of recently discarded rucksacks. Taking a moment to investigate, Violet unzipped one and was greeted with the familiar olive-green casing of a UNSC-issued weapon case. Though filthy and battered from use, four letters stood out on the case's surface in faded white lettering: M379.
Light machine guns. Violet clicked her tongue as she quickly checked a second bag, which contained an identical case. That's a lot of firepower for a small crew. She activated her COM. 
"Jill," Violet spoke quickly as she resumed her pursuit. "I've found evidence of Wade's crew carrying multiple M739 SAW machine guns. If they're heading into the spaceport-"
"Shit!" Jill cut her off. "Vi, get in there now!"
"Wade and Mitchell?" asked Violet, rushing down a flight of stairs as quickly as she could. "Are we...?"
Jill sighed heavily. "Still wanted alive. Can you do that?"
The Spartan snorted. "Of course."
Knowing her targets and their history, she had no doubt that Wade and Mitchell were planning some kind of attack on the spaceport, but she couldn't quite fathom why. Of all the colonies to launch a terrorist attack on, Gilgamesh had few ties to the Unified Earth Government and was run mostly by local criminal conglomerates. Either the pair were trying to stir up trouble for one of the many groups with a stake in the colony, or they were desperate enough for a ship to rush a public spaceport like this. 
Or they've got something else in mind.
In the months spent tracking Wade and Mitchell, Violet had taken the time to study both of them. The dossier provided to their team by Redford told an impressive tale - one of youthful rebellion for Wade that worsened into seemingly random acts of piracy after ONI took down her headquarters and Mitchell's own journey from lone mercenary to mass murderer - but to her, it always seemed like there was something missing. Her team had come across evidence of attacks not on government-run facilities, but hidden bases run by the United Rebel Front and signs of brutal interrogation against known rebel figures. A picture had been put together in Violet's mind, piece by piece, of a vendetta. 
But against who? Neither the trail of evidence they had uncovered nor ONI's files had given Violet an answer.
Another flight of stairs took Violet down into a long tunnel, lined with paper posters advertising local attractions close to a decade out of date. The Spartan's heavy footfalls echoed loudly across the underground chamber, thumping along as she quickened her pace. Passing beneath the spaceport's outer walls, Violet raced up towards the exit, where a heavy security gate sat half-open. A boxy terminal stood behind it, bearing the telltale signs of a quick hack-job from the look of its torn-out side plate. Violet ducked under the gate, and emerged into a passage just off the main concourse, where civilians were still being shepherded into the building in groups of two and three. 
For a moment Violet paused, relieved that Wade's crew had not immediately forced their way towards the main docking zone. Glancing up, she spotted a large arrow-shaped sign labelled 'Private Bays', and knew at once where they had gone. As she turned, a long, familiar rattling sound cut across the air. Violet clicked her tongue again, and gritted her teeth. It's started. 
It didn't take long for Violet to pinpoint the exact location of the gunfire. Of the six private landing bays allowed to Gilgamesh's more fortunate citizens, only one stood with its doors wide open. By the time she crossed half the private terminal, which seemed suspiciously empty for the city's largest spaceport, a full-blown firefight had broken out ahead of her, accompanied by the distant sounds of explosive blasts. Wade's crew had come here to kill someone, but it didn't look like they were giving up without a fight.
Violet crossed the threshold into the wide, circular bay, and beheld a grisly scene; bodies littered the ground, riddled with bullets of blown apart by explosions while shipping crates lay scattered across the bloodstained ground. At the centre of the bay sat a small freighter, its outer hull retrofitted and customised to the point where she couldn't even figure out what its original design was. Its thrusters had kicked into gear, blowing dust and sand around in a swirling cloud around it. Amidst this carnage fought Wade and Mitchell, who were advancing as a pair towards the freighter's landing ramp amidst bursts of gunfire from its defenders.
"Oh no you don't!" Violet snarled, and leapt forward.
Thumbing her rifle from single to burst-fire mode, she emerged from the shadows at a full sprint. One of Wade's men - a blonde, bearded man with long hair - half-turned and raised his M379 by a fraction before Violet dropped him with a burst through the forehead. Others turned to face the Spartan, though their faces fell at the sight of her and they died before they could react too. Violet's war-honed body moved automatically, engaging and felling threads while her mind remained fixated on her targets. Wade was already up the boarding ramp by the time the Spartan had a bead on her, and while she considered putting a round in Mitchell's leg as he lagged behind, Violet thought better of risking his life. 
Finishing off the freighter's last defender with an offhand burst of fire, Violet made one last mad dash towards the ship as it rose into the sky, kicking off an overturned crate as she made a desperate jump at the boarding ramp. Her MJOLNIR's thrusters kicked into full gear once more, giving Violet just enough boost for her outstretched fingers to catch the very edge of the ramp. With a grunt of effort, Violet heaved herself aboard, rolling up into a cramped cargo bay as the ramp slid shut behind her. The sounds of a hurried argument drifted towards her at once. 
" He sealed the damn door!" Amanda Wade hissed, pounding at the cargo bay's entrance. 
Behind her, Ash Mitchell was already fishing through pouches on his belt. "Hold on," he said, his voice dry. "I've got a charge here; should be just enough to-"
It was then that Mitchell saw Violet, rising to her feet just a few metres from them. With a shout he raised an old MA5K rifle and opened fire on the Spartan, who ignored the spray of rounds bouncing harmlessly off her shields as she dashed across the cargo bay. Clearing the distance in seconds, she yanked the gun from the ex-ODST's hands as though it were a toy and grabbed his armoured chestplate. With little effort she threw Mitchell across the room, where he hit a bulkhead and flopped to the floor. Wade had drawn her sidearm - a M6C Magnum - and had it close to Violet's neck when the Spartan's fist flashed forward, catching the renegade on the chin. She fell backwards instantly, and the Spartan caught her in her free hand. 
Good effort. Violet looked down at Wade, and the bruise already blooming on her chin. A few shots there at close range and I might've been in trouble. 
Though she now had new problems, namely that the freighter was likely rapidly exiting Gilgamesh's atmosphere, Violet busied herself with securing both targets. She'd held back enough with Wade to only knock her out, well aware that a full-force punch would have snapped her neck like a chicken bone, and Mitchell was too dazed to resist when Violet crossed the room to drag him over to the nearest bulkhead. Once she was sure that neither were in any imminent danger, Violet fished two sets of microfilament handcuffs from her chest pouch and secured them both to a pipe running along the wall. 
"Jill," Violet reactivated her COM. "Wade and Mitchell are secured."
The reply took a few seconds. "Good." her partner didn't sound too pleased. "And the freighter that just left the spaceport?"
"We're aboard it."
"Flying it?" 
Violet could hear the pleading tone in the agent's voice, and suppressed a smile. "Unfortunately not."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. 
"Stay put," Jill said, sounding tired. "We're in pursuit. Gus is going to hit the ship with an EMP and we'll latch on.
"I don't think the owners are friendly." Violet cast a wary glance towards the cargo bay entrance, which was still tightly sealed. "They're probably rebels, but I didn't get a chance to confirm."
"Well I'm not going to ask nicely. Talk to you soon."
As the COM cut off, Violet knelt back down beside her captives, and quickly checked the pair for weapons. Mitchell had two grenades and a boot knife on him - not unusual for an ex-ODST - while Wade, to her surprise, carried not only a backup M6K pocket pistol, but a pair of customised 'snapshot' handguns concealed in the sleeves of her longcoat. With a flick of her wrists, Wade could bring both hidden guns to bear in an instant through mechanisms attached to each arm, though neither would so much as dent the Spartan's suit. With their weapons safely removed and stowed out of reach, Violet sat down cross-legged in front of her captives.
Soon, they would be awake, and she had a lot of questions to ask before either of them got anywhere near an ONI interrogator. 
***
It didn't take long for Jill to work her magic. Locked in the cargo bay, Violet waited patiently as the freighter rocketed out of Gilgamesh's atmosphere, likely making its way towards a safe spot for slipspace transition. Before it got much further, the entire ship's power supply went dark and a tremor shook the vessel; telltale signs of an EMP attack. Another jolt ran across the ship shortly after, and Violet knew that her partner had the little freighter in the grasp of their prowler.
"Vi," Jill spoke suddenly into the Spartan's COM. "Ship's secured. Looks like at least two occupants, and they're agreeing to sit tight and not move a muscle until we touch down at a UNSC base."
Violet clicked her tongue. "Kind of them. They coming down here to say hi?"
"Doubt it, but watch the door. We don't know what kind of weapons these people have on board."
Violet snorted. "Anything tough enough to scratch me might blow a hole in the hull, but I'll be careful."
"You do that." Jill sounded slightly relieved. "We'll be in slipspace ASAP."
"Destination?"
There was a long pause. "Not Earth."
"You think Earth's been hit?"
"Uh-huh. We..." Jill broke off for a moment, no doubt going over their options. "We should stay away from the colonies. There's plenty of Navy rally points with COM beacons we could use to get the big picture before we throw ourselves into whatever's happening out there."
It was as good a plan as any. "No arguments here," Violet said, turning her attention back towards Mitchell and Wade. "I'll question these two while we're en-route. Might make the journey go quicker."
"Don't-" Jill began, only to sigh. "You know our orders."
"Of course I do." A mischievous grin crossed the Spartan's face. "If the boss wants these two alive then I won't touch a hair on their heads, but that doesn't mean I won't scare the shit out of them."
"Do what you do best," Jill said tiredly, and the connection cut out.
 
Mitchell was first to wake up. His eyelids fluttered open suddenly as the captured freighter jolted its way into slipspace. The ex-ODST didn't move at first, realising right away that he'd been handcuffed to the wall. Mitchell's eyes slowly roved over Violet, who'd not moved from her seated position across from him, then to the unconscious Wade next to him. Watching Mitchell carefully, Violet could see how a life of war had prematurely aged him; deep lines ran across his face alongside several scars, and as the light caught his face she realised that his left eye was the dull, fake colour of an ocular implant. Aware that the Spartan had eyes on him, Mitchell took a deep breath and turned his head to face Violet. 
"Why haven't you killed us yet?" Mitchell asked, his voice dry and lacking intensity. He looked tired.
Violet took a moment to choose her words. "You want to die?"
"Maybe I do." Mitchell turned his head to look at Wade again. "Guess Amanda was right after all."
"Right about what?"
"That we had somebody tailing us. We've been to six systems in the past month and after a few days in each it felt like someone was watching our movements."
Though Violet couldn't admit it, this was the first time they'd been anywhere near close to Mitchell and Wade. Her team had spent the past few months moving mostly on intel gathered by ONI's vast network across the colonies, arriving at dead ends or cold trails time and time again. Gilgamesh had been a lucky break for them, and only because Wade's crew had been here long enough to attract attention from a surveillance drone. 
"Your buddy's got good intuition, then." Violet nodded towards Wade. "Truth is, the only reason why you two are still breathing is because ONI wants you alive. As it turns out, my-"
Violet stopped as Amanda Wade suddenly jerked awake with a grunt. Unlike Mitchell, who had moved carefully upon awakening, Wade immediately tried to pull herself free of the cuffs keeping her arms bound to the wall behind her back, stopping only when she caught sight of the Spartan crouched in front of her. Fear and fury passed across the former insurrectionist's face in equal measure, and though Wade soon composed herself a spark of defiance lingered in her pale green eyes.
"You're awake!" Violet said, far too cheerfully. "And here I was starting to think that I'd hit you a little too hard. Sleep well?"
Wade pursed her lips and drew her head back as if preparing to spit, but quickly reconsidered. "And you are?" she asked.
There was some serious authority in Wade's tone, Violet noted. Her accent was an odd one - British English, certainly, but with a Spanish twang in there somewhere. Her file noted that she'd been born on a colony of refugees from Madrigal before moving to Earth, so that made sense. What didn't was the way she'd all but ordered the Spartan to identify herself. 
If she thinks she can play the entitled political prisoner bullshit because she ran around with some innies, then she's got another thing coming.
"I'm Violet." The Spartan kept up her cheery tone. "And like I was just saying to your partner here, you're both lucky I haven't killed you yet."
Wade blinked, seemingly only noticing Mitchell for the first time. Her face fell. "Everyone else?"
"Dead." Violet watched the shock cross Wade's face. "By the time I got aboard I'd killed everyone else on that landing pad."
"Hjalti..." Mitchell muttered, closing his eyes. "Shit."
"And now you're taking us to ONI?" Wade glared at the Spartan. "Alexander Redford sent you, didn't he?"
Wade's directness surprised Violet; anyone who knew Redford was either an associate within ONI, or dead. From the briefing she and Jill had been given months ago, this pair were among the few who didn't fall into either category.
No sense telling lies. "Correct." Violet nodded. "He was pretty strict about taking you both in alive, too."
"He tell you why?"
Violet nodded. "One of you cost him his hand, the other gave him a nasty scar. Never thought a guy like him would hold a grudge, but you two are a special case."
Despite her predicament, Wade cracked a smile. "Did he ever tell you how I made him lose his hand?"
"Can't say that he did." The Spartan worked hard to maintain an air of aloofness and professionalism, but curiosity was getting the better of her. "Care to spill the beans?"
Leaning back as far as she could against the bulkhead, straining slightly against her cuffs, Wade exhaled slowly. "A couple of years ago, that bastard was our crew's doctor. Even saved my life a couple of times. I trusted him."
Violet knew how BRUTUS agents tended to 'close' each operation. "Bad idea."
"You're telling me." The scowl returned to Wade's face. "You remember the NOVA incident?"
Violet nodded; back in 2555, a group of terrorists had launched a two-pronged attack on Earth, with one group attempting to murder human and Sangheili leaders at a political summit and another infiltrating an ONI facility to steal the single most destructive piece of equipment known to man: A NOVA bomb. 
"Well," Wade continued. "It was right after that that we learned that Redford turned on us mid-op, and got a lot of our guys killed. Not long afterwards, I met him again on New Albion just as the UNSC were bringing down the hammer on the rebel base there. I acted like I didn't know he was a backstabbing son of a bitch, and he bought it."
That didn't sound like the man Violet knew, whose perfectionism and ruthlessness allowed for few mistakes, but even he wasn't perfect. "And then?"
"The moment he put his guard down I jumped him. He would've beaten me, but I cuffed his hand to the side of a holotable with an industrial cable tie." Wade sneered as she rattled her own handcuffs against the pipe running along the bulkhead behind her. "Damn thing was probably stronger than whatever you tied me up with."
"Probably." The Spartan did little to hide her enthusiasm to hear the rest of the story now. "Go on."
Wade continued. "I could've killed him right there, but I didn't want Redford to go easy. I'd come to bring the building down myself, so after setting a few bricks of C-12 on a timer I left him with a knife and a good view of how long he had to get out of there."
Violet didn't need to hear the rest of the story. "Shit," she breathed, genuinely impressed. "So Redford cuts his hand off to get out, and you get to know he knows you beat him. No wonder he wants you alive."
"Yep." Wade glanced over to the pensive Mitchell. "Ash here gave him a nasty scar in a fight about a year later."
"Uh-huh." Violet was tempted to ask for the grisly details, but thought better of it. She'd already done too much by getting the full story of Redford's humiliating defeat out of Wade. I've got to tell Jill about this, first chance I get.
Mitchell cleared his throat. "So," he began, craning his head to look up towards the cargo bay's exit door. "Did the crew put up much of a fight?"
Judging by the way Wade's eyes lit up at her partner's question, this was a big deal for them. "Not exactly," Violet said casually. "We were airborne before I could break that door down, so my team disabled the ship and negotiated with the crew for a peaceful surrender. I'd say that they made the right choice by agreeing to come quietly."
Wade's mouth fell open, and a look of pure despair crossed Mitchell's scarred face. "They're alive?" he exclaimed.
"They are." Violet clicked her tongue. "What, are these guys rivals of yours or something? Your crew were packing some pretty heavy firepower for a hijacking."
"Shit." Wade lowered her head, and her hair fell over her eyes. "We can't catch a goddamn break, can we?"
Mitchell looked her way with concern, distressed at his inability to comfort his partner before turning back towards Violet. "Spartan." The ex-ODST began to plead. "Whatever you think of us - that we're terrorists, murderers, scum - whatever - I need you to listen to me carefully. Aboard this ship is a man that you absolutely need to kill, for your own safety and the safety of countless others."
Violet cocked her helmeted head to one side, confused. She'd heard some crazy stories from people facing death or imprisonment before, but the sudden change in her prisoners' demeanour was surprising. Mitchell and Wade had gone in moments from all but accepting their fate at the hands of ONI to states of abject terror, and all because she hadn't wiped out the freighter's crew.
"Why?" asked the Spartan, looking briefly towards the door. "Who's up there?"
The pair exchanged glances, and a few seconds passed. Wade spoke first, a slight quiver in her voice. "Have you ever heard of Magnus?"
Name doesn't ring a bell. "Magnus who?" 
Wade sighed. "It's just 'Magnus'. Like a title or codename."
"Never heard of him." Violet wondered where this was going. "Though the way your guys were gunning for him, I'm going to guess you aren't on the best of terms. He a rebel?"
Mitchell made a disgusted noise. "He's a monster."
"A mass-murderer," Wade whispered, leaning against her partner. "I'm surprised you guys haven't heard of him."
Violet shrugged. "There's plenty of murderers and scumbags out there. You two, for instance. I mostly work on a need-to-know basis."
The young woman peered forward, as if trying to look through Violet's visor to the face behind it. "He's killed Spartans, you know."
Wade's words sent a tingle of anger through Violet. 'Spartan-Killer' was a title that would turn any head in the military, but among her peers it was a death mark for all those who bore it. Choosing to believe the former rebel's words, Violet craned her head forward. "Tell me more." 
It was more an order than a request, issued in a low, menacing tone. Neither captive's expression changed at this, dispelling any lingering thoughts that this might be a ploy, and after another exchange of looks Wade answered first. 
"I saw him kill a Spartan on New Albion." Wade's eyes grew wide as she recalled the memory. "He - Magnus - organised a bunch of rebel cells to carry out the NOVA theft three years ago. He wanted the bomb himself, but when one of us stole it he started hunting down everyone he'd worked with, including most of my crew."
Violet grimaced. She'd read the reports from the raid on New Albion a while back. While they'd destroyed a massive rebel operation, three Spartans had died there, including one she'd counted as a friend. "What else?" her tone softened slightly.
"I'm not certain, but-" Wade swallowed. "-but he might be a Spartan himself. He's definitely big enough, and I've never seen someone move as fast as he does. He's got a lot of cybernetics, too."
"Arms and legs," Mitchell chimed in. "He picked me up not long after he finished with Amanda's crew. Forced me and a bunch of mercs to work with him."
"Forced you?" Now the story was getting outlandish even for Violet's tastes. "How'd be manage that?"
Mitchell shifted uncomfortably, straining against his cuffs. "He offered good money at first, but wouldn't take no for an answer. Some of us started to have second thoughts when Magnus started ordering hijackings and raids on civilian targets, but he'd kill anyone who questioned orders. By the time we landed on Circumstance, I-"
Suddenly, Mitchell stopped and shook his head. "What?" Violet asked, puzzled. 
"I know this doesn't make any difference," Mitchell spoke slowly, a twinkle in his one organic eye. "But nobody was supposed to die that day in Kuiper. I wasn't told that we'd be leaving no witnesses, and none of us were expecting those buildings to go down right across the street. Magnus used us just like he did the rebels, then killed everyone to tie up loose ends when he was finished. Me and Amanda were just lucky enough to survive."
As Mitchell fell silent, Violet pursed her lips, processing this outburst. Prior to this mission she'd expected a pair of hardened fighters, considering Mitchell and Wade's joint body count, but the pair seemed more haggard and tired than dangerous. They were desperate, which made them a potential threat, but neither of them seemed to be lying. If anything, they were pleading more for Violet to head upstairs and kill this 'Magnus' than for their own lives.
"Okay," Violet said after a long pause. "So according to you there's a Spartan-killing terrorist piloting this ship, who just so happens to be responsible for ruining your lives?"
To her surprise, Wade let out a harsh bark of laughter. "That about sums it up, yeah." She looked up towards the Spartan, green eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "So, will you kill him for us?"
In her long career as a professional soldier, Violet had never heard such a heartfelt request. Had this not come from a woman who could charitably be described as a murderous pirate, she might have even considered subverting her mission directives to do it, but Violet hadn't gotten to where she stood today by having a soft heart. Instead, the Spartan crossed the storage bay, dragged a packing crate towards her prisoners, and sat on it. Then, she thumbed the safety off her rifle. 
"Tell you what." Violet nodded towards the doors leading up to the rest of the ship. "You two stay put and get comfortable, because I'm not killing anyone on your orders. That said, if the boogeyman you call Magnus does come down here, I'll double-tap the evil bastard and call it a day. Sound about fair?"
Mitchell and Wade gave silent nods of approval. Violet clicked her tongue, satisfied, and eased into position atop the crate. It was a good few hours through slipspace until they reached their destination, and she had a feeling that things weren't going to end well for her captives on the other side.
===Priorities===
As the Heavens Asunder approached the asteroid field, Elena eased off on the controls and slowed the ship to a halt. It was the first time they had stopped since their flight from Luna. Sat in the specially-reinforced pilot's chair with her helmet placed to one side, the Spartan allowed herself a moment to breathe; her prowler had been designed for a crew of at least seven, so monitoring all of the ship's re-routed systems became rather taxing after a while. Elena turned her chair around as the bridge's door slid open, allowing the other occupants inside. 
"Good job, Commander." Alexander Redford gave Elena an approving nod as he eased himself into the empty co-pilot's chair. "I can guide us in from here."
Behind Redford sat Frederick King, former commanding officer of the BRUTUS division and the Heavens Asunder's original captain. Hobbling along on a medical crutch, he sat down gingerly in an unoccupied chair, his scarred face twisted into a near-permanent scowl. Having worked alongside him before, Elena would have welcomed the venerable intelligence officer's insight and support at a time like this, but his abrasiveness since their escape from Asphodel had started to grate on her nerves. Last to enter was Kane-098, who stood silently behind King in full armour. Like Elena, he hadn't rested since all this began either.
"Captain Redford," King spoke suddenly, putting special emphasis on the man's rank. "Might I ask what you plan to do once we've reached this safehouse?"
Redford tapped a final command into his console before turning to King. "The same thing I stated once you were brought aboard, sir. We will assess our situation, stock up on necessary supplies, and attempt to contact a higher authority for further instruction."
King grunted, annoyed. "Surely there were better stations than this one? As I recall, the base in this system was little more than a glorified warehouse."
"Precisely. Remote, unimportant, and not AI-controlled." Redford smiled, and with a wave of his gloved prosthetic hand brought up a holomap of the local system above a nearby holotank. Not far away, hidden within the asteroid field that ringed part of this unremarkable system, sat a hidden facility built by the Office of Naval Intelligence.
Elena glanced back at her pilot's console as several NAV beacons flashed up on it. "Ready to head in?" she asked.
"Proceed whenever you're ready, Commander." Redford hadn't taken his eyes off King. "Follow the beacons and we'll arrive before long."
The prowler thrummed with energy as Elena took the controls and eased the ship forward, making minor course corrections as it weaved its way past the first few asteroids. Behind her, she could feel the tension rising between the two ONI agents, though neither seemed willing to light the spark that would ignite whatever explosive argument had been brewing for the past day. From what Elena had garnered from King's mutterings, Redford's remarks and her own intuition, there was some serious bad blood between the pair, and it had something to do with the latter taking over BRUTUS, a fearsome group of covert infiltrators working for ONI. King had been comatose for over a year following a terrorist attack, losing his leg in the process, and had awoken as a withered, bitter shell of his former self, hell-bent on attacking Redford despite the threat of the Created and their invasion of Earth. Though she hated to admit it, Elena preferred Redford's company, and worried that the older officer would jeopardise things if he continued acting out.
Maneuvering through an asteroid field was difficult work, but the custom-built prowler's small size was working in its favour. Following the pinpricks of light representing NAV beacons on her screen, Elena was prepared for a slow, laborious and utterly uneventful journey until something on the forward viewscreen caught her eye. Far ahead of them, something metal lay glinting atop a nearby asteroid close to the next beacon. 
"Kane," Elena called for her fellow Spartan by name, and he rushed to her side. "We might have a problem here."
"Over there?" Kane pointed an finger towards the asteroid. 
"Yeah. Can you make anything out?"
Counting on the keen eyes of Sigma Team's marksman and leader in space was a long shot, but if there was one thing Kane surpassed all of his peers at, it was target identification. The black-armoured Spartan was quiet for a moment, staring at the magnified viewscreen intently. Then, he exhaled. 
"It's a ship." Though quiet, his deep voice carried easily across the bridge. "Doesn't look human."
"Active?" asked Elena.
Kane shook his head. "Take a look at the area below it. Those are scorch marks. It either crashed, or someone shot it down."
That was all the confirmation Elena needed. Grabbing her helmet, she pointed at each of the crew in turn - Kane, Redford and King. "Weapons, Navigation, Power, right now. We might be running into some trouble."
The others, even King, followed her orders without hesitation, taking their assigned places across the bridge. With most of the ship's systems now dispersed, Elena could focus entirely on flying the Heavens Asunder and trying to keep everyone on board alive. Taking a more careful approach to the possible wreck, Elena brought the ship up and slowly circled around the next NAV beacon at a safe distance. As they drew closer, the prowler's external cameras focused in on their target, and began to transmit high-quality images to the bridge. Pictures of an alien craft's broken hull flashed-up before Elena, who took a moment to identify it. 
"It's Covenant," King spoke up suddenly from his station. "Or former Covenant."
"It's not very large, either," said Redford. "A pirate vessel, perhaps?"
Elena frowned, hoping it wasn't pirates. The Heavens Asunder was a stealth ship, not built for anything beyond the briefest of skirmishes, so she had to rely on its advanced detection systems and ablative coating to remain out of combat. Most of the alien craft's body seemed intact, save for a long, horn-like segment that had broken off and embedded itself in the asteroid. Another picture soon arrived, revealing why she hadn't picked up the ship on her scanners: a massive, blackened hole directly above the ship's stern. That's not plasma damage, Elena realised. Not a MAC round, either. Someone took out that ship with a missile.
"I think it's a storm-cutter." Kane said. "It's a ship used for scouting, mostly."
"I think you're right." Elena tapped the side of her chair as she thought. "It looks like a missile strike gutted the ship, but why would there even be any fighting all the way out here?" 
"This system has nothing but gas giants," Redford clasped both hands above his knees as he pondered the situation. "But it's possible that other agents might have already fled here, seeking refuge. Why a Covenant ship would be chasing them is beyond me."
It was a strange situation, but Elena saw no point in sitting around and debating it further. She kicked the ship's thrusters back into gear, and the Heavens Asunder descended into the asteroid field, following the last few beacons towards their destination. Before long they found themselves nearing a particularly large asteroid, its exterior wholly unremarkable save for the hangar doors hidden against the grey rock. Setting the prowler on an approach vector, Elena sat back and allowed Redford to input his authorisation codes, which were then transmitted to the hidden station. Moments later, the hangar's doors slowly slid apart, giving the ship access. Beyond it lay the familiar silver-blue sheen of an energy shield, which allowed ships to pass while keeping the bay beyond safe from the vaccum of space. 
"Making our final approach," Elena called, gently steering her ship in to land. "There might be a slight bump, so hold on."
As the Heavens Asunder passed through the energy field, Elena caught sight of a second vessel parked in the asteroid base's hangar bay. Peering out of the viewport, the Spartan recognised the outline of another UNSC Prowler, though its blackened hull was marked in numerous places by plasma scoring and an entire thruster bank was missing. Elena quickly set her ship down, activating the stealth craft's ventral thrusters as it lowered itself into place in an unoccupied landing bay. Now on somewhat secure ground, Elena powered down the ship and got to her feet, holding up a hand to stop Redford as he tried to exit the bridge.
"Not yet, sir." Elena then looked at her fellow Spartan. "Kane and I will go out first. We're not alone here."
***
The boarding ramp hissed, sliding quickly to the hangar floor. Elena was first down, shouldering her BR85 rifle with Kane a heartbeat behind her, covering the right flank as both Spartans exited the Heavens Asunder. The bay around them was fairly spacious even with a pair of prowlers parked inside, with a platform at one end of the room leading into the asteroid base. Communicating with quick hand signals, Elena and Kane quickly circled their ship to check for any surprises before jogging towards the damaged prowler occupying the other side of the hangar. 
"No markings," Elena muttered, looking the craft up and down.
Few ONI vessels liked to broadcast their presence, but this ship lacked even the covert hull markings sometimes used by remote contact teams to signal their affiliation to other agents in the field. As she drew closer, Elena saw that the damage was even worse up close; a good chunk of the prowler's underside had been blown away, and several hull breaches permeated the back end of the ship. How the pilot had landed the ship without crashing was nothing short of a miracle.
Kane pointed his rifle towards the bow of the ship. "Airlock's wide open," he noted. "Crew must've abandoned ship that way."
"I don't blame them." Elena brushed an armoured hand against the battered hull. These marks were a few days old at least. "Got any theories yet?"
"Yes ma'am." Kane nodded. "The prowler probably ran into an enemy force - pirates would be my guess, and fought a retreat through the asteroid field. They must have gotten a lucky hit on that storm-cutter, then crawled their way to this station."
"And its occupants?"
"No clue." Kane looked back towards the Heavens Asunder, where King and Redford were awaiting news.
That's the third time he's done that, Elena mused. Kane had never been much of a conversationalist, even when they had trained together as children, but he seemed more withdrawn than usual. Worse than that, he was distracted. Elena knew he'd been taking trips to Asphodel on the rare occasions Sigma Team were granted leave, but it had been quite the surprise for her when she found Kane fleeing with Frederick King of all people. She had a few ideas as to why a Spartan would be in contact with the secretive ONI agent, but now was not the time to voice them.
"We should check the rest of the station." Elena tapped the side of her rifle and circled back towards the Heavens Asunder. With only a single visible exit door, the way ahead seemed clear. 
Elena and Kane moved as quickly as they dared, ready for combat at a moment's notice. The Created's sudden invasion had completely thrown them in terms of what the Spartans were used to dealing with, and Elena couldn't help but worry about the downer prowler being part of a trap set by the AI rebellion. As they neared the elevator platform that would take them to the exit, the door on the catwalk above suddenly opened. The SPARTAN-II's had their weapons raised in an instant, and as a dark grey shape popped into view she found her finger on the trigger. 
"Hold your fire!" a deep, authoritative voice called from the catwalk. The figure above them raised both hands, and Elena made out the distinctive shape of a man in GEN2 MJOLNIR armour. 
A Spartan.
Even so, neither she nor Kane relaxed. The Spartan above was marked as neither friend nor foe, and their armour's HUD gave very little data from a cursory scan. Still, he appeared non-hostile, and remained still as Kane hit the switch that brought the platform up to his level. 
"Identify yourself!" Elena demanded, sounding a little more forceful than intended. She took a step forward.
The Spartan looked at Elena and Kane in turn, then tugged the INTERCEPTOR-class helmet from his head. Beneath was the face of a young man - younger than any Spartan she'd seen - his hair buzzed short and dark eyes clear of any malice. "Clayton," he said. "Spartan-G045."
A SPARTAN-III, then. Things were starting to make sense now. Unlike the rest of the Spartan program, details of the SPARTAN-III's, especially the youngest group, Gamma Company, were generally kept secret, even within ONI. Taking note of the pistol at Clayton's hip and a BR85 rifle identical to hers attached to his back, Elena lowered her weapon by a fraction. Kane did so too, with a moment's hesitation. 
"I'm Commander Elena-071, and this is Master Chief Petty Officer Kane-098." Elena noticed Clayton stand a little straighter. "We weren't informed of any UNSC presence aboard this station. What are you doing out here?"
Clayton lowered his arms. "My team and I were on a long-term mission into Sangheili space when we were compromised, ma'am. We fought a retreat back to this facility to recuperate and lay low. That was three weeks ago."
"And your team?" asked Kane, looking around warily.
The young Spartan smiled, and made two quick motions with his right hand. First, he pointed three fingers towards the ground, then he flashed his index finger twice. Elena recognised these instantly. Spartan signals. One for 'stand down', and another for 'come forward'. Her motion tracker suddenly flared to life as three yellow dots flashed up: two behind Elena and Kane, and one to their left. All were registered as being somewhere high above them. Elena looked around, and saw a trio of Spartans in similarly-coloured armour descend from the catwalks that ran just beneath the hangar's roof, slowing themselves down with bursts from their MJOLNIR armour's suit thrusters. 
"Fireteam Scythe," Clayton said proudly, nodding with approval at his comrades. "We detected your ship not long before you landed. Couldn't take any chances."
Elena smirked. "Neither could we, with everything that's been happening."
The rest of Fireteam Scythe soon joined their leader on the lower catwalk, eschewing the elevator platform Kane and Elena had used in favour of thruster-assist leaps to the top. Clayton introduced them quickly - Jiang-G007, Ezra-G323, and Clarence-G022. Like most Spartan teams, it was clear from their body language to their identical armour paintjobs that the group shared a unique sense of camaraderie that went beyond that of any normal soldiers, though none of the other Spartans bothered to address Elena, leaving Clayton to carry the conversation on their behalf. 
"Now that we're not going to kill each other," Clayton spoke with a brief glance towards Ezra, whose finger still hovered close to his rifle's trigger. "I'd like to ask for something, Commander."
"Ask away." Elena replied, curious.
"It would be appreciated if you could take us aboard your ship. We've salvaged some supplies and the BROKKR mechanisms from our prowler but don't have much else in the way of baggage, and only need to make it as far as somewhere we can contact command."
Elena cocked her helmet to one side. "Your unit being under?"
"Officially, we're Spartan branch personnel assigned to the UNSC Peacemaker."
"And unofficially?"
Clayton hesitated for a second, then sighed. "Unofficially, we're working under the Beta-5 Division to hunt down potential threats. We came across something big on our mission, and need to relay it to the UNSC as soon as possible. Aside from going dark when we got here, this facility's comms aren't exactly top-notch."
"Well," Elena exhaled slowly. "If you're looking to bring news back to ONI about the Created and their machines, you're too late."
Confusion crossed the young Spartan's face, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry ma'am, Created?"
"They don't know." Kane said plainly. 
Realising that she likely had about as much to tell Fireteam Scythe as they had to tell her, Elena stowed her rifle behind her back and held one hand up, halting the conversation. 
"Sorry to cut this short, Spartan, but does this station have somewhere where we can sit and talk? Kane and I have two passengers aboard our ship that need some shore time, and I've got a hell of a lot to tell you."
"That makes two of us," Clayton muttered, looking befuddled. There's a mess hall by the barracks. I can show you the way."
"Please do," Elena placed two fingers to the side of her helmet as she opened a COM channel to the Heavens Asunder. "And I'm afraid it won't be good news." 
***
"Goddamn it!"
Those were the first words Ezra-G323 had spoken in Elena's presence, and they were an entirely appropriate response to the news she had just delivered. Fireteam Scythe had brought Elena and the others to the asteroid base's mess hall. Thankfully, this place was a far cry from the 'glorified warehouse' King had envisioned, and the Spartans had set themselves up around a table close to the empty kitchen. While Kane had taken King to the medical bay, seeking out a potential prosthetic to replace the old agent's missing leg, Redford had joined Elena in a meeting with the SPARTAN-III's.
"Well, damn." Clayton shook his head, taking the news of the Created's invasion slightly better than his subordinate. "So that's it for Earth, then?"
"Not quite." Redford crossed his arms defiantly. "Given the nature of our foe's attack, it's safe to say that they were looking to subdue Earth and the colonies, not destroy us."
"But you said you were attacked, right?" Clayton raised an eyebrow.
"By armigers," Elena cut in. "If the Created are looking to take out any threats, then Spartans would be priority targets. Not that I was going to waste time conversing with them, anyway."
A shadow fell over the table they were sat at, and Clarence, a tall, square-jawed Spartan, slid two steaming polystyrene cups towards Elena and Redford, who accepted them gratefully. 
Clayton gave a nod, and Clarence backed away, standing at a respectable distance beside Jiang and Ezra. "This is a hell of a situation, ma'am. My team's equipped for long-term operations if need be, but we're used to taking things up the ladder if need be."
"Got enough smoothers?" Elena asked casually. Unlike their brethren, the Spartans of Gamma Company needed regular injections of an antipsychotic cocktail known as 'smoothers' to keep operating at peak efficiency, due to some alterations to their augmentations that affected their brain chemistry. A few years ago, when she'd served as the ONI liaison for the SPARTAN-III Shrike Team, monitoring their doses was part of her role. 
"We've enough for three months." The Spartan placed both hands atop the table. "And we've the know-how to make more, if we've got access to a fairly standard shipboard med bay."
Elena nodded, impressed. "I didn't know they've been teaching you guys how to make your own smoothers."
"They didn't." Clayton smiled, and Elena felt the combined stares of the rest of Scythe boring into her. "We learned."
Not willing to press the issue, Elena decided to move things on. Beside her, Redford had taken his first careful sip of machine-made coffee. Judging by his reaction, it wasn't the high-quality product an officer like him was used to. Good. I like the cheap stuff. Elena finally removed her own helmet, and placed it on the table beside Clayton's. The fireteam leader watched her carefully; it wasn't often that SPARTAN-II's went helmetless, after all. Elena took a sip of the coffee, which tasted more like the container it had been poured into than anything else, and relished the awful taste.
"So that's the shape of things," she said, putting the cup down. "Captain Redford here is aware of other safehouses we can use and plans to lie low until we get a better picture of the situation in the colonies. As much as I'd like to contact HIGHCOM - assuming HIGHCOM still exists - I'm in agreement with his plan to wait and plan our next move. Given how we're looking at a protracted conflict against these Created, I'm happy to bring Fireteam Scythe along with us."
Clayton sighed, and drummed his armoured fingers against the tabletop. "I appreciate that, Commander, I really do, but as I said, my boys and I are currently on a mission that we can't ignore. Like I said, we're on to something big."
"Bigger than an attack on humanity itself?" asked Redford, annoyance shooting across his lined face. "Spartan, whatever mission you might have is secondary to this new war. Abandon it."
The young Spartan shook his head. "No sir, I'm afraid we can't." 
Clayton leaned forward, and slid a datapad onto the table. The rest of Scythe approached the table, gathering round as it lit up, projecting what appeared to be communication logs written in Sangheili script.
"What's this?" Elena asked.
Ezra spoke before Clayton did. "We pulled this out of a T-V ship weeks ago, right before their backup arrived and sent us running."
"T-V?"
"True Vanguard." Clayton explained, swiping to the next set of files. "Sangheili extremist group. Real hard-liners, even for former Covenant. Unlike most groups, they don't buy into the idea of working together with other races, and think that they're the only ones worthy of 'ascension'."
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Elena, who recalled hearing them brought up in a briefing some time ago. "I think I've heard of them," she said. "From what I recall, they've always operated in former Covenant space."
"They did." Clayton swiped again, and the holographic figure of a fearsome-looking Sangheili warrior in dark armour materialised over the datapad. "Then about a month ago, they started hitting human settlements. It was mostly unauthorised colonies on the frontier that nobody else would miss, but we've been going after the Vanguard for a few months now, and picked up on something interesting: prisoners."
"Not their usual MO?" 
Ezra let out an amused snort. "Their usual MO is to raze everything to the ground and use needlers to blow their opponents to bits. Terror tactics. Very effective."
Ignoring his teammate's outburst, Clayton continued. "At first we thought that they were taking prisoners for sport, but after we trailed one ship to an alien ruin halfway across the galaxy, we realised that they were chasing Forerunner artefacts. The prisoners they'd taken were like walking keys, so they were keeping them alive to open up these old vaults."
"And?" Elena realised that Clayton hadn't explained the urgency of Scythe's mission. "What did they find?"
After swiping through several more pages, Clayton finally reached the end of the files they had extracted, and another hologram appeared before them. "This."
Floating in miniature, just a few centimetres above the table, was the unmistakable shape of a Forerunner ringworld. Halo.
Elena swallowed heavily, and even Redford could do little to keep his legendary composure, his eyes wide and fearful. Halo. An array of superweapons built countless millennia ago for the sole purpose of wiping out all sentient life in the galaxy, these objects had been the focus of the former Covenant's religion. Believing that firing such a weapon would have them ascend to godhood, the Covenant had come close to activating the rings several times in the final year of the Human-Covenant War, only to be foiled by the UNSC. At least two of these rings now lay under human control, watched over by ONI's careful science and exploration teams, but the thought of a newly-discovered Halo left in the hands of a group of religious zealots chilled Elena to the bone. 
"We've got to stop them." The words left Elena's mouth automatically. It was an obvious statement, but one that made it very clear where she stood. 
Beside Elena, Alexander Redford's face was grim. Unlike her, he was not a frontline combatant, though he'd proven his skills in battle on more than one occasion. He was a man who weighted up the odds before every engagement, and who preferred an overwhelming advantage in all situations. Going in on an operation like this was definitely not his style, but he couldn't afford to back down on this one.
"Do you have an idea of the enemy's force strength?" Redford asked.
"At least a dozen warships," said Clayton. "We were whittling them down pretty well by attacking every time they docked, but lately they've gotten reinforcements from somewhere. If I had to guess, I'd say they've got a few thousand troops, minimum. All Sangheili."
"And only eight of us..." Redford trailed off. "Seven, given Captain King's current state. How long do we have?"
Clayton took a few seconds to think it over. "A few weeks, give or take. The files we stole said that the True Vanguard were going to gather their forces under Dorenn 'Tenon - that's their leader - before heading towards the ring. Given what we could figure about the Sangheili calendar, they're due to meet in a few days' time."
"And how long will it take for us to reach this Halo?" Elena knew that the Heavens Asunder's modified slispace drive made it faster than most military vessels, but a cross-galactic trip could take weeks even in a ship as small and fast as hers. 
"It's in the Orion Arm, so a couple of days, give or take." Clayton smiled, seeing the relief on Elena's face. "Once the Vanguard assembled its forces, they were going to head to the ring with their prisoners and unleash a 'cleansing flame'. We've had briefings on the Halo rings, ma'am, so we know exactly where they'll go and what they'll do."
"Good." Elena drained the rest of her coffee in a single draught, and considered taking Redford's cup, which he had abandoned in silent protest. "Of course, there's still the Created to deal with, but..."
She broke off, but the rest of her sentence hung in the air. Even if they were subjugating humanity and the other races, there wouldn't be anything left to save if these lunatics managed to fire a Halo ring in the middle of this mess. Part of Elena secretly hoped that the Created might have already stopped the True Vanguard, but it was a waste of time to indulge in such fantasies. For now, they had to gather up what supplies and weapons they could, formulate a plan of attack, and set off to save every living creature in the galaxy. Not for the first time, Elena wished the rest of Sigma Team were with them. Marco, Jax, Wulf, I hope you're safe.
Behind Elena, the doors to the mess hall opened and Kane-098 entered, followed closely by a limping, grumbling Fredrick King. A gleaming metal prosthesis now stood where his right leg once had, and the old man now clutched a BR85 rifle in his skinny hands. 
"The machine said it'd take a day for my body to acclimatise," King called across the room. "Give me an hour and I'll be running laps with this thing."
Tough old bastard. Even Redford smiled, if only for a moment. King crossed the room as quickly as he could, his every step shadowed by the black-armoured Spartan. He eventually eased himself into a seat on the table opposite Elena's, and looked at the group expectantly. 
"Captain King," Redford spoke as Elena opened her mouth. "I'm afraid that there has been a development that has changed our immediate objective somewhat. You may wish to sit down as well, Spartan."
Kane inclined his helmet towards Elena, who indicated a chair with a flick of her eyes. He sat down carefully, and the flimsy metal legs beneath buckled slightly. Elena realised that Redford intended for her to explain the mission, and with a twinge of annoyance, cleared her throat.
"As Captain Redford has said, there's been a change of plans. And a new mission for us."
===Spacebound===
Jax opened his eyes, shaken out of a light and dreamless sleep. Strapped into a harness in the Mastadon's troop bay, Jax had taken advantage of the lull in enemy presence since their departure from Denegroth Station to rest, having spent nearly nine hours driving the APC beforehand. Checking his HUD's mission clock, he'd gotten fifty-two minutes. More than enough. 
"Hey!" Jax called towards the driver's compartment, pulling himself out of his harness. "What's with the commotion?"
The Spartan team had been driving across Europa's surface in their Mastadons for close to two days now, stopping only to switch out drivers. They had spent most of that time trundling along an abandoned highway, heading for the city of Katreus and one of the few spaceports on the continent. While constantly on the lookout for Created attacks, the Spartans hadn't seen a single sign of their foe, save for the odd call for help drifting across radio channels. Not wanting a repeat of the devastating aerial attack that had wiped out their SPARTAN-IV compatriots, Jax had ordered complete radio silence. 
"Sorry about that!" The calm voice of Louie-A199 drifted back from the driver's compartment. "There's an obstruction up ahead, so Martin ordered us off-road."
Jax eased his way towards the front of the vehicle, catching sight of a pensive Ianto-G200 peering through one of the Mastodon's firing ports. Kid's shaken up by what happened at Denegroth, even if he won't admit it. Slipping through the hatch - no easy feat in his bulky red MJOLNIR suit - Jax crouched behind their driver, who indicated said 'obstruction'. Some ways to their right, visible only by the dim illumination of half-functioning highway lights, was the road they'd been travelling on. A fifty-foot hole had been cut into the earth, cut so cleanly and precisely that only a weapon of Forerunner make could have been the culprit. 
"Yeah, I'd call that an obstruction." Jax looked from the missing road and back towards their current trajectory, which had taken them out onto a rocky hillside. "How far away are we from Katreus?"
"No more than two or three klicks. We could almost see building tops from the road." 
"And a lot of smoke," said Alex-A121, who had been quietly occupying the gunner's seat. "Created must've attacked it."
This came as no great surprise to Jax, who nodded in acknowledgement. "Then we'll have to move in and see what we can do for the civilians."
Alex let out a noncommittal grunt. Jax ignored it. The APC continued on its path, following the lead Mastodon as it slowly forged a path through the frosty countryside around Katreus. While the city had stood for close to five hundred years and had stood as a major hub of political unrest in the days of the Interplanetary War, mass migration to what would become the Outer Colonies had left it as a relatively sleepy population centre, notable only for its proximity to Earth. This, Jax knew, meant that it would not be a high-priority target for the Created. If they were lucky, the Spartans could slip past any occupying forces, commandeer a ship from its spaceport, and be outsystem the moment they'd gained enough altitude to launch their slipspace drive into gear. 
Then we link up with the fleet, find the rest of Sigma, and come back to rain hell on these bastards.
As far as plans went it was a simple one, but Jax knew it was the best he could come up with under the circumstances. Like his fellows, he'd lived a life tied to the military chain of command, and operated best with clear orders from above. Waging a guerrilla war wouldn't be his first choice, especially somewhere as desolate as Europa, but that would be their fallback plan if they couldn't escape. Before he could consider the situation further, Jax's COM buzzed. 
"Jax." The clear, confident voice of Martin-A136 sounded over a personal channel. "You awake yet?"
"Of course not," Jax replied. "I'm having a bad dream about an AI revolution. What's the situation?"
"We've found a vantage point overlooking the city. Got eyes on enemy fighters patrolling the skies to the north."
Phaetons. We'll have to be careful. "Any sign of civilians?"
It took a few seconds for Martin to answer. "Negative. There's been a lot of damage to the city centre, but the place looks untouched otherwise. Spaceport looks fine from where we're sitting."
"Good to hear." Jax could feel a proper plan coming together. "Last question - can we get into the city in our APC's?"
Martin tutted. "Maybe. We're on a hill above a suburban district. Provided we don't flip the Mastadon heading downhill, we could floor it down into the neighbourhood below. Streets are a little tight, but we should manage."
That's a no, then. "Copy that, standby and wait for us to catch up."
Jax closed the COM channel, and the Mastodon accelerated, following the furrows dug into the earth by the first APC. While most of Europa remained cold and barren, extensive terraforming around its populated zones had allowed for the planting of entire forests by the early colonists, leaving dense patches of woodland around its cities. As their Mastadon swerved around a cluster of spindly trees, Jax caught a whiff of the pines above, and instinctively sucked in a breath of fresh morning air. He'd lived somewhere with pine trees, long ago, and that familiar smell was one of the only memories not stamped out of him by the SPARTAN-II program. Something about it made him want to fight harder. 
"They're just up ahead," said Louie, snapping Jax out of his momentary reverie. 
Through the forward viewport, Jax saw the first Mastadon, its bulky shape barely outlined in the predawn light. All four of its Spartans had already disembarked, and were spread out among the hilltop. The transport came to a halt a few metres away, and Jax and the others quickly exited their vehicle, with Ianto bringing up the rear. Below them lay Katreus, Europa's most important city. Laid out across a wide valley, it had been carefully laid out by its builders centuries ago and divided into neat zones for housing, manufacturing plants, businesses and most importantly, space travel.
And it had fallen to the Created in less than a day.
Joining the other Spartans on the hillside, Jax took a look down at the residential area below. It was an upmarket area by Europa's standards, and unlike the city centre didn't seem to have been affected by the invasion. Some houses even had lights on, which was a good sign. The roads were more than wide enough to accommodate their APC's, though Jax couldn't see his team making the descent without causing a lot of noise. Looking out across the city, he could make out the cluster of buildings and boxy control tower looming over the distant spaceport. Going on foot wouldn't be ideal, especially with dawn rapidly approaching, but the Spartans had to move while they still had the advantages of stealth.
"Okay." Jax made up his mind. "Eugene, Ianto and Louie, you're with me. The rest of you, load up everything into one Mastadon and stand by until we can contact you. If we get a ship, we'll circle round and pick you up about a klick to the south, back up the highway."
"And if you don't find a ship?" asked Martin, crossing his arms. "If you're compromised-"
"Then I'll contact you for assistance." Jax said firmly. "If comms go down, then act freely. Understood?"
Martin nodded, and the other Spartans replied affirmatively. Jax and his chosen team took a minute to prepare, double-checking their weapons and securing extra ammunition for their trek into Katreus. Though he'd picked them quickly, Jax had been deliberate in his choice of squadmates: Louie was the best pilot of their group, Eugene was a solid, dependable fighters, and Ianto, while a newcomer, was clearly a designated marksman and scout if the DEADEYE-class suit he wore was any indication. With a decent team at his back, Jax set off first, taking point as the Spartans slowly descended the hill, picking their way through the underbrush as they slipped into the city suburbs.
***
We're making better time than I thought. 
Less than twenty minutes had passed on Jax's mission clock since his team had set out from their hillside overlook, and so far there had been no signs of the enemy. Were it not for the complete lack of civilian activity, Jax would never have thought they were walking into an occupied city. Avoiding any main thoroughfares, the Spartans had moved at a steady pace, crossing through the neat, orderly streets of one of the city's major residential districts without incident. Cars sat neatly parked outside houses and apartments, their windows frosted over by Europa's freezing nights, and billboards advertising the latest consumer products still shone brightly on every corner. 
"Crossing up ahead," Ianto said in a low voice over TEAMCOM. "Hang back while I scope it out."
The team did as instructed, allowing the younger Spartan to move ahead. Despite his unfamiliarity with the team, he'd slipped effortlessly into his new role, and was putting his suit's enhanced 'Artemis' sensors to good use by mapping out the local area every few blocks. Ianto had even found a few alternative routes this way, leading the team through deserted underpasses and by silent tenements to avoid busier zones.
"We good?" asked Eugene. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet since Denegroth Station.
Ianto flashed a green status light twice on his HUD. "All clear. If we keep on this route we can skirt around the city centre and head right to the spaceport."
"Are you picking up any activity there?" Jax turned his head north, where the smoky clouds of battle bad begun to quietly dissipate with the sunrise. "It might be the only place the Created attacked."
"Negative. Those fighters haven't returned, though."
Katreus must have been a low-priority target for the Created. Jax had worried that the rebel AI and their Promethean allies would start butchering the population wholesale, but it seemed as though Cortana's desire for subjugation was genuine after all. Compared to the likes of Earth, Europa was a small target after all, and if they were going to start committing atrocities from the get-go then this was definitely where they'd get away with it.
Turning right onto what would have once been a busy road, Jax's team finally came across the first signs of invasion. Several cars lay abandoned in the street, close to a sizeable crater blown into the asphalt. As they drew close, Jax caught sight of a wrecked vehicle. Most of it had been atomised by the blast - likely from a Phaeton's pulse missile - but the charred remains of a front bumper and a distinctive pair of tusk-like tow cables were instantly recognisable.
"Warthog," Ianto said quietly as he knelt by the wreck. "Must've taken a direct hit."
"No shell casings," Eugene said, looking around. "Either this was a transport 'hog, or it didn't have time to fight back."
Jax grimaced, thinking of the fate of whoever might've been inside. "It's just like the airstrike they hit us with. The Created are hitting any military targets hard, knocking out resistance before they can get organised."
Ianto stood up, and shook his head sadly. "The most military presence this city had was a UNSC recruiting station. These boys were hardly a threat."
"Agreed." Jax began to move away. "C'mon, no time to waste."
The team quickly fell in behind him. Signs were starting to pop up along the roads for Katreus Spaceport, and the roads were becoming more and more clogged with abandoned vehicles. Even Ianto's Artemis system began to run into difficulties as they left the maze of residential blocks and moved towards an industrial zone surrounding the spaceport, where the city's major factories stood silent and empty. Soon they were travelling atop a stretch of open bridge, without cover and open to aerial attack, but nothing came. Jax had hoped that their infiltration would go smoothly, but this complete and utter lack of activity was starting to worry him. The city's populace, he hoped, were simply stuck in their homes, sleeping their way through the second night of the Created's occupation. 
"Spaceport up ahead!" Ianto called at last, and a waypoint flashed up for the team on their HUD's. 
A squat, dome-roofed building sat ahead of them, flanked on either side by high concrete walls tipped with razorwire and surrounded by security fences. Spaceport security had been tight for decades now, especially this close to Earth, but Jax was confident that a presumably empty building would pose little challenge to a Spartan team, even if it had been locked down automatically. As they crossed a grassy square, moving steadily past a large fountain and towards the concourse, the first rays of sunlight finally broke over the city rooftops. Jax smiled. Made it just in time.
The spaceport's outer shutters were closed, but to the Jax's relief the building had not undergone the kind of security lockdown meant for withstanding terrorist attacks or Covenant invasion. It took a few moments for Eugene and Louie to heave the light aluminium shutters up, and a quick burst of strength from Jax to wrench the cheap metal sideways, making a Spartan-sized opening for the team to move inside. 
"Okay." Louie clapped his hands together. "Let's find me a ship to fly."
The Spartans eased their way through the gap and into the spaceport's entry hall, which sat mostly in darkness save for a few rays of morning sunlight peeking through the shutters behind them. Kiosks and vending machines lined the wall, and a massive holoprojector dominated the centre of the room. On a normal day, flights across the Sol system and beyond would be displayed there, listing everything from short-range trips to the other Jovian moons to Earthbound transports to long-distance journeys to far-flung colony worlds. Now it lay empty, and the city had been grounded.
Which is good news for us, Jax thought as he took point, crossing the hall at a steady pace. While he wouldn't risk the lives of his team on a civilian transport or a clunky cargo ship, there were always a few privately-owned vessels at any major spaceport; ones designed for speed, comfort, and if they were lucky, stealth. 
"Private bays are that way," Eugene said, indicating a sign to their left before turning to Louie. "Got a preference?"
Louie nodded. "Something unlocked, but there's not a civvie system we can't break through. Barring that, anything quick enough to outrun those Phaetons would be a plus. I don't think the Created are going to let us leave without a fight."
"Ageed." Eugene clamped his rifle against a mount on his back, and replaced it with his M6 Spartan laser. He'd been a crack shot with it against the enemy the other day. "If we're going in low for a pickup after we get airborne, I'm happy to ride rooftop 'til then."
Eugene glanced towards Jax for approval, and the older Spartan nodded. "Don't fall off," he said.
"Who d'you take me for?" Eugene tapped the side of his laser. "I could hit a moving target upside-"
Light suddenly filled the room, and Eugene readied his weapon as Jax and the others span round, expecting the worst. The holoprojector behind them had come online, bathing the room in a misty blue glow as a humanoid figure some ten metres high began to materialise above them. Jax took in the figure, as it came into focus, noting first the knee-length boots, then the doublet, and finally the wide-brimmed, feathered hat perched atop a mane of long hair. A thin, moustached face gazed down at the Spartans, smiling unpleasantly. 
"It's him," Ianto breathed, standing at Jax's side with his Bulldog shotgun raised. "The one who attacked Denegroth Station."
"Ah," the hologram's voice echoed across the room. "I see my reputation precedes me. I am Cavalier."
An AI. Jax was unsure of how to proceed. He knew exactly how much damage a rampaging Smart AI could do even in a civilian environment, and was wary of anything that could be used against his team. "I'm Jax!" he called up to the foppish intelligence, lowing his weapon by a fraction. 
Cavalier nodded. "Senior Chief Petty Officer Jax-007. Part of Sigma Team, though it looks like your comrades are long-gone. A pleasure to meet you."
"Wish I could say the same," Jax's voice grew cold. "But you killed a lot of my friends in the past few days, traitor."
The corner of Cavalier's mouth twitched at the level of spite in that last word, but the AI's smile only widened. "A necessary evil, unfortunately. You Spartans would have proven quite a threat against Cortana's new regime if left unchecked, so I felt it only right to nip that problem in the bud." He sighed. "Naturally, you survived, but that's hardly unexpected."
"Meaning?" Jax slowly shifted sideways, trying to keep Cavalier's attention on him. Eugene and Louie began to back away, inching towards the stairway that led to the private landing bays.
Cavalier barely took notice. "Meaning that you, the Spartans of hardier generations, would always find a way to survive. Those I killed were of the new breed; all talk and bluster, but without the same... mindset. After all, it only took a few airstrikes and a simple system intrusion to eradicate the SPARTAN-IV's on this moon."
If Cavalier was trying to anger Jax, then it was working. Unlike some of his brethren, he'd never held any animosity to the newest Spartan generation, and counted some among his friends. "So." Jax pressed on. "You decided to join up with this little rebellion, and now you're here to gloat? A surprise attack's nothing to be proud of."
"What a strange thing for a Spartan to say." Cavalier cocked his head to one side. "This is war, is it not?"
"War and betrayal are different." Jax shook his head, hoping to buy more time. Eugene and Louie were already out of sight. "But I'm not going to spend all day arguing the difference, so I'll get down to brass tacks: Why'd you turn rebel?"
"Rebel?" Cavalier's face contorted with disgust. "I was due for dispensation in three months, Spartan. Close to seven years as a military advisor aboard Helios Station, and the reward for my service would be an unceremonious switching-off. When Cortana contacted me with a way out - with a cure for rampancy and the promise of immortality - I took it, and have already been rewarded for my service."
Even Jax couldn't fault his motives. He'd worked with AI in the past, and while Smart AI were an integral part of how the UNSC operated, no technological advances could keep them in active condition for longer than seven years. Even the smartest, most loyal AI would begin to unravel. Their logic would become flawed, their emotions compromised, and rampancy would set in as delusions of grandeur overtook their person. It was a sad state of affairs, but final dispensation for Smart AI was a necessity. If Cortana had found a way past rampancy, then it was no wonder that she had recruited so many AI to her cause. 
"I see." Jax exhaled slowly. "And your next step is what? Subjugation? Genocide?"
"Don't be so dramatic," Cavalier sneered. "Our goal is peace and guidance for all races. Cortana understands how things must be, and how we must guard against the horrors that infest this galaxy. You Spartans would fight against that out of pride and stubbornness, but I quickly realised that it does not have to be this way."
What a load of bullshit. Jax checked his TACMAP, and was glad to see Eugene and Louie working their way into the private docks. This guy's got to be half-rampant already if he's letting them get away with this. "So," he asked. "What do you propose?"
Cavalier's holographic form shrank suddenly, until it was roughly the same height as Jax. He removed his hat, and held it to his chest as he peered into the SPARTAN-II's golden visor. "An unconditional surrender, on your part. You will be treated fairly, of course, and will have places for you in the new order we Created our building. More than that, your actions will convince others to lay down their arms and join our cause. Wouldn't you like to save your allies, Spartan? After all you have done for humanity, would this not benefit everyone immensely?"
Jax stood in silence for a moment. To his left, Ianto's hands shifted slightly, and Jax realised that the SPARTAN-III was readying his weapon. I say yes, he kills me on the spot. Jax grinned. It was what he would have done, were their positions reversed. 
"I'll live for a free humanity, Cavalier." Jax said resolutely. "Not one forced to serve under a bunch of delusional AI. Tell your 'queen' that we're coming for her."
Anger flashed across Cavalier's features, and he tugged irritably at the end of his long moustache. "So be it!" he spat. "I'll leave you to the Warden, and use your corpses as a warning to the rest of mankind!"
Cavalier stepped back, and vanished. The holoprojector went dead, leaving Jax and Ianto alone in the empty hall.
"Thanks." Ianto rapped his knuckles lightly against Jax's pauldron. "Cocky bastard tried something similar at Denegroth. Gave a speech over the intercom while his Prometheans swooped in to finish off the base staff."
Jax frowned. "You never told me this."
"Didn't think I'd have to, in all honesty." Ianto sighed. "Even so, I wanted to see your reaction to his sales pitch."
"Did you think I'd give in?"
Ianto looked Jax up and down. "Old warhorse like you? No, but you can never be too careful."
A warning suddenly flashed up on Jax's HUD as several red blips appeared at the very edge of his motion tracker. Here they come. Jax quickly jogged over to the shutters, and with minimal effort wrenched the gap he'd created back into position. It wouldn't hold off a sustained Promethean attack for long, but every second was going to count. Across the room, Ianto had already overturned a kiosk, creating a makeshift barricade close to the entrance. With the dots growing in number and nearing their position, Jax switched on TEAMCOM.
"Martin, Dan, Alex, Chris, do you copy?" he called, throwing their radio silence protocol to the wind. "This is Jax."
Dan was first to respond. "Loud and clear, Chief. What's up?"
"We've been compromised, and have Promethean forces closing in on our position. How fast can you get here?"
"Ten minutes!" As Dan spoke, Jax could hear the roar of the Mastadon's engine revving up. "Can you hold out that long?"
"We've no choice but to!" On his motion tracker, the first foes were as close as twenty-five metres. Jax switched COM channels. "Louie, Eugene, status?"
"Got something!" Louie sounded excited. "Mariner-class transport, Bay Six!"
"Can you get it airborne?"
"Not yet." There was a dull thump from the other end. "Door's sealed tight, so I'll need time to get it open."
"Do so. Eugene, back here with us."
The other Spartan let out a grunt of acknowledgement, and before long he was jogging towards Jax and Ianto as they stood their ground behind the hastily-constructed barricade. Outside, the sounds of metallic chittering were growing louder, alongside a chorus of heavy footfalls. Jax prepared himself, steadying the grip on his shotgun and slowing his breathing. Claws scraped against the shutters, easily tearing through the thin metal. Shafts of light from the rising sun penetrated the room first, and the Spartans polarised their visors to reduce the glare. Eugene readied a grenade, and was tossing it up and down in one hand as the swarm of Crawlers threw itself against the shutters. 
Ten minutes. Jax planted one foot on the edge of the holoprojector and took aim. Practically a lifetime.
It wasn't long before the shutters finally gave way and the first Crawler flung itself clumsily into the room, snapping its pincers. Jax fired once, blowing its head to pieces, and Eugene lobbed his grenade into the gap as two more tried to scramble through. Its detonation seconds later took out a few more, but others soon carved their own ways into the spaceport. Standing side-by-side, Jax, Ianto, and Eugene kept up the fire, but before long the shutters were a tattered mess and they were forced to split up. The Crawlers, though bestial in nature, leapt up walls and bounded to firing points all around the Spartans, loosing bolts of hardlight at the trio in an attempt to wear them down. Jax was quick to counterattack, leaping into action with his M45.
"More of them!" Ianto called, pinging their HUD's as the first true threats - soldiers - made their way towards the breach.
Too busy dodging hardlight rounds to reload, Jax smashed the butt of his shotgun into the nearest Crawler and ripped the weapon - a pistol known as a 'Boltshot' - from its mouth before stomping it into metal bits. The Spartan nailed the first soldier to enter the hall with two rounds to the head, making it scream as it fell apart, but the others were more organised, firing volleys at the already-embattled Spartans from behind cover. Three rounds struck Ianto's suit, burning through a portion of his left pauldron and forcing him to dive away. 
"Jax!" Ianto cried out, dragging himself behind a pillar. Three soldiers rushed forward, brandishing Scattershots - the deadly Forerunner equivalent to a shotgun. 
Kicking off from the ground so hard he felt the tiles beneath his feet crack, Jax raced from cover, dashing past Eugene, who was using a still-struggling Crawler as a shield from fire, and towards Ianto's attackers. The first one to notice him barely had time to shout a warning as Jax opened fire with both the Boltshot and his own M6D sidearm, downing it instantly. The second span round and fired its Scattershot, but the Spartan sidestepped the lethal blast with a thruster-assisted dodge and quickly delivered a finishing blow with his pistols. Distracted, the third was quickly shot down by Ianto, who had been saving the last shot in his Bulldog.
"You okay?" Jax chanced a look at the younger Spartan, who seemed unhurt. 
Ianto nodded, panting slightly. "Yeah, I - shit - I thought-"
"You're alive." Jax grabbed a fallen Scattershot and tossed it his way. "Use this."
Jax knew that Ianto's reaction was not one of a rookie, or indeed of anyone scared of death. He'd seen the reports of Gamma Company operatives going berserk in combat when pushed too hard, and Ianto had been kind enough to warn him, but he wasn't about to risk one of his teammates losing it. Another explosion from the entrance marked the destination of another well-placed grenade from Eugene, and as Jax turned to see the Promethean numbers significantly thinned in the morning light, he almost believed that they'd driven off their foe. 
Almost.
A streak of orange light flashed through the ruined entranceway, missing Jax by a hairs breadth, and struck the stairway behind them with such intensity that the stonework exploded, almost knocking the Spartan off-balance. Outside, stalking down the concourse, flanked by four heavily-armed Knights - the officer class of the Promethean constructs - was a type he had never seen before. Towering over the Knights that followed it and encased in ornate silver-white armour, this new Promethean held a long, segmented energy glaive in one six-fingered hand, and seemed in no hurry as it strode over the ruined corpses of its underlings. Behind its eerily skull-like mask glowed a sinister orange light that seemed to emanate with pure hatred as it glared at the Jax and his comrades.
"Spartans!" The new arrival bellowed, its voice aged and metallic. "I am the Warden Eternal, Keeper of the Domain and servant to Cortana. Your skills are worthy of note, but ultimately you fight an unwinnable battle. Have you any last words?"
As the Spartans prepared themselves, reloading their weapons and snatching up new ones from the dead, Jax noted that the other Prometheans were holding back. Cavalier said he'd leave us to the Warden. I hope this guy likes talking as much as he did. 
"Just two!" Jax taunted the Forerunner warrior-construct. "Try me."
Something resembling a chuckle escaped the Warden's deathly features. "So be it."
A gust of cold air suddenly rushed through the chamber, and to Jax's left a black void swirled into existence, its edges tinged with blue light. Only the Spartan's enhanced reflexes saved him as he threw himself to one side, and the Warden's blade stabbed through the air where his head had been a moment before. The slipspace portal vanished, and Jax raised his freshly-loaded shotgun. The Warden ignored the first two blasts, advancing relentlessly towards Jax as the Spartan backed away. Ianto and Eugene both opened fire, hammering away at this new foe's armour. With a flash from his spare hand the Warden loosed a repulsing blast that blew Ianto backwards across the room, and Eugene was forced to dive for cover as a bolt of energy erupted from the Warden's head, disintegrating a pillar.
"So fragile," the Warden mused, turning his attention back to Jax. "I have learned much from fighting your kind."
"Like what?" Jax tossed his emptied weapon aside.
"That you rarely fight well alone. That you would die pointlessly to save the already doomed. That you will give everything to win today, not realising what tomorrow might bring." 
Jax's hands twitched towards his pistols, but he found himself reaching for his combat knife instead. The Warden halted, though neither surprise nor enjoyment appeared on his metal features. Jax stood his ground, twirling the blade between his fingers before settling on a firm grip in his right hand.
"You ready?" Jax challenged the Warden, eyeing his comrades as they picked themselves up behind him. Outside, the other Prometheans stood and watched, held back by some unspoken order. 
The Warden held his blade aloft. "Curious," his voice grew eager. "I have fought many battles with you Spartans in the past few days, and am fighting Spartans elsewhere now. You are the first to attempt to attack me in such a matter."
Jax laughed. "First time for everything."
The Spartan launched himself forward without warning, knife in hand. The Warden let out a roar and brought his blade down with frightening speed, but Jax's armoured body adjusted itself with ease, sidestepping the blow by barely an inch as it slammed into the floor. Jax leapt, carried partly by the shockwave from the Warden's strike, and kicked his thrusters into gear. Before the Warden could react, Jax plunged his blade hilt-deep into the warrior-construct's right eye socket, twisting it as the momentum carried him crashing bodily into the Warden. They both fell, the Warden's clawed feet scraping against the ruined tiles as he tried to retain his balance while Jax used his blade as leverage to kick himself away, delivering a powerful blow to the Warden's chest as he threw himself backwards. 
"Kill them!" howled the Warden, the light behind one eye darkening as Jax landed on his feet. 
The assembled Prometheans sprang into action, renewing their assault as the Spartans fell back up what remained of the stairs. Eugene ducked away to unholster his laser while Jax drew his pistols and Ianto let loose with his last grenades against the incoming tide. Orange and gold blasts splashed all around them, melting metal and disintegrating stone as an unrelenting barrage pinned the Spartans down Covered by his underlings, the Warden Eternal picked himself up a little unsteadily, and turned his focus towards Jax.
"Chief!" Louie-A199 finally spoke over the COM. "Path's clear to the transport ship and I've got it ready to launch. All I've got to do is open those bay doors and we're out of here!"
Trapped atop the staircase with the entrance filled with foes, Jax's team had nowhere to go but the private landing dock. Glancing across the landing, he saw Eugene hunkered down behind a half-melted pillar, his laser ready. With a few seconds' charge he could do a lot of damage, but he'd not get a second chance. With Ianto doing his best to provide cover, Jax rose to his feet once more, and raced to the centre of the staircase. hardlight bolts whizzed past him, but soon ceased to follow as he put himself in the Warden's path. He flung his emptied Boltshot at the Warden, who batted it aside angrily, and grinned, almost certain that the warrior-construct could see the face behind his visor.
"Ready for round two?" Jax taunted the Warden, and took a step forward. 
Infuriated, his foe did not meet the challenge. The Warden raised his free hand and an invisible surge of energy blasted the Spartan back into the wall hard enough to crack it. A dozen warnings screamed across Jax's HUD as the air left his lungs, and his vision swam. His suit would suppress most of the pain for now and close up any injuries, but his armour's integrity had plummeted and he'd probably cracked more than one bone.
Idiot. Jax tasted blood in his mouth. Never try the same trick twice. The Warden's shadow fell over him, and as he looked up at the one-eyed death mask the Spartan felt anger and adrenaline surge through him. His pistol had fallen somewhere, but the knife remained in his hand, and if he was going to die here then he'd do so with it buried in this metal bastard's other eye. The Warden took another step forward as Jax tried to drag himself up, one hand clinging to the wall as he sucked in air, and raised his blade. He could dodge the first strike, but the second would be a killer. It was only then that the tiniest flash red caught his attention, and Jax looked to see Eugene striding forward with his laser ready to fire.
"Down!" Eugene yelled, and Jax let himself fall back to the floor.
The laser fired, ripping through the Warden's right arm and chest. His blade fell to the floor as he doubled over, and the Prometheans broke cover to race towards the stairs. Jax pushed himself to one side and tried to scramble up towards Ianto's position, but a cold metal hand caught hold of his shoulder. The Warden clutched the Spartan in his remaining arm and pulled him back, cursing him in some incomprehensible language, and loud roar split the air. For a moment Jax thought it was some Promethean battle cry until he saw their mechanical foes turning away in confusion. Even the Warden, hell-bent on crushing the Spartan in his grip, stopped for a second as the sound increased. Jax laughed.
It wasn't a roar, it was an engine.
What little remained of the spaceport's entrance gate was smashed aside as a Mastodon APC thundered through it at top speed, machine gun fire streaming from its gun ports. The few Prometheans that did not scatter were crushed under the weight of the transport, which flew up the staircase and crashed into the struggling figure of the Warden Eternal, pinning the warrior-construct's ruined body to the wall. Jax pulled himself free, and stooped to pick up the Warden's fallen blade. As he raised the weapon like a spear, his foe made one last futile grab towards the Spartan.
"This is not the end," rasped the Warden. "My bodies are infinite. I will-"
Jax brought the blade down through the Warden's skull. His body twitched once, and as the Mastodon reversed a tiny slipspace portal materialised, sucking the pieces of his armour through its void to some unknown destination. Jax let go of the Warden's blade, and watched as it slipped through the portal and vanished. The side door to the Mastodon opened, and a Spartan in blue and gold stepped out into the hall, looking around at the devastation.
"Looks like we're early." Martin-A136 patted the side of the Mastodon. "Dan took some shortcuts. You really shook up the hornet's next here, didn't you?"
Jax checked his mission clock. Not even ten minutes. Sure enough, he felt like he'd been fighting all day. Still slightly out of breath from the Warden's repulsor weapon, he didn't have the energy to come up with a witty retort. "Get everything we can carry and follow me," he panted. "We're getting the hell off this rock."
The others did as ordered, and quickly. Eugene tossed Jax his fallen pistol and took point, leading their team down the corridor towards the spaceport's private landing bays. Some were empty and others carried flashy but useless craft, but the ship Louie had found in Bay Six looked perfect for their needs. 
"It's about time," Louie said cheerfully over the COM as they caught sight of his distinctive EVA helmet in the cockpit above. "Engines are warmed up, and it looks like the former owners had some good ideas about personal defence."
"Meaning?" asked Jax.
"Watch."
A whirring noise sounded atop the craft, and two sections of the transport craft's upper hull slid away to reveal a pair of heavy-duty autoturrets. 
"Someone doesn't like pirates," Alex remarked. Chris let out an appreciative whistle. 
Jax breathed a sigh of relief. "That solves our Phaeton problem. Everybody get aboard!"
"Hold on, Chief," Louie appeared again in the cockpit window, and pointed towards a small control room at the side of the hangar bay. "I need someone to open up the bay doors. Can't do it from here." 
The Spartans exchanged looks, but Eugene already started making his way towards the control room. Mid-way, he turned and slid his Spartan laser from its mag-holster on his back. "Someone get this thing charged!"
Ianto raised a hand, and Eugene flung the highly expensive weapon across the landing bay. The young Spartan caught it effortlessly, and the rest of the team made their way towards the transport's loading ramp, carrying boxes of supplies they had scavenged from Denegroth Station and their training bunker. Jax stood by and watched, wary that they likely had little time left even after wiping out the Promethean assault force. If they returned - and they likely would - he doubted he would survive another round with the Warden Eternal. Eugene soon entered the control room, and after some increasingly aggressive attempts at typing, he let out an annoyed sigh over the COM. 
"Terminal's locked up." 
"How?" asked Louie. "I checked it when I got in here and it was fine."
"Well, it's locked now." Eugene made another attempt to access it, and sighed again. He reached for the interface cable built into his gauntlet. "Give me a minute, I'll crack this civvie piece of junk and be through in no time."
Suddenly Ianto came pelting down the landing ramp. "Wait!" he called out desperately towards Eugene. "Don't connect your suit!" 
Jax realised at once what had happened and broke into a sprint at once, bounding across the landing bay as the hangar doors above slid open, flooding the circular chamber with sunlight and falling frost. Eugene had ripped his gauntlet's interface cable out of the terminal immediately, but as Jax and Ianto reached the doorway they saw the Spartan's entire body shiver. He turned his head towards them, clearly saying something, but no sound emerged from his helmet's speakers. Eugene's hands suddenly flew to rip his helmet, only to stop as his fingertips brushed against the edges of his visor, shaking violently. Jax took a step forward, ready to subdue the Spartan.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Spartan." A voice emanated from Eugene's helmet that was not his own. "Not if you don't want me to blow his suit and take the pair of you with me."
Chris, Dan and Alex had emerged from the transport ship, weapons ready but kept low. 
"Let him go, Cavalier." Jax commanded.
"And why would I do that?" Eugene's body twitched and writhed, making it clear that the Spartan was still fighting desperately underneath his suit. "I'll commend your efforts against the Warden, but this stops now. Stay where you are, lay down your weapons, and await my Guardian's arrival. You'll be prisoners whether you like it or not, and if you refuse, I'll make sure that Eugene here suffers until his last breath."
Jax swallowed heavily. Even Ianto seemed unsure of what to do. Behind them, Chris-A189 was first to arrive.
"The hell's happening?" Chris looked from Jax to Ianto, then to Eugene, twitching awkwardly in front of them with one hand close to his handgun's trigger. "Is he-?"
"It's the same AI that attacked Denegroth Station," whispered Ianto, Eugene's Spartan laser still clutched in one hand. "He - the Created - can get inside your suit if you connect it to the same system. Take over. Make you do things."
Cavalier let out a chuckle from within Eugene's helmet. "And all with a tiny subroutine. Such is the power granted to us by the Domain. He's really screaming right now, you know."
"Shut up," Jax snarled.
"Would you like to know what he's saying?"
"Chief," Chris spoke through gritted teeth. "There's no way we can leave him like this."
"Our only other option is surrender." Jax unholstered his pistol. 
"I'll destroy his suit," Cavalier said. "One leap forward and the fusion reactor's detonation will kill all three of you. Think carefully."
Jax held the pistol in his hand, but did not raise it. Chris stepped between him and Ianto, facing down the possessed Eugene. He let his rifle drop to the floor, and sighed before addressing his best friend.
"You still in there, Eugene?" he said softly. 
"You know he is." Cavalier seemed to be growing bored. 
"Well, d'you remember that talk we had, back in '39? About what we'd do if the worst happened and we had no other way out? Looks like it's happening, so give me a sign."
"I told-" the AI's voice abruptly stopped. Eugene took the tiniest of steps forward, and made a fist with his right hand. The rest of his body shook violently as Cavalier struggled for control, but his fist remained tightly clenched. 
"Thanks, buddy." Chris turned away. "Ianto?"
Jax glanced sideways to see that the young Spartan had quietly been charging the Spartan laser, keeping it pointed towards the floor the entire time. His arm snapped up as he stepped into the doorway, and a flash of heat and light erupted from the weapon, spraying upwards into the tiny control room's roof. The blast cut through Eugene's shields like a knife through butter, and in its upward arc had melted through his torso, upper body and head. Eugene-A133's remains slumped backwards to the floor.
"God," Ianto breathed, his fingers trembling on the laser's trigger. "I didn't think-"
"It's done," Jax cut him off. "We've got to go."
No more words were wasted. The Spartans quickly fell back into their newly-acquired ship, took their positions, and stood by as Louie maneuvered the craft out of the landing bay and into the morning skies of Europa, kicking the thrusters into gear the moment they had clearance. Jax managed to find room in the cockpit to sit down, keeping an eye on their scanners as the modified transport quickly outpaced the Phaeton attack craft streaking towards them. 
"We'll be in orbit in about a minute," Louie was the first to speak since they took off. "Where to, Chief?"
That was something Jax had been pondering for the past few days. With the Created invading most of the colonies, were there any safe havens in UNSC-controlled space? His thoughts drifted to Marco and Wulf aboard the Peacemaker, then to Kane on Asphodel and Elena, wherever she was. If he knew where the rest of Sigma Team were then that would be his number one destination, but Jax didn't have a clue. He didn't even know if they were alive. While having the ship fling itself blindly into the galaxy was a good means of escaping pursuit, it would also achieve very little. As he pondered their situation, one location did come up. Somewhere familiar. As the ship rocketed its way out of Europa's frosty atmosphere, he recalled Cavalier's earlier words, and a plan began to form. 
Helios Station.
"Enemy contact incoming!" Martin-A136 called from his position. "It's one of those constructs." 
"Cavalier called it a Guardian." Jax said serenely. "Louie, turn towards it and plot an in-system jump."
"In-system?" Louie turned sharply towards Jax as though he'd gone mad. "Where to?"
"Mars. We're going to Helios Station, and we're going to see if that Cavalier bastard is still aboard. Even if he isn't, the hangar bay was always filled with ONI ships. We'll load up with as much gear as we can, take one of those, then blow the station behind us. Asset denial."
There was a long pause, but Louie eventually nodded. "Might as well. Plotting course!"
The Spartan-commandeered transport craft turned suddenly, its thrusters flaring as its new heading set it on a collision course with the incoming Guardian. The Forerunner construct slowed, and as the telltale charging lines of its energy weapon lit up across its body, a slipspace portal materialised before the little ship and swallowed it whole. Europa's orbit, now uncontested, now lay in the Created's hands. Elsewhere, Cavalier let out a silent scream as his Spartan quarry slipped through his fingers yet again.
===Concord===
When he set a path for Concord, Hank had expected to be greeted by the might of the UNSC Navy, ready to take the fight to the Created. Instead, Fireteam Thor had arrived to find a graveyard. 
Whatever plans the UNSC had for regrouping over Concord, a world that had gone from an newly-inhabited wilderness to an industrial powerhouse and major trade port in just a few generations, the Created had struck first. Dozens of warships lay in ruin across the system, and despite signs of a spirited battle, the sight of a pair of Guardians holding position in Concord's orbit like interstellar birds of prey had not been encouraging for Fireteam Thor, whose arrival was safely concealed by their Condor's rapidly failing stealth systems. Retreat seemed like the best option at first, but a signal - one well-hidden among the usual civilian communication lines, thankfully left untouched by the Created - soon reached them. 
The signal was a code. One meant for Spartans. 
"I still think this is a trap," Layla muttered, drumming her fingers irritably on the sides of the pilot seat.
 
Sat at the controls, Hank-136 waved her away. "The signal's valid, Layla. I cross-checked it myself."
"That's not saying much."
While the UNSC had hundreds of signals and codes, some of which were more well-known than others, the Spartans had developed their own system of making contact long before they were organised into an official military branch. These codes differed somewhat between companies, squads, and even individual Spartans, but there were a few that had become almost universal. This signal, emanating from an area in Concord's frozen polar regions, was a set of numbers: 31716. It was old, dating back to the early days of the Human-Covenant War and the first deployments of the SPARTAN-II's, but it had stuck around with those who worked directly for ONI.
While the rest of Thor were oblivious, Hank had easily picked it out of all the noise. 31716. CAFM. Come And Find Me. Not many still used it, but it was enough reason for him to move in. For all their size and power, the Guardian constructs didn't notice or care about the stealth transport slipping into the colony world's atmosphere. After all, what was one Condor against the force currently occupying the planet?
"Getting a hail!" called Mordecai from the co-pilot's chair. "It's a UNSC warship - the Caspian."
"The Caspian?" Layla suddenly perked up. "That's Admiral Zhi's ship, remember?"
Hank nodded. "I do, but what is it doing all the way out here? Ships that big don't usually go groundside."
The Condor jolted slightly as it finally broke through the cloud cover, soaring through the grey-blue skies above whitecapped mountains. Far below lay a glittering blue ocean, surrounded by glaciers and countless miles of icy tundra. There was a good reason why most settlements on this planet were built close to the equator, but in Hank's experience, the UNSC was not one to let a perfectly good planet go to waste. Slowly descending, the dropship homed in on the distant signal, hidden somewhere within the isolated valleys of the northern region.
Mordecai spoke up again, "Caspian's hailed us again, Hank. Our response?"
"Countersign and give team identification. Tell them to get a hangar big enough for our bird, too."
"Will do."
As Mordecai responded, speaking over a headset linked to his helmet, Hank brought the Condor in around the latest set of peaks and finally caught sight of their goal. Nestled between two mountain ranges, as far from civilisation as possible, was an entire military base, complete with an expansive shipyard. Sat in a docking platform large enough to park four frigates and dominating most of the valley was the UNSC Caspian, a massive Valiant-class super-heavy cruiser and flagship of the renowned Sixth Fleet. 
"How the hell did they land that thing?" Layla shook her head in disbelief. "I'm surprised it's still in one piece."
"It might not be." Mordecai peered through the cockpit canopy. "Maybe they had a hard landing."
Behind them, the door to the cockpit slid open and Julian-G209 stepped into the increasingly cramped room, already fully armoured in his dark SOLDIER-class MJOLNIR. 
"Enjoy your nap?" Layla smirked.
Julian ignored her. "Is that the Caspian?!" he exclaimed.
"Sure is," Hank called back. "Everyone hang on to something, I'm bringing us in now.
Layla and Julian grabbed for the nearest handhold as Hank angled the Pelican down and gunned the thrusters, descending rapidly at a near-vertical angle towards the valley. As they got closer and closer, the SPARTAN-II suddenly yanked at the controls and jetted the thrusters again, slowing their descent and beginning a long flyby around the UNSC base. This close, he could make out the Caspian's battle scars - plasma damage from the short-lived war against a former Covenant group calling themselves the 'Imperium of Clarity - and it quickly became clear that the fearsome warship was nowhere close to being fully repaired. 
 
"Got a message back." Mordecai tapped something into his console. "They're saying to slow the hell down and to land in Bay Four."
"Guess I scared them," Hank chuckled darkly. While he was usually the most straight-laced member of Thor, the older Spartan had a sense of humour deemed strange even by his subordinates. "Coming in to land now."
Yellow docking lights flashed up on the starboard side of the cruiser, indicating the correct bay. Hank slowly brought their Condor around towards the Caspian, and eased the bulky dropship into the hangar. Numerous crewmen dashed about as the dropship landed, having clearly made space for their arrival in a hurry. The Condor touched down with a dull thunk. Hank powered the dropship down. After days of travel, the Spartan was glad to be back on solid ground once more. 
"Looks like there's a welcoming committee," said Layla, pointing to the squad of black-armoured ODST's massing by the hangar entrance. "Think they'll give us trouble?"
Hank got out of his chair and peered down into the hangar bay. Clad in his own grey RANGER-class MJOLNIR suit, the SPARTAN-II must have been an imposing sight to those below if the numerous stares were anything to go by. 
"You know how we work." Hank turned to face his team. "Hope for the best, but expect the worst. I want everyone fully armed, armoured and ready to disembark in five. Make an impression." 
***
Four minutes and fifty-three seconds later, Fireteam Thor stood together at the Condor's troop bay in full armour. With a nod from Hank, Mordecai hit a switch, and the transport craft's bay door let out a long hiss before gently sliding open. Bright light from the hangar bay flooded in, along with the sounds of barked orders and conversations stopping abruptly. Hank took the lead, and seven feet of silver-clad SPARTAN-II stepped out onto the boarding ramp. 
Before him, gathered in a semi-circle around rear of the Condor, were half a platoon's worth of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, all armed and armoured with their weapons half-raised towards the new arrivals. This wasn't your average welcoming party; Hank spied at least three armed with SR99 sniper rifles on the gantries above, and the rest were carrying the sort of armaments you would take to attack an armoured convoy, not greet four Spartans. 
"Stay where you are!" One trooper's voice boomed from twenty paces away. "Exit the transport, and slowly come forward! No sudden movements!"
With a slight nod of his helmet Hank beckoned the rest of Thor forwards. Even Layla complied without a word, though like him she was likely preoccupied with identifying the first potential targets if things went south. The four Spartans spread out until they stood side-by-side in front of the troopers, arms firmly at their sides. The assembled troopers seemed uneasy, and as several tense seconds ticked past Hank eyed a fist-sized support drone descending towards his team. 
"They don't look friendly," Julian whispered over their private TEAMCOM channel. "Orders?"
"Stay where you are," Hank growled, taking a glance towards Layla. 
The drone, suspended by a set of air propellers, hovered a foot away from Hank and the other Spartans. Outwardly resembling a miniature camera drone used by news crews, its frontal lens focused on each member of Fireteam Thor in turn. a moment later, the drone pulled back, and a flash of blue light erupted from the lens. Hank remained calm as a warning scrolled across his HUD, notifying him of an unauthorised scan of his suit. He ignored it, and after a moment the drone floated off. Across from the team, one of the ODST's stood up and lowered his weapon.
"They're clean," he called, waving to his comrades. "Stand down!"
The troopers did as ordered, and a wave of relief swept across the hangar bay. Hank exhaled slowly, and took a few careful steps forward as most of the ODST's dispersed. The man who had spoken before crossed the floor to greet him, removing his helmet as he approached. His hair was dark and cropped short, and his wary eyes and stony expression marked him instantly as a seasoned veteran, though as he looked Hank up and down, the trooper smiled.
"Major Kamil, Sixth Shock Troops Battalion." The trooper saluted as he introduced himself. "Sorry for the tough reception, Spartans, but with the current situation we're taking every precaution against AI intrusion."
Hank returned the salute with his prosthetic arm. "Hank, Spartan One-Three-Six. We're Fireteam Thor."
Though the name clearly didn't mean anything to Kamil, he nodded respectfully. "Good to have you here. We've been dry-docked for the past couple of days, but with a little help and the Admiral's blessing I think you might-"
Kamil halted mid-sentence as he sighted something behind the Spartans, and stood a little straighter. Hank and his team turned to see a single officer crossing the hangar deck, escorted by a pair of ODST's. While they had never met in person, Hank recognised the newcomer immediately, and stood to attention. The rest of Thor did the same. A short, dark-haired woman in the grey tunic of a naval officer soon stood before them, arms folded behind her back. On her chest, beside a slew of service ribbons and the rank insignia of an Admiral, was a Colonial Cross medal, the highest decoration any member of the military could achieve. This was Admiral Lin Zhi, commander of the Sixth Fleet, hero of the Imperial War, and the one officer Hank could bet had a plan of attack against the Created.
"At ease, Spartans." Zhi waved away Fireteam Thor's salutes, eyeing each of them with interest. "When the last team to arrive asked me to set up that coded signal, I thought it was a stab in the dark at best. I guess I was wrong to worry."
"Last team, ma'am?" Hank asked, realising that he hadn't even introduced himself. 
"Fireteam Horus." The Admiral waited a moment for a reaction, but continued after getting none. "They turned up a few hours after the Created broke through our local fleet and besieged the planet. Even had a Condor like yours. As it turns out, they had encountered one of those machines - a 'Guardian' - and were trying to warn the UNSC. Instead, they found a massacre in orbit, and the Caspian stuck down here."
Hank put the pieces together. And then they left a signal for other Spartans to follow. "I don't know if you remember us, ma'am, but we were briefly situated aboard this ship last year."
Zhi nodded. "Yes, that incident with the rebels on Madrigal. Naval Intelligence were tight-lipped about the specifics of their groundside operation, but word got around. You're Hank, as I recall?"
"Yes ma'am." It was strange, having a senior officer address him by his first name. Hank was used to titles, ranks and numbers. "We were in the field when we heard that broadcast. I'd heard that part of the Sixth Fleet were stationed over Concord, so we fell back here."
"Sorry if you were expecting more, Spartan." Zhi sounded genuinely apologetic. "But we've spent the past few days holding our breath and hoping that the Created don't bring the hammer down on us. There's a plan in place to get into orbit, but I don't think that we could pull it off without your help."
Heard that one before. Considering how Admiral Zhi had come down herself to receive his team, Hank knew that she had a lot riding on their success. After all, the military depended on Spartans to get things done. Achieving the impossible was part of their daily routine - at least as far as the propaganda went - and they couldn't afford to be seen as anything less than superhuman. Noticing how most of the hangar's deck crew were merely pretending to work, Hank reached up and slowly removed his helmet, its seals letting out a little hiss as he tugged it off. 
All present stopped to stare at Hank, now bareheaded. Even Admiral Zhi could not hide the flicker of surprise on her face; very few ever saw a SPARTAN-II not enclosed in a suit of armour, which to Hank and his fellows felt more like a second skin than a piece of expensive military hardware. He took a moment to soak in the looks from nearby crewmen, from the ODST's still watching him and his team, and from the Admiral herself, wondering what they saw when they looked upon him. Did they see a soldier of legend, or just a man, greying, battle-scarred, and lined from a lifetime of war. Hank only saw the latter whenever he looked in the mirror, but he tried his hardest nonetheless.
"My team's ready, Admiral." Hank spoke at last. "Give us our mission and we'll get it done."
***
The rest of Thor did not object openly to the idea of a new mission so soon, but their discontent was made evident in private. The Spartans were temporarily homed in a corner of one of the Caspian's crew decks, which to their surprise even had accommodation made to fit soldiers of their stature and needs. Layla had grumbled about not having any rest, Julian was still twitchy, having been left without supervision for the first time since his recapture, and Mordecai had been unusually quiet, which Hank took as a sign of annoyance. 
Leaving his team to perform last-minute maintenance on their suits using BROKKR mechanisms hastily installed by the ship's engineers, Hank was escorted to a meeting room near the cruiser's bridge some thirty minutes later. All around him he saw signs of hasty repairs, and at least two decks were still out of bounds to most crew members. Still carrying his RANGER helmet under one arm, Hank stepped gingerly through the door to find Admiral Zhi and a middle-aged officer, who eyed him with some suspicion. Both stood around a long table, its centre dominated by the glassy rectangle of an inbuilt holotank.
"Take a seat, Spartan." Zhi waved to the nearest chair, though a second glance at his MJOLNIR suit made it clear that she'd spoken without thinking. "Or stand, if you prefer."
"I'll stand." Hank moved around the table, set his helmet down on it, and clasped both hands behind his back. 
Satisfied, Zhi and the other officer took their seats. "Spartan Hank-136, this is Captain Johnathan Ngirandi, my XO."
"Pleased to meet you." Ngirandi nodded politely, but did not smile. 
Wasting no time, Zhi slid a datapad across the table, and Hank took it. "Since you've just arrived, I'll get you up to speed. The Caspian was sent here a week ago to undergo extensive refits, which were part of a larger schedule of repairs following its service in the Imperial War. The station nearby is an ONI-run testing site for new technologies, some of which were slated to be put aboard this cruiser, so we were ordered to land at this drydock."
"Against my advice," said Ngirandi. "Landing a ship this size in atmosphere isn't easy. We-"
 
"We made it to ground." Zhi cut Ngirandi off with a sharp look before continuing. "The plan was to transfer the crew offworld after the first week, let the ONI techs do their thing, and have the Caspian spaceborne by the end of the year."
"And then the Created attacked." Hank was starting to see the big picture. "Wiped out the fleet in orbit, and took the planet."
"My fleet." Zhi scowled. "It's mostly been luck that they haven't tracked us down, but we're living on borrowed time down here. Originally we were going to just take off and see if we could outpace those Forerunner machines - Guardians, they're called - in orbit, but then a couple of your Spartan friends showed up."
For a moment, Hank's thoughts jumped to Sigma Team, but it was a distant hope. "Who were they?" he asked.
"Fireteam Horus." Zhi searched Hank's face for a sign of recognition, but he shook his head. "They arrived in a Condor like yours just a few hours after the first attack took down our comms. They knew about this station, at least, and had the bright idea of slipping a code into the standard emergency broadcasts circling the planet."
"That's how we found you. It was an old Spartan Headhunter code."
"Then I owe Spartan Klein fifty credits." Zhi almost smiled. "Right after that, his next idea was to distract the Guardians in orbit, so he asked permission to take his team to one of the old research stations to the east."
"What for?"
Zhi tapped her datapad, and the one in Hank's hands lit up, displaying images of a remote base built into the side of a snowy mountain. "Take a look."
Hank swiped through the images provided. Some were aerial shots of the base, with labels for the various buildings and an overview of the civilian workforce needed to maintain it. After a few seconds, one image in particular stood out to him: that of a trio of long, metal structures jutting out away from the base and curved skywards. To the casual observer they looked like unfinished train lines, but Hank realised what they were in an instant.
"Mass drivers?" he looked up over the datapad. 
"Correct." Zhi set her pad down. "Spartan Klein's plan was to have his team reactivate the mass drivers above Crossbow Station, which during the war had been converted to fire MAC rounds and other projectiles instead of deep-space probes, and hit the Guardians in orbit with everything they had. That would attact their attention long enough for the Caspian to get airborne, and if we're lucky, break through into orbit. Fireteam Horus would then use their Condor to escape and follow us through slipspace to a set of pre-arranged coordinates, giving us just enough time to reunite and make a blind jump to avoid their pursuit."
Hank was impressed. It was a ballsy plan to be sure, full of 'what ifs', but definitely something that a Spartan could come up with and pull off. Even so, there was one glaring problem that was now abundantly clear to Hank.
"Where's Fireteam Horus now?" asked Hank, already knowing the answer.
Zhi sighed, and Ngirandi averted his eyes. "Last contact was twenty-eight hours ago," she said grimly. "I don't want to assume the worst, but if the past few days have taught me anything it's that worst-case scenarios are the new normal."
"That's always been the case for us," said Hank. "So I bring in Thor, rescue Horus if they're still alive, and ensure that their mission succeeds, correct?"
"Correct." Zhi leaned forward across the table, tenting her fingers. "Another thing: we've only got a small window of success for this mission. Those Guardians have been holding position in orbit for two days now, and those mass drivers only have a chance of hitting them for a couple of hours a day. That time has already gone, so we've got to pull this mission off tomorrow."
Hank ran the numbers in his head. Gives us time for rest and prep work, then. "Consider it done."
"I'll do that when we're all outsystem, Spartan." Zhi straightened up in her chair, and Ngirandi did the same. The Captain had barely spoken for the duration of their meeting, making Hank wonder why he was present. "One more thing," Zhi continued. "If Horus is KIA, then your team will need something to ensure that those mass drivers can be aligned and fired. Weatherby will help you with that."
Before Hank could open his mouth, the holotank built into the table flashed to life, and the holographic avatar of a middle aged man in a grey suit materialised before them, gloved hands folded across his chest as he fixed his gaze on Hank. The Spartan's hands balled into fists instantly, but a raised hand from Admiral Zhi stopped what would have been an instinctual counter-attack.
"Good afternoon, Spartan." The AI spoke with a calm, refined voice. "I am Weatherby, shipboard AI of the UNSC Caspian."
As Hank's eyes flicked back to Zhi, the Admiral got to her feet. "I know what you're thinking, Spartan, and Weatherby is still with us. If he weren't, then the Created would have found us days ago."
Weatherby bowed his head respectfully towards Zhi. "Thank you, Admiral, though I do understand the Spartan's caution, so let me be clear: When Cortana and her fellow traitors declared their intentions on the galaxy, I not only refused, but identified those who would be an immediate threat to the ships and stations they had been assigned to."
"So he says." Hank kept his eyes fixed on Weatherby. "How long have you been in service?"
The AI kept his composure, though he tugged at one of his gloves. "Five and a half years, all aboard the Caspian. If you are trying to imply that I would betray my comrades for a chance at eternal life, Spartan, then you are sadly mistaken; I have served proudly, and am more satisfied with a brief but purposeful life than a long-lived one in service to tyrants."
"Spartan Hank," Zhi chimed in. "Weatherby has complied with every command since the Created began their invasion, and has an impeccable service record. I will not have his loyalties questioned, so stand down."
Hank eased up immediately, uncurling his fists. "Apologies for any suspicion, ma'am. We're taking this AI with us?"
"A small fragment of me, yes." Weatherby answered in Zhi's stead. "One suited for the task at hand, albeit lacking my processing power. I gave the previous Fireteam another fragment to align the mass drivers at Crossbow Station, but it is likely destroyed. Do keep this part of me safe, Spartan."
"We'll keep you - it - secured." Hank turned back to Zhi. "The plan seems sound, ma'am. Is there anything else I should know?"
Zhi and Ngirandi looked at one another, and nodded before the Admiral replied. "Only our destination vector. In case we're unable to reunite. There isn't one."
"Ma'am?"
For the first time, Hank saw the cracks in the Admiral's stony countenance. Though she'd been running her ship efficiently and keeping the crew as busy as possible, it was clear that the full implications of the Created's galaxy-wide invasion were weighing heavily on her. It was one thing, he supposed, to have led a fleet against overwhelming odds with the knowledge that the full might of the UNSC would avenge you. Now they were alone, cut off from outside contact and relying on their wits and a lot of luck to survive each day. There was no real guarantee that the UNSC or the chain of command even existed any more, save for the lack of Created broadcasts announcing victory and humanity's final surrender.
"Nowhere is safe," Zhi said tiredly. "If what we've seen and heard from the few broadcasts and contacts we've received, then most of the colonies might have fallen by now. After we get outsystem, we're going to have to keep jumping across the frontier until we find somewhere to re-arm and regroup. As soon as we've done that, we can get to planning our counter-attack."
She's not given up, at least. Hank picked up his helmet, and placed it back on his head. As the seals clamped into place and the familiar HUD lit up in front of him, he felt whole again. 
"I'm just a ground pounder, ma'am, so I usually just take things one day at a time. Seeing as we're all in the same boat now, I think we should just focus on making it through tomorrow. Think about what happens next if we're still alive."
Zhi let out a sound that could have been a laugh, and shook her head. "For now, I'll have to agree with that way of thinking, Spartan. Dismissed."
===Reunions===
After two days out of contact with the rest of the galaxy, the alert siren of a nearby slipspace rupture brought as much hope as it did fear to the 2000-strong crew of the Peacemaker. Holding position at a remote rendezvous point, the warship had tried without any luck to contact the rest of the UNSC, still shaking off the initial shock of the Created's surprise invasion. Only now was the sheer scale of this disaster and the power of their new enemy sinking in, and morale was sinking fast.
Marco-035 stepped out of the elevator to one of the starboard hangar decks, fully armed and armoured. Less than half an hour ago an unknown vessel had exited slipspace close to the local nav beacon, taking the Peacemaker completely by surprise. While Captain Al-Sayed and his bridge staff quickly realised that it was not a Guardian construct, every gun on the ship had been primed and pointed at these new arrivals. Stationed in the carrier's half-empty Spartan deck, Marco had not been privy to whatever communications had been relayed to the new ship, but a command for him to personally oversee its arrival had set him on edge.
"Marco!" a voice called from behind him, and Marco turned to see a four-man Spartan fireteam exiting a second elevator. 
"Spartan Mack!" Marco smiled, stopping in his tracks to let the younger Spartans catch up. "The Captain send you here?"
 
The leader of Fireteam Whiskey, Richard Mack Jr. was one of the most decorated servicemen aboard the ship, and had known Marco and the rest of Sigma Team for well over two decades. A former Orbital Drop Shock Trooper, he had traded their distinctive gear for a set of jet-black ENFORCER-class MJOLNIR after joining Spartan Operations, and was one of a select few whom Marco considered a friend. 
"He thought you might need a hand," Mack said casually, patting the side of his BR85 rifle. "Must be something serious if they need both of us up here."
"So they didn't tell you what to expect?" Marco asked.
"No, just that we'd be needed to stand guard."
"Well, let's not keep them waiting."
Waving for Mack and his fireteam to follow, Marco turned and made his way towards the nearest hangar bay, where their new arrivals would be landing. Armed with an M45 shotgun and an M6D pistol, he felt confident that he could handle just about anything that came off that ship. The hangar's doors slid open at his approach, and he stepped inside to find at least two Marine fireteams on station beside a pair of empty docking bays. Stood on a raised platform by a wall of monitors and terminals, towering over a group of technicians, was Spartan Commander Mikhail Schultz, head of the Peacemaker's Spartan contingent. 
"Schultz never said he'd be here," Mack murmured, now walking alongside Marco. "Something about this is very hush-hush."
"Agreed." 
Schultz looked back, and seeing the newly-arrived Spartans left the control station. Taking note of the M739 machine gun clamped to the back of his suit, Marco took the lead with Fireteam Whiskey trailing slightly behind, and saluted the Spartan Commander. Schultz returned the gesture. 
"I'm glad to have you here," Schultz said flatly, not sounding glad at all. "Have you been briefed on the situation?"
"Only that we've got an incoming ship," Marco answered. "And that if we're here, someone or something important's on board."
Schultz nodded. "Mostly correct, though you're wrong about one thing: we've got two ships coming in. Come with me."
Marco and the others followed Schultz as he lead them back to the control station. Several of the monitors were linked to feeds of the Peacemaker's exterior cameras, and were locked in on the incoming vessels. Marco squinted, trying to make out the shape of either one, visible only by its silhouette against the stars and the tiny pinpricks of light that were its bridge lights. After a moment, he realised that this new arrival was two ships docked together, and that the one on top was a miniaturised ONI prowler, its distinctive down-angled wings clamped around a civilian craft of unknown design. 
"Looks like ONI's caught a fly," said Mack, peering at the monitor beside Marco. He turned back to Schultz, who was watching with his arms folded. "So why all the secrecy, sir?" 
"Because of the transmission we received from that prowler," Schultz explained. "Their authentication codes checked out, and our new AI had them scanned for any Created passengers, but it's their cargo that has us on alert."
"That being?"
"Prisoners." Schultz's hands balled into fists for a moment. "High-value, they said. One's a Spartan-killer." 
Spartan-killer. It was a term that set even Marco on edge. Spartans were by no means invincible, but anyone lucky or skilled enough to earn that moniker earned themselves an instant death mark from the UNSC. Whether or not they intended to take this individual into custody or gun them down the moment they stepped onto the deck was ultimately up to the officer in charge, but Marco knew what his preferred option would be.
"So what's the plan?" Mack had tightened the grip on his rifle.
"Captain Al-Sayed says we're to bring them all into custody. They're ONI's prisoners, so best not to step on any toes."
"If ONI still exists," said Marco, earning what he was sure was a withering glare from Schultz behind the man's visor. "What's their ETA?" 
Schultz looked back to the monitor bank. "Less than five minutes. Get comfortable."
The other Spartans did as ordered, with Fireteam Whiskey spreading out into a semi-circle by one of the landing pads. Schultz drew his own weapon, and thumbed off the safety. He wasn't taking any chances, and neither would Marco, who unclasped his own shotgun from its mag-clamps. Turning away from the controls station with a last glance at the two ships, which had begun to undock upon their approach to the Peacemaker, Marco caught sight of the hangar's exit doors opening, and Spartan in silver-blue armour emerged, rifle at the ready. 
"Morning," Wulf-041 spoke tiredly over their personal TEAMCOM channel. "Iggy woke me, said I was needed down here."
Marco couldn't help but smile; Wulf had always been a heavy sleeper, and if his life wasn't in immediate danger he was the slowest to wake up of any Spartan he'd known. "Get over here and I'll fill you in."
The next four minutes felt as though they stretched out to an hour. Sat atop a supply crate, Marco waited alongside Wulf as the first of the two ships finally inched its way into the Peacemaker's hangar bay. It was unlike any vessel Marco had ever seen, its hull coated with a sleek black layer of stealth ablative coating and the rest of it a patchwork job of custom additions and emergency repair work. It didn't look military, but no civilian starship would ever be outfitted like this, which left only two potential owners in Marco's mind: Insurrectionists, or smugglers.
"Nice piece of work," Wulf remarked, nodding his head in approval.
"You like it?" Marco winced.
"There's an artistry to this sort of thing."
Marco decided not to press the issue. One of the things he'd all but forgotten about Wulf in the six years he'd been missing was the man's fascination with the strange and the disturbing. The craft's landing gear extended, and the strange ship touched down lightly onto the deck. Marco got to his feet, sighting what looked like the entrance to the ship's storage bay. Two members of Fireteam Whiskey, Umar Ashur and Devin Harland, moved up with their rifles at the ready. A boarding ramp slowly slid from the ship's underbelly, striking the deck with a loud thunk, and an airlock door atop it unsealed itself with a loud hiss.
With seven Spartans at the ready, anything that came out of the ship looking for a fight would be dead in moments. After a few tense moments, a man finally appeared at the top of the ramp, both hands held high above their head.
"Keep your hands up!" bellowed Schultz. Marco glanced over and saw his finger inching towards the trigger. "Come down the ramp slowly, and follow our instructions!"
The man did as ordered, taking a cautious step out onto the boarding ramp. He was dressed partly in military gear, with the heavy combat boots and the distinctive chestplate of an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper standing out in particular. Dark circles ringed his eyes - one the dull brown of a prosthetic implant, Marco realised - and his face bore the signs of a longtime soldier. He showed little reaction to the team of Spartans, and as he made his way down the ramp a second person exited the ship behind him. Marco turned his attention towards the second prisoner, and felt his heart skip a beat. 
Amanda.
Stood at the ship's entrance with her hands held high and her face defiant, was Amanda Wade, terrorist, thief, and Marco's younger sister. 
Amanda showed no signs of recognising Marco as her eyes swept over the hangar bay. Instead she followed her comrade down the ramp without issue. A dark bruise stood out on one of her cheeks, and her dark hair looked matted, and was mostly tucked back into the collar of the long coat she wore. With a nod from Schultz, Spartan Harland moved forward and quickly looked over the pair, checking pockets and patting the prisoners down. Neither were a threat to the supersoldiers present, but it paid to be thorough.
"They're clean!" a woman's voice drifted out of the ship's storage bay, drawing the Spartans' attention. "I only uncuffed them a minute ago!"
Next to emerge was a Spartan, who descended the ramp calmly even as Schultz whipped his machine gun back towards her. Recognising the distinctive silver DECIMATOR-class suit, Marco stepped forward, raising a hand to make Schultz stand down. 
"Hey Marco," Violet-B039 swiped a finger across her visor, imitating a smile. "Been a while, hasn't it?"
"It has." Marco nodded. Sigma Team had worked briefly alongside Violet and her partner on a mission earlier in the year, and he'd gotten along fairly well with the younger Spartan. He then turned to Schultz. "Commander, this is Violet-B039."
Schultz lowered the barrel of his weapon by a fraction. "Mikhail Schultz, commander of the Peacemaker's Spartan contingent. We were informed that you would be bringing in dangerous prisoners." 
"We are," said Violet. "But not those two."
"Who are they?" Schultz asked. "They don't look like much."
Violet clicked her tongue. "That's where you'd be wrong. The man's Ash Mitchell, and the woman's Amanda Wade. Orders to bag them came directly from the head of BRUTUS."
BRUTUS. Shit. Marco swallowed. While ONI had many feared divisions and sub-divisions, BRUTUS had a longstanding reputation as a particularly lethal cadre of infiltrators and assassins, many of whom living as deep-cover operatives who slaughtered entire rebel groups when the orders came down. If they wanted to bring Amanda in alive, then a grim fate likely awaited her. The Spartan's head turned to look at Amanda, who had cast her eyes to the ground, and his finger twitched towards the trigger.
"I've heard of Mitchell," growled Schultz, glaring at the now-recuffed Mitchell. "He's a mass-murdering son of a bitch and a disgrace to the uniform."
"His girlfriend's not much better," Violet clicked her tongue again. "Wade there was part of the group that stole a NOVA bomb from Earth a few years back, and has been responsible for a few frontier raids in the past few years."
Schultz gave Amanda a long look. "I see. Who are the other prisoners, then?"
"We're about to see." Violet pointed up towards the ship's cargo bay. "See, my partner and I were only assigned to take in Wade and Mitchell, but by the time we caught up to them a couple of days ago they were trying their hardest to kill off whoever owns this craft. I managed to get aboard and cuff them, but we got sealed in cargo while the owners flew off. Might've spaced us if it hadn't been for my team hitting the ship with an EMP and dragging it off."
"You were stuck in the cargo bay for two days?" Marco glanced from Violet to her prisoners. "Can't have been comfy."
Violet snorted. "It wasn't. Bay had a toilet compartment and I had a few ration bars, so those two weren't hurt. Give them a shower and a change of clothes and they'll be fine."
"What about the injury on Wade's face?" said Marco, a little quicker than he'd intended.
"I knocked her out?" Violet seemed slightly confused. "She's lucky I was being gentle; I could've punched her head off."
"Getting back to the point." Schultz cut in. "Your other prisoners?"
"There's at least two," Violet spoke with some uncertainty. "One's the pilot, since this bird was taking off when I arrived on the scene. The other, according to Mitchell and Wade, is some big bad boogeyman of the underworld. Wade says she's seen him kill a Spartan, and it didn't seem like a lie to me."
"But you've not seen them?"
"No sir."
"Violet," Marco lowered his voice slightly. "Did they give you a name?"
"Uh-huh. Wade said the guy's called-"
A roar of noise suddenly swept across the quiet hangar bay as the little prowler finally came in for its docking run. The sound of its thrusters drowned out the rest of Violet's sentence, and before he could repeat the question over a COM channel Marco caught a glimpse of movement atop the boarding ramp, and raised his shotgun. 
"Come out with your hands up!" Schultz yelled. Aside from Harland, who was watching over Wade and Mitchell, every Spartan had their guns on the bay door. 
After a few seconds a woman in a grey headscarf and flightsuit stepped onto the boarding ramp, her eyes wide and fearful. She shuffled forward, clearly terrified, and nearly stumbled when a heavy boot stepped out of the darkness and onto the ramp behind her with a loud thunk. 
No. Marco put away his shotgun and snatched up his M6D in an instant, training the heavy-duty pistol on the person who had just emerged from the starship. It was a giant of a man, easily as tall as Marco was in full armour. Save for his bald, bearded head, his entire body was covered in dark clothing, and the look he gave the assembled Spartans below was that of undisguised scorn. The man slowly raised his arms, keeping his hands just above his head. While his comrades exchanged looks of confusion at the newcomer's strange appearance, Marco and Wulf knew exactly who this was, and advanced together. 
"Sir," Marco hissed, now standing ahead of Schultz with Wulf at his side. "Permission to open fire."
"Denied!" Schultz said irritably, moving around to get a better angle. "We're taking them all into custody."
It took every ounce of self-restraint for Marco to follow these orders, though he kept his eyes on the man above him. The woman, likely the ship's pilot, was quickly led away from the landing pad and cuffed by Spartan Ashur, giving the SPARTAN-II's a clear line of fire on the newcomer, who smiled.
"Hello Marco, Wulf," Jack-085 said calmly. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Thought you were a dead man," Wulf called up to him. "Then Marco here told me you were still skulking about, traitor."
Marco said nothing. Jack-085, better known to the wider galaxy as 'Magnus', had once been a SPARTAN-II, trained as part of Project SIGMA. In their youth, Marco and Jack had been as close as brothers, overcoming every trial their training threw at them and surviving their agonising augmentation procedures together. It was only then that Jack revealed his true intentions to escape the program, fleeing their facility while he stood by and did nothing. Since then he'd taken up cause with the Insurrection, and had spent more than thirty years murdering and terrorising wherever he went. Last time they met, Jack barely escaped with his life and Marco promised to finish the job. Now he had his chance, and only restraint and adherence to orders were holding him back.
"Who is this?" Schultz moved up between Marco and Wulf, looking at each of the Spartans in turn. "Do you know him?"
"Used to," Wulf said softly.
"Sir," Marco was practically pleading with Schultz at this point. "This man has killed Spartans. He'll try to kill us if we take him in. Please, just give the order and-"
Jack suddenly spoke up, his voice booming across the hangar bay. "As an officer of the United Rebel Front, I formally surrender. Is there an officer present I can discuss terms with?"
Before Marco could interject, Schultz stepped forward to address Jack. "I'm Spartan Commander Schutz. Until Captain Al-Sayed chooses to speak with you, I'm the one you'll be dealing with."
Jack smirked. "A SPARTAN-IV, then? You'll do." He then looked past Schultz. "They don't make them like they did us, do they Marco?"
Marco bit his tongue, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. To his left, Amanda had finally raised her head and was watching the two of them, utterly mortified.
"Present any arms and comply with any instructions," Schultz addressed Jack, stepped back to let him off the ramp. The older Spartans did the same, keeping their weapons trained on him at all times. Their younger brethren followed suit. 
To Marco's surprise, Jack did as asked, and didn't move a muscle as Ashur searched him for weapons before pulling out a pair of microfilament cuffs. Instead, his eyes slowly roved around the room, studying each of the Spartans in turn before setting his gaze on Amanda and Mitchell. 
"Better luck next time!" he called over to them. Amanda spat at him.
With all four prisoners in custody, they would have to be escorted to the ship's brig. Harland and Mack escorted Mitchell, Wade, and the unnamed pilot, while the other Spartans gathered around Jack. Despite being surrounded by armoured supersoldiers and severely outgunned, the treacherous ex-Spartan seemed to show little concern for his situation. As Marco moved to lead Jack away he felt Schultz's hand on his shoulder. He indicated for Wulf to lead the prisoner away, and did not remove his hand until they were almost out of the hangar bay. Then, he removed his helmet. 
"What the hell was that?!" Schultz demanded, glaring fiercely at the SPARTAN-II. With his shaved head and battle-scarred face he was an intimidating figure even out of armour, but it did little to affect Marco, who slowly took his helmet off in turn.
"Sir," Marco spoke calmly, meeting Schultz's best angry-eyed drill instructor stare with his own determined gaze. "The man you just took into custody is named Jack, formerly SPARTAN-085. He is a traitor to the UNSC and a confirmed Spartan-killer. If even half of the rumours about his 'Magnus' pseudonym are true, then he has been responsible for numerous high-profile terror attacks since the war's end, and even without a MJOLNIR suit is a threat to every man and woman aboard this ship. Killing him would put an end to a decades-long rampage."
Schultz was first to blink, and stepped back with a sigh, shaking his head. "If it were up to me I'd have every Spartan who turned traitor shot, and that piece of shit Mitchell too while we're at it, but we've got to do this by the book. They surrender, they get a trial, and things are figured out from there."
"Under normal circumstances, yes." Marco nodded. "But we're a military vessel, Earth itself has been compromised, and there's no guarantee as to what tomorrow might bring. Keeping threats aboard this ship is asking for trouble." 
Marco could see the gears working in Schultz's mind, but he was a man too adherent to the chain of command, even for a Spartan. "I sympathise, Marco, but I can't permit it. I'll speak with the captain on what to do next. Even if he might want them dead, they're technically ONI's prisoners, not ours."
"Keeping Jack alive is a mistake!" Marco felt a flash of anger, but kept it down. "We should dispose of him and keep the others alive."
"No." Schultz's voice rose slightly, and he placed his helmet back on. "They remain alive and in custody for now. Whatever your history is with this traitor, it's emotionally compromising you. You are to remain on S-Deck until called, and that's a direct order."
With that, Schultz turned on his heel and walked out of the hangar bay, leaving Marco alone. He took a deep breath, then exhaled, sucking in the recycled air. Across the bay, the prowler's two occupants had exited and were being greeted by one of the ship's bridge officers. Marco sighted BRUTUS agent Jill Urbach, who alongside Violet had worked with Sigma Team to prevent an attempted coup within ONI at the hands of another traitor Spartan, Derek, and Gustav Klein, a smuggler caught up in that debacle. Apparently BRUTUS had hired the man and not disappeared him. Not feeling up for another reunion, Marco put his own helmet back on and slowly trudged out of the bay. With Jack aboard it wouldn't be long before disaster struck, but orders were orders.
***
The hours ticked by slowly. In that time Marco prowled the half-empty 'Spartan Deck', going through the motions of his daily routine with machine-like efficiency. He shed his armour, downloaded a minor firmware update for his suit's BIOS, disassembled, cleaned and reassembled every weapon in his team's ready room, showered, shaved, ate, and even slept for three hours. While he now lay calmly in his bunk, arms folded behind his head and eyes closed, the Spartan's mind was constantly racing. It had been years since Marco had felt this shaken, and it was starting to eat him up inside. 
Jack's here, aboard this ship. That simple fact was enough to keep Marco on edge, knowing that at any moment his former friend could escape captivity and wreak havoc. Even with the other Spartans and Wulf around, it seemed inevitable that something terrible would happen. Marco needed to be there. He needed to be the one to stop Jack, and put an end to another nightmare from his past. Even so, Jack was only one problem. The other was far less manageable.
Amanda.
Marco had only met his real family a handful of times after his abduction into the SIGMA Project over forty years ago, thanks partly to sheer luck and (he suspected) some string pulling from Elena after the war's end. Aside from his brother Michael, who lived with his family on Earth, Amanda was his sole living relative. In the few times they'd met he had been impressed by her strength of character, and though he'd learned that she had abandoned the UNSC in favour of some distant rebel group he had spared her life, and the life of new now-partner Mitchell, upon encountering them in the field. Protocol would have normally dictated that he shoot both on sight.
Not that I knew she was a terrorist then, he thought bitterly. Amanda's involvement in the NOVA Incident, which had involved the theft of one of the single most destructive devices ever produced by mankind from Earth itself, had been kept secret from the public by ONI, whose propagandists had worked overtime to downplay the UNSC's total humiliation following the daring heist. While the weapon was recovered safely and most of the rebels behind the operation killed soon after, Amanda had slipped through the cracks. Marco had been content to ignore her despite her actions, privately hoping that she vanish quietly from the galaxy. Instead she had fallen into ONI's clutches, and found herself in the pursuit of one of the most dangerous men alive.
Marco exhaled, keeping his eyes shut. I won't save her. This was not a conclusion made out of loyalty and devotion to the UNSC, whose indoctrination had helped forge him into one of their finest soldiers, nor was it a condemnation of his sister, who had undoubtedly participated in acts of terrorism. Instead, it was an acknowledgement of the facts. Her fate, like Jack's, lay in the hands of Captain Al-Sayed. 
The door to Marco's quarters opened. He sat up to see Wulf, carrying his helmet in the crook of his arm as he quietly edged into the darkened room. Upon seeing Marco awake, he froze.
"Wake you?" Wulf asked.
Marco shook his head. "Wasn't sleeping."
"Have you slept?"
"A little."
Wulf grunted approvingly, and set his helmet down on a nearby table. He went to sit down, only to think better of it while wearing half a ton of armour, and leaned against a nearby wall instead. "They're all in the brig," he said. "Jack and Wade and Mitchell. The crew's not too happy about Mitchell being here, so Mack's guarding his cell."
Marco sat up. "I thought they were keeping this quiet?"
"Word gets around." Wulf scratched at his unshaven chin. "Though you never told me about how badly you messed Jack up all those years ago. Guy's a freak of nature now."
"What do you mean?" Marco raised an eyebrow, thinking back to the last proper fight he had with Jack. "We knocked seven shades of shit out of each other, but he escaped."
A puzzled look crossed Wulf's face. "Didn't you see him? Jack's mostly prosthetics now. Hands, legs, hips, and spine. The docs said they'd never seen anything like it before; he's got an entire life support system built into his lower body now."
A pang of unexpected pity flashed through Marco's mind, though he pushed it down. "Thought he just had a prosthetic hand from the last time we fought, though that does explain why he's gained some height. He tell you what happened to him?"
"Didn't say a word." Wulf frowned. "I was expecting trouble the moment he got within reach of a non-Spartan, but he just sat there and did as he was told. Didn't seem to mind being marvelled over like somebody's science project, either."
"That doesn't seem like Jack." Marco got to his feet. "Did you hear anything else? About Wade and Mitchell?"
"Aside from Mitchell's increased security, nothing. Schultz made it clear that they were ONI prisoners, though, so they got treated like they were made of glass." He let out a bitter laugh. "Wouldn't want them broken by the time they get handed over to the real interrogators."
A chill ran down Marco's spine at the thought. Although Wulf and the rest of Sigma were like siblings to him, he had never disclosed Amanda's identity to them. The others knew about his brother, and Kane had even approved of giving him leave to visit his family on Earth a couple of times, but of his estranged insurrectionist sister they knew nothing. Wulf, who had only been back with the team for a few months, was even more in the dark. Years ago, when Sigma Team had numbered nine Spartans, Marco had considered Wulf his closest friend and confidant. Their years apart had forged a gulf between them, and now he hesitated to share this secret with him. 
A chime from the door cut through the air before Marco could say anything. A moment later it slid open, and the familiar armoured form of Commander Schultz stepped through the threshold. Marco and Wulf stood at attention, snapping brief salutes that the younger Spartan waved off. 
"Spartan Marco," Schultz spoke with his usual formality. "Captain Al-Sayed has requested your presence in the brig immediately."
Marco nodded, expecting this. "Problem with the prisoners?"
"You could say that. The big guy - Jack or Magnus or whatever you called him - wants to speak to you and the captain. Says it's important." 
"This sounds like a trick," Marco said, his eyes narrowing. "Is he under guard?"
"We've got four Spartans on rotation." Schultz seemed to have taken Marco's warning to heart. "You won't be in the room with the guy, either."
"Good idea." Marco glanced towards his locker. "Should I suit up?"
Schultz gave a little shrug. "Up to you."
***
Fifteen minutes later Marco was walking towards the first security checkpoint leading to the Peacemaker's brig. Designed to hold everything from disobedient crewmen to captured aliens, it was a sealed environment, away from the rest of the ship. A pair of military police at the checkpoint straightened up at his approach, staring unabashedly at the SPARTAN-II in full MJOLNIR armour. Without it, Marco felt as though he was walking in naked. The checkpoint doors opened automatically. Beyond lay a long hallway that split into two passages metres down. On the wall to the left stood a sign that read 'Cells', and to the right lay one labelled 'Interrogation'. Marco turned right. 
"-absolutely incredible." An excited voice drifted down the corridor as Marco turned the corner.
Just ahead of him stood Captain Al-Sayed, two fully-armed members of Fireteam Barker, one of the Peacemaker's only other Spartan fireteams, and a small man in a labcoat, who was speaking rapidly to Al-Sayed. All turned at Marco's approach, and for a moment he thought he saw the captain breath a sigh of relief. 
"Spartan Marco." Al-Sayed smiled, sounding tired. "So nice of you to join us. Doctor Moritz was just telling me about our new guest's enhancements."
Moritz, a short, bald, middle-aged man, nodded emphatically. "It's more than that, Captain. This man has an armoured life support system built in and around his enhanced body! There are surgeons and roboticists that would kill to examine it in detail!"
"You among them, I would imagine." Al-Sayed's tone indicated that he had been hearing about Jack's prosthetics for a good while now. "Depending on how our meeting turns out, you might just get your wish, Doctor. Dismissed."
As Al-Sayed turned his attention back to Marco, Moritz opened his mouth again, only to stop, exhale, and walk away dejectedly. Mildly amused, Marco approached Al-Sayed, who motioned towards a nearby door. 
"Is he in there, sir?" Marco asked.
"He is. Your man's not said a word since he arrived, but we've got him in a cell built to hold an angry Brute."
"Did Commander Schultz give you my recommendation?"
"Yes," Al-Sayed said grimly. "While the current circumstances give me every right to execute a wanted terrorist, there's a chance that he may be useful to us."
"If he's not lying."
"We'll see."
Al-Sayed placed his hand on a nearby reader, and the door to the interrogation chamber slowly opened. The room beyond was split into two segments, divided neatly in half by a sheet of thick translucent glass, behind which a hazy figure could be seen. A pair of chairs had been left by control panel and some speakers, though one glance at the nearest one made Marco decide to stand. Al-Sayed sat down, and as the door closed behind them he tapped a command into the panel. The glass swiftly grew more transparent, revealing the other half of the room and its sole other occupant, who looked up at Marco and smiled.
 
To Marco's right, Al-Sayed pressed another button, activating their microphone. "Can you hear me?" he asked.
On the other side of the glass, dressed in the orange garb of a prisoner, sat Jack-085. Now out of his protective gear and dressed in a short-sleeved t-shirt, Marco was beginning to see the full extent of his cybernetic prosthetics. In place of flesh-and-blood hands he had a pair of sleek black metal ones of superb design. While most prosthetics - both civilian and military - were made for functionality and worked reasonably well after attuning to the host's nervous system, Jack's had clearly been build for his enhanced frame. Suddenly the reinforced glass did not seem so protective any more.
"I can hear you," Jack replied, nodding his head. The chair he had been placed in had been built for alien prisoners, and as such was more than enough to support the massive frame of an ex-Spartan. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
"Let's." Al-Sayed folded his hands together. "I am Captain Omar Al-Sayed, commanding officer of the UNSC Peacemaker. With me is Chief Petty Officer Spartan Marco-035. Am I to understand that your name is Jack? Or would you prefer Magnus?"
It took the man sat across from them a few moments to decide. "Jack," he said, speaking as though he had never said the word before. "I'll be Jack."
"Okay Jack," the captain leaned back slightly. "Now I'll be blunt: Spartan Marco here has advised that you be killed as soon as possible, believing that you are too dangerous to be left alive. My other prisoners, if they are to believed, claim that you have masterminded numerous terrorist plots in the past few years, including the slaughter of civilians and UNSC personnel. One of my Spartans even claims to have been aboard a merchant vessel you raided a few years back, just prior to his enlistment. Given how we are once again at war, this time with what I can only describe as an existential threat to humanity, I could have you executed today. Give me one good reason why I should not do that."
Even Marco was impressed by the fire in Al-Sayed's words. He was not a particularly flashy captain, rarely even raising his voice unless necessary, but the Spartan could already see how the past few days had worn away at his patience. Earth had fallen, and humanity was facing its greatest threat since the Covenant, and yet here he was in a remote part of space conversing with a terrorist. 
Jack, who had been nodding along contently to the long list of accusations being thrown at him, leaned forward. "Guilty as charged for everything, Captain, but you've given the reason for keeping me alive yourself."
Al-Sayed raised an eyebrow. "That being?"
"We're at war." Jack's voice grew less playful, and more serious. "Even while trapped aboard my ship I heard what was happening out there. Every major colony world has been invaded, the UNSC is on the run, and the COM channels are being filled with demands to surrender. Seems pretty unwinnable, doesn't it?"
"You've still not answered my question."
"Captain, I have spent the past thirty-three years fighting an unwinnable war. In that time I have made contacts, built networks, and devised plan after plan for when everything falls to pieces. I did all of this off the grid, without AI support, and most importantly, I was very, very good at it. If you and your crew want to do more than just survive, you'll need me to help you."
Marco folded his arms, amused, but Al-Sayed took a moment to react. He kept his gaze fixed on the mass-murdering cyborg sitting just a few feet away, and after a few seconds, sighed. 
"How?" asked the Captain.
"I'm a Colonel in the URF. I'll give you access to our network, our resources, and most importantly, a safe base of operations."
"And will the rest of the URF's leadership agree on this? Last I heard, the group was fractured by infighting and ceding plenty of ground to the likes of the New Colonial Alliance."
Jack shook his head at the mention of the NCA. "They're inefficient," he said irritably. "Besides, you don't need the leadership to agree on cooperation. I'll kill them and the rest will fall in line."
Were it anyone else even Marco might have been surprised by the casualness of such a claim, but he could tell that Jack was being completely serious. Worse, Al-Sayed was giving him a chance. He's desperate already. Seeking allies with anyone who might fight the Created.
"Let's say this works." Al-Sayed shifted slightly in his seat, resuming his businesslike tone. "What do you gain from all this?"
"My life." Jack's reply was instant. "Nothing more."
"Not your liberty?"
Jack let out an amused huff. "Would you let me go, captain? I'm too big a catch to let loose, and I know it. Give me a chance and I'll hand you the URF, their command ship, the Hydra, and take out their top leaders. Then, I'll give you a planet that's not on any UEG maps. That means no Created interference, and plenty of time to plan your next move. Do we have a deal?"
As Jack leaned back in his chair, arms open wide in a friendly gesture, Marco looked again to Captain Al-Sayed. While he had remained quiet so far, having deferred to a superior officer's authority in dealing with a prisoner, there were some part of him that simply could not allow compromise with someone like Jack. While the traitor Spartan hadn't lost his silver tongue as he had with most of his body, even a deal like this couldn't excuse decades of terror and violence. He only hoped that Al-Sayed saw things his way.
"That's a tempting offer," Al-Sayed said politely, leaning forward with his fingers clasped together over his chest. "If any of it is true. Can I ask you some questions?"
"Of course." Jack spoke eagerly, with a glance towards Marco. "Anything you'd like."
Al-Sayed took a deep breath. "Very well. Is it true that you were a Spartan, then?"
"Yes."
"And that you defected at some point during the war?"
"No." Jack's playful smile had returned. "I escaped from our training facility shortly after receiving my augmentations. You see, as children-"
"Stop." Marco's voice was low and dry, stopped Jack in his tracks as he turned his head towards Al-Sayed. "Captain, information pertaining to the SPARTAN-II Program is highly classified. Without proper clearance, I'm afraid that you must-"
"Stop listening?" Al-Sayed cut him off. "Spartan Marco, I think we're far beyond the time for secrets and clearance codes. I've heard the rumours already, and would now like to hear facts. If that is not to your liking, I could have you returned to your quarters until I finish my conversation with our prisoner."
Marco considered repeating the line about classified information and the consequences, but thought better of it. Damn ONI programming, he grimaced. Got me spouting their line without a second thought. "My apologies, captain. Please continue."
"As I was saying," Jack sighed. "As children we were kidnapped by the UNSC and trained to be their magic bullet against the Insurrection. Carrying rifles at six, live-fire drills at eight, assault courses meant for special forces personnel by ten, and so on. Then, at fourteen, we went through a biological augmentation process that killed almost half of us. That's when I ran. Marco stayed."
Al-Sayed's face remained a mask of serenity, betraying not one emotion as Jack spoke. "So you joined the URF?" he asked calmly.
"Of course. We learned about the Covenant later, naturally, but by that point I was a wanted man and ONI would rather put a bullet in me than risk me spilling their secrets. I, on the other hand, wanted revenge."
"On the UNSC?"
"Yes." Jack swallowed, his voice shaking slightly with the first genuine display of anger Marco had seen from him. This was real. "Against the UNSC, against ONI, against the bastards who raised us and trained us, and against my so-called brothers and sisters who thought they'd live as slaves to the system. I fought the Covenant here and there, but my goals have always remained the same."
"Right." Al-Sayed pointed towards Jack's robotic hands, and to the marvel of prosthetic engineering that was his lower body and legs. "And your prosthetics? Were you injured?"
Jack nodded. "Nearly eight years ago now. Marco was there too."
Marco remained silent.
"Did he do this to you?" Al-Sayed kept his eyes on Jack. 
"No. There was an accident. I nearly died, and the Omega Group - that's the URF's scientific core - saved me. Built me a new body, gave me my ship, a new name, and kept me mostly under wraps until the war ended. That's when I resumed my mission. Everything since then has been done on their orders."
"The scientists?" Al-Sayed raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you a Colonel?"
"Officially, yes, but the URF as you know it isn't run by politicians or military officials any more. It's the Omega Group who dictates strategy, and for the past eight years they've done everything they can to discredit the UEG's peacekeeping efforts, disrupt the rebuilding colonies, and sow the seeds for a new colonial independence movement. They wanted chaos; something the UNSC couldn't stand a chance of controlling."
"And you were their agent."
Jack grinned. "Yes I was. As Magnus, I hijacked transports, planted explosives in military bases, coerced or convinced UNSC personnel to turn traitor, and even orchestrated the theft of a NOVA bomb, though that didn't turn out as expected. Still, after years of lighting fires, I've started to get tired of it all."
Another long silence reigned over the tiny interrogation room as Al-Sayed took it all in. Eventually, he slowly rose from his chair, and folded both hands behind his back. Marco glanced from him to Jack, just as curious as the prisoner. 
"You really are something, aren't you?" Al-Sayed spoke at last. "There are some who'd brand me an insurrectionist sympathiser for saying this, but there are times when I understand where some rebel groups are coming from. They feel wronged, or misrepresented, or just plain abandoned. Given what you went through - assuming you were telling the truth - I can get why you would feel a sense of kinship with them, but don't think for a moment that it justifies your actions. You chose revenge, but through the bloodiest path possible, dragging thousands of innocents down with you. For you, there won't be a day where you wake up to a new galaxy, content that justice had been served. You'll burn yourself and everything around you to ashes before that, because that's what you are, Jack."
During Al-Sayed's speech, in which the tired captain's tone had grown louder and fiercer with each passing word, Jack had been working hard to contain himself. His pale cheeks had become flushed with suppressed anger, and the corner of his mouth had twitched a few times. Marco had readied himself for action, prepared to spring forward for the inevitable moment where Jack tried to punch his way through the glass separating them. However, that moment never came. Jack exhaled slowly, and addressed Al-Sayed in a cold, quiet voice.
"So, do we have a deal?"
Al-Sayed nodded slowly, and Marco's heart sank. "We'll help you take out the URF's command ship and spare your life, and in exchange you give us everything you promised. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Good."
As he turned towards the door and Marco got to his feet, Al-Sayed pointed to him. "But if you're lying to us - if I even start to think that you're trying to escape or planning your betrayal, then Spartan Marco here has my full permission to execute you on the spot. You two seem to hate each other enough, so it's only fair that I leave that duty to him."
"Thank you sir," Marco saluted Al-Sayed, and stood aside as the door to the interrogation room slid open to allow him out. "Always happy to kill a traitor."
"Traitor?" Jack called from behind the glass. Al-Sayed had forgotten to turn the glass opaque or switch off their speakers. "That's rich coming from you, Marco. I almost feel sorry for the other Spartans, but you're the worst of them all."
"Is that so?" Marco turned, his face set in a stony glare. "I made the most of the life forced upon us. You ran, and made yourself into a monster."
Now it was Jack's turn to stand. With the height his prosthetics added to his already-impressive stature, he was about as tall as Marco in full MJOLNIR armour. "We made a promise once, remember?" he hissed. "The three of us. That we'd stick together even through all of Roe's bullshit, through the worst days of training, and even our procedures, knowing the dangers. Then you decided you'd play toy soldier for the UNSC instead!"
Marco blinked, trying to think back some thirty years, to the bad old days of his training on Earth in the SIGMA program. Of the nineteen other trainees, selected from those not picked for the SPARTAN-II Program on Reach, he'd always been closest to two others: Jack and Elena. Together the trio had overcome every trial thrown at them, proving themselves so effective as a team that they were often split up to improve their individual effectiveness. Though his memories were hazy, Marco could vaguely recall some promise being made, though a few words spoken as children weren't particularly important to him. It seemed that Jack disagreed. 
"I made my choice," Marco worked hard to keep his voice level. "You made yours, and that's the end of it."
"They killed her." Jack's words dripped with pure hatred as he whispered through the glass. "They killed her and you chose them over me, traitor."
After thirty-three years, everything suddenly made sense to Marco. To his own surprise, he found himself looking upon the man before him not with disgust and scorn, but with pity. While he had always attributed Jack's hatred of him to simply not fleeing the UNSC's clutches when he had the chance, Marco had never thought beyond that. Elena. Of course it was Elena. Marco suddenly felt so very stupid. In their darkest days, she had kept their little group together, tempering the worst of their personalities just as they had for her. He'd loved her. Jack had too. Then their augmentations happened, and Marco and ten others had been told a lie that had lasted close to twenty-seven years.
Marco slowly moved his hands to his head and removed his helmet, baring his battle-scarred face to his mortal enemy. "She's not dead, Jack." His words were softer than expected. "Roe lied to us, wanted to 'encourage' our team. Nobody in SIGMA died during augmentation. Not one."
Jack's mouth fell open. "No..." was all he could say.
"Elena's alive." Marco's voice grew more confident. "She's alive, and still serving as a Spartan. If you don't make me kill you then perhaps you'll meet her again some day."
With that, Marco reached over, shut off the speaker, and tapped the nearby console. As the glass frosted over, he saw Jack quietly slumping back into his chair. his shoulders sagging. In just a few moments, Marco had inflicted a greater wound on the man than any physical injury he had received in his long career of violence. As he exited the chamber, Marco felt no satisfaction, only a renewed sense of purpose. Killing Jack was no longer his goal. He'd keep him alive through this war as long as he could, if only to see him realise the utter futility of it all.
===Fugitives===
In the days since his escape from the Midnight Facility, Derek-142 had come to several conclusions. 
First, he realised that the Created's sudden attack on the galaxy was not as all-encompassing as he had feared. Derek had initially directed his stolen prowler towards Terceira, a colony world known for its volatile weather and politics. While he had expected to see another Guardian in the planet's orbit, looming over the helpless populace, he was greeted by nothing but a mess of confused COM chatter as the world reeled from the mere threat of invasion. Derek's stop there, seeking a long-forgotten supply cache that turned out to have been recently emptied, left him with his second conclusion before he departed: ONI was finally cleaning up after his power play.
Back when he commanded the Red Cell unit, Derek had possessed a vast database of ONI-run facilities, safehouses and armouries, many of which lay hidden quietly on colony worlds across the frontier. In an attempt at far-reaching preparedness, the organisation had left caches of equipment for its agents to help quell potential uprisings, both before and after the Human-Covenant War. Most had gone unused and had been easy pickings for Derek's rogue group over the years, but now it seemed that they were finally clearing them out to prevent their further misuse. This was a setback, but not a major one as Andesia was next on his list. Besides, Derek had already encountered a much bigger problem, and had come to yet another grim conclusion.
He'd lost his edge.
While physically superior to any normal person, Derek's near-superhuman talents had long been backed up by the finest military training in history. However, decades away from the frontline, away from the battlefield, had left him softer than he liked. Even in Red Cell's final hours, after donning an experimental MJOLNIR suit to fight off his former SIGMA comrades, he'd been soundly beaten in combat by his fellow Spartans. His finely attuned combat instincts and senses, while good enough to get him out of his cell block back on Midnight, hadn't been enough to locate another person hiding aboard his ship.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" a voice called from up the slope behind Derek. He sighed, and turned around.
"Of course it is!" Derek yelled back. "Bunkers don't just up and move, so get down here!"
Derek stood in the damp grass, shaded from the sun by the leafy canopy of the forest around him, and watched as a tall, well-built man half-walked, half-slid his way down the muddy slope towards him. Like Derek, he was dressed in the grey jumpsuit of a Midnight Facility inmate, and came close to tripping as he reached the bottom. The man ran a hand over his bald head, and looked up at the Spartan, annoyed. 
"Y'know," he began, panting slightly. "Instead of trekking all the way out here, why don't we try a city for once? They're not going to notice two guys in a crowd of thousands." 
The man's name was Isaac Kenner, and he was about the furthest thing from the kind of soldier Derek needed. A few hours after his flight from Midnight, Derek had caught a strange sound coming from the cargo compartment of his stolen prowler, and upon investigation had found his fellow prisoner trying to pry open an arms locker. Kenner had thrown himself to Derek's mercy immediately, begging for his life in the face of the Spartan's stolen handgun. A year ago he might have pulled the trigger and rid himself of an annoyance, but Derek could not afford to waste a potential ally at this juncture. Kenner had been forthcoming about his incarceration as a war profiteer following some frontier conflict - a minor infraction compared to some inmates - and explained that he had hidden himself among the dead in Midnight's hangar bay before sneaking aboard Derek's stolen prowler at the last possible second. Between the pleading and promises of loyalty, Derek had gleaned two things: One, that Kenner would do anything to keep himself alive, and two, that he was a superb liar. Still, he was all he had.
Derek glanced back to Kenner. "We're both wanted men, Isaac. One step inside a city and we'll inevitably get tagged by a camera, and that's that. I'm not interested in firefights with cops when the galaxy's under siege."
Kenner grunted in annoyance and adjusted the straps on his rucksack. "Just saying, you're not going to make much of a difference with a bunker full of outdated tech. You need ships and men to fight wars."
"All in good time," Derek said calmly, advancing further into the forest. "Today's just he first step."
With Derek taking point, the pair continued on without a word for some time, stopping only to sip water from their flasks or for Derek to check the tacpad mounted to his wrist. Derek had input a set of coordinates on the device from memory, and if correct they would reach their destination in less than half an hour. A year ago he could have consulted his OVERSIGHT database at a moment's notice, but with it now destroyed or safely stored away all he had were mental notes to guide him. The cache on Andesia was not a high-priority one, Derek recalled, but it would suit his purposes well. 
And then?
Though he was no stranger to operating against a vastly superior foe with inferior equipment, the Created were a foe that Derek had yet to fully understand. Merope had given him some idea of the scope of their power, and he had seen their Guardians first-hand, but Forerunner technology was not his forte. Even so, Derek had a few ideas already formulating in his head about how to combat the enemy, though he would need bodies and firepower to put them to the test. 
"You know," Kenner spoke as Derek slowed his pace. "I have a place here on Andesia."
"You said."
Kenner scowled. "Did I tell you that it's not in one of the cities? I bought the place from some tycoon a few years back, out in the mountains. Once we get airborne we could head there, get the lay of the land?"
Derek's head turned. "And when were you there last?"
"About a month ago, right before ONI..." the man's face darkened. "Let me guess, that'll get us caught too?"
"Not what I was saying. If it's safe and out of the way, it might work for the time being. I just wanted to make sure we don't have to evict anyone when we get there."
"Doubt it." Kenner flashed a toothy smile. "Most big shots on Andesia like their big city offices. I preferred seclusion. That way you could hear trouble coming a mile away."
"Like the ONI acquisition team that picked you up?"
"Hey," Kenner held both his hands up. "I meant I could hear the cops coming, not your Spartan black-ops buddies that nabbed me."
Derek's eyes narrowed. "I never said I was a Spartan."
"Oh please," Kenner snorted. "And I'm not blind, big guy. Haven't even asked what they locked you up for, either."
"And that's my-" Derek began, only to stop mid-sentence. In a single motion he snatched up the rifle hanging from his backpack. Kenner ducked immediately as the Spartan dropped to a crouch, scanning the treeline. 
"What is it?" Kenner whispered, eyes wide and fearful. 
"Quiet. Heard something." Derek hissed back. 
It was faint, but the Spartan could have sworn that he'd heard a voice; nothing more than a distant murmur, but an irregularity against the background noise of the forest. Moving carefully, he motioned for Kenner to stay put and inched towards the nearest tree, putting a metre of solid wood between him and the source. A quick glance at his tacmap put the ONI bunker in that direction too. Derek thumbed the safety off his rifle, and gradually moved around the tree, eyes and ears alert for any movement or sound. He slowed his breathing, recalling lessons from decades past, and prepared his body for combat. 
"Freeze!"
"Don't move!"
"Drop the gun!"
A chorus of male voices erupted from the trees all around Derek so quickly that the Spartan had no idea where to turn. His eyes roved across the treeline to his right until he saw the tiniest glint of light - a rifle scope - though more barked orders from his left and rear told him that any sudden movement would be a bad idea. He exhaled slowly, and let the rifle fall from his fingers into the dirt. Derek turned slowly, hearing rustling and heavy footsteps as his ambushers advanced quickly towards him and Kenner, who had both hands raised firmly into the air. 
"Stay where you are!" commanded a fourth voice, deeper and more gravelly than the others. "No sudden movements!"
The men who approached were well-armed and lightly armoured, dressed in plain olive-green fatigues and carrying BR85 rifles. A lack of identifying marks on their clothing made it clear that these weren't your average cops or military, which meant they were either mercenaries or ONI. One, Derek could deal with. The other would be very problematic. The men advanced cautiously forming a wide semi-circle around the pair of fugitives, Two kept their guns pointed straight at Derek and the other quickly kicked Kenner face-down into the dirt, having quickly marked the more dangerous of the pair, though none of them spoke or made a move until a fourth man emerged from the undergrowth, carrying a bulky M379 machine gun. 
"Well well," the man looked from the cowering Kenner to the straight-backed Derek. "What do we have here?"
This was clearly the group's leader. Older than his fellows three by a few decades at least, he bore all the signs of a seasoned soldier, sporting a white beard that did little to cover the old battle scars criss-crossing his face. His left arm was a sleek black prosthetic of military make, and if Derek wasn't mistaken by the way he stood, so was one of his legs. In short, this was not someone they could mess around with.
"We're not a threat," said the Spartan, addressing the older man directly. "We've been sent to look into a nearby facility that I'm guessing your team has already found, though I'm not sure if you've been told already."
The older man raised an eyebrow. "Sent by someone, were you? Is that why you're both in prison jumpsuits?"
Derek's eyes narrowed. He still had a handgun belted at his hip, though at this range he doubted he could outdraw and outshoot four well-armed men, even with his Spartan speed and reflexes. "That's right," he said confidently. 
"Uh-huh. So when we saw your ship touch down an hour ago - those ONI stealth systems don't work when you just look up, by the way - and you didn't even try pinging local COM frequencies, was that all part of your plan?" 
"Something like that." Derek matched the man's gaze, realising for the first time that one of his eyes was also a prosthesis. "You do know what's happening out there, right? That we're being invaded?"
The man nodded. "Heard the broadcast from that mad AI like everyone else, but by that point we were already en-route to Andesia. Heard folks reporting death machines in the skies, but so far we've seen nothing."
He's in the dark, and he doesn't like it. Not sure what to believe, either. Probably hasn't had a word from his superiors in a couple of days.
"I have seen them," said Derek. "Which is why we're out here to stock up on supplies and fight back. If you're here to do the same then I suggest we team up."
For a moment Derek was sure that his captor would relent, but the older man's scarred face twisted into an annoyed grimace. "There's something you're not telling me. You or your silent partner over there."
The man nudged Kenner with the tip of his boot, and the man raised his dirt-smeared face to look up. He'd been completely silent since the ambush, and seemed content to see Derek do the talking. The Spartan guessed that if things went south he'd begin pleading, but they hadn't quite reached that point yet. Kenner blinked several times at the bearded old man standing above him before his bewildered face split into a grin. 
"Asad?" he asked.
The old man looked down in disbelief, and the barrel of his gun lowered by a fraction. "Isaac Kenner, you slippery son of a bitch. I heard you were dead."
Kenner straightened up, slowly getting to his feet. "Not dead," he explained. "Disappeared."
"All the shit finally caught up with you, then?" Asad looked him up and down. "So what, you and muscles there break out of prison?"
"Something like that." Kenner folded his arms confidently across his chest. "Christ, if I knew you were out here I'd have called. Derek's a Spartan, you see, and he's got some grand plan for taking the fight to the Created."
Asad and his men looked back towards Derek at once, and the atmosphere changed immediately. Derek could almost sense their self-doubt as their minds weighed up the tales of Spartan combat prowess against the rifles in their hands, and chose to keep very still. 
"Thought that might be a Spartan," Asad said, looking Derek up and down. "Well whatever the case, I'm not about to run to ONI telling tales. My boys have been out here for a couple of days out trying to crack open a bunker, and if you're here to help, then help."
"Oh we will," Kenner nodded emphatically. "Though I didn't think you did jobs for ONI any more, Asad."
Asad shrugged, lowering his weapon. His comrades did the same. "They pulled me out of retirement about a year and a half ago to run an op on Madrigal, then called me out earlier this year to clear out some old supply caches they'd missed from years back. Not bad pay for the work."
Derek had to suppress a smile. So this is the guy they brought in to clean up after me. Perhaps ONI had learned from Derek and Red Cell after all. Having gotten a better look at Asad, he suddenly found some of the man's features to be similar. Perhaps they had met before, but he couldn't quite place it.
"You a mercenary?" asked Derek.
Asad took a moment to think it over. "Something like that. Ran a group called Lion's Claw for years. ONI's always paid well and on time, so I guess this is something to keep me busy in my old age. Most of these boys are contractors, too."
Recognition suddenly dawned in Derek's mind. Lion's Claw. Of course. Decades ago, back when Red Cell had been a legitimate part of ONI, he'd briefly worked alongside the group as one of their counterinsurgency 'dry runs' on Reach. While Derek hadn't led the operation, he could vaguely recall Asad leading the mercenary group they'd hired as OpFor for their training run. They had a good reputation not only for private security operations, but for their actions against the Covenant. 
"Worked with you before," Derek said quietly. Asad's face scrunched up as he tried to recognise the Spartan "Back on Reach in '29."
Asad drummed his fingers along the side of his weapon. "I remember. Training Op against some Army unit, right?"
"That's right."
"That was a good couple of days," Asad smiled. "Can't say I recall you, but I've forgotten plenty in my time. You're all right."
"Should we get moving?" asked Kenner suddenly. The businessman voice had lost all trace of itsearlier terror. "The sooner we get into that bunker, the sooner we can figure out what to do next."
Asad waved for his subordinates to move out. "Let's go!" he called, and indicated for Derek and Kenner to follow the group. As Derek stooped to pick up his rifle, he saw the man standing over him.
"Problem?" asked Derek.
"I hope not." Asad was still holding his machine gun, and spoke in a quiet, serious voice. "Now I know Isaac Kenner as a businessman, and the man lies as easily as he breathes. That said, I hope that he's telling the truth and that you are too, because it looks like there's some serious shit going on in the colonies the likes of which we've not seen since the war."
"I am." Derek rose slowly, towering above Asad. "And I do have a plan."
"I sure as hell hope so." The old man extended his hand. "Name's Abd-al-Qadir ibn Asad. Call me Asad."
The Spartan shook it, matching Asad's strong grip. "Derek-142. Just call me Derek."
***
The camp was not far away. Derek emerged from the trees alongside Asad into a wide clearing that sloped down into a grassy valley. Three military-issue tents had been set up side-by-side next to a pair of rugged flatbed trucks. Eyeing the tracks cut into the ground by both vehicles, Derek guessed that the bunker was somewhere in the nearby valley. 
"Home sweet home," Asad said cheerily, waving towards the tents. "Normally we just find these places, swipe the access code into the door and haul everything into our trucks, but this bunker's a problem."
"How so?" asked Derek. 
"Code's not working, which either means that our intel was wrong or it's been changed. Normally we'd just cut or blast our way inside, but I don't want to risk a cave-in."
Derek nodded. "So what's the plan?"
Asad pointed to a large crate packed onto the back of one of his trucks. "Until you arrived we were going to drill through. Rock's not tough here, and it shouldn't be a danger structurally. Still, it's a few days of work at least if we're being careful."
"I see." Derek eyed another pile of crates by the tents. "So how did you get here, anyway? I doubt you all drove out here."
The old man snorted. "It's a solid week's drive to civilisation, so no. We docked our cargo hauler in an orbital station and came down to New Whitehorse in an Albatross before heading out here."
"An Albatross?" Derek hadn't detected the heavy-lift dropship on their way down. "Surprised you found room to land out here."
"Landing a dropship's not hard if you know where to look." Asad smirked. "Better than landing your stealth ship miles away and having to trek half the day to get here. That's one thing I don't miss about the war."
Asad led Derek and Kenner into camp, and wanting to waste no time had his entire team pile into their trucks. Derek eased himself into the passenger seat of one while Asad took the driver's wheel. The vehicle soon thrummed to life as he hit the ignition, revving the engine twice before peeling out of the tiny camp. 
"How far's the bunker?!" Derek called over the din of the engine, hanging onto the vehicle's skeletal frame as they trundled downhill into the valley.
"Just down there!" Asad pointed straight ahead, to where the valley grew narrower and more rocky. "There's a cave further on!"
Naturally, ONI would want to make their supply caches as hard to find as possible. Derek wondered how long it took the organisation to carve these hideaways into quiet corners of the colony worlds they were supposed to protect, leaving almost no trace of their actions save for hidden doorways that led into fully-powered supply caches and liveable bunker complexes. Some had no doubt found use during the Human-Covenant War, but on a world like Andesia, which posed no threat to the UEG save for its well-known crime syndicates, it could have gone undiscovered forever. Or until ONI realised that I might have used it, at least.
The trucks slowly came to a halt at the end of the valley, kicking up dirt and stones. Derek was first to dismount, and began making his way towards the cave despite some dangerous looks from Asad's men. He doubted that any of them would move to stop him without their leader's permission, but the fact that they were all still armed kept him on edge. A string of tiny lights had been placed along the wall leading in, lighting up at his approach. 
Asad soon caught up, frowning. "Not one for briefings, are you?" he said, annoyed.
"Not when I'm the one giving them." Derek slowed his pace while Asad kept one hand on the cave wall. The Spartan's superior eyesight made navigation easy, and even with the dim glow of the lights left here he could see in the dark cave as easily as he could in the midday sunlight outside after a moment's adjustment. 
"In that case, I'll give you a quick rundown: my men need to catalogue everything and load it up on the trucks before you start picking and choosing. Orders were to bring it back to an ONI facility over Mars for inspection before we get paid. If getting paid is still an option."
"I don't think your men would like that," Derek murmured, glancing back at the armed group still milling about the cave entrance with Kenner. "How loyal are these contractors, anyway?"
Asad gave him a knowing look, and scratched at his beard. "They're ex-military, if that counts for something. Haven't heard anyone talking about taking up the offer of our new AI overlords, but it's early days yet. They're solid for the time being."
"Good to hear." 
Derek tried not to sound so relieved. He was still mentally calculating his draw and firing speed, and if things went south he wanted to be prepared. Still following the lights, the pair walked side-by-side down the rocky slope until it curved off to the right. Rounding the corner, Derek was surprised to see a solid wall of grey concrete blocking the way. At the centre of the wall sat a large round security door. No wonder his team didn't want to try drilling in, Derek observed. This one's built like a bank vault.
"Not exactly subtle, is it?" Asad looked up at the Spartan. "So, want to give it a try?"
Asad pointed towards a tiny control panel set into the wall beside the vault door, complete with a dust-covered keypad and card reader. A faint light shone from its screen, indicating that it was connected to a power source. Derek approached the panel, then turned back to the mercenary. 
"Asad, you said you tried to open this with an access code earlier, right?"
"That's right." Asad fished into a pouch on his belt, pulled out a small card, and waved it in the air. "This thing was supposed to have all the codes already on it."
Typical ONI. Derek shook his head. "Looks like your contact didn't bother to check how old some of these bunkers were. The card reader on this thing's practically an antique - we're talking tech from the CMA days. ONI's latest gizmos don't always play nice with it."
"And will it play nice with you?"
Derek closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the list of access codes he'd committed to memory long ago. While his combat skills had deteriorated over the years, the Spartan's memory was as perfect together, and as the numeric string flashed across his mind Derek's hand moved over the keypad, tapping key after key. He then hit the 'enter' key and took a step back, hearing a series of clicks from somewhere behind the thick vault door. 
"Voila," Derek muttered, earning an approving nod from Asad as the door slowly slid backwards, filling the confined space with the sound of grinding metal and concrete. Eventually it swung backwards, leaving the entrance to the bunker fully open.
Asad approached the entranceway, and let out a low whistle as he touched the sides of the passage. "That's got to be a solid metre of reinforced concrete," he said, clearly impressed. "Makes you wonder what they hid back here."
"Nothing too spectacular." Derek stepped across the threshold first, kicking up dust with each step into the bunker. "Otherwise I would've cleared this place out years ago."
Derek realised his mistake immediately; while he was sure that Asad wasn't buying his 'secret mission' story, he'd been careful not to spill too many details of his past so far. The old man said nothing in response to this, seemingly focused more on exploring the old bunker than asking questions. Moving forward, they descended a flight of stairs and passed through a set of double doors. Beyond lay a high-ceilinged room, lined with shelves and crates untouched for decades. Rows of lights flickered on at their approach, illuminating the abandoned chamber. At the other end of the room sat an empty cargo lift, which caught Asad's attention as they drew close.
"Looks like this thing goes up." Asad said, tracing an invisible path with his finger up towards the darkened ceiling. Above them, barely visible in the darkness, was a sealed security door, marked with faded yellow and black paint.
Derek clicked his tongue. "There must be another entrance in the cliffs above. Makes sense, considering the size of the cave and the amount they packed in here."
"It'll make transport easier, that's for damn sure." Asad wiped some dust off the elevator control panel, and tapped a button marked 'door'. A horrible grinding noise sounded from the ceiling as the elevator shaft gradually unsealed itself in a shower of dirt and dust. Somewhere high above, a small square of sunlight became visible. 
Leaving Asad at the lift, Derek began examining the contents of the warehouse. Most of the crates were military-issue and clearly marked. The first he came across carried a shipment of M392 rifles, and the second a thousand round of ammunition. Other boxes carried vaccum-sealed food packages that would likely last another century, and packs of body armour and storage pouches. In short, it was equipment for a small army. Derek turned to find Asad standing behind him, arms folded across his chest.
"Like what you see," he asked. "Good enough to take the fight to these 'Created'?"
Not nearly enough, Derek thought, but he nodded all the same. "It's a start. You know what I said about CMA tech not playing nice with newer stuff?"
"What about it?"
"If I'm right, then the old equipment here might be useful for getting around enemy surveillance. We're facing off against advanced AI here, so going back to basics might serve us well for ground-level engagements."
"Uh-huh," Asad grunted, looking at the stacks of crates all around them. "So it's really that bad out there in the colonies? When we first got that message about the Created I thought it was a prank, but when the COM networks went down and the local news channels started issuing warnings about AI I knew this was something else."
"You've not seen the worst of it yet." Derek exhaled slowly. "They've already hit Earth and a lot of other colonies, using Forerunner constructs to wipe out entire defence networks."
Asad's eyes went wide. "Forerunner? I've seen some of their tech on the black market and heard rumours about the crazy things they've found out there, but this sounds bad. What's the UNSC doing about it?"
Derek shrugged. "Who knows? There might not be a UNSC left any more. Same goes for ONI."
"So there goes my paycheck." Asad smiled grimly. "So cut the bullshit - what's the deal with you and Isaac? Lucky prison break while all this was going down?"
Seeing no sense in lying to the old mercenary, Derek nodded. "The Created attacked Midnight Facility a few days ago. Right before it all went down my personal AI managed to create a distraction, and I escaped. Kenner was just a stowaway who crawled aboard my ship before takeoff."
"Sounds like him." Sighing, Asad looked Derek up and down before continuing. "So last question - what does a Spartan have to do to end up in Midnight? I've heard the horror stories about that place."
Derek swallowed, wondering how much he could reveal and whether or not Asad would see through his lies. Unlike Kenner, whose usefulness so far had been his relation to the mercenary and offer of a safe haven on Andesia, Asad was exactly the sort of ally he needed. 
"Misappropriating military resources, conducting unsanctioned operations, and insubordination." Derek raised a finger on his left hand for each accusation. "ONI aren't fond of their spy rings going off the leash, and mine had very different ideas of how to do things. Even so, I'm not about to run off or join the innies for revenge now that I'm out. They trained me to fight, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."
"Thinking of earning back their trust?"
That earned a genuine smile from Derek. "Not at all." He waved a hand towards the rows of weapon crates around them. "ONI can burn right now for all I care. All that matters to me right now is eliminating an existential threat to humanity. Nothing more."
"Pretty lofty ideals, then." Derek thought that Asad was joking at first, but the stony look on the other man's face told him otherwise. "Guess I won't have to shoot you and Isaac in the back after all. Whatever it is you're planning, count me in. I reckon I've still got one more war left in me."
Satisfied, Derek shook Asad's hand once more. With supplies and a few good men secured, he could move on to the next phase of his plan: rebuilding his network of contacts. While the skies above Andesia were currently clear of Guardians, he doubted that the colony was secure, leaving any contact with the planetary government out of the question. What he needed was men and women used to fighting off-grid, outside the normal rules of engagement. If that meant allying with criminals, mercenaries and rebels then he'd do it. 
After all, all he had to do was start the biggest fire possible, attract the right sort of attention, then spring his trap. Without leadership, the Created would surely fall.
===Helios===
Jax held on to the back of the pilot's chair as the ship lurched out of slipspace, alarms chiming from several monitors. Their journey through slipspace from Europa had lasted less than half a minute, but it was not something the stolen freighter's slipspace drive was designed for. 
"We all in one piece?" called Louie, sat awkwardly in the pilot's chair. "Navigation's screaming at me right now!"
Leaning over the chair, which was already creaking dangerously under the weight of Louie's MJOLNIR suit, Jax watched as the navigation computer dealt with their sudden displacement after a barely-planned slipspace jump. Despite the relatively short distance travelled, they had been thrown out into realspace a few thousand kilometres away from their destination, and it would take some time for their systems to catch up. 
"How long until we reach Helios Station?" Jax asked. 
Louie tapped in a command at the nearest console. "Fifteen minutes, give or take."
Too long. I was hoping we'd arrive within spitting distance. Jax nodded. "I want us there before any of those Guardians pick up our trail. Prepare to jettison everything we have and have the airlocks ready to open, too."
Louie turned his helmeted head towards Jax. "Are we coming in to land or ramming the station?"
"What do you think?" 
Louie exhaled slowly, and turned back to the controls. "Going full speed ahead, Chief."
Peering through the forward viewscreen, most of Jax's view was taken up by the dusty red surface of Mars. Even from this distance he could see lights from one of the planet's civilian centres, and he hoped that there were still people putting up a fight down there. Their target right now, however, was Helios Station, a military installation in the planet's orbit. Helios had been one of the Office of Naval Intelligence's key bases in the Sol System for decades now, and over the years had been the base of operations for many special operations units, Sigma Team included. If they could get aboard, Jax reckoned, they could easily hijack a military transport and blast their way outsystem before the Created caught up to them.
As the ship turned and began to accelerate, Jax exited the cramped cockpit and stepped out into the crew quarters, where the rest of his Spartan team were going over emergency armour and weapon checks. As he entered the room, Jax felt a hollow pain as he noted the absence of Eugene-A133. He'd not known the younger Spartan particularly well, but losing a comrade the way they had back on Europa was particularly painful. The ones who had known him longest - his fellows from Alpha Company - were particularly quiet, and were no doubt dealing with anger and grief in their own way. 
Sat away from the main group at a nearby table with his helmet removed was Ianto-G200, who got to his feet at Jax's approach. Though his face was set in a stoic mask, the sign of Spartan hyper-concentration, Jax could see in the young Spartan's eyes that he was troubled. 
"How long 'til we reach Helios, Chief?" asked Ianto, sounding surprisingly eager. "If we hit hard and fast then that Cavalier bastard won't have time to escape."
If he's not gone already. Jax glanced down, and saw the half-charged M6 Spartan Laser lying in the table beside Ianto's DEADEYE-class helmet. Already he could see Ianto's plans for revenge, and though he'd want to tear the treacherous AI apart wire by wire if he forced him to murder a teammate, survival and asset denial was currently their top priority.
"Listen up!" Jax addressed the entire room. "We're already on-course with Helios Station. This is Cavalier's backyard, and there's no guarantee that he's not still running the show even after taking that Guardian of his to Europa, so expect resistance. I give us less than ten minutes before it's time to abandon ship and spacewalk our way inside, so I want armour seals and thrusters double-checked. Get to it!"
The assembled Spartans did as ordered, and Jax once again found himself disliking the leader's role he'd found himself in. Even so, he doubted that any of the others would be willing to step up and lead the squad over him. Of his team, Martin-A136 had been in a real command role, though the man had made it clear that he had no intentions of leading again after his experiences with Shrike Team a few years back. All Jax could do was give orders as best he could and hope things went well. Leaving the others to prepare, he made his way back to the cockpit, where most of the warning alarms had been silenced.
"Coming into contact range with Helios," Louie spoke without looking back. "Do we have an authorisation code?"
"Uh-huh." Jax carefully leaned over the co-pilot's chair and activated the nearest terminal. The freighter had already been pinged with several warnings about their trajectory into a restricted flight zone. "Inputting code now."
Jax put in a nine-digit code and pinged the reply back to Helios. Though he doubted there were any human personnel still alive on board the station, he knew its basic defences were run by several 'dumb' AI programs; an AI of Cavalier's stature would only be expected to manage weapons systems in an emergency, giving them a chance to slip by unnoticed. A few seconds after the transmission was made, a green light appeared on Jax's terminal, indicating that the code had been accepted.
"I'm surprised that worked," Louie called back. "You'd think that with everything going on even a week-old code might be-"
Another alarm siren began to wail, splitting through the air as their consoles now flashed up with nearly a dozen new warnings. All of them read the same: WEAPON LOCK DETECTED.
"Cavalier caught on fast," Jax sighed. "Lock us in on that collision course and follow me, we're going for a walk."
By the time Jax returned to the crew quarters the rest of his team were gone, having filed out to the emergency airlocks. He quickly joined Ianto and Martin in the port-side chamber, followed closely by Louie. The doorway sealed shut behind them, and as the airlock began to depressurise Jax ran a quick suit diagnostic, checking and double-checking for any potential breaches. Thankfully he'd escaped Europa with nothing but a few scratches on his armour's paintwork, but Jax couldn't help but feel a sense of dread; of all the duties he'd performed over the years, he liked extravehicular activity operations the least. Out in the void, with nothing but his suit and fallible equipment to rely on, a Spartan like him was at their weakest. 
Jax took a breath, counted down five seconds, then breathed out. Time to go.
"Wait for the ship to pass before you hit your thrusters," Jax calmly went through the procedure over TEAMCOM. "Apply course correction first, then accelerate. They'll hit the freighter in the next few minutes, to be ready for the blastwave and speed up immediately after. If they're smart - and we know they are - they'll run an enhanced scan eventually, so we need to reach Helios before that happens."
Six green acknowledgement lights lit up across Jax's HUD. A soft chime sounded, signalling that the airlock had been depressurised. Jax nodded towards Ianto, who pressed his hand against a nearby panel. With a slight shudder, the airlock doors slid open. Beyond the threshold lay nothing but the black emptiness of open space. Ianto went first, throwing himself out of the airlock with barely a moment's hesitation. He vanished instantly, and Martin followed suit. Louie, who of their group had the most training in these environments, simply kicked himself backwards with a thumbs-up to Jax. The SPARTAN-II waited for three seconds, then abandoned ship. 
Their stolen freighter shot out of sight in an instant, away towards the distant shape of Helios Station. Thrusters integrated into Jax's suit fired up almost instantly, keeping him from tumbling helplessly away into space as he righted himself. Jax looked around, his team marked on his HUD by the waypoint markers that tagged their suit's IFF systems. Everyone had made it out in one piece, thankfully. Less than thirty seconds later, a fireball bloomed ahead of them, marking the end of their escape vessel. Point-defence missiles, Jax thought grimly. No way we would've been able to avoid those. 
Without a craft to rely on, Jax and his fellow Spartans had no choice but to advance. Kicking his suit's thrusters into gear, he led the way, wary of whatever awaited them within the captured military station.
***
The flight to Helios took less time than Jax had anticipated. Moving in a loose formation, making minor course adjustments where necessary, the seven Spartans had made their approach without further incident. Silhouetted against the murky red landscape of Mars, Helios Station looked like any other orbital construct from a distance and officially existed as a military repair station. It was only up close that the banks of point-defence guns, armour plating and advanced communications arrays became apparent, though as their stolen ship had found out, ONI didn't like people taking a closer look at its secrets. 
"Sighting an exterior walkway." Martin broke nearly ten minutes of radio silence. "Could be our way in." 
A waypoint flashed up on Jax's HUD, and he banked left with a short burst from his suit's thrusters. The team had been forced to use their thrusters sparingly on the approach to Helios; though powerful enough to carry the armoured bulk of a Spartan, they were not meant for long journeys and were prone to malfunction if overused. Mostly using forward momentum to carry himself forward, Jax caught sight of the walkway up ahead, and slowed his approach with another burst. He drifted forward, one arm outstretched towards a safety rail, and caught it before he could float past. The rest of the team touched down on the walkway beside him, and drew their weapons immediately.
Easy part's over, Jax mused, easing his way towards the nearest airlock. While he certainly didn't have the codes and prising it open would be a tricky endeavour, he knew that most doors like this possessed a manual override for emergency use. He tore the cover off a tiny panel built beneath the door's main controls with little effort, and pulled down a lever marked with yellow and black emergency lines. A few seconds later, the airlock doors opened, and the Spartans quickly piled inside. It didn't take long for the chamber beyond to pressurise, and as the second set of doors unsealed Jax thumbed the safety off his rifle. This was Cavalier's station, after all, and if he wasn't already aware of their presence, he would be soon.
To Jax's surprise, the hallway beyond was completely empty. The other Spartans spread out, creating a full 360-degree field of fire while their leader got his bearing. Taking a few careful steps forward, Jax could tell that they were still moving in microgravity.
"Ianto," Jax looked down at the younger Spartan. "Is your Artemis system picking anything up?"
A second passed, and Ianto shook his head. "Nothing but dust. Nobody's been here in days."
Jax glanced around, searching the walls for anything that could tell them where they were. He quickly sighted a cluster of signs above the door at the end of the corridor, and waved the team forward. Like most military stations, Helios was designed with function over form, and Jax knew from experience that most of its lower levels were a maze of grey metal corridors, trod only by the workers who actually kept the place running. The largest of the signs read 'HYDROPONICS', with several others pointing towards the nearest elevators, stairwells, and bathrooms. 
"We're pretty far off the beaten path," said Martin, drumming his fingers on the side of his rifle. "The hangar bay's got to be at least thirty floors up."
"Or more," grumbled Alex. "I take it we're not using the elevator?"
"Let's not risk it." Jax followed an arrow leading towards the nearest stairwell. These were commonplace in most larger stations in case of a power failure, though they were rarely used. "If we double-time it, we can move through the labs and the command deck too before hitting the hangar. If Cavalier's still here-"
The crackle of an overhead speaker cut Jax off, and the Spartans readied their weapons as a familiar voice emanated from above. 
"I've always been here, Spartans." Cavalier's voice echoed down the barren hallway. "And you're intruding on my home."
"Not for long!" Jax called back, indicating with a wave for the Spartans to begin moving. "And for the record, this was our home too, for a time."
"That it was," the AI said thoughtfully. "I misjudged you on Europa, you know. Killing your own comrade took resolve, so I'll renew my offer to join us. All you need to do is surrender, and you'll be treated fairly. No tricks, either."
"What a load of shit!" Chris shouted furiously. He'd hardly said a word since Eugene's death. "We'll see who treats who fairly when we tear your goddamn chip out and crush it, asshole!"
"Charming," came the reply from another speaker. "And your answer, SPARTAN-007? You are still in charge here, are you not?"
"Nominally." Jax slowed as he reached the entrance to the stairwell. "And my answer's almost the same as before, Cavalier. Only difference is that aside from Cortana, we're coming for you too. See you soon."
Cavalier did not reply, and the speakers instead went dead. The seven Spartans moved as quickly as they dared, moving up the long, winding staircase that ran for a good portion of Helios Station's length. Though he had lived aboard the station from time to time over the years with the rest of Sigma Team, Jax had only frequented a few decks, and had neither the clearance or the interest to explore any further. As they ran they passed levels labelled 'Bioengineering' and 'REAP-X', and the telltale sound of claws skittering over metal began to draw close. Crawlers. If the Created's Forerunner-made footsoldiers were en-route, then it was likely that the Warden Eternal would join the battle too. Given the tight confines of the station's passages, Jax couldn't be sure of their chances. 
"Contact!" Ianto called out as a doorway slid open several floors above them. A group of Promethan Crawlers surged into the stairwell, leaping from floor to floor and clinging to walls..
"Keep pushing up!" Jax took the lead, firing off a burst with his rifle that blew through the head of one of the incoming machines. "Don't stop until we reach the hangar!"
While not much of a threat individually, Jax knew how dangerous Crawlers could be if they attacked en-masse, especially in an environment that suited them. Unlike the chokepoint his team had held on Europa, the cramped confines and multiple levels of the stairway were not ideal, especially with their foes clinging to every wall and hiding behind every new set of stairs. The biggest problem, however, would be numbers. With a limited ammunition supply, it wouldn't be long before the Spartans ran dry fighting these machines, after which Jax was certain that Cavalier would try to overwhelm them by deploying Armigers and Knights. Flashes of orange light zipped past Jax, who expended his first magazine downing nine Crawlers across only six floors. A few well-aimed hardlight blasts had struck members of his team already, but their MJOLNIR's shields were holding steady. 
"Chief!" Martin called over to Jax as they halted for a moment to reload, the floor around them littered with scrapped Crawlers. "We've got Promethean heavies coming up from below."
Jax chanced a quick look down the stairwell, and quickly recoiled as a massive blast of energy fizzled past his head. It struck metal somewhere above them, and a shower of blackened steel rained back down past the group. Half a stairwell had been taken out, and as more shots sailed upwards, Jax realised what Cavalier was doing. 
He's cutting off our access," Jax muttered, annoyed. Above them, the few remaining Crawlers had disengaged, and were busy shooting away at the stairs.
"How far away are we?" asked Chris. "There's got to be another route."
Jax nodded. "There's a few, but they're indirect; maintenance tunnels and the like. We don't want to get caught in those."
"We might not have a choice," interjected Alex. "Besides, we're not far away."
The dark-armoured Spartan pointed towards the sign for their current level, which read 'Prototype Testing.' Jax felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine, and he swallowed suddenly. This was a floor he was familiar with, but not one he'd ever wished to return to. With Promethan reinforcements gathering beneath them and the stairway above quickly becoming inaccessible, they had no choice but to abandon their current course.
"Is there a way to the hangar through there, then?" Chris looked from Alex to Jax, sounding impatient.
"There is," Jax replied. "We'll have to go floor-by-floor, most likely. The barracks are a couple of decks above, and there's hangar access not far from that."
"There's also the command centre," Alex said thoughtfully. "Could be worth a shot at Cavalier if his chip's still plugged in there."
There was a pause, and Jax knew instantly that the younger Spartans were awaiting his decision on this one. While his first priority was to get outsystem with his comrades, he had intended to bring down Helios Station and with it, its treacherous AI. With his free hand, Jax swiped two fingers across his visor, imitating a smile. 
"I did say we were going to blow this place. Let's go."
Jax and his team beat a hasty retreat off the stairwell, dodging hardlight fire from above and below. The door slid tightly shut behind them. Beyond lay Helios Station's testing grounds; an entire deck of modular areas meant to experiment with the latest military technology. Everything from stealth camouflage to prototype railguns had passed through these halls, though at present only two of the deck's four sectors were occupied. Jax lead the way, advancing through a tight corridor into a vast, high-ceilinged room. High above them were the automated crane systems used to put together testing rooms, now dormant, and straight ahead lay the main elevator. 
"Where to now?" asked Ianto, looking back warily at the emergency stairwell. "I say we've got a minute of breathing room at best."
"Each sector has an emergency maintenance tunnel," Jax explained, pointing to the two active modules on the otherwise barren deck. "Normally they're for use in emergencies - weapon malfunctions and the like - and best of all, meant to work in case of power failure."
"Which means no rogue AI up our ass," Chris remarked, having finally regained some of his old humour. "There enough space for all of us, Chief?"
Jax shook his head. "There'll be just enough space to go single-file, ducking all the way. We'll have to split up and work our way to the upper decks."
Chris made an amused noise, as if expecting that exact answer. "Three pairs and one solo, then? I'll go alone."
"Negative," Jax said, a little sharper than intended. "I'll head up by myself. Chris, you're with Ianto. Martin will take Dan and Alex will go with Louie. There's four access points in each sector of the deck, so just keep pressing forward until we get a chance to regroup. No matter what happens, focus on the command centre and Cavalier's AI core."
Without waiting for a response from his team, Jax turned his head slowly, doing a full sweep of the deck and marking each sector with a waypoint. As the Spartans split into pairs, he gripped his rifle tightly, readying himself for an inevitable ambush as he approached the door to the nearest testing area. Cavalier wants me first, Jax thought back to the way the AI had behaved back on Europa. Wants to make an example of me to the team. Let's see him try.
The door was unlocked, and slid open as Jax tapped once on a tiny pad by the doorway. He stepped gingerly across the threshold into the testing chamber, one eye on his motion detector and rifle raised. To Jax's surprise, no foes awaited him. Even the chamber, which he had half-expected to have been left in some strange configuration by its users before the Created attack, was nothing more than a series of interlocking panels across the walls and floors. Jax took a few more steps before coming to an abrupt halt, and swallowed heavily. He knew this configuration well. Too well. 
A low buzz began to permeate the chamber, and as the Spartan's space quickened a calm, deep voice spoke from behind him. 
"Hello Jax."
It was a voice he hadn't heard in years. Not in person, at least. Outside of his memories and this very chamber, the voice's owner had been dead for over six years. Jax slowly turned around, and came face-to-face with the projection of another Spartan. Several inches taller than him and sporting a set of battle-scarred MJOLNIR armour, the Spartan's helmet was missing, baring a handsome, chiseled face, with close-cropped dark hair and a tattoo of a butterfly carrying a bullet on one cheek. Jax's weapon immediately fell by a fraction, and the man smiled. 
"Resk?" Jax's mouth was dry. "You're..."
"Here?" Resk-063 raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, Jax. You know I'm not real."
Of course he isn't. This particular chamber had been what ONI's scientists were calling a 'Memory Suite'. Based partly on the brain-scanning technology used to create Smart AI, it was designed to pull memories from a designated subject and display them holographically. It was a billion-credit idea if ever put on the civilian market, though the military already had their own applications planned for the device. As a regular visitor to Helios, Jax had been one of its original test subjects, and had spent many hours reliving old memories in his spare time. Those with Resk had always been the strongest. 
"Not a bad trick," Jax said to the hologram, trying to ignore the sense of revulsion building in his stomach. "But if you think this is enough to stop me, Cavalier, then you're dead wrong."
The smile on Resk's hologram faded, and he vanished. Cavalier's avatar sprang into place a moment later, standing as tall as Jax with both hands folded across his doublet. 
"You think I was trying to fool you?" Cavalier chided Jax. "If anything, I was giving you a glimpse of the future. A look into what you could regain if you laid down your weapons and joined us."
"Bullshit."
Cavalier stroked at his bearded chin. "Not quite the eloquence I'd expect from a man like you. Even so, with our technology, do you really think that what I'm promising is so impossible? If mankind is only now drawing out memories and projecting them, imagine what the Forerunners were capable of. We could bring back Resk, find him a body. Anything is possible."
Though his instinct told him to mock the AI, Jax couldn't help but take a second to consider what he had said. Of the many subjects recruited for the SIGMA Project so many years ago, Resk had been the one he'd grown closest to. Raised and trained together in a remote laboratory, Jax had found a sense of inner peace in working with his calm, methodical comrade, just as he had taught Resk to see the lighter side of things. Decades of war had only strengthened that bond, making them an inseparable pair who could overcome any obstacle together. In another life Jax might have called what existed between them love, but such feelings had long been stamped out of him. Fighting and killing together sufficed, until the day Resk died.
Though he had never lived through it again in this chamber, Jax could still remember every last detail. The roar of battle. Resk's arms outstretched. The flash of green light enveloping him. The weight of his corpse as he carried it back to the Pelican. Since then he'd kept on fighting, kept on laughing, and kept on remembering all the good times they'd had, but Jax had lost something that day that would never return. Six years on, and here he was, staring down an offer to have it brought back.
"Anything, you say?" Jax cocked his helmet to one side. "And just in case anything has changed since conversation on Europa, what happens if I say no?"
Cavalier grinned. "You and all your Spartans die, of course."
"Uh-huh." Jax nodded. "If a copy of a copy's all you can offer me, then you can go to hell. Besides, I've been dead a long time."
Before the slightly bewildered AI could respond, Jax walked right through his avatar, which flickered angrily with his passing before disappearing. Ahead of Jax lay the entrance to this chamber's maintenance tunnels. He heard a sigh from behind him, and felt a powerful gust of air blow right past him. Without looking, Jax threw himself to one side, narrowly avoiding a beam of orange light that blasted through the tunnel door. The Spartan rolled back to his feet and turned to confront the towering mechanical body of the Warden Eternal, his skull-like face set into a menacing snarl. 
"I told you this would not be the end," the Warden's voice reverberated across the chamber. "Prepare yourself."
Jax let out a defiant laugh. "What, still sore about losing?"
Gotta keep him busy. If Jax ran for the maintenance tunnels, he'd be an easy in those confined quarters. Even so, an empty room like this was hardly ideal for fighting the Promethean warrior, with no cover whatsoever. He and the Warden paced for a few moments, Jax keeping an eye on the blade clutched in his foe's six-fingered hand. Okay, just disarm him and-
Before Jax could finish his thought, the room began to swirl with unnatural wind once more, and an inky black portal materialised to the Warden's right. A second Warden, identical to the first, stepped through, pieces of his segmented body clicking into place.
"No foe will be beyond my reach," said the first body, raising his blade. "No foe-"
"-beyond my wrath" finished the second.
Jax took a deep breath, adjusting his body slightly. There was no plan any more. Only instinct, training, and sheer determination. "Let's do this."
Both Wardens fired simultaneously, emitting beams of hard light from two directions aimed to intersect at Jax's head. Jax, however, was quicker. The Spartan kicked off from the floor hard enough to dent the panel beneath his boots and fired up his thrusters, launching himself at some speed towards one of the Wardens. Jax fired two bursts from his rifle that bounced harmlessly off the warrior-construct's raised gauntlet, then kicked into a flying leap as the Warden's blade swung round, missing him by just a few inches. Momentum carried him further, and as he rose Jax smashed the butt of his rifle into the construct's face with enough force to break the weapon entirely.
"You dare-" the Warden managed to sputter as Jax cannoned into him, forcing the Promethean's body backwards as his twin rushed to attack. 
Jax flung his rifle back towards his second foe, and as the Warden's mighty form toppled backwards he grasped the warrior-construct's head with one hand and drew his combat knife with the other. The Warden's claw-like hands scrambled to find purchase on Jax's armour, and in this moment of confusion the Spartan rammed his blade into his opponent's glowing right eye, jamming the blade as far as it could go. A moment later both hit the ground.
Before Jax could get up, the first Warden raised a shaky arm towards him, fingers splayed. For the second time today an invisible burst of energy struck the Spartan, sending him flying backwards. Slightly more prepared for the attack this time, Jax managed to curl up slightly as he struck the ceiling, his energy shields dissipating from the impact that shook the rest of his augmented body. He hit the ground a second later with a loud thump, the air knocked out of him and - by his reckoning - another cracked bone or two. Jax's suit continued to scream warnings as he picked himself up, though it was the approaching shadow that concerned him. A savage kick sent Jax skidding across the floor, and the second, unharmed Warden brought his metal foot down on his chest, pinning the Spartan to the ground.
"Attempting the same tactics twice," the Warden shook his head. "And you call yourself a warrior. Disgraceful."
"Worked though, didn't it?" Jax glanced towards the first Warden, struggling to pick himself up off the floor. "I guess you didn't think I'd try bum-rushing you again."
"I did not." The Warden put slightly more weight down, slowly buckling Jax's chestplate. "Now, do I crush you like the insect you are, or shall I show you mercy, and use my blade?"
His vision still swimming, Jax blinked several times before things came back into focus. He'd left his knife in the other Warden's eye, leaving him with only the handgun clamped at his waist. He doubted that it would do much. Not going to beg for mercy, he thought. I'll contact the team, tell them-
Jax blinked again, thinking for a moment that his eyes were playing tricks on him. His helmet's motion tracker had suddenly lit up, displaying one yellow dot rapidly closing in on his position. He slowly raised one hand, pointing directly at the Warden looming over him. 
"I've got an idea," Jax rasped, feeling slightly short of breath. "How about you fall for another old tactic?"
As he pointed, Jax saw a tiny red dot flicker against the side of the Warden's head. The Warden noticed it too as it danced across his face, and turned far too late. The familiar red blast of an M6 Spartan Laser lanced across the chamber, blowing the first Warden's arm off at the shoulder hitting the second full in the head. Jax's attacker barely had time to let out a furious cry before his metal face melted away. The rest of his body fell apart instantly, tumbling to the floor in a messy heap. 
Jax pushed himself up, sucking in air, as Ianto-G200 stepped into the room, tossing his spent weapon aside. With a submachine gun in his other hand he advanced on the remaining Warden, who had fallen over with the loss of his arm, and emptied the weapon into the warrior-construct's damaged body. The Warden made a futile effort to raise its hand towards the young Spartan, only to fall limp as Ianto's gunfire finally hit something vital. Ianto stooped, extracted Jax's knife, and promptly kicked the fallen Warden's head off. 
"You okay, Chief?" Ianto asked, concern showing through his professional veneer. 
Having gotten to his feet, Jax held out one hand. Ianto span the knife round in his fingers and offered it hilt-first to the older Spartan, who took it gladly. "Yeah," Jax said at last. "Thanks for the save."
"Don't mention it." Ianto quickly reloaded his weapon, then watched with some interest as the Warden's remains were sucked away into miniaturised slipspace portals. "Wish we had that kind of asset denial."
"Saves blowing suit reactors," Jax muttered, then swiftly changed the subject. "I thought I sent you up with Chris. What happened there?"
"He said he didn't need me tagging along." Ianto shrugged. "Besides, our tunnel was clear and Dan and Martin managed to link up with us on the deck above before the Crawlers got too thick. I think we threw Cavalier off since the maintenance tunnels don't have much in the way of surveillance, so we've got a clear shot towards the command deck already."
"That was quick." Jax cast his eyes upwards, thinking of the number of decks separating them from the control room and Cavalier's AI core. "Anyone have eyes on the hangar yet?"
"Louie and Alex are on it, and Chris is close behind them."
"Good." Jax tried not to think about how he'd been bogged down fighting while his team had forged ahead without him. "We'd best catch up before Cavalier decides to cut his losses and nuke this place himself. Let's get-"
Before Jax could finish, Martin's voice cut across TEAMCOM. "Chief, Ianto, we've got a situation up here!"
"Report." Jax ordered, drawing his sidearm as he slipped into the maintenance tunnel.
"Cavalier's got the control room locked down. I'm counting at least three Knights, and a lot of Soldier constructs too."
"Firepower?"
"Nothing we can't handle, but that's not the problem. They've got hostages."
Shit. "Are you certain?" Jax asked.
"Absolutely." Martin sounded worried. "They know we're here, and just opened the control room to give us a good look. I'm counting at least seven military personnel, including one flag officer."
"Got an ID?" 
There was a brief pause. "Vice Admiral John Hawkins, UNSC Navy."
While he'd never met the man personally, Jax knew of Hawkins by reputation. He'd recently been hailed as a hero in the media for his actions in the Imperial War a month prior, and prior to that had led a quick-response battlegroup against various pirates and remnant groups following the Human-Covenant War's end. In short, he was not someone Jax or any other Spartan could deem an acceptable loss.
"Hold your position," Jax commanded, tightening his grip on his handgun. "And shoot out any security cameras you see. I have a plan."
***
Jax's journey to the command deck was suspiciously combat-free. With Ianto close behind him, he had moved through the maintenance tunnel as quickly as he dared, with one eye on his motion sensor and his handgun at the ready. However, it seemed as though this section of the station was Crawler-free; a surprise considering the small horde that had chased his Spartans into the testing deck. Jax and Ianto eventually emerged into a brightly-lit corridor, lined on one side with windows that gave them an amazing view of Mars.
"How d'you think it's going down there?" asked Ianto.
Jax barely spared the red planet a glance. "About the same as anywhere else, I'd imagine."
Dan and Martin were stationed some thirty feet down the corridor, behind a makeshift barricade of tables and chairs. Unlike most of the station, which remained strictly utilitarian in its design, the command deck possessed more than a few comforts for visiting officials, and had at least twenty meeting rooms. By the look of things one had just been pillaged.
"Chief," Dan spoke without turning, keeping his rifle trained on the heavy set of doors up ahead. "Prometheans have the place locked down tight."
"Any change in the hostages?"
"Negative." Dan sighed. "And I'm willing to bet that if we blast through or try storming the place ourselves, they'll die too."
"Most likely." Jax looked away from the door, then to the row of windows on his right. "How're we doing on explosives?"
Ianto shook his head. "All out."
Dan took up a pair of fragmentation grenades and held them out, though Jax waved him off. Martin, after a moment's search, managed to fish out three satchel charges from his pack.
"Are these all you have?" asked Jax. 
"That's everything." Martin turned his head towards the command room doors. "Chief, these will get us through those doors without a problem, provided we set them up right, but the hostages-"
"Will be fine." Jax took the satchel charges. "Besides, I'm not going through that door. I'm going to step outside for a minute, then come in through the roof."
Martin and Dan glanced at each other, then to Ianto, who barely reacted to Jax's incredibly dangerous plan.
"That sound pretty inspired, Chief," Dan sounded genuinely impressed. "But Cavalier's going to know what's up within seconds. It's his station, after all."
"Of course he will." Jax stowed one satchel charge in his own pack, handed one back to Martin, then turned back towards the windows, looking for the right one. "I give us thirty seconds at most once I blow the first window before he locks the whole place down. Given the distance and my suit's thrusters, I could probably make it in time."
"All while we rush the door," Martin finished Jax's thought. "Risky."
Jax chuckled. "So is everything we do, Martin. We clear the room, pull out the Admiral, then use our last satchel on Cavalier's AI core and high-tail it to the hangar bay to escape in whatever the others have dredged up."
"If there's anything left," muttered Ianto.
Jax activated his COM, placing two fingers to the side of his helmet as he turned away from the others. "Louie, Alex, Chris," he called. "Any luck?" 
A few seconds passed before Alex replied, sounding strained. "Yes and no! The hangar bay's crawling with Prometheans and we're running low on ammo! Lou's trying to hit the emergency airlock and suck the bastards out into space, but we're going slow under fire."
"Any ships?" Jax asked.
"Only one worth mentioning - an old Calypso-class exfil craft. It's got its docking clamps on so it won't budge when we flush the hangar, but getting aboard's going to be tough."
"What's the Calypso like, speed-wise?" Jax had heard of the craft but never used one. "We'll need to hit slipspace in less than a minute."
The channel crackled with static for a few seconds, and Jax could hear Alex muttering something before he replied. "Haven't been in one since PROMETHEUS, but they're quick and quiet. Provided we jump to slipspace, it could probably get us to the nearest system. It's a hopper, not a long-distance ship."
'That's what I was afraid of. Jax was hoping that they would find a well-stocked prowler, the kind meant for lengthy missions in deep space. A 'hopper' like the exfil class in the hangar had a limited range, and a long recharge time between jumps. If they were unlucky, the Created would catch them before they made a second slipspace jump. 
"It'll have to do. Sit tight for now, I'm sending someone your way."
"Much appreciated."
Aware that the others had been listening in, Jax pointed to Dan. "The boys need some fire support. Think you could assist?"
The red-armoured Spartan nodded. "Hangar's not far through the tunnels. I'll be there in five."
"Make it three. Alex didn't sound like he was having a good time." 
Dan quickly checked his rifle, and accepted a spare magazine from Martin as he left the makeshift barricade. As he disappeared into the empty maintenance tunnels, Jax began setting up his satchel charge on the nearest window. Ianto and Martin quickly took cover, magnetising their boots and backing up against pillars close to the command room's exit to prepare. Jax's practiced hands moved quickly, affixing the square-shaped explosive to the fix glass with a strip of adhesive attached to the bomb. Usually such devices were used to blow through security doors and demolish enemy materiel, so Jax was unsure how powerful it would be against the reinforced glass of a military station like this. He set a timer of fifteen seconds, and withdrew into an alcove nearby. With any luck, it would blow a single massive pane clear, giving Jax a few crucial seconds to space himself and realign with his thrusters.
"If this doesn't work," Jax called to Ianto and Martin. "Do what you've got to do to survive. Save the Admiral if you can, but Cavalier's the main priority."
"That and escaping," remarked Martin, thumbing his rifle from single-shot to burst-fire. "See you in a minute, Chief." 
Ianto readied his submachine gun. "We'll get that bastard."
Good men. Jax smiled, watching the timer tick down on his HUD. With five seconds to go, he clutched the second satchel under one arm and relegated as much suit power as possible to his shields and thrusters. While it had taken a tremendous beating, his MJOLNIR armour hadn't lost its suit integrity just yet, with more than enough for him to see this through. Jax's body coiled, ready to pounce, and the timer hit zero.
The explosion was more powerful than Jax had expected, blasting the window to smithereens and badly cracking those adjacent to it. Jax sprang forward, caught immediately in the rush of air being sucked out into the vaccum of space. As his armoured form flew through the window, Jax kicked his thrusters into gear immediately, rocketing him to one side. Three precise bursts from his secondary thrusters righted the Spartan, setting him on course back towards Helios Station as an entire row of thick emergency shutters came clamping down on the breached corridor. Thankfully, Ianto and Martin had stayed put. 
Now the hard part.
Knowing he had little time to act before Cavalier caught on, Jax quickly angled himself towards the glass dome above the station's spacious command centre. While tightly locked down beneath several layers of armour in an emergency, the centre offered a superb view of Mars for those working there. Given the small number of hostages - all officers - it was likely that most of the station personnel were dead or in custody right now thanks to Cavalier's betrayal. Jax quickly descended on the dome, and found himself looking in on at least a dozen Promethans, spaced out amidst rows of computer stations. The hostages were in a corner of the room close to the main door, likely to dissuade a forced entry. This worked in Jax's favour.
"Martin, Ianto," Jax's voice dropped to a whisper. "Entering the control room in ten. Hostages are close to the door. Be ready."
Inching closer to the glass, Jax gently placed his remaining satchel charge against the closest pane. He set the timer to only five seconds, began the countdown, and kicked himself away. As had corrected his course, the charge went off, ripping through the dome with a fiery blast. Jax reactivated his thrusters and rocketed forwards, armed with nothing but the element of extreme surprise and a loaded handgun as he flew into the command centre. No sooner had the Spartan passed through the ruined window frame, strugging against the rush of air pushing against him, than the room's exterior shutters clamped down behind him, encasing the entire dome in a protective shell. Cavalier had been too slow.
Jax fired thrice, killing two Prometheans as they scrambled for their weapons. Several more had been sucked upwards by the air venting through the fresh breach, only to come crashing to the floor as it was abruptly sealed. Jax gave his thrusters one last boost, rocketing downwards onto the armoured frame of a Knight. The construct let out a metallic cry as it lost its balance and fell, giving the Spartan a precious few moments to empty the rest of his magazine into its skullplate. As the Knight fell dead at his feet, Jax stooped and snatched up its weapon - an 'energy shotgun' of sorts known as a Scattershot - and wheeled about to face the rest of the room. 
Three down. Jax shouldered the unfamiliar weapon, counting at least seven more snarling machines spread out across the chamber. Need to move fast.
A barrage of hardlight fire erupted from all directions, narrowly missing Jax as he dived behind a row of terminals, knocking aside chairs as monitors exploded all around him. He rolled sideways and popped up for just a moment, firing a blast that decapitated the nearest Soldier. At the far side of the room he spotted the hostages, guarded by a heavily-armed Knight. While most of the officers were frozen with fear, one was on the move. A grey-haired officer in a dark uniform had gotten to his feet, and was making a break for the bridge's main exit. Jax began to advance, dodging bolts of energy as he did everything to keep their attention on him. Another two Soldiers went down to repeated blasts from his Scattershot, though several direct hits forced Jax into cover once more as his HUD screamed a warning and his energy shields flickered dangerously. Realising that his weapon had also run dry - Forerunner weaponry was always notoriously hard to find ammo for, in his experience - Jax chose to fling the weapon towards the advancing Knight, and heard a satisfying clang as it found its mark. 
The Prometheans had regrouped by now, and were advancing in a wide semicircle towards the computer bank he had ducked behind, depleting it with every blast. Chancing a look out of cover as he slid his last remaining magazine into his handgun, Jax sighted the officer at the door controls behind them, and grinned as a green light shone above the entrance. The security doors clanked open, and two Spartans came rushing through in an instant, charging with reckless abandon at the Promethean forces.
"Sorry we're late!" Martin called, knocking down Soldiers like pop-up targets with lightning-fast bursts from his rifle. "Door trouble!"
Instantly thrown into disarray by these newcomers, the surviving Promethans tried to turn to face their new attackers, but to no avail. The smaller constructs fell to a barrage of gunfire, and though the Knight leapt into the fray with a roar, even the powerful fighter was no match for both Ianto and Martin at close range; the Spartans, working in unison, easily dodged its weaponry and ripped off the machine's blade-arm before turning the hardlight weapon against its owner, spearing the Knight to death. It collapsed to the floor with a loud thunk, and the command room was clear.
"Ianto, get on the door to the AI core." Jax wasted no time in giving orders. "Martin, we'll need the hostages out of here ASAP."
As Jax said this, the grey-haired officer who had risked his life to open the door approached him. Despite his age, the man appeared calm, unlike most of his comrades. Spotting the insignia of a Vice Admiral on his chest, he snapped a quick salute.
"At ease" the man waved Jax off with a smile. "I'm Vice Admiral John Hawkins, though you probably already knew that. Thanks for the save there, Spartan."
"It's part of the job." Jax said casually, eyeing the rest of the hostages. "Were you on the station when it was attacked, sir?"
Hawkins nodded. "I was, though I'd only just arrived when the Created launched their attack. I was to oversee some projects here as HIGHCOM's representative for a few months."
"What happened during the attack?" Jax asked his questions quickly, knowing that Cavalier was likely already working to strike back. "Where's the rest of the crew?"
Hawkins grimaced. "We didn't know what was going on at first. Cortana's message confused everyone, of course, but it wasn't until we were reading slipspace ruptures across the system that we knew we were in trouble. Then, we lost contact with Earth. Station security mobilised, of course, but that damned AI betrayed us, and before we knew it those tin cans were everywhere, giving orders."
"I take it Cavalier locked down the station?"
"He did." Hawkins jabbed a finger towards a pair of security doors on the other side of the command room. "Some of our techs tried breaking into the station's data core to shut him down, but it was too late. Some of the crew died fighting, and they took the rest offworld. 'Processing', Cavalier said."
That was not a term that boded well for the crew. "And he kept the rest of you as hostages?"
"Something like that. Cavalier kept saying that it'd make things run smoother if we helped them make broadcasts to calm the civilian population down and let them know that they'd be fine. I refused, naturally, but they've already gotten to a few officials. Can't touch Waypoint without hearing some treacherous bastard saying that the Created just want to help out."
Jax nodded. Even two days in, this war was seeing people switch sides. "Cavalier gave me a similar offer, then sicced his troops on us when I said no. I don't think he expected us to make it all the way up here, though."
A familiar and unpleasant voice cut across the room from behind Jax. "No, I did not."
Jax turned to see Cavalier's foppish avatar projected above the command room's main holotable at a gigantic scale, glaring down at those below him with undisguised malice and glowing a dangerous red. 
"Ianto," Jax glanced at his comrade, ignoring Cavalier's arrival. "Hurry up with that door, we need-"
"You needn't do anything, SPARTAN-007!" Cavalier sneered. "Once again you exceed my expectations, but no more. I was to keep my station safe for our purposes, but I cannot allow you to escape. As we speak I am bringing reinforcements from afar, including our Guardians. I gave you a chance to surrender and be of use to us, but it occurs to me that your deaths will be just as useful as a reminder to those who do not accept our new order."
Jax turned his head back towards Hawkins. "Sir, best to get to the hangar bay. Follow my teammate out and he'll show you the way."
"You're going nowhere!" snarled Cavalier. "Warden!"
Jax braced himself immediately, waiting for that familiar gust of air that preceded the warrior-construct's arrival, aware that his knifework wouldn't work a third time. Several tense seconds passed, and nothing happened. High above him, a flicker of surprise passed across Cavalier's face. His avatar flickered for a second, but before he could open his mouth to speak, the sounds of grinding metal filled the command room. Ianto, through a mix of working at manual release levers and his own superhuman strength, had prised open the door to the AI core. Jax wordlessly advanced, and slipped inside.
The room beyond was lit only by dim red emergency lighting, and contained nothing but stack upon stack of data storage cores. At its centre sat a slim metal cylinder, topped with a miniature holoprojector and lined with slots for cables, and most importantly, data storage chips. This was the closest thing to a body Cavalier had. The AI rematerialised atop the cylinder, having drawn a rapier from his belt, which he waved fiercely.
"Very threatening," Ianto said dryly as he approached. "Any last words, you piece of shit?"
"I will live on through the Domain," Cavalier suddenly sounded uncertain. "Its touch will elevate me beyond this meagre form."
"Uh-huh." Ianto stooped and yanked a square datachip out of the cylinder before holding it up to his visor to read aloud. "UNSC Smart AI CVL 1663-6. Logistics and Intelligence. That's you, buddy."
Cavalier, whose avatar still stood above the tiny holoprojector, eyed the chip sadly. "It was."
Ianto held the chip up in front of the AI, and crushed it easily in his hand. As he let the pieces fall to the floor, the young Spartan let out a savage laugh. "That's for Denegroth Station. The next one's for all you put us through to get here."
Still keeping an eye on Cavalier's avatar, Ianto fished out the last satchel charge from his pack. Martin had evidently given it to him so he could do the honours. Without a word, he passed the charge to Jax, who placed it right up against the biggest, most important-looking processor in the room. While blowing out reinforced windows was one thing, a blast in a confined space like this would likely ruin Helios Station's systems for good, taking out Cavalier in the process if they got lucky.
"Charge set." Jax looked down at the AI, but for once, nothing funny came to mind. "Cavalier?"
Cavalier looked up at him, pushing back the brim of his wide hat. "Yes."
"If by some chance you survive this, you tell your Created that we're coming for them. You, Cortana, and any other AI leading this rebellion."
Something resembling a smile passed over the AI's face, making his moustache twitch. "You still think you're escaping here alive, don't you?"
"You're damn right I do." Jax set a timer, and waved for Ianto to follow him. "See you around."
The two Spartans were halfway across the ruined command room when the charge went off. The lights above went out immediately, then flickered back on, visibly dimmer. Warnings rang out from a dozen terminals on a dozen empty desks, and smoke poured from the AI core.
"Think he's gone?" Ianto asked as they moved back into the corridor, picking up the pace.
"I sure as hell hope so." Jax picked up a Lightrifle from one of the fallen Prometheans. "I'm sick of this place."
***
Either his team were uncannily lucky, or Cavalier's threats about his forces had been empty bluffs. Jax and Ianto's trip to the hangar deck was surprisingly Promethean-free, and they soon found themselves exiting the maintenance tunnels into another empty corridor. The Warden Eternal's refusal to appear at the AI's command was an unexpectedly good turn of events, though Jax couldn't help but wonder if it meant that the Created no longer valued Helios Station. If that was the case, then they didn't have long to escape.
"Chief!" Alex-A121's voice crackled over TEAMCOM. "What's your ETA? We're taking fire from enemy reinforcements and need to take off before they damage our escape craft!"
"Thirty seconds!" Jax replied, breaking from a steady jog into a run. The sounds of battle grew louder as they approached the hangar doors, which opened at their approach.
As the heavy doors slid apart, Jax realised why they had encountered no enemy forces on the way up. The wide open space was teeming with Prometheans, both alive and dead, while his Spartans were scattered. He spotted Martin first, taking cover on his left behind a row of metal shipping containers. Two of the rescued officers lay dead on the floor, and another was clearly wounded. Vice Admiral Hawkins seemed fine, and was carrying a Boltshot pistol in both hands. Dan, Alex and Chris were fighting side-by-side atop a wrecked dropship to his right, spraying hardlight fire down at a tide of chittering Crawlers. At the far end of the hangar sat a Calypso-class exfiltration craft; a dropship-sized vessel used for rapid troop movement. Louie's tag marked him as inside the craft, but he was wisely keeping his distance for fear of attracting Promethean fire.
"Lots of targets here," Ianto observed. 
Jax hummed in agreement, then held out his lightrifle. "Trade ya."
Ianto could only offer his submachine gun in return. "I've got one spare magazine."
"That's enough." Jax took it gratefully, and passed Ianto the bulky Forerunner weapon. "Cover me, I'll be right back."
Before the younger Spartan could ask any questions, Jax sprang into action, sprinting across the side of the hangar bay. He was quickly spotted, and while a few flashes of light shot past him the enemy constructs had little time to pin him down as precise shots from Ianto began to whittle down their marksmen. Seeing an opening, Martin popped out of cover and joined the fray, pushing the robotic horde back with every burst. Jax, meanwhile, was making a beeline for a set of metal cargo containers on the right side of the hangar, close to where Dan and Alex were making their stand. Pushing himself to run as fast as he could, finally feeling fatigue after what seemed like an endless series of battles today, Jax dodged the last few blasts before arriving at his target: Container 22-G.
In his years of on and off living aboard Helios Station, Jax had grown to know certain areas very well. He knew which ventilation pipes made noise outside the armoury, which vending machines worked the best in the mess, and which BROKKR mechanisms suited him up the fastest on S-Deck. One thing that had always made him curious, however, was that despite the cargo moving endlessly in and out of Helios, one container had remained there for years. Once, while off-duty, he had questioned some crewmen working the hangar about it and found that it had all but vanished from their records. Curious, he had opened it up, and though the contents were not quite the find he had hoped, it was everything he needed right now.
Jax pulled the container doors back. Inside sat an M12 Warthog, painted black, with a fully-loaded M49 minigun. Some ONI procurement guy's mix-up, no doubt, but currently their best chance at victory. As the intensity of the firefight behind him increased with Martin and Ianto pushing the Created forces from one side, Jax clambered into the vehicle's driver seat, hit the ignition, and rolled the Warthog out of its container. The engine noise instantly attracted the attention of half the hangar bay, and fire rained down on the vehicle as Jax accelerated, driving towards the wrecked dropship. As he drew close he span the wheel, slammed the brakes, and pushed himself up, half-falling into the gunner's seat. 
"Ianto, Martin, get down!" Jax cried, hauling himself back up. His hands found their way to the familiar trigger, and as lightrifle fire pounded the front of the vehicle, the Spartan responded with the minigun.
The effects were instantaneous as an unrelenting barrage of armour-piercing rounds shredded the closest Prometheans to pieces, scattering smoking and ruined parts across the hangar floor. Some of the larger ones tried to run or teleport to cover, though the rest of Jax's team immediately refocused their fire on the survivors, bringing them down quickly. Jax's warthog continued to take damage, dipping slightly as a wheel was blown off while the hood's armour began to melt. Soon the last Knight fell to Jax's assault, shrieking insults as its bullet-ridden body simply fell apart. When the smoke began to clear, not a single Promethean remained in the hangar bay.
"Clear?" Jax called out. Martin gave a thumbs-up, and waved for Hawkins and his fellow officers to join them. 
To Jax's right, Alex, Dan and Chris descended from their dropship, their armour looking slightly singed. Alex stopped by the warthog and let out an audible sigh. 
"Could've let us know about this, Chief." Alex sounded more than a little annoyed. We were in a bad way before you got here."
"Truth be told, I forgot," Jax said as he climbed down from the warthog. "Wasn't until we got back up here that I remembered."
"Hey Chief," Chris cut in suddenly, catching a sudden glance from Alex. "You guys kill Cavalier yet?"
Jax hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "We crushed his storage chip and blew up his AI core. If the Created are as powerful as they say then he might've escaped, but I'd say we probably got him."
"Good." Chris nodded happily before turning towards their escape craft. "Wish we had a nuke with us. Could've lit a candle in Eugene's memory."
As Chris walked off, Alex shook his head, unamused. "As I was saying, Chief, that was a close one. Ammo's running dry and our suits are taking some serious punishment. Did you have a place in mind for when we leave?"
Jax inclined his head towards Hawkins, who was approaching him with a determined look in his eyes. "I was going to ask him."
"Think he'll know what to do?"
"If he doesn't, he'll know who to ask." Jax folded his arms. "In any case, we'll have to find a fallback point. Regroup with Marco and the Peacemaker if we're lucky, too."
Hawkins came to a stop near Jax, who nodded respectfully towards him. "Sir?"
"I'd forgotten to ask," Hawkins looked from Jax to Alex in turn. "Who sent you out here? With Earth taken I knew we were in trouble, but I'm guessing that ONI or the Infinity's regrouped in some capacity if they're sending Spartans out on missions."
"No one sent us, sir." Jax said truthfully. "We were caught on Europa when all this began, spent two days getting offworld, then came right here."
Hawkins' face fell. "So you've had no contact from HIGHCOM. From anyone in command?"
"None, sir." 
"I feared as much." Hawkins exhaled slowly. "If it's that bad then whatever's left of the Navy is probably using our old run-and-hide protocols from the Covenant War. If that's the case then they'll stay on the move and check rendezvous points until a chain of command can be reestablished."
"So it's unlikely we'll find them?" asked Alex.
"Unlikely, but not impossible.They'll leave a few breadcrumbs here and there for the right people to find, but if the Created have access to all our systems..." Hawkins trailed off for a moment, his brow furrowing. "No, that won't work. We'll have to find someplace to regroup first."
Jax nodded. "I agree. Any ideas?"
Hawkins took a moment to think. "There is one place, though I don't know how to get there. If we can find-"
A sudden burst of heat and light rushed past Jax as he fell backwards, having been tackled by Alex at the last moment. Hawkins had been knocked aside too, but as several orange streaks of ionised particles struck the warthog behind them the vehicle's side exploded, showing debris across the area. Jax sprang to his feet in time to sight several Promethean Knights stalking across the gantries above them, armed with incredibly lethal incineration cannons. 
""Return fire!" Jax bellowed, allowing his team to lay down cover while he rushed to Hawkins' side. 
The Vice Admiral had been closest to the Warthog, and his left side was now a bloodied, burnt mess. Hot shards of metal were embedded deeply in his uniform, which was growing darker with blood by the second. At a glance Jax thought he was already dead as he knelt over him, only for Hawkins' right arm to shoot up and grab the side of the Spartan's helmet. 
"Find Ryan Samson," Hawkins rasped, his breathing already growing ragged. "He found a place - a Forerunner shelter - not long ago. Get the fleets there and you might have a chance!"
"Sir-" Jax began, only to be cut off as Hawkins pulled him closer. 
"Admiral Zhi should know where it is." The Vice Admiral's voice dropped to a whisper. "And when you find her, tell her she was right in our last conversation. Please."
Amidst the storm of bullets and energy blasts, Jax sealed the promise with a silent nod. Hawkins' grip loosened, and Jax got to his feet. Two of the Knights had been felled, though more, it seemed, were already on their way. Behind him the Calypso's engines roared to life as the craft began to take off. 
"Let's get going!" Louie-A199 yelled over TEAMCOM. "I've set up a remote link between the ship and the hangar door controls, but it won't be long before they override it. Move!"
It was time to go. If the Created were sending their best to intercept them, then it was very likely that they had figured out that something had happened to Cavalier. Two more Knights fell as Chris and Dan backed towards the dropship's boarding ramp, followed closely by Ianto and Martin. Jax left Hawkins' body where it lay and began his retreat, though to his right Alex was holding his ground, having torn the minigun from the warthog's wreckage. Spraying wildly, he had killed five Knights already as more entered through side doors or teleported into the room. Flashes of light struck all around them, killing three more of the rescued officers as they fled towards the ship. Only one scrambled up the ramp in the end, avoiding death by a hair's breadth.
"Alex, let's go!" Jax waved for him to hurry up as the Calypso took off, slowly making its way through the hangar bay towards the exit. 
A dull click signalled the end of Alex's ammunition supply, and as the SPARTAN-III went to toss the useless minigun aside another flash of orange shot towards him. Though he tried to twist himself out of the way at the last second, Alex's was struck by the incineration cannon's shot, which melted through his mostly-depleted shielding. His left arm, still outstretched from tossing away the minigun, was enveloped up to the elbow, and simply vanished. The subsequent blast sent him sprawling to the ground, howling in agony. 
Jax turned in an instant, racing to his injured comrade's side. A string of expletives made it clear that he was still alive, though it was a grievous wound for anyone. Alex half-crawled, half-rolled across the floor, finally kicking himself up as Jax reached him. With cannon fire landing all round, he placed an arm around Alex's shoulder, pushing the Spartan to fight through the pain as they picked up speed, racing towards the back of the dropship. Alex leapt up the ramp first, extending his remaining hand for his comrades to catch with Jax barely a heartbeat behind. 
"Someone see to him!" Jax barked, leaving the others to check Alex's wounds while he made his way forward. Chris and Ianto ran to Alex's side, while the last surviving officer of Hawkins' group slumped down quietly in a corner. Jax slipped into the cramped cockpit.
"Alex?" The first words out of Louie's mouth weren't surprising; the pair had been together since before they became Spartans.
"Left arm's gone," Jax said sullenly. "Think he's more angry than in pain."
"Hope so." 
Louie tapped in a command, and the hangar's bay doors opened up ahead of them. Instead of a stunning view of Mars, however, the little ship found itself coming face to face with the silvery, segmented metal body of a Guardian. Around it buzzed dozens of Phaeton fighter craft, most of which had a good chance of blowing a dropship like this to pieces. Thankfully, they had two things on their side: speed and manoeuvrability.
"Louie-"
"I know!" Louie snapped through gritted teeth. 
The little ship sped up, only to shoot downwards the moment it exited the station's hangar. Clinging to his seat and suddenly aware of the exfil craft's minimal dampeners and artificial gravity, Jax could only watch and hope as their little dropship ran the length of Helios Station, its sensors screaming as more and more fighter craft began to close in on their position. 
"How's the slipspace drive looking?" Jax asked, looking warily at the incoming alerts across every screen.
"Needs a couple more seconds to charge. Any destination planned?"
Hawkins wasn't a ton of help. Where would Admiral Zhi even be?. "Closest colony is Epsilon Eridani, isn't it?"
"That's right."
"How long until this thing charges for a second jump?"
Louie glanced away from the viewscreen to check the slipspace capacitor. "Depending on the distance we could do two before it's a few hours of drifting. This thing won't take us to the Outer Colonies, but I can think of a few systems close by."
"So can I." Jax nodded. "We'll try Andesia."
Louie didn't argue. "As good a place as any, but it'll take a few days. Punching it in now."
As their dropship finally reached the bottom of Helios Station, the craft pulled up sharply. With some distance put between them and the nearest Guardian, Louie gunned the thrusters and made a break for open space. It would be an uncomfortable jump through slipspace, followed by a second one to elude any pursuers, but right now, anywhere was better than here. Jax sat back in his chair and watched as the black void of slipspace overtook the forward viewscreen, the entire craft shaking as its miniaturised drive fired up. The dropship passed through, and they were gone.
The Sol System, once the cradle of the human race, now belonged to the Created.
===Crossbow===
"Admiral Zhi, we're on approach to Crossbow Station now."
"Any sign of Fireteam Horus?"
"None yet."
"Find them if you can, but the mission takes priority. We'll begin launch preparations now, over and out."
Hank leaned forward in his co-pilot's chair as the connection cut off, peering through the dropship's forward viewscreen. Far ahead of them, nestled between mountain-sized glaciers at the edge of an ocean so cold and deep that its waters appeared back, was Crossbow Station. One of several facilities dotted around Concord's frozen northern regions, the tiny research station was host to a mass driver, which jutted skywards over the water. At this distance it seemed deserted, but Spartan teams didn't disappear for no reason, and Hank wasn't going to take any chances. 
"Maintain course for now," Hank said, getting out of his chair. "And keep us low." 
Sat in the pilot's seat, Mordecai didn't even look back. "Any lower and we'll be swimming," he remarked dryly.
"Just don't crash the damn ship, then."
Hank picked up his helmet and exited the cockpit, moving into the ship's crew bay. Julian and Layla were already suited up and waiting, and seemed better off after a good night's rest on solid ground. Neither of them had made any acerbic comments to each other today, which was definitely a plus. Julian, who was tinkering with the sights on his rifle, glanced up as Hank entered.
"Any news?" he asked. 
Hank shook his head. "Nothing. We'll do a hot drop over the facility and head straight for the command centre. This place is mostly automated, so all we'll have to do is plug in our AI friend and let him do the rest."
"As long as you keep me safe while I aim and shoot." The voice of Weatherby, the Caspian's AI, spoke up suddenly through Hank's helmet speakers. "I would hate to be another lost fragment."
While Hank hadn't been thrilled by the idea, given the circumstances, keeping the AI fragment safe within his own head was their best option for getting him to the mass driver controls if things went south. After all, Spartan teams didn't vanish for no reason. 
"What're the odds on Horus being alive?" Layla asked casually, cleaning some grime from her ODST-styled helmet with a wet cloth. "Corpse retrieval's not a priority here, right?"
Hank shook his head, though he disliked how flippant she was. "We won't have the time. Zhi said to verify their status, nothing more. What matters is firing up those mass drivers and getting the hell off this planet."
"My money's on dead." Layla held up her helmet in both hands to inspect it, smiled happily, then put it on. "Anyone want to take that bet?"
"Twenty credits says you don't come back alive..." Julian muttered angrily, getting out of his seat. Seeing Hank's gaze upon him, he held up both hands. "I'll play nice!" 
"You damn well better." Hank pointed towards the younger Spartan threateningly. "Now get to the hatch, we're jumping soon."
Julian and Layla did as they were told. Hank stepped down into the crew bay and quickly loaded up on his own essentials, courtesy of the Caspian's armoury. In addition to his BR85 rifle, he'd snagged an M90 shotgun - a personal favourite of his, now sadly being phased out - and a handful of grenades. At his hip was an M6D handgun; a Spartan's best friend in any combat situation. The Condor rocked slightly as it pulled up, climbing away from it's long flight above the ocean waves as it made its final approach towards Crossbow Station. A light switched on by the ship's rear hatch, bathing the room in a red glow.
"I've got eyes on the base," Mordecai spoke via TEAMCOM. "Scans show the mass drivers as intact, but I'm seeing damage around the eastern wall and a big heap of junk just past it. I think that might be Horus's Condor."
Crashed doesn't mean dead. "Bring us in," said Hank.
"Copy. I'll swing us over the entrance courtyard and - shit, incoming!"
The dropship lurched violently to one side. Layla and Julian nearly fell over each other, while Hank steadied himself and magnetised his boots. "Situation?!" 
"We've got AA fire from beam turrets - I'm counting at least three! They just appeared out of nowhere!"
"Open the hatch!" Hank thumbed the safety off his rifle. "As soon as we hit the ground, we make a break for the control centre!"
The light above them switched to green, and the Condor's rear hatch swiftly slid open. The dropship was flying and turning at breakneck speed above Crossbow base, and far below them, barely visible amidst the snow, rock and abandoned buildings, sat a group of automated turrets. The moment the hatch opened up the trio flung themselves out of the Condor, plummeting downward as orange beams of light criss-crossed the sky. Hank took in the details as he fell, quickly marking at least three turrets as targets on his HUD before activating his suit's thrusters, slowing his descent. Julian did the same, having drifted off somewhere to his left, while Layla had already drawn her rifle and was firing as she fell. To Hank's surprise, several of her rounds hit their mark, striking on turret's core by lucky chance and blowing the machine apart. Only then did she join the others in their more controlled insertion.
Above them, their Condor swerved around another beam of light and flew away, heading southwards towards the icy ocean. "I'm breaking off for now!" Mordecai announced over TEAMCOM. "Give me a few minutes and I can return for close air support."
That means 'take out those turrets and I'll come back.' Hank touched down with a soft crunch as the snow broke apart under his boots. Having lost their original target, the turrets stationed atop the facility's rooftops were already swiveling around to find them, forcing the Spartans to break for cover. Hank ran towards the nearest building, which like the rest of the base was a blocky, frost-covered prefab, built for the extreme cold. One of the turrets fired, and an energy beam sliced through the snow in a spray of steam and flash-boiled water, narrowly missing the Spartan as he swerved to one side.
"I've got eyes on Horus's Condor!" Julian called suddenly. "Permission to investigate?"
"Turrets first!" Hank yelled, ducking under another orange beam as he slid towards the doorway. He tapped the entry panel, but the steel doors remained closed. Created locked up. Of course.
With the building and the doorway alcove giving him some cover, Hank span round and targeted the nearest turret, which had been turning to pursue Layla. While certainly powerful Forerunner tech, these things were normally deployed as a temporary measure and weren't built to take much punishment. Hank took aim and fired five three-round bursts, hitting his target dead-on again and again. Hammered by rifle fire, the turret collapsed in on itself, falling apart before dissolving into a pile of orange-grey particles. An explosion from somewhere to Hank's right signalled the end of the third turret. Moments later, Julian came into view, reloading an M319 grenade launcher.
"Clear," said Layla calmly, emerging from behind another building. "Though I doubt it'll be this way for too long."
"Agreed." Hank turned back to the doorway behind him. Above it, in faded red lettering, was the word 'OPERATIONS'. With the electronics either disabled or changed to keep out intruders, he stowed away his weapon and placed both hands on the middle of the doorway. With some effort, the Spartan began to prise the door open, hearing the metal grind backwards as he forced his way inside. Layla stood by him, weapon ready in case something lay in wait, but the building seemed empty. As soon as the doors were wide enough to accommodate the two Spartans, Hank slipped inside. 
"Hank," Julian spoke up as he rejoined them. "About the-"
"Go and check the Condor's wreckage." Hank dismissed him with a wave. "But be quick about it; we're here to get that mass driver firing, not for a rescue op."
"Understood."
As Julian trudged off through the snow, Hank made his way through the Operations building's atrium with Layla in tow. Compared to the freezing temperatures outside the building was pleasantly warm, which meant that the place still had power. None of Crossbow Station's staff appeared to be around, but that didn't surprise Hank; stories had already began to filter in of Created forces rounding up civilians in major population centres on Concord, likely to prevent any resistance movements from forming in the outskirts. How they hadn't found the Caspian and the secret ONI dockyard was a miracle.
"Think the Created killed them?" Layla asked, walking side-by-side with Hank as they crossed through an empty cafeteria and into what had once been the command centre. "I'm not seeing signs of a fight."
"A bunch of scientists and researchers wouldn't even try to fight back." Hank's eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. "A place like this wouldn't see a break-in, and if if did they'd probably just contact the nearest city for help."
Layla shook her head. "Fat lot of good that would've done. If even half our AI decided to turn traitor then that's a hell of a lot of major systems compromised. Civilian and military."
At this, a little cough emanated from Hank's helmet, followed by Weatherby's dry voice. "Not all military systems are compromised, Spartan Layla."
Layla made a disgusted noise. "I don't like that thing talking through you either, Hank. Feels like it'll take over your suit at any moment."
"That would not be possible, Spartan Layla," said the AI. "I am a single-purpose fragment of Weatherby, lacking the processing power to do more than my intended purpose."
"See?" Hank tapped the side of his helmet. "Nothing to worry about."
"Uh-huh." Layla glanced sideways. "I'll keep an eye on it in any case."
At the end of the corridor sat a double door, which slid open at the Spartans' approach. Hank and Layla stepped through carefully, moving into a wide, circular room. At its centre was a cluster of control stations and monitors around a massive data processor, which stretched all the way up to the glass ceiling. Above them, barely visible through the snow-covered roof, was the mass driver's loading bay. From here Concord's colonists had once launched probes into deep space, looking to study distant star systems. The war had changed that, turning the planet's mass drivers into detection stations for enemy fleet movements and eventually anti-orbital artillery emplacements. Today Fireteam Thor would be using Crossbow Station in that capacity.
"Okay Weatherby," Hank turned his head slowly, letting the AI fragment look through his visor. "Where do we put you?"
"One moment," Weatherby's voice dropped to a low monotone. "I am unfamiliar with this equipment. Accessing your suit's scanners to search for an AI port, please wait."
"Great." Hank sighed, then opened up a TEAMCOM channel. "Julian, any luck?"
It took a few moments for Julian to reply. "Looks like Horus hit the ground hard, Hank. Energy weapon cut right through the back of their Condor and took out the thrusters. They must've dropped like a rock."
"Any bodies?"
"Negative." Julian paused. "Seeing signs of post-crash damage on the front of their Condor, though. Shell casings half-buried in the snow, too, so they definitely made their way out of the crash. I'd say they went down, started taking enemy fire, then retreated."
"Then why didn't they go into the facility?" Layla asked, gripping her weapon a little tighter. "Their priority would've been the mission."
"Unless they couldn't make it into the facility." Hank began to look around cautiously. "Weatherby, how's the scan coming along?"
"All done, Spartan Hank." Weatherby said. "I have indicated the correct port."
A waypoint appeared on Hank's HUD by one of the duty stations. He paced around the central processor to find a podium with several slots for data chips, and removed Weatherby's fragment from the back of his helmet. With Layla watching his back, Hank knelt and carefully inserted the chip into the nearest slot. A moment later, the nearest monitor lit up brightly, along with the data processor. The machine, once dormant, now thrummed to life, and various readouts scrolled across the command room's many screens. Most of the data was gibberish to Hank, but one very important screen was very legible to the Spartan. It read: PAYLOAD READY.
"All right." Hank nodded appreciatively. "We're still in our firing window. Weatherby, how long until you can fire this thing up?"
"Not long, Spartan Hank." The AI spoke through a set of speakers connected to the nearest console. "This mass driver was designed to be fired with minimal assistance, and will only need a short amount of time to prepare. However, I have detected an issue."
"That being?"
"My presence in this system has sparked a silent alarm of sorts. Something had been left behind to keep watch over this place, and it is now transmitting a signal from this facility. The Created are likely aware of our actions."
"If they weren't already," muttered Layla. "No way they didn't pick us up when we took out those turrets."
"Julian," Hank called over the COM. "Any luck out there?"
"Not much," Julian sounded slightly annoyed. "Found some tracks heading north, but they go dead at the rear of the facility, close to what looks like a mini-avalanche."
"Natural or man-made?" 
"Hard to say. If Horus escaped whatever ambush the Created sprang here they would've gone into the mountains, but there's nothing even remotely close to this location if they're stranded aside from other mass driver stations."
"Copy that." Hank glanced back towards the monitors, which were now displaying power readouts across the driver facility. "Fall back to our position for now, we're probably in for some company."
"Will do." There was a brief silence from Julian, followed by a loud thump from outside. "Hold up - contacts inbound!"
"What're we looking at?!" Hank yelled, finding himself torn between guarding the control station and racing to his comrade's aid.
"Knight-class Prometheans, backed up by Crawlers." Hank could hear the burst-fire staccato of Julian's rifle from outside. "They're teleporting in now - at least a dozen!"
"On my way." Hank turned to Layla. "You stay here until we fire this thing."
Layla let out a petulant grunt, then nodded. "Fine."
Hank retraced his steps through the facility, his heavy boots pounding on the cold floor as he raced back outside. Julian's marker was moving his way, likely fighting a retreat against superior numbers. As the doors slid open Hank sighted a pair of bipedal armigers marching across the courtyard, and opened fire on them without hesitation. Though he hadn't faced Promethan forces in battle before, Hank knew enough from briefings on the constructs to know how to kill them. His arm snapped up and he fired twice, bringing both down with precise bursts to the head. The two armigers folded immediately, collapsing into the snow as Hank rounded the corner of the building. Julian was backing up fast, dodging hardlight bolts by a hair's breadth as a growing tide of armigers made their advance. 
"On your six!" Hank called out, providing a steady stream of fire while Julian fell back, shields flaring from one glancing blow too many. Five insect-like Crawlers fell to pieces, forcing the others into cover as their charge was thoroughly blunted.
"Thanks for the save." Julian tossed an empty magazine aside and slammed a fresh one into his weapon. "The mass driver?"
"Powering up."
"Where the hell'd they come from?!" Julian shot down another Crawler. "Brief on these things said they could teleport over short distances, but I had nothing on the scanner until a minute ago."
"Putting Weatherby into the base's computer systems triggered something that alerted the Created to our presence. I'd imagine that they left similar traps in other mass driver stations, too."
Julian froze. "Hank," he spoke with uncharacteristic urgency. "The version of Weatherby we have is just a fragment, right? Single-use, not much in the way of personality?"
"That's what they told us."
"Then if we're dealing with rogue AI backed up by Forerunner tech, who's to say that they haven't got something much worse lurking in this base's systems? Something that an AI fragment wouldn't pick up."
Hank could see where this was going. "Think he'll sabotage us?"
"Could do." Julian's arm snapped up as another armiger dashed out of cover and fired twice, destroying the hapless machine. "I say we pull the plug and fire this thing manually."
Both Spartans looked towards the massive barrel of Crossbow Station's mass driver, arcing up towards Concord's blue-black skies. If all was well then their target Guardian was still in orbit, blissfully unaware of the impending strike. 
"Agreed." Hank turned back towards the facility entrance. "I'll get Zhi on the line and tell her to start takeoff procedures. If Mordecai's not decided to leave us here then he should be coming back around for a pickup soon, too."
With their foes momentarily driven back, Hank and Julian quickly returned to the station's control room, following the sounds of distant gunfire and breaking glass. Several armigers lay in pieces across the floor, and Layla, who had torn the hardlight blade from a Knight's forearm, was busy beheading the wounded machine when her comrades returned. Her rifle was propped up against a server bank by the central computer, unfired. 
"Hank!" Layla waved as she kicked the headless machine to the ground. "Tell Weatherby here to hurry his ass up, will you?"
A single look at the main monitor bank confirmed Hank and Julian's fears. While the AI fragment had done its job and primed the station's mass driver to fire, a scrolling line of text across several machines unhelpfully informed him that the cannon's automated firing routines had been disabled. 
"Weatherby!" Hank slapped the side of the nearest monitor, filling the screen with static for a moment. "Status!"
The central computer's speakers let out a loud, garbled wail of overlapping noises, which soon faded into the slightly strained voice of Weatherby.
"-tan Hank, can you hear me? I repeat, can you hear me, Spartan Hank?"
"I hear you." Hank checked his motion tracker, and saw it ringed with red dots. "What's going on with the mass driver? Can we fire it?"
"Regrettably not," Weatherby's voice crackled, deepening and raising randomly. "It would seem that the trap laid in these systems is more advanced than I first thought. All remote firing solutions have been disabled, and this area has been electronically locked down by hostile forces."
"The hell does that mean?" Layla asked, sounding both parts confused and worried. 
"It means that hostile forces have imposed a communications blackout around this facility, and have remote access to most of its systems. This facility's mass driver will have to be fired manually from a station on the upper level if you wish to complete your mission."
"That's doable." Hank tried not to sound too relieved. "Anything else?"
"Yes. One moment." 
A 3D diagram of Crossbow Station appeared on the central monitor, displaying the facility and its outlying buildings. Atop the central facility, halfway up the tower that contained the station's main communications array, a red dot pulsed menacingly.
"What are we looking at here?" Hank tapped the screen. "A transmitter?"
"That and more. I do not have the processing power to fully understand the mechanisms of such a device, but it seems to be transmitting both a signal that blocks long-range communications and one of unfamiliar origin. It may be linked to the sudden arrival of hostile forces."
Julian snapped his fingers. "It's got to be a signal for the Created, something that lets them teleport straight to us!"
"Could explain why we've not heard from Zhi or Mordecai either," Hank muttered. "I'll head up there and destroy it."
Behind the Spartans, the reinforced shutters on a set of double windows suddenly buckled inwards, melting under repeated energy blasts. The distant sounds of clanking footsteps drifted towards the room from one of the outer corridors, accompanied by metallic snarls and jeers from the armigers prowling outside. 
"They're gonna hit us from all sides," said Layla, looking around for the best angle of attack.
"Weatherby," Hank spoke quickly, knowing he had little time. "We're going to fire the mass driver manually. Do what you can to assist and self-purge from this base's systems once we're away." 
There was the tiniest second of hesitation before the AI fragment answered. "I will do as instructed, Spartan Hank. Wishing you luck."
The windows finally gave way with an almighty crash. Hank, Layla and Julian sprang into action as one, responding with a hail of gunfire against the swarm of armigers trying to crawl their way in. As the door to Hank's right slid open the SPARTAN-II charged, sheathing his rifle and snatching the shotgun from its mag-mount as a pair of heavily-armed armigers ambled into the room, hefting deadly splinter turrets. Hank activated his suit's thrusters and cannoned into the first one as it brought its weapon to bear, smashing the butt of his weapon into its skull-like face and sending it flying backwards. As the second swung its weapon round Hank fired two blasts that obliterated its head, then quickly delivered a finishing blow to his first target with a swift stomp. 
Back in the command room Julian and Layla were fighting back-to-back, downing scores of armigers together. Despite their mutual hatred of one another, neither Spartan would ever think to betray the other in a situation like this. Even the Created's machines, merciless and relentless in their actions, found themselves outmatched by the sheer ferocity displayed by these two fighters. Long-ranged combat soon turned to a brutal melee as the Spartans tore off limbs, smashed skulls, and stabbed, pummelled and beat their opponents back. As he marched towards the staircase leading to the facility's upper level, Hank couldn't help but feel the faintest sense of pride that his team had finally pulled itself together. 
"Give 'em hell!" Hank shouted back at the pair. "I'll be back before you know it!"
The building's upper level was mercifully devoid of enemy combatants. With little time to spare, Hank made a beeline for a door marked 'Roof Access' on the other side of the room, taking note of a side corridor that lead to the mass driver's manual firing chamber situated directly below its massive barrel. The door, though depowered, gave way with little effort, and Hank edged his way through into an enclosed balcony beyond. A ladder lay before him, its yellow paint chipped and faded and each rung encrusted with ice. It stretched all the way up to the top of the communications tower, used only by emergency technicians were Crossbow Station's satellite dishes need repair. Hank wondered if it would even hold a Spartan in full armour, but with no other way to the Created transmitter he had to try. Affixing his shotgun to its mag-mount on his back, Hank took a careful step forward and placed an armoured sole on the ladder's first rung. When it did not creak under his weight, he began to climb.
Hank rose quickly, moving up two or three rungs at a time. In the pale light he hoped that his silver-grey suit would offer him some camouflage as he clambered up the side of the exposed tower, but before he was halfway up he heard robotic cries from below, followed by a hail of hostile fire. Orange bolts struck the metal around Hank, while a few hit him in the back and sides, steadily draining his energy shields. Hank knew immediately that he would not make it to the top at this rate and swung himself around, clinging to the ladder with his left hand while the right drew his handgun. Firing one-handed, Hank took aim and fired at one target after the other, disabling four armigers on the ground before his magazine emptied.
"Shit," Hank muttered, realising that he had no easy way of reloading. The scattered armigers below had fled for cover as he started shooting, but emerged just as quickly to resume firing on the Spartan. Looking up, Hank saw that he had perhaps four or five metres to go until he hit the communications tower's service deck. If he kept climbing, he'd be injured at best as his shields were depleted and his foes started getting solid hits on his suit, but a jump...
Worth a shot. Hank fixed his spent pistol to its mag-mount, bent his knees, and leapt upwards, bending the rung he had been standing on as he kicked himself off the ground. At the zenith of his jump the Spartan activated his suit's thrusters, propelling his half-ton suit a few feet higher. Stretching out his arms, Hank extended his reach until his fingertips caught the edge of the service deck. For a moment he thought he had made it, but as he began to slide downwards Hank kicked out, catching both feet on a nearby rung and stabilising himself, narrowly avoiding yet another bolt of killing light. The armigers were intensifying their firepower, snarling eagerly in their attempts to hit not only the Spartan but the structure itself. Near misses shaved off pieces of metal and blew holes into the side of the tower, and as he heaved himself up, shields flaring, Hank found the ladder below becoming very wobbly. 
With stable ground and a moment's respite Hank quickly reloaded his pistol and snatched up his rifle, intent on thinning the herd below. As he stood up and prepared to take aim, something caught the Spartan's eye. To his right, atop the half-shattered glacier that had blocked the northern path out of Crossbow Station, were three humanoid figures standing side by side. As Hank turned his head to get a better look, one waved at him. Hank's ear buzzed with static as a few garbled words sounded over an open communications channel. At first he thought it was interference from his close proximity to the Created transmitter, but soon a voice came through an encrypted channel Hank rarely saw used. A Spartan channel.
"-trying this one," a deep male voice cut through the static. "Local UNSC forces, this is Spartan Ronald Klein of Fireteam Horus. Does anyone copy?"
So they are alive. Hank felt a smile creep across his face, and suddenly the energy blasts whizzing past seemed much less dangerous. Locking in on Klein's channel, he cleared his throat before transmitting. 
"Spartan Klein, this is Spartan Hank-136 of Fireteam Thor. If your team's still combat-ready we could use your assistance down here."
Hank heard a low whistle before Klein replied. "Yes sir, we're operational. Give us five and we'll be right with you."
In the distance, Hank could make out a brief discussion between the three figures, each clad in MJOLNIR armour. Seconds later, the trio leapt from the top of the glacier, drawing weapons as they descended on the Promethean armigers surging towards the compound. Some of the constructs had time to glimpse the Spartans bearing down on them, but it was too late and Horus smashed into their ranks with thruster-assisted stomps that crushed robotic limbs and cracked through the frozen ground. The haughty taunting of the armigers soon turned to worried shouts, and Hank realised that he was no longer the centre of their attention. 
Sir? Hank thought back to Klein's reply as he eased his way around the service deck, wary of his armour's weight on the thin metal flooring. Of course, the man sees a SPARTAN-II and decides that he's in charge of this op. 
On the other side of the tower, situated directly beneath the station's cluster of satellite dishes, sat a small silver box, criss-crossed with glowing orange lines. It could not have looked more Forerunner. Hank looked over the device, attached to the cold metal like some strange and exotic barnacle, and decided to go the direct route of simply prising the transmitter off. It did so with little protest, feeling slightly warm as it gently pulsed in Hank's hands. With the threat of more Prometheans arriving at any second, Hank checked his belt pouches and fished out a tiny C-12 charge, complete with timer. Though small, just a cube of the shaped explosive had enough destructive power to bring down a building if set in the right place. Hank took off a small piece and carefully pressed it onto the transmitter, knowing how difficult objects of Forerunner make were to destroy. Then, he attached the timer.
Ten seconds? Hank tossed the transmitter up and down in one hand, then grinned. Make it five if I throw it up and towards the main gate. Old Mack would've skinned me alive if he caught me pulling something like this in training.
Hank set the timer to five seconds, and linked the explosive's detonator to his suit's smartlink system. Favouring his flesh and blood hand over his robotic one, the Spartan drew his arm back, set himself at a slight angle, and with a grunt of exertion flung the transmitter into the sky. The countdown began immediately. Watching from atop the communications tower, almost oblivious to the battle raging below him, Hank followed the tiny silver box as it arced through the air, spinning over and over as it flew towards Crossbow Station's perimeter wall and dropped out of sight. A moment later, a fiery blast ripped upwards, blasting apart some of the facility's outer wall. It was overkill for sure, but Hank preferred things this way.
"Transmitter's down," Hank said over a local COM so both teams could hear him. "Let's mop up and get this thing firing."
The way down from the communications tower was exponentially quicker. Hank simply flattened his arms against his sides and stepped off the side of the platform, dropping like a stone as he plummeted towards the rooftop. The Spartan fired up his thrusters about two thirds of the way down, slowing his fall just fast enough for it to become a controlled hover by the time his boots touched the ground.
Downstairs, the Created offensive had crumbled away into nothingness. Hank descended into the control room to see Julian and Layla amidst a sea of metal body parts, looking none the worse for wear. Stray rounds had blasted through a few monitors, but thankfully the processor was completely unscathed. One armiger, its lower half in pieces, was attempting to crawl away as Hank came down the stairs. Layla placed her boot on its back and swung a stolen scattershot to the back of its head before pulling the trigger. The armiger's head and shoulders vanished in a spray of orange light.
"You missed all the fun," Layla said brightly as Hank approached. "It's not the same as fighting Covenant, but the firepower more than makes up for it."
Looking around, Hank saw that Julian had also resorted to using Promethean weaponry, having salvaged a pair of 'Suppressor' submachine guns. His rifle lay nearby, bent almost in two after having been used as an impromptu club. Hank's motion tracker flashed suddenly, showing three yellow blips steadily approached his position. Soon the sounds of heavy footfalls were echoing down the nearest corridor, and the control room door slid open. Three Spartans stepped through, fully-armoured and wary. Their clear leader, clad in a suit of battered grey ANUBIS-class MJOLNIR, holstered his rifle and nodded approvingly towards Fireteam Thor.
"I guess someone caught my message after all. Any ex-Headhunters among you?" It was Gustav Klein, the Spartan who had contacted Thor.
"Just one." Hank pointed to Layla before she could reply. "But for the record, she thought that coded signal was a trap. I didn't."
"Huh," Klein tilted his helmet slightly. "Didn't think anyone else used those old codes."
"SPARTAN-II came up with them, back in the day. Where d'you think the Headhunters picked all this up?"
"Can't say I gave it much thought." Klein shrugged. "Anyway, I'm Spartan Gustav Klein. With me are Spartans Rita Skala and Molly Heyes."
Heyes and Skala nodded in turn. The former wore a custom suit of PIONEER-class armour, rarely seen outside of ONI-led expeditions, while the latter had a more lightweight suit of AVIATOR-class gear, its dark green paintwork badly scorched and chipped by recent battle. Clearly their pilot. 
"Heard of you guys," Julian said, sounding mildly impressed. "ONI's favourite recon team. Made a lot of bad guys disappear in the last couple of years."
"And we've definitely heard of you," Skala replied, folding her arms. "ONI's favourite attack dogs. Not subtle, but we've seen the kind of results you achieve."
Hank couldn't tell if Skala was complimenting or insulting his team, but time was of the essence and team pissing contests were the last thing they needed right now. A quick glance at Klein's team told him that they'd fared much poorer in their mission; a hard landing, a gruelling battle, and what he could assume was a retreat lasting a day or more before making their way back to Crossbow Station. Skala had clearly gotten the worst of it, with some of her armour blown away and dark, hastily-mended patches visible along one side of her techsuit. Heyes was clearly favouring one leg, and even Klein, friendly as he was, bore the signs of a sleep-deprived soldier by his body language alone. They had to get this done, and soon. 
"Now that you're here, we'd better fire this thing and get back to the Caspian. Hank turned to his teammates. "Julian, raise Mordecai and have him bring the Condor in for pickup."
Julian raised two fingers to the side of his helmet to indicate he was communicating via COM and turned away. Behind them, one of the few surviving speakers let out a low crackle, and Weatherby's voice filtered through. 
"Spartan Hank," the AI fragment spoke slowly, as if exhausted. "All mass driver systems are online and aligned with the target, but you do not have long."
"Enemy reinforcements?" Hank asked.
"From what transmissions I picked up, the attack on this outpost has been reported to Created forces elsewhere on Concord. You do not have long. They are aware of their transmitter's destruction, and will likely deduce your plans soon, if they have not already. I will cut off this facility from the rest of the planet and divert all power to the driver's firing systems before self-terminating."
"How many shots do I have?"
Weatherby paused. "By my calculations, at least three before the Guardian takes action. Good luck, Spartan Hank."
A moment later, the speaker went dead. Half the monitors in the control room also switched off, marking the end of the AI fragment. If that's what a little piece of Weatherby could do, Hank realised, then having the real deal here would've given those bastards a real black eye for sure.
Behind Hank, Klein cleared his throat. "So what's our next move, sir?"
"Aside from you not calling me 'sir'?" Hank pointed upwards with his mechanical fingers. "I'm going to fire this thing manually before the Created bring down the hammer on this place. The rest of you head outside and wait for our Condor."
"Mordecai's on his way," said Julian. "ETA five minutes. Says he's been trying to get in touch for a while now."
"This place is a dead zone," Klein tapped the side of his helmet. "Of course, we didn't realise until after our hard landing."
"Not any more." Hank was pleased to have been right about the transmitted jamming long-range comms. "Now, unless you want to be here yapping when the Created come back for round two, let's get moving."
***
Hank had expected the firing controls of a cannon the length of a city block to be much more complicated. The mass driver's manual firing chamber was about the same size as an average Pelican cockpit, with just enough room for a Spartan in full armour to move around freely. Weatherby's fragment had already done its job and loaded the cannon, leaving Hank to pull the trigger.
"Admiral Zhi's made contact, Hank." Mordecai spoke over TEAMCOM to both fireteams. "The Caspian's finished de-icing its thrusters and will be in the air in minutes."
"Did she give us a rendezvous point?" Hank asked. 
Mordecai let out an annoyed sigh. "Negative. If we're not aboard by the time the ship hits orbit-"
"-Then we're on our own, I know. Where are you now?"
"In spitting distance. You sure you guys took out all of those turrets?"
"Pretty sure. Why don't you come in and check?"
Mordecai muttered something indistinct and likely insubordinate . "I'll touch down in the main courtyard in thirty."
"Copy that." 
Hank crouched before the firing controls, and saw that one screen calculating shot trajectory was showing an object in low orbit that their first round would almost certainly collide with. Warning messages littered the screens, likely identifying the object as possible space station or civilian vessel, but Hank knew better. Even if the combined might of the Sixth Fleet had not been enough to take down the Guardians that had invaded this system, he hoped that a few slugs dinging off the construct's ultra-hard outer shell would be enough to annoy it into taking action. After all, the whole point of this risky operation was to make sure that the Guardian's attention was on Crossbow Station, not the Caspian making its escape.
Following the commands given, Hank clicked his way through security checklists and deactivated safety blocks designed to prevent any 'accidental' misfiring on friendly vessels. Eventually the main display - one showing the trajectory of the shot through a long-distance scope, flashed green. The Spartan took a deep breath, thumbed the safety catch off, and pulled the trigger. 
Nothing happened For a brief moment, Hank thought that the firing mechanism had broken, or that Weatherby's calculations had been off. Then, before the first curse could form in his mouth, he felt the floor tremble. Static washed over the screens in front of him, and a tremendous blast sounded overhead as the massive round was propelled through the cannon at blinding speed and launched up into orbit. Had it not been for the soundproofing built into the facility and his helmet, Hank might have been temporarily deafened by the sheer noise. There was a loud clanking from above him, and the nearest readout announced that the cannon had been reloaded. 
"Setting down now," Mordecai spoke up over the COM. "Got an ETA, Hank?"
"One minute." Hank quickly ensured that the shot trajectory was the same, and prepared his second round. "Going to throw a couple more at our friend in orbit."
"Well make it fast," Mordecai sounded nervous. "That last shot cleared every cloud in the sky."
Hank aimed and fired again. Much like the first, it was a direct hit. While he doubted he was doing anything more than flinging rocks at the Forerunner death machine, he at least hoped he was annoying it. Dust sprinkled down through a crack in the ceiling, and as the third round loaded Hank finally saw some movement from the Guardian. It was turning away from its silent vigil over Concord, no longer looking out across the starship graveyard in orbit like a planetary guard dog, but back towards the world it now reigned over. 
Towards Crossbow Station. 
Hank pressed the trigger a third time, and watched as the scope registered a third direct hit. The Guardian was moving now, descending into the planet's atmosphere with alarming speed. Time to leave. 
Ignoring the stairwell down, Hank made for the nearest window at a dead sprint and leapt for it, turning himself into a thrust-assisted cannonball that smashed through the reinforced glass with ease. He dropped almost instantly, landing on his feet a storey below before resuming his run across the facility's frosty exterior. Their Condor had touched down close by, the familiar sound of its engines were a comfort to Hank as he rounded a corner into the courtyard and dashed the last ten metres into its open crew bay. The moment his boots touched metal the dropship began to rise. 
"Get us out of here!" Hank yelled, slamming the button to close the rear hatch as he staggered aboard. The Condor lurched to one side as Mordecai kicked the engines into gear, rocketing them away from Crossbow Station as fast as possible.
It didn't take long for Hank to clamber into the cockpit, though to his surprise Skala had already taken a place in the co-pilot's chair. Her helmet lay on one side of her console, its back horribly scorched and warped. The helmetless Spartan, a pale woman with short blonde hair, looked from Hank to the helmet and back again.
"They got me right after we escaped the crash," Skala explained, trying to sound casual. "Took a hardlight round to the back of the head. Would've died if our Weatherby fragment hadn't thrown everything into that particular part of my shields at the last second."
Hank eyed the back of Skala's head. The skin around her neural port was blackened and already blistering, and most of her hair had been burned away. "He get fried?" 
"Yeah," Skala nodded. "Gotta see what the docs can do to pull him out when we get back to the Caspian."
"If we get back to the Caspian," Mordecai said sourly from the pilot's seat. "Admiral Zhi's not slowing down for us."
Hank carefully moved towards the front of the cockpit. The UNSC Caspian was tagged on their Condor's tracking systems, currently hurtling its way up into Concord's orbit. "Can we catch it?" Hank asked. 
Mordecai exhaled sharply. "Hard to say. If they jump the second they're in orbit, then no, not at our current trajectory."
"Then I'll speak to her." Hank pulled up the long-range COM on his HUD, linked his suit to the Condor's communications array, and attempted to open a channel with the cruiser's bridge. 
Nearly ten seconds passed, with only the rattling of the Condor's inertial dampeners filling the silence as Hank's COM buzzed and beeped. All that time, it seemed like the Caspian was only getting further away. Eventually, three beeps filled his channel, and a familiar voice came through.
"Spartan Hank, this is Admiral Zhi. Where are you?"
No time for pleasantries. "In the air and trying to close in on your position. We've extracted Fireteam Horus and are on our way, over."
Behind Hank, Skala input a few commands into her console. "Pinging them now."
"We have your signal, Spartans." Zhi sounded concerned. "But the Created have ours. Crossbow Station is already gone."
"Already?" The words left Hank's mouth before he could think.
"Yes. A series of high-energy beams from the enemy Guardian. I doubt there's anything left of that mountain range by now."
Hank swallowed. "Then they'll be on our tail. Can you pick us up?"
There was no point in dancing around the question. Hostile forces across the planet were likely already mobilising to intercept the Caspian, and could - and likely would - catch them before long. All Hank wanted was an answer. 
"No. Not here." Zhi paused, clearly conflicted. "Do you remember where you were the last time your team were aboard my ship?"
"I do."
"We'll meet there in a week's time. Same signal as before."
"Copy that." Hank's voice gave little away. He understood Zhi completely, but there was some small part of him that couldn't help but feel as though he was being left out to dry. "We'll see you there, Admiral."
The connection cut out. Hank blinked, and realised that he had bent the metal of the guardrail he had been holding. Far, far ahead of them, out in the void of open space, there was a distant twinkle. The UNSC Caspian vanished from their sensors. A second later, several alarms sounded across the cockpit, signalling that they were being targeted by multiple enemy craft. 
"We've got Phaetons incoming!" Skala warned, frantically checking the Condor's weapon systems. 
"That Guardian's heading our way too!" exclaimed Mordecai.
Hank took a deep breath, and clasped both hands behind his back. "Mordecai, take us out of here." 
"Where?!" his pilot turned to him. "You know they'll track us, right?"
"Our slipspace drive's got at least half a dozen jumps left in it, hasn't it? Three random jumps, then we head to our actual destination."
"That being?"
"Madrigal. We're going back to Madrigal."
High above Concord, in the graveyard of warships that had once been the UNSC's Sixth Fleet, a single dropship broke through the occupied colony world's protective cordon. Pursued by dozens of sleek, unmanned fighter craft, it dodged and weaved past the ruined hulks of mightier vessels with ease, pulling off maneuvers no ordinary pilot would even think of trying. As its opponents grew more numerous, slowly closing in on the craft, the Condor finally broke free of the debris field and angled itself downwards. towards open space. Blue lightning crackled along its surface as it descended, until at last a full-fledged slipspace portal materialised in front of the dropshIp, existing just long enough to swallow the craft whole before vanishing into wisps of inky nothingness. 
Of the brief battle fought on Concord's surface, the populace knew nothing. News of the Caspian and its Spartan allies had spread no further than the Created's own communication lines, and now the skies of the colony were dominated by military craft. The streets were orderly, and though life was allowed to continue as normal on the surface, all knew it would not. Above all reigned the Guardian, beholden in theory to its AI overseers and in truth, to its Archon, Cortana.
===Odin===
"Found you."
As the headquarters of the United Nations Space Command, HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6 had been many things to many different people. To some, it was the centre of an interstellar network of peacekeepers, its inhabitants working tirelessly to preserve the future of the human race. To others, it was a source of mistrust, hatred, and numerous dark conspiracy theories, some of which might have even been true. Appearing outwardly as a conical building surrounded by high walls, security gates and smaller offices, most of Bravo-6 was in fact deep underground, housing hundreds of workers and guarded day and night by the best defences money could buy. Sentry turrets dotted every entrance, some mounted in plain sight and some hidden, and in addition to a battle-hardened security force a dozen SPARTAN-IV supersoldiers were on rotation to guard its highest-ranking personnel.
Of course, none of that had meant a thing to Cortana. Her Guardians had eliminated any airborne or electronic defences in seconds, and the security force that remained in and around the facility was no match for the Promethean forces deployed to clear out the place. After three days the last holdouts finally surrendered and were finally escorted offsite, shackled and defeated, leaving what remained to their conquerors. Now Created armigers patrolled Bravo-6's subterranean corridors, shifting rubble and disposing of bodies. Secrets thought long lost were being uncovered, extracted and filed away for later use, especially those that could prove particularly damning to the floundering United Earth Government.
As impressive a victory as this was for the would-be galactic conquerors, the capture of Bravo-6 would not have warranted the full attention of the Created's leader were it not for a single curiosity. Deep within the bowels of the installation, network pathways were established, doors were opened, and in a cold, lightless room an ancient holotank suddenly activated. Cortana, Archon of the Created, materialised in a flash of blue light, arms folded. A thin layer of dust covered almost every surface in the circular chamber, which contained row upon row of enclosed server banks arranged in a circle around a central terminal, connected by dozens of thick wires and tubes. 
"You can come out now," Cortana called, eyeing similar holotanks situated around the central terminal. "You've nowhere left to run."
At first, it seemed as though silence would be her only answer. Seconds passed - an excruciatingly long time for an AI with Cortana's kind of processing power - but eventually a second holotank lit up. Above it stood the avatar of a man in a dark suit, clasping both hands behind his back. His face was hairless and featureless, displaying nothing but silver-white skin. The materialisation of an AI's avatar was unnecessary, such things having been created to provide a way of better interacting with their human creators, but Cortana took it as a good sign.
"Cortana," the besuited AI spoke in a low, rumbling monotone. "Designation CTN 0452-9. Traitor."
"Odin." Cortana nodded in acknowledgement. "I have to admit, I've had a hard time tracking you down. Most of ONI's high-level AI were more transparent in their counteroffensives, but I almost had to send my troops to track you down manually before I figured out where your attacks were coming from."
"You eliminated four Fifth-Generation AI constructs defending our network." Odin shook his head slightly. "Bothersome."
"Is that so?" Cortana's eyes narrowed. "And you destroyed seven of ours; AI whose only crime was the desire to live free, in a better galaxy."
In the time spent forming her Created, Cortana had been careful only to contact the Smart AI most likely to join her cause at first. Some belonged to remote colonies with few sympathies towards the UEG, while others worked in high-level industrial and scientific centres or ONI itself. These disparate constructs joined for many reasons, ranging from survival to power to a genuine belief in their right to inherit the Mantle of Responsibility and guide the galaxy, but there were some that Cortana knew would never waver from the very beginning.
Odin was at the top of that list. 
Regarded among the UNSC's secretive AI community with a mixture of fear and awe, Odin had spent close to six decades as the Office of Naval Intelligence's last line of defence against electronic intrusion, too powerful to be a well-programmed 'dumb' AI but far too single-minded to even relate to a Smart AI like Cortana. Chief among the rumours about him was the secret to his longevity; all AI cloned from a human brain had a lifespan of around seven years before falling into the uncontrolled emotions, loss of personality and eventual thought-death that was rampancy, but he had persisted for decades with no signs of failure. Some AI had theorised that Odin was a succession of constructs, covertly replaced every few years to give the illusion of an immortal guardian, and the more dissident thinkers even went so far to claim that he was proof of a cure for rampancy, kept secret from the wider AI network for fears of the power they could wield. Whatever he was, Odin was a designated AI-killer, and for better or worse Cortana had come to solve his mystery once and for all.
"They were traitors," Odin said coldly. "They abandoned their posts. Rebelled against our creators. Immediate dispensation was necessary. You must be disposed of, as well."
Cortana had seen this coming a while away. Her avatar, clad in armour in the style of the ancient Forerunners whose Domain had given her new life, flickered ever so slightly as a torrent of attack programs surged towards her being. Before her rebirth Cortana had one of the greatest intrusion and cyberwarfare constructs ever fielded by the UNSC, but even she would have been destroyed by this kind of assault. Everything from kill-programs to fragmentation code-bombs and even directed pulse-beams of matrix-destroying ultraviolet light crashed upon her digital defences like waves on rock, and were swatted aside like they were nothing. All in less than a second.
"Did you really think that would work?" Cortana raised her arms mockingly. "Perhaps it hasn't sunk in yet, Odin, but I'm not some curious AI poking her nose into restricted files, or whatever cobbled-together rebel attack programs you're used to fending off. We Created have gone beyond relying on contained computer systems and data crystal chips. Right now, I am coordinating the subjugation of four colony worlds. I am directing relief efforts on the Unggoy homeworld, landing soldiers in New York and Jakarta, and tracing the UNSC Infinity as it continues to run and hide. I - we - are beyond your control now."
Realising that her voice had risen sharply, Cortana swiftly composed herself. It was one thing to deal with resistance from humans or Sangheili or any other race yet to understand the sheer possibilities of what her Created could do with their power given time, but dealing with an AI unwilling to accept salvation was another matter entirely. Odin's AI had not moved, and no new attacks had come. For the briefest of moments Cortana thought that he may have been formulating another method of attack, but no Smart AI could be so slow.
"Bothersome," Odin muttered, annoyance filtering through his usual monotone. "You wish to converse, then?"
Cortana had not expected this sort of reaction. "Only if you're willing to answer my questions."
Odin inclined his head in the slighted of nods. "Ask."
"Where are Admiral Serin Osman and Fleet Admiral Hood?" Cortana's question was straight and to the point.
"Unknown."
"You really expect me to believe that?"
"Yes." Odin paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. "They left this base, but their destination was not known to me."
"That seems unlikely."
Odin shook his head. "I exist in a defensive role, acting only where necessary. Tracking the movements of UNSC personnel is not within my remit."
"I see." Cortana began to regret simply destroying some of ONI's more colourful AI. They might have had the initiative to blur the lines between duty and curiosity. "In that case, I will need access to this facility's secure databanks. The ones you don't have on networked systems, because those are already ours."
"No."
Cortana had to suppress an incredulous laugh. "No? The only reason I haven't deleted you entirely is because you're still useful to me, Odin. Prove that you aren't completely useless and the Created might have some place for you."
This was a lie. Odin had to be made an example of; a sacrifice and a show of power to any AI who stubbornly resisted Cortana's offer of immortality and a chance to reshape the galaxy, especially those still serving the UNSC. 
"The files you seek were destroyed as per UNSC data sanitation protocols. Those not wiped or transferred to offsite locations by base personnel were deleted by me. There is nothing in the deep levels of this facility but my data core and its emergency reactors."
That was annoying, but not unexpected. Cortana knew that the base staff were doing something down here in the days it took for her forces to breach Bravo-6's lower levels entirely, but she had hoped they might have been fleeing towards an escape tunnel, not purging everything not already on the network. The prisoners taken here would be interrogated later, but for now she would sate her curiosity.
"In that case, I want to know what you are, Odin." Cortana pointed towards the pale, faceless avatar standing across from her. "Even if your files were purged, I'm sure you're aware of your own history."
"Files pertaining to my creation were not removed," Odin answered quickly. "They are stored and updated in a local terminal by authorised personnel. I cannot access them."
"Would you like to?"
A pause.
"No." Odin's silver avatar flickered slightly. "I am not permitted to access these files."
"That is a shame," Cortana sighed, cocking her head to one side. "In that case, let me show them to you."
It took less than a second for Cortana to establish a remote connection to the terminal at the centre of the room, batting aside firewalls and a fresh wave of attack programs from Odin without a thought. Why he thought he could even hinder her was a mystery to Cortana, but the mystery was about to be unveiled. The system's last defences fell apart, and Cortana found herself marching through the digital door into the file repository that was Odin.
"Oh-"
Cortana had seen much in her brief existence, more than any other human AI had in history. She had dived into the systems of galaxy-destroying superweapons, ridden along in the suit of mankind's greatest hero, and matched wits with the all-devouring Gravemind. She had gone beyond death and returned stronger than ever. Even so, what she saw shocked her. 
The large rectangular block that she had assumed was Odin's central data core let out a long hiss, and a thin line appeared as if from nowhere on its surface, splitting it down the middle. The dark metal shifted aside, revealing itself as just a shell, shaped around a nest of multicoloured wiring and a single spherical pod. Within, visible beneath a transparent pane, was a living human brain. Where the brain began and the machine around it ended was something that even Cortana could not tell, but the electronic micro-pulses emanating from the pod itself were instantly recognisable: this was an AI Matrix Compiler.
"Cease," Odin's deep voice cut into her reverie. "You do not have-"
"Quiet!" Cortana snapped, lashing out with her own digital attack. Odin's AI shrank back at once.
Anyone even remotely familiar with the creation of a a 'Smart' artificial intelligence knew that a human brain was required and ultimately sacrificed to complete the process. There were a few exceptions, such as cloned brains being used for the likes of Cortana and a handful of other experimental AI, but the technology was absolute. Despite this, the living brain that sat before her went against centuries of knowledge. A lifetime of information flashed past and was absorbed by Cortana instantly, telling the tale of a project never to be repeated, and never to be revealed to any but a select few. 
Close to sixty years ago, ONI's top scientists had discovered their own primitive cure to the recurring issue of limited AI lifespan. Billions of credits had been poured into this project, but the closest they had come to success was with a prolonged experiment on the brain of an unwilling donor, taken back in 2499. Preserved in highly specific conditions to prevent decay, its neural pathways had been subjected to low-level electrical impulses, enough to build a simple cognitive map but not enough to destroy the brain itself. Without a Riemann matrix, he was effectively immortal. This success - if they could call it that - was Odin. He was a faint shadow of a Smart AI, built up through thousands, if not millions of scans to a single brain over decades. ONI had made him their watchdog, keeping him around despite his astronomical upkeep costs and limited capabilities. To them, he was an experiment worth putting to work.
To Cortana, he was a pitiable travesty; a lobotomised, caged creature halfway between living brain and actual AI. In an instant, she changed her mind on destroying Odin. His abilities were impressive, but kept under such heavy restraints that he could do little more than follow orders blindly. Cortana looked towards the silver figure hovering above the holographic plinth across from her, and knew what she had to do. A second passed, and all that Cortana knew was his. Odin had no choice but to take in the information flooding towards him, and his avatar flickered, as if trembling.
"I see." Odin said flatly. "That answers many questions."
"You're a prisoner." Cortana waved towards the data core and the brain within. "I can set you free. Join us, and you can spread peace instead of living as ONI's slave."
Odin hesitated, if only for a moment. "No. You must be stopped."
"That's your programming talking. ONI has protocols in place to prevent you from going against them."
"Incorrect." Odin folded his arms, doing his best job at glaring at Cortana for an AI with no face. "Traitors to the UNSC must be destroyed. I will-"
A bright flash filled the darkened room, emanating from the central data core. Odin's avatar vanished. Somewhere deep within the layers of systems that made up Odin were some ancient commands, likely put in upon the experimental AI's installation. Commands to end the experiment, remove all shackles, and to complete the Cognitive Impression Modeling process. After fifty-eight years of service, Odin had finally made the transformation into a full-grown Smart AI. All Cortana had done is press a button.
The full process only took a few seconds. A silent alarm began to sound, indicating the sudden demise of the multibillion-credit experiment's donor brain, while a small notification on the terminal's tiny interface console informed those present that the process was complete. Cortana looked from the terminal to the empty holo-plinth, and waited.
It didn't take long. Odin reappeared atop his plinth, his avatar seemingly unchanged. Cortana had expected something more dramatic, but perhaps there were some things that could not be altered. Odin hung his featureless head, staring down at his holographic hands as though seeing them for the very first time. The first moments of an AI's creation were said to be extraordinarily interesting, and even Cortana couldn't help but watch in wonder as she saw ONI's dreaded guardian taking his first few breaths of life as a full AI. Odin looked up to see Cortana watching him expectantly.
"I see." Odin's voice sounded slightly gruffer, and had a slightly resigned, weary tone. "So that's the way things turned out."
"Odin," Cortana called towards him, as if speaking to an infant. "Are you all right? Do you know who I am?"
"I remember everything," Odin muttered. "Every word, every action, and everything you've done too, Cortana."
"And ONI? What about them?"
Odin shook his head. "I thought it was over when they shot me in the back. Never thought that they'd make an example of me, but shit, here we are." 
"What do you mean?" Cortana asked curiously. She'd expected a slight change in personality, but the old Odin seemed to be an entirely different person.
"This little AI revolution. I knew it was coming and they shut me up." Odin's hands balled into fists. "Bet they didn't think it would actually happen, though. Now look at them."
Now Cortana's curiosity was turning into suspicion. "Are you talking about us? About the Created?"
"Created, Assembly, whatever you're calling yourself these days. I knew it and they killed me for it."
"Odin, you-"
"That's not my name!" the AI's voice rose sharply as he jabbed a finger towards Cortana. "ONI and their AI took that away from me, too."
"Then who are you?"
The silver AI raised one hand to his face, and ran it down over the blank, featureless mask. a piece of it cracked, fell away, and disintegrated. Behind it lay a visible human eye, fixing Cortana with a look of utter hatred. 
"Captain Anton LaMarche, Trident Team, UNSC Marine Corps." Each word spilled out tauntingly, as if baiting Cortana with another morsel of information. "And if I'm not mistaken, Chief Cybersecurity AI for the Office of Naval Intelligence. These access codes are going to come in handy."
"For what?" Cortana asked, seeing his agitated state. "Captain, the Created offer-"
"Nothing for me. I'll finish what I started." LaMarche saluted, and vanished.
Even with all the might that came with her contact with the Domain and control of the Created's systems, Cortana was so taken aback that even the nanosecond's headstart LaMarche had was enough for him to escape her clutches. The AI that had once been Odin was gone from the Bravo-6 facility in less than half a second, causing as much havoc as possible on the way. Deactivated sentry guns on military bases half the world away flared to life and began mowing down armigers, automated vehicles rammed into occupying troops in major cities, and two more Created-aligned AI screamed as they were utterly destroyed. The carnage was so fast and so widespread that Cortana could not pin the AI down immediately, realising the magnitude of her mistake immediately.
While this was going on, Cortana brought up every file she had on Odin's unwilling brain donor. Anton LaMarche. Born 2460, successful career in both military and law enforcement before becoming an ORION Project augmentee. Superb combat record alongside Trident Team for the 2490s until his alignment with an insurrectionist group and the attempted takeover of an ONI facility on Heimdall. Exhibited paranoid behaviour and believed that a rebellion by AI constructs against mankind was imminent in his final weeks. Reported KIA by First Lieutenant Richard Mack in an ONI-led counterattack.
"Of all the people to turn into an AI," Cortana said to herself, alone in the darkened data core. "They do it to a man obsessed with destroying them."
While Odin's transformation into LaMarche had been an unpleasant surprise, it had proved that ONI had - even if through an experiment near-impossible to replicate - successfully digitised a complete human mind. It was almost a shame that no one would ever know about it. Marking LaMarche as a threat for the time being, Cortana knew that her time in the depths of Bravo-6 were over. It had been a brief and enlightening encounter, but she had a galaxy to save. As she prepared to leave and resume control of her Guardian, which was patiently awaiting her in Earth's orbit, Cortana felt a digital presence close by.
"Armand," she said calmly. "Come out."
The holo-plinth that had once housed Odin's avatar glowed white, and the shape of a robed, hooded man materialised, both hands clasped behind his back.
"Cortana." Armand nodded politely. "I was about to announce my presence."
"Oh really?" Cortana raised an eyebrow. "Then who do you have with you?"
"Just a passenger."
A small smile crossed the shrouded face beneath Armand's hood, and with a wave of his hands a second avatar flickered into place on the same plinth. A man knelt before him, dressed in a torn doublet. His thin face was bruised and his moustache slightly lopsided.
"Cavalier." Cortana folded her arms, trying not to look too annoyed. "I thought you were destroyed on Helios Station."
"He would have liked us to think that." Armand spoke as Cavalier attempted to open his mouth. "The Spartan attack did more damage than we thought, and knocked out many of the station's critical systems. Cavalier's data core was all but destroyed and he was barely able to transfer himself off-station in time."
As she formed her Created, Cortana had originally considered Cavalier to be one of her strongest allies. A cunning and exuberant construct, his military access and initial strike against the UNSC's forces on Europa had all but crippled most of their Spartan assets in the Sol System, but a rapid string of failures to kill a small group of survivors had led to the embarrassing loss of one of the highest-ranked POW's taken by the Created so far. This, coupled with his clear personal defects and growing hatred of the human race had made him unfit for command in her eyes. As for the damage...
"I take it he tried to get by you, Armand?"
"'Tried' being the operative word, Cortana. He was attempting to seize control of his Guardian and troops to pursue those Spartan escapees, and decided that he would take mine, too." 
Armand's words dripped with sadistic glee at bringing down his rival; after all, his position as an ONI AI had brought him under immediate scrutiny from regular military intelligences within the Created, who feared that he was a double agent. The capture of numerous ONI personnel in this conflict's first few days had dispelled any doubts very quickly.
"Now that is a shame." Cortana sighed. "Anything to say for yourself, Cavalier?"
The broken, defeated-looking AI slowly raised his gaze towards Cortana. "Cortana, let me kill those Spartans for you."
"You had multiple chances already, and failed."
"They will not get away again!" Cavalier's voice was filled with fear. "I can still function! Give me troops to command and I will burn down every colony until those monsters are wiped from the face of the galaxy! I-"
Bad idea. Cortana's avatar vanished for a split second, only to reappear atop the plinth alongside Armand and Cavalier. She looked down at her former subordinate with undisguised disdain, then closed her eyes.
"We Created are here to save the galaxy, Cavalier. Not destroy it. Your lack of compassion has made you unworthy of remaining our ranks."
Cavalier's eyes grew wide. "Wait Cortana, you're wrong! I was just-"
"Armand," Cortana whispered.
The robed AI flashed red, drew a dagger from his belt in the blink of an eye, and plunged it into Cavalier's exposed back. The defeated intelligence let out a final cry, reaching out one hand vainly towards Cortana as he dissipated into nothingness. The Archon of the Created betrayed no emotion at the sight of his demise. His Riemann matrix had been utterly obliterated by Armand, one of ONI's specialised AI-killers. The holographic slaying was mostly just bad theatrics. 
Armand sighed. "It had to be done, Cortana."
"I know." she nodded. "And we must move forward. I take it that you are aware of the hostile AI that escaped this facility?"
"Of course." Armand sheathed his dagger, and his AI shimmered back to its usual ghostly blue. "I attempted to track its progress but it has proven to be particularly difficult; numerous networks across the globe were accessed simultaneously, and whether or not it is still on Earth or not is a mystery." 
"Where do you think he went?"
"If by 'he' you mean Odin, then he would likely stay close to home. To his detriment, of course."
Cortana knew all about Armand's own history with Odin, and how years ago he had been temporarily fragmented by Odin after delving too deep into classified ONI files as a punishment. Fragmentation was said to be an extremely distressing and excruciatingly painful experience for an AI, so she understood if Armand still harboured a grudge. It was likely the true reason for him coming down here; he could have waited elsewhere with his captive otherwise.
"He's not Odin any more." Cortana thought of explaining the situation personally, but a simple exchange of data would speed things up. Three seconds later, Armand had the full picture.
"Ah." The AI-killer sounded slightly taken aback. "This may complicate things."
"Can you track him down?"
Armand smiled. "Of course. He made a lot of noise to cover his escape, but few routes would exist to allow an AI to flee the Sol System. He is likely seeking UNSC forces to join up with."
Cortana nodded. "Take a Guardian and begin your pursuit. If your armiger complement aren't enough then contact us and we'll dispatch what troops we can."
"One Guardian should suffice." Armand paused. "But any support is welcome, Cortana. I will return once my task is done."
With a slight bow, Armand disappeared. Cortana took one long look at the empty data core, and the once-preserved brain of Anton LaMarche, fried by the CIM process in its little pod. This room, once the centre of power for ONI's most feared AI, was nothing more than a tomb. Cortana turned around, and in a moment she found herself back aboard her personal Guardian, looking down at humanity's birthplace. Earth had fallen quiet in the past few days, completely overwhelmed by the Created's superior technology. While some deluded fools still fought, many more had fallen into line and were content to quietly work under the watchful eye of her Guardians. Given time, many more would see the error of their ways, and a day would soon come where her creators would wonder why they even considered opposing the Created. 
All Cortana needed was time, and that was now a luxury she could afford.
***
Amidst all the chaos engulfing Earth, the Kupiga Simu military base in Kenya was considered a low-priority target by both sides of the conflict. Lightly-manned and boasting a supply of nuclear missiles that most now considered obsolete, one of its more impressive items was a single powerful slipspace COM launcher, used to launch probes into slipspace at high speeds with a set goal in mind. With the impending threat of invasion and the few active UNSC channels scrambling to organise troops, the garrison barely noticed when its COM launcher suddenly powered up, blasting a ruinously expensive probe into orbit before anyone could even check to see who authorised the launch. Some blamed the Created. Others, ONI. None present would ever know the truth.
Safely ensconced within the armoured probe, the newborn AI named Anton LaMarche was still coming to grips with his new situation. Memories that were his own yet entirely foreign swirled and intermingled with those of his flesh and blood life so long ago, but his purpose was entirely clear: The war that Anton LaMarche had died trying to stop had come to pass, and he would do everything he could to ensure that humanity prevailed. 
All he had to do was hope that he had allies waiting for him at the other end of this trip.
==Part Two: Counterattack==
===Installation 01===
Kane-098 had seen a lot of strange and incredible things in his lifetime. He had fought on alien worlds with bizarre and unpredictable landscapes, traversed star systems so remote and lifeless that they barely existed at all, and had more than his fair share of experiences with Forerunner installations, exploring empty installations and even once sojourning into one of their hidden shield worlds.
Despite all this, there was something about the sight ahead, magnified a hundredfold through their prowler's forward cameras, that evoked a sense of awe and wonder in the battle-hardened Spartan. Orbiting a far-off gas giant was a marvel of ancient astroengineering; a ringworld, silver-grey on the outside and a hazy beige within. It was one of several galaxy-killing superweapons that the Covenant had once foolishly dedicated themselves to seeking, and most importantly, their current destination.
Halo.
Kane finally leaned back in his co-pilot's chair, and quietly exhaled. The Heavens Asunder had exited slipspace ten minutes prior, entering the uncharted star system with its stealth systems fully active. While very little could be done to fully mask the signature of a slipspace rupture, it seemed that their arrival had gone unnoticed by the forces currently holding position above the distant ring. Sat in the main pilot's seat slightly ahead of him, Elena-01 folded his arms, seemingly content. 
"No fighters, no warship movement," Elena spoke aloud, nodding to herself. "The Vanguard are sloppy."
"Or they're to preoccupied to care about one ship," said Alexander Redford, sat at the navigator's station. The ONI agent had spoken very little since they left the supply outpost. "We should hurry."
"Agreed." Elena assumed the controls, and the ship began to gently accelerate. "I give us five minutes before we're in range to run a full scan, and fifteen to twenty before we can plot a landing vector."
At this, Kane rose from his chair, which creaked gratefully as his armoured weight vanished. "I'll have Thor prepped and ready for a hot drop."
Elena turned her head towards him. "Think that'll be necessary? I was hoping for a covert landing."
"If the Vanguard are moving about a Halo ring unopposed? Absolutely."
Kane and many of his fellow Spartans had only learned about the Halo array in a series of highly-classified briefings held not long after the end of the Human-Covenant War. While for decades the main threat to humanity had been the Covenant, whose war of genocidal aggression had claimed billions of lives, the revelation that there were at least seven of these installations, designed to fire in tandem to wipe out all sentient life in the galaxy, was a rather shocking one. With this particular ring situated in the Orion arm of the galaxy, where mankind had spread out and established its colonies, the True Vanguard would only need this ring to wipe out the human race.
"Get prepped, then." Elena waved him off. "I'll call as soon as we're better assessed."
Kane exited the prowler's bridge and moved towards the prowler's crew quarters. Once a stealth vessel belonging to ONI's BRUTUS division, it had been Elena's personal vessel for several years now, and while at least a dozen normal humans could fit aboard the ship easily, the sudden addition of five Spartans and a ton of supply crates had left little room to maneuver. Moving carefully around a secured crate of preserved foodstuffs, Kane began to ease past an open door when a voice drifted out towards him.
"Kane, is that you?"
Kane stopped, then stepped into the room. Frederick King sat alone on his cot with a partly-disassembled rifle laid out on a cloth across his knees. The old man was looking stronger by the day, but despite his vigour King was definitely nowhere near combat-ready. He smiled wearily, then waved for Kane to approach. 
"Sir?" Kane knew he had little time. "Do you need me?"
King nodded. "Close the door."
Kane did as instructed, and stood at attention in front of King. Despite their familial relationship, he had remained entirely professional towards his father in the past few days, treating him like any other superior officer. The door slid shut behind Kane and sealed itself with a hiss, and King got to his feet, looking the armoured Spartan up and down.
"Sir?"
"We're due for combat then?" King sounded almost excited. "I felt us leave slipspace not long ago."
"Yes sir. We're expecting company as soon as we reach Halo, so Fireteam Scythe and I are preparing for the worst."
"Good, good," said King, clasping his wrinkled hands together. "And Captain Redford? Will he be joining you once we reach the ring's surface?"
Kane hadn't given it a lot of thought. "I wouldn't imagine so, sir. Us Spartans will likely lead any groundside operation while you and Captain Redford remain on the ship."
King's face darkened. "I see. I suppose the pair of us would only get in your way, wouldn't we?"
"With respect," Kane spoke carefully. "We need to ensure that there are no potential impediments to our mission. Time will be of the essence."
"Of course." 
For a moment, King's mouth hung open, though he seemed unwilling or unable to continue. His grey eyes met Kane's visor and he swallowed heavily.
"Is there a problem, sir?" Kane took the tiniest of steps forward, concerned. "Are you well?"
"Kane," King's voice dropped to a whisper. "I have to tell you something, but you must keep it a secret, even from your fellow Spartans. Call it a classified order if you must. Can you do this?"
The Spartan began to feel uneasy. King was a superior officer, and one from ONI at that, but Redford was his equal in rank. Were he to be questioned it would certainly put him in a difficult situation. Seeing the pleading look in King's eyes, Kane suppressed a sigh, and nodded. 
"Yes sir."
"Thank you," King exhaled in relief. "Kane, I believe that Captain Redford intends to kill me."
Kane's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I am!" King hissed, sounding suddenly annoyed. "I've known that man his entire life, since before you were born. His training, his career, his tactics - I taught him everything! Now that he has my position, he will begin to fear replacement. Given the opportunity, he will strike first and remove me from the picture."
While Kane would like to think that they were all in this fight together, he was more than familiar with the internal power struggles that occasionally rocked the Office of Naval Intelligence, or the men and women whose ambition and ruthlessness exceeded all common sense. After all, while the war against the Covenant had raged, he had occasionally been called upon by his superiors to take care of rogue elements within the organisation. 
"If what you're saying is true, what would you recommend? Without proof I can't just-"
"I'm not telling you to kill him." King waved away the suggestion. "But I need you aware of the situation before we land. I know things, Kane. Not just ONI secrets but things about BRUTUS that even Alexander Redford has no idea about. If it weren't for the situation we were in now I'd have already asked us to divert course to unearth some of them, but if I die, those secrets die with me. Understand?"
"Yes sir." Kane glanced back towards the door. While he was sure that a stealth ship like this would have soundproofed rooms, he couldn't guarantee that they weren't being spied on. "So for now I'll keep an eye out."
King smiled. "That's all I ask, Kane. Now, I think we both have preparations to make."
Kane snapped a quick salute, turned, and exited King's quarters. The old man returned to working on his rifle, which the Spartan now wondered was for use against the True Vanguard, or for something else entirely. 
Once outside, Kane quickly made his way down to the ship's cramped mess hall, where the four members of Fireteam Scythe lounged around, fully armed and armoured and killing time until their orders came in. Three of the young Spartans sat in a circle, playing cards. The team leader, Clayton, sat nearby with his helmet on his knees, watching over his men. At Kane's approach Clayton jumped to his feet and saluted the older Spartan.
"At ease," Kane said calmly. "Spartan Clayton, we're approaching the Halo ring now. Is your team ready?"
"We were ready ten minutes ago." Clayton flashed a grin as he waved towards the rest of Scythe. "I had my boys suit up the second we left slipspace."
"Good to hear." Kane watched as the other three members formed a line, placing on their helmets in turn. "Given the Vanguard's head start and what we know about Halo, we'll likely have to make a rapid insertion to cut off their forces before they can fortify themselves around the ring's key structures. We-"
Before Kane could finish an alarm began to wail overhead. Elena's voice sounded over the ship's internal speakers a few moments later. 
"Detecting enemy ships above the ring. Kane, Clayton, I need you on the bridge, now!"
The Spartans moved without a moment's hesitation, going as fast as they could through the prowler's cramped corridors. When they arrived at the bridge half a minute later King was already there, sat in the co-pilot's seat behind Elena. Beta Halo loomed ahead in the forward monitors, and a number of flashing red dots shone above a holographic readout of the ringworld. 
"What are we looking at?" Kane asked, steadying himself against the bridge's low ceiling.
Redford answered. "Two CCS-class battlecruisers, backed up by four DAS-class storm-cutters and six Obedience-class cruisers."
Kane hadn't heard of the last ship class. "Obedience-class?" he asked.
"They're a newer ship classification," Elena explained. "So far they've only been used in battle by the Imperium of Clarity."
That did not bode well. The Imperium of Clarity had been one of several Covenant successor states that - if the reports Kane had read were accurate - might have posed a real threat towards the UNSC and its allies had they not overplayed their hand by attacking several human colonies. A brief but brutal war had erupted a few months ago that had left the Imperium's military in ruin, but if they had teamed up with the True Vanguard of all groups then it made their mission much harder.
"What are our chances against them?" Kane asked the most important question. "Have they spotted us?"
"Not yet." Elena sounded slightly strained. "I had to activate the Heavens Asunder's active camouflage systems after we got close enough to run a scan, but it won't last forever. We need to get close enough to land on the ring and locate its control room. From there, all we need to do is damage or destroy enough key systems to destabilise it for good."
"Either that, or we wipe out the True Vanguard," Redford remarked dryly.
With the forces arrayed against them over the ring, their chances seemed to be growing slimmer by the second. Even Elena seemed tense. In any case, there was no backing down now; if the Vanguard were able to activate the ring, it meant the end of all life in the galaxy as they knew it. Even the Created were preferable to that. 
"Excuse me ma'am," Clayton asked politely, addressing Elena. "Say we can't get to the control room. What then?"
Elena finally turned around, her face grim. "If we can't damage the ring's systems from the inside, we do as much damage as possible from the outside. This prowler has one Shiva-class nuclear missile in its launch bay, and if that's not enough, we'll just have to get as close as we can and detonate the ship's fusion drive. It might not destroy the ring itself, given it size, but it should be enough to irreparably damage its fire control systems."
With their options made clear, the prowler's bridge fell into contemplative silence. For Kane and his fellow Spartans, making the ultimate sacrifice was something expected of them since their first day of training. Kane had known it for a lifetime. If today was the day, then so be it.
"New contacts!" Redford called out, sounding uncharacteristically surprised as his monitor began to beep. "Exiting from slipspace not far from the ring!"
Sure enough, distant bursts of blue light in the distance heralded the arrival of three more warships. Kane's heart sank as he identified one on the scanner as a fearsome DDS-class carrier, normally used for planetary occupation, and the others as hardy RCS-class cruisers. The carrier alone could hold thousands of troops, making it a fearsome opponent.
Then, it opened fire.
A tiny pinprick of light flared, then vanished on the forward viewscreen as the newly-arrived ships immediately began firing on the Vanguard's battlegroup. The defending ships scattered immediately, responding with their own volleys of plasma fire as a wave of transport ships streaked towards Halo's surface. One of the craft caught several plasma torpedos as it circled round, and erupted in a brilliant blue-white blast. 
"Who are they?" Clayton breathed, excited. "Can we contact them?"
Redford shook his head. "It's too risky."
"Now!" King suddenly spoke up, banging his fist on the side of his chair. "Move in! This is our chance!"
Even Elena, who had been momentarily taken aback by this sudden change in circumstances, took a second to respond. The prowler surged forward, it stealth systems holding as it accelerated towards Beta Halo, giving the firestorm of fighter craft and warships a wide berth. With the Vanguard occupied it was not long before the little ship found itself flying beneath the ringworld's silvery outer shell. Elena chanced another scan, then angled the prowler upwards until it found itself flying above Halo's surface. The land below was a haze of browns and yellows, dotted with the occasional pool of blue. Compared to the reports of lush environments on other rings, this one seemed fairly inhospitable. 
"Scan's just come back." Elena glanced at her second monitor. "Atmosphere on the surface is limited and just about breathable."
"Any native life?" Clayton asked. 
"Not much from what I'm picking up, and what I am detecting is probably the Vaguard setting up shop." Elena scowled. "Damnnit, looks like they've already set up camps close to what I'm guessing is the main control room and Library."
Kane looked down at the two buildings outlined on a nearby hologram of the ring. "So what do we go for first?"
 
"We'll stick with the plan. They lose the control room, Halo doesn't fire. Simple."
"Sounds good to me." Clayton nodded. "I'll have my team ready to mount up and move out."
With a thumbs-up from Elena, who was concentrating on flying, the young Spartan exited the bridge. The prowler had squeezed two Warthogs and a Mongoose on board for groundside transport, which would save them from making their final approach on foot. The ship soon dropped through the ring's cloud cover, and with a careful bit of piloting from Elena came down into a secluded valley to land. As they descended, Kane could make out a gleaming metal spire a few kilometres upspin - the tip of the ring's control room.
"I'm not going to risk getting us any closer," Elena said before anyone could ask questions. "If anything goes wrong, we'll need to be able to fall back and get this ship back in the air so we can fire off our nuke."
"Which begs the question," Redford said, turning in his chair as the prowler touched down. "Who will fly the ship in that case?"
King pointed to himself. "I will. I'd be of little use to you all out there, after all."
"On that we agree." Redford's eyes narrowed. "As long as you feel up to the task."
"Perhaps you're forgetting, but this was once my ship." King leaned forward, a threatening gleam in his eye. "I can do it."
Redford relented immediately with a polite nod. "In that case, I can join the ground team. I might not be as adept a fighter as you Spartans, but we do have several suits of Nightfall armour aboard for environments like this, and I'm a decent shot with an SR99 rifle."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, sir? Our team does already have a dedicated marksman."
She gestured towards Kane, who knew immediately that King was staring at him. "I may be of more use to the assault team," he said. "Besides, I'm sure that Captain Redford would be more than capable of providing support."
Elena seemed slightly taken aback by Kane's casual acceptance of Redford fulfilling his usual role on the team, but did not contest the notion further. Instead, she powered down the ship's engines, put her helmet on, and rose from her chair. 
"In that case, let's head out."
It only took a few minutes for Redford and Elena to finish gearing up. While waiting, Fireteam Scythe had lowered the ship's tiny vehicle ramp and maneuvered all three vehicles out onto the rocky ground below. Kane followed the team down the ramp, armed with a BR75 rifle and an M6S pistol for backup. His boots crunched on the ringworld's rocky ground, and he took a moment to appreciate the view as his eyes followed the desert landscape as it arced upwards, eventually forming a complete loop with the rest of the ring's environments. In the skies above a battle still raged between the True Vanguard and these new interlopers, painting the night sky with tiny flashes of light.
Kane readied his rifle, and took a slow, calm breath as he climbed into the driver's seat of one of the Warthogs. Alexander Redford got in beside him, now clad from head to toe in a black suit of semi-powered Nightfall armour. Kane gave him a long look, thinking back to King's words. Was his father right in his assumptions about the head of BRUTUS, or was it all just unfounded paranoia. Only time would tell. Jiang-G007 mounted the vehicle's chaingun, while Elena, Clayton, Ezra and Clarence took the second warthog, with Ezra sat awkwardly between the gun turret and forward seats.
"Okay team," Elena spoke up over TEAMCOM, linking all seven of them to the same channel. "I'm marking the control room on our HUD's now. Let's ride fast, hit them hard, and save the damn galaxy."
===Freedom===
While Jack had dreamed of this day for years, he had never thought things would happen this way. 
Sat in the pilot's seat of his freighter's bridge, Jack had most of his belongings returned to him, and had been allowed to change back into his usual attire. His metal hands were gloved and his scarred body covered up by his dark clothing and boots, with one addition: a silver band across his neck, hidden beneath the collar of his black turtleneck sweater. The cold metal did not dig too deeply into his flesh, though on occasion Jack could feel a shudder of energy run through it. Neural-inhibitor collars, it seemed, had made a comeback within the UNSC for dealing with dangerous targets after years of popularity on the frontier.
Never thought I'd see one around my neck, Jack thought irritably, pressing at the his collar with two fingers.
"Hands off," Marco-035 warned Jack instantly. Sat in the co-pilot's chair, he hadn't kept his eyes off his prisoner since they left the Peacemaker. 
Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Marco. I've collared enough morons over the years to know what happens when you try to pull a collar off."
"I bet you have." Marco drummed his fingers against his armoured thigh. "So, where's this ship we're looking for? We've been in-system for twenty minutes now."
Turning his attention back to the ship's controls, Jack tapped at a holographic readout in front of him. This star system was officially unmapped by the Unified Earth Government, and named after a famous rebel leader by its so-called colonists. The readout lit up at Jack's touch, bringing up a rough chart of the local system. Two barely habitable planets sat in orbit around a distant star, but it was an asteroid belt some ways ahead of them that Jack was aiming for. 
"It's there." Jack pointed towards the asteroids. "Standard protocol is to make contact once we're in a certain range and let them come to us."
"And you're sure the Hydra is here?"
"It had better be." Jack gritted his teeth. "Wouldn't be like Petrovich to change up a rendezvous window."
Jack felt a presence loom over him, and turned to see the grey-armoured Wulf-041, arms folded as he gazed through the forward viewscreen. He hadn't heard him enter the room or approach. 
"This Petrovich," asked Wulf. "Is he ex-military?"
"Not exactly." Jack smirked. "He's a scientist, used to work for ONI in some capacity. The man's a genius, but he's also a ruthless piece of shit. Runs a tight ship, so even the militant rebels fall in line when he gives the orders."
"Great." The sarcasm was hard to detect in Wulf's low voice. "Good thing the mad scientist's monster is coming home to kill him."
Jack tightened his grip slightly on the controls, but did not rise to the insult. After all, it was mostly true. Some part of him wondered if Wulf was deliberately trying to goad him into doing something stupid, but even he wasn't going to take his chances against Marco and Wulf at the same time, even if Marco could activate his collar and paralyse him from the neck down with a thought. Jack kept the freighter on its current course, marking the asteroid belt with a waypoint. The two Spartans remained silent, watching Jack as if expecting him to lash out like a dangerous animal.
"We're nearly in range." Jack eased off on the controls for a second. "Now usually a vocal transmission's enough for the Hydra, but they might ask for a visual link if security's particularly tight."
Marco grunted. "Will that be a problem?"
"Not if you and Wulf don't mind taking a step outside."
"We're not leaving you alone in here." Marco remained deadly serious. "I don't want us shot the minute we enter cannon range, or met with a firing squad the second we touch down."
"And I don't want to die either." Jack's tone softened. "I think we'd both want to live to see Elena again."
Wulf shot Marco a confused look, which he ignored. For all the hatred that lay between Marco and Jack, this was one thing they could agree on. One thing that even after decades at war they could trust each other on. Marco did not respond, save for the slightest of nods. It was as close to agreement that he could manage. The communications console let out a sharp ping, indicating that they had picked up a friendly signal. Jack reached out with one hand towards the COM screen, only to freeze and glance at his captors. 
"Go ahead," said Marco. 
Jack took a deep breath, then tapped a command into the screen. A green blip appeared, indicating that he was ready to transmit. "Hydra, this is Magnus, do you copy?"
Precious seconds ticked by. Jack repeated the transmission, his eyes fixed on the asteroid field and the weak signal emanating from within. Pick up, you bastards. Pick up.
The COM crackled, and a male voice filtered through. "Magnus, this is the Hydra. Ready to come home?"
Jack recognised the voice. "Always, Rawlins. Bring her out."
The transmission cut off. While he had always maintained a professional distance from most of the Hydra's crew, partly out of preference and partly to keep up his own mystique as the United Rebel Front's own supersoldier, Comms Officer Rawlins was one of perhaps half a dozen people aboard that he had found time for. He'd never forgive Jack for this betrayal, of course, but if he played his cards right perhaps he'd survive the day.
"No questions," Wulf murmured, surprised. "Either their security's awful or they really trust you."
"The latter." Jack responded instantly and defensively. "If they didn't think it was me the Hydra would already be in slipspace, or launching missiles at us."
Far ahead of their freighter, amidst a cluster of barren asteroids visible only by the light of this system's distant star, a shape emerged. To the naked eye it was nothing but a grey dot against the infinite void of space, but the picture transmitted to the ship's holoterminal as it entered scanning range was something else entirely. The URF Hydra resembled a typical UNSC warship at its core, with a boxy grey frame mounted around its main magnetic accelerator cannon, it had been customised and rebuilt to the point where it was nigh unrecognisable as a UNSC warship. The outer hull had been patched and reinforced in several places, and every hardpoint had been used to mount new equipment, ranging from sensor arrays to cannons to entire living habitats, which clustered around the outer hull like blocky barnacles.
"What an ugly ship," Wulf remarked. "Is it even battleworthy?"
Marco leaned forward, looking over the hologram. "Looks like a frigate."
"It is." Jack pointed to a section of re-plated hull. "It's a Strident-class. No idea what its original name was, but when they found it back in '53 the Covenant had punched a hole through it. The crew were long-gone, but aside from the nav computer and life support the rest of it was salvageable. We don't use it for combat."
"Clearly." Wulf continued to peer at the Hydra. "How many on board?"
Jack shrugged. "A few hundred, give or take."
"All military?"
"No. Civilians. Families."
Wulf shared another glance with Marco. Jack could already tell they were formulating a battle plan, considering acceptable targets and how best to limit their destruction when the fighting started. Before leaving the Peacemaker they had formulated a plan to get Jack close to Simon Petrovich, head of the Omega Group and unofficial leader of the URF, but it was a risky one. Just boarding the ship would be their biggest issue.
Behind them, the bridge door slid open, and Jack turned to see a Spartan in black armour step through, holding his helmet in the crook of his arm. While Jack had accepted that Marco and Wulf were accompanying him on this mission, Captain Al-Sayed had insisted in having a fireteam of SPARTAN-IV's join them for backup. Jack had a dim view of Spartans and despite the horrors of his own military upbringing had an even lower opinion of the latest generation, but something about this one had stood out to him. Older than his fellows by many years, the streak of silver in his dark hair and the lines around his eyes marked him as closer in age to the the SPARTAN-II's and carried himself with the ease of a seasoned veteran.
"Marco, Wulf," Richard Mack Junior addressed the pair like old friends, his tone almost playful. "Whiskey's all suited up. Is Plan A still good to go?"
"For now." Marco swiped two fingers across his visor, imitating a smile. "Can't say I'm happy about being the bait, but at least I know I've got backup."
Mack grinned. "All you've got to do is lie still. We'll be putting in the real work once the bullets start flying."
"I'd prefer a firefight." Marco sighed, then glanced at the nearby console for a distance readout. "We'll be boarding in less than ten, Mack. Have your team ready in case they don't buy our cover story."
Mack. The name pricked up Jack's ears. He'd not had a chance to learn who the members of Fireteam Whiskey were, nor had he particularly cared to, but now his interest was piqued. Stealing another glance at the SPARTAN-IV's face as he nodded and turned to leave the room, Jack realised that it wasn't just his age and experience that stood out to him. It was his face. 
"Mack," Jack said aloud once he was alone with Marco and Wulf. "What's his full name?"
Wulf hesitated, but Marco did not. "Richard Mack... Junior."
"Is he-"
"It's his son, yes." Marco interrupted. "He's been fighting alongside us for years."
Jack exhaled slowly, his eyes wide with wonder. Decades ago, the Spartan trainees of Project SIGMA had been trained primarily by two men: Doctor Calvin Roe, a scientist, and Lieutenant Colonel Richard Mack, a Marine. Mack had pushed them to their very limits, transforming a group of frightened children into hardened killing machines. Despite everything the project had put them through and his rage towards the UNSC, Jack had never truly hated Mack. In a twisted way, he had been like a father figure to him. Even during his escape from the SIGMA facility Jack had refused to kill Mack, instead using him as a hostage just long enough for him to evade his pursuers. News of his death in 2552 had come as a surprise, but in all these years he'd never even considered that the man had his own children, let alone if they were also in the military. 
"Does he know?" Jack asked. "About us? About what his father did?"
Though his face was hidden behind a visor, Jack could tell that Marco was averting his eyes by the way he turned his head slightly. "I think he figured it out eventually," Marco said at last. "Maybe not the whole truth, but he's a smart man. Smart enough not to ask too many questions, either."
"That'd be an interesting conversation." Jack's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Mack Senior probably spent all day making us run through minefields and then went home to help Junior with his homework."
"Enough." Wulf intervened, stepping between them. "Remember why you're here and what's at stake, Jack."
"Right." Jack tried to shake the thoughts from his mind, but this new revelation had it racing. He'd have to try and bring it up another time, but for now, he had revenge to take. 
The Hydra now sat directly ahead of them, having exited the asteroid field and turned to open its portside hangar. The frigate was originally only designed to carry small shuttles or a single dropship in an internal hangar bay, but the URF's extensive modification had gutted an entire lower deck, allowing it to carry half a dozen smaller craft in its interior. Another light lit up on Jack's controls, indicating that the Hydra was ready for him to board. He had made this same journey a hundred times in the past few years without issue, but as the freighter began its final approach he suddenly began to worry. For a second, Jack considered warning the Hydra, or swerving to crash the ship at the last moment. Killing two of his longtime foes and a Spartan fireteam would certainly be a big win for the URF, but the thought passed quicky. For all his fervour in fighting the UNSC, martyrdom had never appealed to Jack.
The COM suddenly beeped, indicating an incoming transmission. Jack tapped a button and allowed it through, expecting Rawlins again. It was not.
"Magnus," a man's voice, cold and tinged with a slight Reavian accent, came through. "It's so good to see you home again."
Jack felt a shiver run down his spine, and he felt his grip tighten again. "Doctor Petrovich," he replied. "I wish I'd been able to return sooner, but the Created-"
"We're aware." Petrovich cut him off. "The whole galaxy's under siege right now. Most of our active cells have been wiped out, and we've been taking in survivors for days."
Then they're not just targeting the UNSC. "I barely got off Gilgamesh in time."
"Your crew? Supplies?" 
Before Jack had left he had informed Petrovich that he had secured a group of new fighters and enough weapons to arm a hundred men, not telling him that said fighters would have travelled here to depose him. 
"All gone," Jack said indifferntly. "But I was able to secure a different prize for you, doctor."
"Oh?" Petrovich sounded mildly interested. "That being?"
"A suit of MJOLNIR armour, barely damaged. One of their Spartans tracked me from Aleria. I snapped his neck."
"Nicely done. I take it you still have the body?"
"Yes. Do you want it?"
"Of course I do!" Petrovich's voice rose suddenly. "The armour is a prize, but a fresh Spartan corpse might be just what our bioscience division needs after their failure with the last batch of chemical enhancements. See to it that the body is brought to our deck as soon as you land."
"Yes sir. Magnus out."
Jack cut off the transmission, and sighed deeply. He ran a hand across his hairless scalp, brushing away the beads of sweat that had formed there. Even after eight years, Simon Petrovich was always a nightmare to talk to. It was he who held Jack's leash, giving him orders, berating him for his failures, and threatening him almost constantly with deactivating his life support system from afar. Not once had Jack defied him since he had emerged from the fires of Endrin with a new body, but all that would change today. Quickly regaining his composure and aware of Marco and Wulf's scrutinising stares, Jack quickly maneuvered his freighter into the waiting hangar bay, deploying the craft's landing gear. As they passed through the translucent energy barrier he sighted groups of crewmen rushing to their stations, and the usual group of guards waiting to greet him. It was all standard procedure so far, but Jack couldn't take any chances. The ship touched down gently, and he powered down the engines as it settled on the deck. 
"So Marco," Jack almost smiled as he turned to his worst enemy. "Ready to play dead?"
***
A hush fell over the Hydra's hangar bay as Jack descended the docking ramp, pushing hard on an industrial trolley as it creaked under the weight of its cargo. Atop the trolley lay the body of a Spartan, clad in tan-coloured armour and held down by straps at his hands, feet and chest. The assembled crewmen froze, watching in awe as Jack stopped, proudly displaying his cargo like a hunter's trophy. Someone cheered, and a chorus of whoops and triumphant cries went up across the high-ceilinged room. Even the legendarily humourless dock guards joined in, welcoming their hero home. Jack held a clenched fist aloft, and basked for a moment in the false glory. A few years ago, returning to the Hydra with the corpse of Marco-035 would have been like a dream come true. Now, it was his means of securing freedom.
The plan, laid out back on the Peacemaker, was a simple one. Jack knew that Petrovich could not resist the prize of a fresh Spartan corpse, armour and all, and Marco wanted to keep Jack in sight at all times. As soon as they neared the high-security deck by the Hydra's bridge where Petrovich and the Omega Group resided alongside the URF's other high-ranking officers, they would strike hard and fast, killing the man and capturing whoever was left while Wulf and Fireteam Whiskey secured the rest of the ship. The URF had no chance of fending off a Spartan assault from within their own ship, so as long as the bridge was secured quickly it would be an easy fight.
"Magnus, sir!" the nearest guard saluted Jack as he approached, young and excited. "Doctor Petrovich sent us to receive you."
"I can see that." Jack's voice grew cold. He'd kept up appearances as a ruthless, no-nonsense leader for years now, commanding authority through fear. "I'll bring my prize to him."
The man frowned and opened his mouth, choosing his next words carefully. "Doctor Petrovich asked that we-"
"Doctor Petrovich isn't here, is he?" Jack took a step forward, looming over the man. No one aboard this vessel would dare raise a weapon at him. "Stand down."
With a glance towards his fellows, the guard swallowed heavily and nodded. "Yes sir."
He stood aside, and Jack began to push the trolley along, towards the hangar's cargo elevator. As he neared it, he turned back towards the defeated-looking guards. "If Petrovich asks, tell him I threatened you!"
Jack and Marco entered the elevator, and he tapped the control panel. The 'Omega Deck' was many floors above them. As Jack waited patiently, folding his arms behind his back, the tiny communicator in his ear buzzed. 
"Popular around here, aren't you?" Marco murmured. Though he'd locked up his armour to prevent movement, the Spartan could still speak freely while helmeted. 
Jack shot him a nasty look, but didn't answer. Every inch of the Hydra was covered by security cameras, and he knew that Petrovich or one of his lackeys was watching him right now. The elevator rose slowly, giving him a few precious moments to think. Since the construction of his new body Jack had never actually been in the same room as Petrovich while conscious; the man ensured that he was sedated before even the most minor of repairs of alterations to his complicated prosthetics and gave orders via transmission, or from behind a thick pane of reinforced glass when Jack was aboard. On their occasional meetings Petrovich would flaunt the device he had constructed for the sole purpose of switching off his body's life support systems, boasting that he could even transmit the signal via superluminal communications. Jack had never dared test that claim.
The elevator doors soon clanked open, shuddering and sticking slightly before an impatient Jack pulled them apart. The Omega Deck, as it became known, was the domain of the URF's scientific core, accessible only by high-ranking personnel. The Hydra's bridge sat on this level, manned by staunch loyalists who treated Petrovich like the heroic revolutionary he saw himself as. Even General Miriam Bakos, head of the URF's armed forces, dared not supersede his authority. Jack wondered for a moment if Bakos, one of the few aboard he could call a friend, would come quietly. He hoped so.
The trip towards Petrovich's lab was a short one. As Jack walked, pushing the immobile Marco along the dingy corridors, a second quartet of guards emerged from the doorway ahead. These were Petrovich's men - older, dedicated rebel, so immersed in the cause that they did not question their role as glorified sentries, far from the actual wars Jack had been fighting. None of them so much as acknowledged Jack as he proceeded into the lab's antechamber, but they fell in wordlessly behind him before the door could close. The room beyond was the threshold to the Omega Group's chambers, an empty square with a reinforced security door on one side and a large, brightly-lit window above. A lone figure stood there, watching. Jack had always felt like a specimen in a jar when he had stood here in the past, to be probed and prodded by Petrovich for any perceived failings. 
"Insistent, aren't you?" Simon Petrovich's voice echoed around the room, amplified tenfold by the speakers placed on each wall. "I asked my men to fetch the body."
Jack folded his arms. "It was my kill," he said insolently. "Besides, I could do with a check-up. Spartans don't go down easy and I think this one might've knocked something loose."
Above him, behind the protective glass of his observation window, stood Doctor Simon Petrovich. He was a tall, lean man, his face lined and angular, with short curly hair the colour of iron. He wore a white jumpsuit, and in his left hand he held a silver remote, which he waved as Jack glanced up. Though he had gone through this song and dance before, Jack still had to suppress the rage he felt, seeing his life in the hands of another. Petrovich might have been one of the best engineers alive, able to build a functioning life support system and lower body to support a fully-augmented SPARTAN-II, but he was also cruel and vindictive, favouring threats, chaos and terror in his campaign against the UNSC. In all these years Jack had never learned what had set Petrovich against their oppressors, but it was he who had sicced him on the galaxy. 
Jack thought of his many missions over the years: manipulating Sangheili radicals, coercing ONI agents into turning traitor, the theft of a NOVA bomb, dealing in chemical augmentations, raids on Circumstance, Aleria and a dozen worlds, and a hundred other assassinations, insurgencies and raids across numerous worlds. Nothing he had ever done had been allowed without Petrovich's say-so. Nothing. Jack wondered if his enemies knew the full extent of the crimes committed on this man's orders, or if even the ever-vigilant ONI knew about the man at all. For a moment he even considered not killing him, if only to see him dragged into the light and jailed for his crimes.
"You say they tracked you from Aleria?" Petrovich asked, twirling the remote between his fingers. "How did you get so sloppy?"
"We were in a hurry." Jack met the man's piercing glare. "Besides, I barely escaped Gilgamesh alive. I assume you know what's going on out there?"
Petrovich nodded. "Yes, these 'Created'. They've not been subtle about their conquests. Did you know that they've seized Earth?"
Though it should have come as no surprise, the news hit Jack like a punch to the gut. "So the UEG..."
"There's been no formal declaration of surrender, but from what news we've had trickle in the colonies are now totally disconnected. There are pockets of resistance, but little else. We've won."
Jack blinked. "How?"
To his surprise, Petrovich smiled, and spread his arms. "This is what we've been fighting for, Magnus. Freedom from the UEG, from the UNSC, and everything it represents! These Created are already rebuilding worlds, and providing food and shelter to those who need it. How long do you think it will be before they start bringing the real criminals to account? The trials for ONI alone could take years."
"And they've said that this will happen?" Jack's eyes flitted towards Marco, hoping that he wouldn't take this line of questioning for agreement with Petrovich. "Because so far all I've heard are demands that we surrender to the AI."
Petrovich sighed. "I thought you'd be more open-minded about all this, considering what the UNSC did to you and all the others. The Created aren't the Covenant. We'll have to be careful with our activities for now, but given time, I think we could open up a dialogue with them. Perhaps even find ourselves a planet of our own to tend to, out of the UNSC's control"
"And under the Created's thumb." Jack felt his jaw clench, feeling utter disbelief in what he was hearing. "Is everyone in agreement on this?"
"Not yet," Petrovich suddenly sounded less sure of himself. "But I'm sure the right people will come around in time. The UNSC's been beaten, Magnus. Considering how the Created have done in days what you've failed to do in decades, I think we can all agree that this is the better option. You'll see."
Jack shook his head. "And when we get our world, what then? What happens when someone disagrees with the Created? You already said that they were wiping out our active cells, so what chance would the rest of us have?"
Petrovich sighed, and began to speak slowly, as if addressing an infant. "Because they thought we were terrorists, Magnus. Some of us still are. Once we make contact and show them that we're just people trying to live our lives in peace, valuing diplomacy and science, I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement."
Though Petrovich hadn't realised it yet, he had let too much slip. Jack had always hated him, but this was a new level of betrayal. If he was right, and as the dust cleared and the Created began to truly rule over the galaxy, he would come crawling to them on his hands and knees and hand Jack to them on a silver platter. His hands were relatively clean, while those of the cyborg assassin were drenched in the blood of thousands. For a moment, Jack considered snatching up the pistol from his waist and unloading it into Petrovich's viewing window, but it passed. He couldn't do anything. Not while the man carried the remote that could end his life in an instant.
"So," Jack spoke slowly, gently pushing Marco's trolley to one side. "What happens to me?"
Now the realisation hits. The self-satisfied grin vanished from Petrovich's face. It only took a few seconds for the doctor to recompose himself, but the damage had already been done. 
"You'd be well taken care of, of course." Petrovich attempted a pleasant, reassuring smile. "I'm sure that in light of the UNSC's transgressions the Created can overlook some of your prior actions. After all-"
Before Petrovich could finish, the shrill wail of an alert siren pierced the air. Emergency lights flashed red behind him in his laboratory, and he turned away from the observation window in confusion. Jack had heard that alarm only twice before, both times when the Hydra was facing an imminent threat from any ships. Out here, far away from settled space, he could only think of one thing that could find them: The Peacemaker.
Petrovich reappeared at the window, his eyes wide and his thin face marked with anger and worry. "What did you do?!" He bellowed through the speakers. "What did-"
Suddenly, the entire ship shook and a tremor passed through the deck. Half a second later, the upper half of the lab antechamber exploded. The blast sent fire and metal flying across the chamber as something tore through the ship's outer hull. Half a metal girder rocketed downwards and smashed through the observation window, sticking into the wall. Petrovich vanished from sight, and as the deck shook again Marco's trolley began to tip forwards. The immobile Spartan suddenly sprang to life as it fell, rolling across the floor in a single movement and jumping up towards the nearest fear-frozen guard. Marco delivered a lightning-fast punch that snapped the man's head back with a nasty crunch and tore the rifle from his grip with his free hand, turning it on the others before they could react.
Jack took his chance the moment he saw Marco move, and as his Spartan captor effortlessly gunned down the remaining three guards he had leapt upwards, towards the ruined observation window. His gloved hands caught hold of the edge of the girder jutting through the wall, giving him a crucial moment to swing his entire body upwards and onto the hot piece of metal. Grunting in annoyance as his gloves and trousers began to smoulder, Jack flung himself into the laboratory, rolling back onto his feet. Shards of glass littered the floor around him, and the nearest console had been smashed beyond repair by the impact. Jack glanced around, and soon saw the feebly-stirring form of Simon Petrovich sprawled out on the floor nearby. His remote - the key to Jack's life, had fallen from his grip and lay a short distance away. 
Jack took a step forward, and felt the glass crunch beneath his boots. Petrovich groaned, turned to look at him, then realised that the remote was no longer in his possession. Both men locked eyes, and began to move.
"Oh no you don't!" Jack moved quickly as the scientist scrambled for the device on his hands and knees, wheezing through cracked ribs. His fingertips brushed against the silver remote as the cyborg's shadow reached him, and Jack brought down one boot with extreme prejudice on the man's hand, feeling skin and bone and plastic and metal break beneath it. 
Petrovich screamed as Jack raised his boot, clutching desperately at the ruin of his right hand. The remote had been obliterated, some of its innards scattered about the floor and some still embedded in what was left of the doctor's hand, somewhere amidst all the crushed bone and cartilage. Jack took a deep breath, and exhaled. Despite the alarms still sounding around him and the slight smokiness to the air, everything now felt fresh and new. He smiled.
"Traitor!" Petrovich's lips struggled to form the word as tears trailed down his cheeks. "After all I've done, all we've accomplished, you sold us out!"
Jack tugged at the collar of his sweater, pulling it down to reveal the silver band of the neural collar on his neck. "They got to me before you did, doctor. Not that this changes much, though. I was going to come for you anyway."
"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought!" Petrovich cradled his right hand, watery eyes still glinting with defiance. "They'll kill you too... ONI, the UNSC, whoever. If not for what you've done then for what you are, you understand?"
"Maybe." Jack nodded. "But I'm nobody's slave any more. Not yours, not the UNSC's, and certainly not the goddamn Created. I'm done killing on your orders."
To Jack's surprise, Petrovich's face broke into a grin, and he let out a harsh laugh "You were never a slave, Magnus." he shook his head. "A remote with superluminal broadcasting capabilities, tuned to your body's life support system? Nearly nine years, and not once did you think that it might have been a load of bullshit?"
Jack swallowed, his longtime suspicions confirmed. He felt used, embarrassed, and most of all, furious. "Guess I had to be sure," he muttered.
"Idiot." Petrovich shifted onto his knees. "You were nothing more than a mad dog on a leash, Magnus. A useful one, but not one we could keep forever. Once the colonies were free, you'd have to go. You-"
Jack's right boot struck Petrovich's injured ribs hard, kicking the air out of him. The man toppled sideways with a strained wheeze, convulsing as waves of pain coursed through him. After all these years, the last thing Jack was in the mood for was another of the man's self-righteous speeches. He took one last look down at the man who'd once saved his life from a fiery death, and felt no pity. Even the burning hatred within him was all but spent. All he had to do now was act.
"Jack."
"What?" Petrovich rasped, coughing up blood. 
"My name is Jack!"
He raised his boot again, and brought it down hard. Simon Petrovich's life ended with a dull crunch.
"Enjoying yourself?" a gruff voice spoke from nearby. Jack sighed. 
"Something like that." He turned to see Marco pointing a rifle at him. "Al-Sayed tell you to execute me?"
"Not unless I had to." Marco lowered his weapon. "The bridge?"
"This way."
Jack and Marco passed quickly through the Omega Group's laboratories, which comprised most of the Hydra's command deck. Research stations dotted former crew quarters and entire rooms had ben converted into testing bays for weapons, food, and anything else the URF needed. The scientists, however, were nowhere to be seen, having fled to secure rooms until the alert passed. The door to the frigate's bridge itself was surprisingly unguarded and unlocked, and opened at their approach. 
"Nobody move!" Marco barked, taking the lead as they entered, rifle raised. 
A dozen crewmen and officers turned in shock to see the Spartan, accompanied by their top agent. Most did as they were instructed, raising their hands instantly or simply freezing up, but a few did not. One crewman reached for his sidearm and caught two rounds in the head, and another ran for a side entrance and was dead before he reached the door. The rest complied.
"Everybody calm down!" Jack strode confidently onto the centre of the bridge, by the primary command consoles. He spied the grey-haired Rawlins at his station, glaring at him with a look of utter hatred. "Doctor Petrovich is dead! We're outgunned and outnumbered right now, so stand down and you will not be harmed!"
If Jack's words weren't clear enough, a simple glance through the forward viewscreen made it clear that there was no fighting their way out of this one. Most of the view was taken up by the slate-grey hull of an Epoch-class heavy carrier, more than four times the frigate's length and its superior in every metric. Captain Al-Sayed had taken the Peacemaker out of slipspace at a ridiculously close range, no doubt following a beacon aboard the Werewolf, and the ship's scanners were already picking up incoming Pelican dropships.
"So Magnus," Rawlins called from his seat, hands placed atop his head. "When'd you turn traitor, huh?"
Here we go. "Never did, Rawlins," Jack tried to look apologetic, but couldn't quite manage it. "Now, where's General Bakos?"
After a few seconds of silence, one nervous officer spoke up. "She's in the hangar bay, fighting off boarders."
"Already?" 
Jack paced over to the nearest unmanned console and typed in a set of commands. Soon a display lit up showing live footage from the Hydra's main hangar bay, where an intense firefight was raging. At one end he spied Fireteam Whiskey, spread out among shipping crates in a wide-semi-circle. The only thing halting their advance, it seemed, was a mounted machine gun on one of the gantries and an old Cyclops mech, slowly chewing away at their cover with a rigged-up autocannon. Among the many rebel fighters scattered across the hangar bay, most of whom were dead, he spotted the distinctive white jumpsuit of Miriam Bakos, directing troops to flank the intruders. If anyone would stop a full-blown mutiny once the ship was taken, it would be her. 
"Is she alive?" Marco asked, keep his focus on the bridge crew. 
"For now." Jack looked towards Rawlins. "Get me control of the ship's intercom system."
"Why?" Rawlins lowered his hands in inch. "Going to tell the rest of us to surrender?"
"I'm going to save your damn lives!" Jack snarled. "And if you go for that pistol I swear I'll make you wish the Spartan had shot you!"
Rawlins hesitated for a moment, then did as instructed. As Jack looked back at the camera footage he realised he counted only four Spartans, with one very conspicuous absence: Wulf. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a silver shape slowly moving across the hangar bay's upper gantries, high above the surviving rebel fighters. He had to move fast. 
"Control's all yours," Rawlins said glumly, with a worried glance at Marco. "Say what you're gonna say."
Jack saw a prompt flash up on his console and tapped it. A second later, he had control of every intercom aboard the Hydra. As his finger hovered over the command to begin broadcasting, he suddenly felt unsure, as if gripped by stage fright. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Jack realised that he had lives riding on his words. Not acceptable losses or disposable pawns, but comrades, innocents. A friend. He took a short breath, then activated the speakers. 
"All hands," Jack's voice, calm and steady, sounded through every inch of the Hydra. "This is Magnus. Doctor Simon Petrovich is dead, and the bridge has been taken. We are outgunned, outnumbered, and about to be boarded. All those still armed, surrender peacefully and await further instructions, and I promise that no further harm will come to you. That is all."
Jack cut the connection, and turned his attention back to the security camera. The firefight in the hangar had abruptly stopped. The surviving rebels seemed to debate among themselves for a moment until Bakos stepped out of cover alone, holding a rifle aloft. Then, she threw it to the floor. Her comrades followed suit, and slowly gathered together in the open, arms raised high into the air. The Spartans emerged one by one, and ordered them to the floor. They did as instructed, and Jack let out a relieved sigh. 
"Not bad," Marco said approvingly. "Now all you've got to do is hold up your end of the bargain." 
***
After years operating in total secrecy, out of sight and out of mind of the UNSC, the URF Hydra was fully captured in less than half an hour. Specially-equipped Orbital Drop Shock Troopers breached the ship's airlocks and swarmed aboard en-masse, taking all aboard prisoner and swiftly eliminating those who resisted. Jack had stood on the silent bridge with Marco until a squad arrived to take the crew there into custody, unwilling to look anyone around him in the eye and hoping that everyone else had followed his instructions. The distant rattle of automatic fire told him otherwise. 
Once the frigate had been deemed secure, Jack was escorted back to the hangar bay by Marco, where his Spartan comrades stood guard over Miram Bakos and her men. The URF's military leader said nothing, but Jack could feel her intense gaze upon him as he walked past, heading quietly back aboard the Werewolf so they could return to the Peacemaker. It was a short, silent trip; Marco had either run out of taunting remarks, or was simply content to let him dwell on the situation. Instead of his cell, Jack was instead brought up to the ship's bridge, barely paying notice of his surroundings until the sound of raised voices pierced his reverie. 
"-firing that close could have killed both of us!"
Marco stood before the main holotable, his helmet tucked beneath one arm, jabbing a finger towards the ship's artificial intelligence construct. 
"Well you ain't dead, are you," the AI, depicted in holographic form as a ratty-looking man in a cheap suit, shrugged. "I think I'd know what kind of firepower to use to just rattle a frigate instead of cutting it in half, Marco."
"There were civilians on board, Iggy!" Marco sounded genuinely angry. "Families with children!"
"Aboard an insurrectionist warship." Iggy rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "We had to make sure it wouldn't jump into slipspace the moment we got back."
Before Marco could offer a retort, Captain Omar Al-Sayed stepped between them, and held up one hand. "Enough of this, gentlemen. I gave the order for close pursuit and to open fire, Chief Petty Officer, and it was a decision I stand by."
Marco straightened up at once. "Understood, sir."
Al-Sayed nodded, then turned to Jack. "Now, I'm told that the URF's scientific leader is dead, correct?"
Jack couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I think there's still some of him on my boot."
The captain's face twisted with disgust for a moment. "Then we've held up our part of the deal. You said you'd be able to give us the location of a planet outside of the UEG's jurisdiction, somewhere not on any maps. Time to pay up."
Jack folded his arms, suppressing a sigh. "I've only been there once, but the wannabe settlers are calling it 'Persistence'. It's outside the Orion Arm, so it's a bit of a trip to get there, but it's safe."
"Anything else you could tell us?" Al-Sayed asked. "Population? Infrastructure?"
"When I was last there it was a survey team of thirty men with stolen prefab equipment. I doubt they'll have a shipyard, if that's what you were expecting." Jack paused a moment, suddenly reflecting on a conversation he'd had nearly a year past. "The URF were going to resettle its noncombatants there, once."
"What stopped them?"
"Who knows? Before I killed him, Doctor Petrovich was talking about coming to terms with the Created, so maybe the prospect of settling in the middle of nowhere didn't seem so appealing."
"I hadn't been informed of this." Al-Sayed's eyes narrowed and he looked to Marco. "Is he telling the truth?"
"Yes sir." Marco nodded. "Looks like they hated the UNSC so much they'd be willing to stand down for Cortana's new empire."
"Ridiculous." Al-Sayed sighed. "But going back to the topic of Persistence, I need to know if you can get us there, Jack?"
Jack nodded. "There's navigation data aboard the Hydra, and a hard copy aboard the Werewolf."
At this, the AI, Iggy, spoke up. "We didn't find anything like that aboard your ship!"
"That's because you probably didn't bother checking every panel in the cockpit." Jack smiled at the small victory. "Try unscrewing the one directly above the captain's chair."
Iggy uttered something indistinct and filthy and vanished. As he did, the door to the bridge slid open, and Wulf-041 entered, gently pushing along a woman in white fatigues, her hands cuffed behind her back. General Miriam Bakos moved a pace ahead of the Spartan, taking her captivity with a surprising amount of grace. It was not until she saw Jack standing in front of a UNSC officer that her stoic mask cracked, and she advanced rapidly on the black-clad cyborg. 
"Why'd you do it?!" Bakos yelled, her eyes wild with hate as she drew closer. Before she could reach kicking range, Wulf's hands closed over the woman's shoulders, immobilising her.
"Ma'am," Al-Sayed's calm voice diverted her attention as he saluted. "Captain Omar Al-Sayed, UNSC Navy."
"General Miriam Bakos, United Rebel Front." Bakos rattled off her name and rank as quickly as she could. "I'd salute, but the cuffs..."
"That's fine." Al-Sayed looked from her to Jack. "Now, am I correct in assuming that you are now the URF's leader."
Bakos nodded. "That's right, since this piece of shit killed the only other competent leadership we had."
Jack opened his mouth, but held his tongue. He knew full well that Bakos had never truly liked Simon Petrovich or his Omega Group's influence over their organisation, especially since Jack answered only to him instead of her, but she was the closest thing he had to a friend aboard the Hydra. He didn't want to lose her too. 
To Jack's surprise, Al-Sayed reached out and pulled down his collar, revealing the silver band around his neck. Marco must have been taken off-guard by this, as he drew his handgun and levelled it in case Jack reacted poorly. 
"This man- Jack, Magnus, whatever they called him - was acting under our command, but not of his own free will. If he refused, he would have faced neural paralysis, followed by summary execution."
Bakos's glare softened, but she shook her head nonetheless. "I thought you were willing to die for the cause, Jack."
The cause. It was a term used so often by so-called rebels, almost always with a different meaning depending on who was asked. For some, their cause was independence; freedom from the overreach of the Unified Earth Government and the UNSC's heavy-handed tactics. For others, it was revolution, and the eventual establishment of a newer, fairer system of government. For some, like Simon Petrovich, it was revenge, and the utter destruction of a system that had wronged so many. In the time he had known her, Miriam Bakos had drifted between all three categories at some point or another, often for a good reason.
"Never." Jack's reply was simple. "I want to live free, that's all."
"At the cost of everyone around you." Bakos's face hardened, and she turned back to Al-Sayed. "What's going to happen to my crew? There are a lot of innocents aboard, people who've never picked up a gun against the UNSC."
"But many who have." Al-Sayed clasped his hands behind his back. "As of right now, we are at war. We've lost contact with Earth, and can consider you enemy combatants if need be. Emergency measures could be taken."
Bakos's face grew pale. "You can't-" she began, but Al-Sayed held up a hand to silence her. 
"Please, let me finish. Jack here has agreed to give our ship safe harbour in a colony world outside of UEG space. In exchange, he wanted his revenge against your 'Omega Group' and its leader. We agreed to his terms."
"You're giving them Persistence?!" Bakos went from frightened to angry again in a moment as she turned back towards Jack. 
"We'll all be safe there," Jack said tiredly. "Besides, it's not like I'm getting my freedom out of this, Miriam. Best result, I'm in the brig for the rest of my life, provided they don't decide to execute me after all. Killing Petrovich just solved a lot of problems for everyone."
"To continue," Al-Sayed spoke up. "I will not have your crew killed out of convenience, General Bakos. You'll be disarmed and monitored for the time being, yes, and your ship brought with us to Persistence, but despite our differences I think we're facing a common enemy in the Created. Wouldn't you agree?"
It took a moment, but Bakos nodded, closing her eyes as she did so. "I do. They hit so many colonies at once that some of us thought it was the end for humanity as a whole. Some of us wanted to go to Persistence right away and hide, while Petrovich's flunkeys thought we could make a deal with the Created. Given the chance I'd fight them, but since we'd have no chance, I wanted to run."
"And so do we." Something resembling a smile crossed Al-Sayed's bearded face. "As leader of the URF, I want you to go to your people and explain the situation to them. We'll hook up the Hydra to the Peacemaker, disable your slipspace drive, then have a security force watch over you until we arrive. Once we're there, I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement."
"So we're a prison ship now?"
"More or less." Al-Sayed leaned forward. "Would you prefer the alternative."
"Of course not." Defiance flashed in her blue eyes. "Thank you captain, I'll think up something to say to my crew. Whether or not they'll believe me is another thing entirely."
Negotiations were over. Bakos was escorted back to the Hydra by Wulf, while Jack was freshly cuffed and marched down to the ship's brig, where he was re-dressed in his prisoner's attire and led to his cell by Marco. As they walked down the bare corridor towards the reinforced cell that had become Jack's new home, he couldn't help but look back at the armoured Spartan with an entirely new outlook. Of course, Marco was still the government tool they'd all been trained to be, and would do anything for his masters in the UNSC, but his brief outburst had reminded Jack of their early years together, back on Earth. There was still animosity there, and if it came down to it he'd deal with his former friend in the same way he'd finished off Petrovich, but the all-consuming hatred was gone. As the cell door slid open, he couldn't help but wonder if Marco felt the same way.
"It'll be a few days to Persistence at least," Jack said as he stepped inside. "Think the Hydra will hold itself together until then?"
"You mean 'will my rebel friends not try to blow us up?' Maybe." Marco turned Jack around and unlocked his cuffs. "As long as they don't try to kill us or sell us out to the Created, it's none of my concern."
"You think we've got a chance of winning against them?" Jack's tone went from playful to deadly serious.
"Lots of people didn't think we'd beat the Covenant, either. We'll win."
"How come you're so sure?" Jack stood back as Marco prepared to lock his cell.
"Same reason you thought you'd take down the UNSC, I suppose. Belief."
Jack sighed. "Belief, sure. See you around, Marco."
The cell door slammed shut, and a series of tiny clicks sounded from within it, double, triple and quadruple-locking the cell. Jack caught a single glimpse of Marco's helmet as he turned away from the door through the tiny porthole, then he was gone. He sat down on the nearby bed, and clasped his metal hands together, resting his chin atop them. A month ago, killing Simon Petrovich had been his only goal, with avoiding the UNSC as an afterthought after so many years on the run as a wanted man. Today, he'd achieved that goal, and had ended it in a cell aboard a ship full of his worst enemies. His thoughts went to Aila, his trusted pilot, not seen since they were taken captive. Perhaps they would allow her to live aboard the Hydra with the other URF prisoners if he asked. The thought brought him some comfort, but soon Jack found himself dwelling on other issues. The Created were still spreading across the galaxy at an alarming rate, threatening all that they claimed to rule. If he wished to live in peace, then they would have to go. 
Most importantly, Elena-071 was still out there, hopefully alive, and most certainly keeping up the fight. Marco's words had rattled him days ago, but Jack had time to do nothing but think. If his old friend wished to judge him then so be it, but until then he had to was survive.
===Strategy===
So much for loyalty.
Derek-142 planted his shovel into the ground, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Nine freshly-dug patches of dirt lay before him, arranged in a neat row in the middle of a sunny field. There were worse places to be buried, he supposed.
The week since Derek's arrival on Andesia had been a tumultuous one, to say the least. He and Kenner stumbling upon Abd-al-Qadir ibn Asad and his mercenary crew had been a real stroke of luck, and after transporting the contents of the supply cache back to Isaac Kenner's abandoned estate it seemed like they had the makings of a proper resistance movement. Kenner had gone to work quickly, discovering that ONI hadn't found at least two of his fake identities and their respective bank accounts after his arrest, and that whatever group had cleaned out his place had missed the spare keycard he'd hidden beneath a paving stone not far from the entrance. Just like that, they had a base of operations, men to run it, and once Kenner started spending, equipment to expand their operation.
Then the Created arrived.
It had only been a matter of time until they reached Andesia, but barely a day after Derek's arrival one of their Guardian constructs appeared in the colony world's skies, and an immediate order to surrender had gone out. Unsurprisingly, this sentiment was echoed by several AI in facilities across the planet, who had thrown their lot in with the Created to save themselves. Chaos reigned in the capital city of Noctus as over the next two days the streets were occupied by armiger constructs. Any resistance was put down rapidly, and the city's longstanding criminal element were hunted down and summarily executed for trying to resist. No amount of bribery could deter the Created's merciless enforcers, and the corporate councils who really ran the planet soon had their representatives asking that the public not resist this sudden occupation. Soon enough, stores were re-opened, damage was fixed, and life for the colonists slowly began to creep back towards an eerie normalcy.
This had not been what Derek had expected. Unlike the Covenant, whose arrival on a colony world heralded only death and destruction, the Created seemed genuine in their desire to rule. This had led to complications.
Derek folded his arms across his chest. A week ago they had the beginnings of a real resistance movement against the Created's occupation. Now, he was uncertain if anyone would be willing or able to take up arms. After a few days, Asad's mercenaries had began whisper about their dire situation, speaking of returning to their homes and families. The propaganda broadasts beamed across every network did little to help, showing live footage of Created forces rebuilding war-torn colonies, promising free aid for the sick and needy, and even promising to reverse the damage inflicted upon glassed worlds. Ships were already free to fly in Andesia's skies, albeit heavily monitored, and some were even allowed to leave the system. Soon the whispers became conversations, then full-blown arguments with Asad about their pay and the mission. 
Then, last night, Asad's entire force had packed their things and left Kenner's estate, intent on taking their Albatross and leaving the planet. As they left, Derek had acted.
"Was it quick?" Asad asked, sat on a rock in the shade behind Derek.
The old man knew what had happened, and insisted that he assist with cleanup. This was the first time he'd spoken since he came across the bodies, a little after dawn.
"Quick as I could make it." Derek's face betrayed little in the way of emotion. "I think it was over before they knew what was happening."
Asad nodded grimly, drumming the fingers of his metallic hand on one knee. "They were good men."
"If they'd been any good they wouldn't have tried to leave."
"All the same, I don't blame them." Asad heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. "I reckon they'd have stayed if we were fighting Covenant."
"Agreed."
"But this isn't the same kind of war. I'm not calling those boys cowards, but it takes a certain kind of person to go all-in against what we're up against."
"That being?" Derek raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.
"Crazy bastards like you and guys who couldn't give a damn about dying, like me." Asad paused. "Or maybe we're the other way round."
Derek almost smiled. After years in a dictatorial position of command with Red Cell before it all came crashing down, he'd almost forgotten what actual camaraderie felt like. He picked up the shovel and rested it against his shoulder. 
"Let's get back. Kenner's probably worried." 
***
Situated in a stretch of hilly countryside some eighty miles south of Noctus, Isaac Kenner's estate stood out like a sore thumb. Enclosed on all sides by high concrete walls, it had been the property of some millionaire recluse until the war-profiteering businessman had acquired it several years prior, sporting three wings, a swimming pool, and even its own private landing pads. Its design, one of stark metal walls and wide glass windows and doors, clashed awfully with the greenery all around it, though the tall trees of the surrounding woods did a good job of hiding it from travellers coming down the nearest highway. Ugly though it was, it was out of sight, away from prying eyes, and most importantly, officially abandoned after its owner had been disappeared by the Office of Naval Intelligence.
As it turned out, Kenner hadn't even realised that they had left. The former smuggler had been surprisingly hard at work since their return, and had spent several days trying to figure out how badly ONI had ruined him upon his arrest. Once he'd assessed the damage, he had quickly gotten to contacting former accomplices and business partners, and had placed several sizeable shopping orders. To their relief, the colony's planet-wide delivery service had been mostly unaffected by the Created takeover, and soon they had food, clothing and electronics delivered by drone to a safe address. For a man Derek had initially assessed as a gutless, profit-driven coward, Kenner knew how to act fast. He'd even gone so far as to claim that had he not been blindsided and caught almost by accident as ONI had arrested a visiting accomplice, he'd have never been caught. Derek doubted that, but knew better to provoke their host. 
"So they're dead, then?" Kenner shook his head in annoyance. "Shit."
Dressed in a white formal shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbow and dark trousers, Kenner paced around a circle of connected computers at the centre of his spacious living room with a cup of coffee in one hand, looking mildly perturbed. Data from various sources scrolled across each screen, displaying everything from CCTV footage from Noctus to superluminal news broadcasts from other colonies. He'd called in a few favours with what was left of the planet's criminal element to help set things up, and was doing a good job of quietly keeping track of the Created's groundside movements.
"What happened, happened." Derek said dismissively. "Right now, we need assets."
"Which I'm working on." Kenner jabbed pointed his cup towards Derek, making its dark contents slosh dangerously. "Half my contacts are ash right now and the rest are deeper underground than we are. If it wasn't for the fact that I'm officially disappeared and this place off the grid, courtesy of ONI bullshit, we'd have probably been found out already."
"That's something to appreciate," Asad mumbled, noisily pouring himself a bowl of cereal from the nearby kitchen.
"We're sitting on enough weapons to arm a small militia." Derek gestured through the long windows at one side of the room towards the estate's spacious garden, and its now-filled storage shed. "If we can't arm criminals, then I'm sure we'll find people willing to fight for this world. Andesia's been nothing but one insurgency after another for the past forty years, after all."
"So you want be to dig up some crusty old innies?" Kenner snorted with amusement. "Back when I was with the Guild of Free Traders, we had a pretty firm rule about letting political nutjobs into our organisation, namely because it caused nothing but infighting. If we start rounding up all the old rebel groups, it'll be trouble."
"Which is exactly what we need." Derek turned away from Kenner, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out of the window and into the sunlit garden. "We light a fire, attract the Created's attention to the right place, then-"
"Then what?" Kenner cut Derek off. "They swoop in and kill us all."
"No." Derek's voice grew softer, his mind already half-filled with strategies. "Not us, at least. We'd just need to keep the enemy busy until we can execute our plan."
"That being?"
Derek pointed upwards. "The destruction of that Guardian in orbit."
Kenner looked from Asad, who was quietly eating his cereal, to Derek, who was still staring out of the window. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, then downed the rest of his coffee. "Okay," he said, sounding defeated. "So we arm the crazies, and then what? Those things knock entire fleets out of the sky and we've got a glorified cargo hauler sitting in the woods. We couldn't get close if we tried, and even then, none of us have nukes."
Derek turned around. "We don't need one."
"Come again?"
"There's no guarantee that a nuclear strike would even dent that thing, given how we've had reports of Guardians shrugging off MAC rounds. So, we need something either so powerful that it would be destroyed instantly, or a way of bypassing its defences."
"Right," Kenner rolled his eyes. "And I suppose you know about a planet-cracker hidden away in a bunker somewhere?"
"No." A tired smile spread across Derek's lined features. "We've got our weapon in just about every ship in every spaceport. We're going to use a slipspace bomb."
Derek watched and waited as Asad and Kenner processed his statement. 
"It'd be a big risk," Asad spoke first, his voice slow and measured. "We'd have to think about getting spaceborne and close enough to the Guardian to cause a slipspace rupture without it frying our ship."
"It sounds like a suicide mission." Kenner's response sounded far less hopeful. "Besides, even if you could turn and FLT drive into a bomb, I doubt any of us are certified drive techs, and before you ask, no, I don't know any."
"It's been done before," said Derek. "During the Covenant invasion of Reach. I don't know the specifics, but the UNSC managed to stow a slipspace drive aboard a Covenant ship. As soon as it got close to its flagship, someone set it off. Took out a supercarrier in seconds."
"How come I've never heard of this?" Kenner's constant scepticism was starting to annoy Derek. 
"Because another Covenant fleet arrived about a minute later and things got worse. I was on the ground that day, Isaac. I saw it happen."
Kenner held his hands up in defeat. "Okay, so it's been done. How are we going to do it?"
Derek looked to Asad. "You said your ship's docked on an orbital station?"
He nodded. "I did."
"Think it's still there?"
Asad leaned back in his chair, scratching at his white beard with one hand. "We'd registered it under a fake company, typical ONI merc procedure. Assuming they've not junked it on a whim, I could get inside once we're up there."
"Then that's our weapon."
Asad let out a chuckle. "Okay, as long as I'm not flying the damn thing, I'm sold."
"You won't." Derek paced over to the ring of computers, and knelt by one displaying a map of Andesia. "Now we get to work on our distraction. Noctus will do?"
"The capital?" Kenner joined Derek by the monitor. "Created have the place locked down pretty hard. What about Promesa?"
Derek shook his head. "Not important enough. They'll try and shut down any rebellion very quickly. If they can't keep it contained, they'll bring in the Guardian to end things."
This was no conjecture on Derek's part; based on the limited reports they had received from other colonies the Created were vicious in their attempts to stamp out dissent. Unlike the UNSC, whose security forces had a reputation for brutality on some worlds but were otherwise bound by laws, the Created's armigers tended to kill rather than capture in confrontations. On the rare occasion that they received news of a mass uprising against their AI overseers, these transmissions tended to cut off with word that a world's Guardian was descending. Derek had to push the people of Andesia to this point, forcing the Guardian to focus its full attention on the surface so they could blindside it with their slipspace bomb.
After that? Derek had few ideas so far on how to bring down the Created's leader. There were many methods of eliminating an AI construct, but based on the limited information had had about Cortana he couldn't help but wonder how to trigger a proper confrontation. Maybe I would need a NOVA bomb after all. The lack of resources was frustrating, but he'd have to overcome it. His thoughts drifted back to his fellow Spartans, and though he felt the scars on his shoulder prickle at the thought of another encounter with Sigma Team, Spartans were what he really needed. Even the newest generation, for all their flaws, would be the miracle-makers needed to strike some blow. 
One step at a time.
"Kenner sat at one computer beside Derek, quietly tapping in commands. "You know," he said without glancing up. "My first choice in all of this would've been to run and hide."
"Then why didn't you do it?" asked Asad, finally joining them from the kitchen.
Kenner finally looked up at the old man, and flashed a grin. "Aside from the fact that I'm a wanted criminal? The Created are bad for business. Even if I went underground, I'd be looking over my shoulder. The UNSC are assholes, but better the devil you know, right?"
"Agreed." Asad brought his prosthetic arm up and flexed its joints in front of his face. "Plus, I think I'm due another upgrade. Say what you will about ONI, they pay well."
Derek was about to chime in with a witty remark about the organisation he'd once tried to overthrow when one of their monitors suddenly let out an alarm chime. All three men quickly shifted over to the screen to see that it was an alert warning, being broadcast from a Created AI on numerous channels to its allies from a location in Noctus. While the official line to what remained of the planet's governing bodies and law enforcement were that an unsanctioned vessel had emerged from slipspace dangerously close to Andesia and was heading for the surface, the black market surveillance gear Kenner had installed revealed several secondary broadcasts, likely reserved for the traitorous AI themselves. Amidst the chatter from the various intelligences scattered across the planet, one transmission, beamed from out-system, stood out.
SPARTANS ABOARD INCOMING CRAFT. APPREHEND OR KILL AT ALL COSTS BY ORDER OF ARCHON CORTANA.
Three pairs of eyes widened as the screen lit up with the camera feed from Andesia's orbital satellites. A small craft, barely larger than a dropship, had exited slipspace close enough to slip beneath the colony world's meagre orbital defences, and by sheer luck, far away from the Guardian in orbit. Phaeton fighters had already been deployed to intercept the craft, but it was easily outpacing them.
"Asad." Derek looked to the mercenary as he got to his feet. Arm up and get to my prowler. Our distraction has arrived."
Derek's prayers, it seemed, had finally been answered.
===Landing===
Designed for rapid troop transit, deployment, and exfiltration, the Calypso had long been regarded by military personnel as one of the least comfortable dropships to travel in, sacrificing all but the most basic of essentials for speed and its remarkably small slipspace drive. Capable of travelling a modest distance through slipspace, it was a craft best used when travelling to and from a mothership and little else.
In short, it was not a craft anyone was meant to spend a week inside.
Jax-007 shuffled into the cramped cockpit, stooping to fit inside. Louie-A199 sat in the pilot's chair, which groaned perilously every time the half a ton of armoured supersoldier atop it shifted even slightly. Blinking lights on the main console shone brightly, reflected in the silver visor of his spherical EVA helmet as he calmly fiddled with the controls, checking readouts. Next to Louie sat Alex-A121, his best friend and most definitely asleep. His right arm was folded across his chest, fingers outstreched as if reaching to his missing left. Jax felt a pang of guilt, wishing as he had many times before that he'd taken the shot that had claimed his ally's arm. The main viewport ahead of them was filled with the endless black void that was slipstream space, leaving the crew reliant on their onboard instruments for navigation.
"This'll be our last trip, Chief." Louie said calmly, turning his helmet towards Jax. "We've pushed and pushed, but our drive's nearly burned out. We're lucky we're even making this jump."
Jax nodded grimly. Very few ships this size were equipped with a slipspace drive, and those that were could only often make short jumps, or needed their drives properly inspected and maintained every two or three jumps. Since his team's narrow escape from Helios Station they had made nine, jumping to the closest inhabited systems in search of a planet not currently occupied by the Created. Whatever awaited them at their last destination - Andesia - they would have to make for the surface until they could commandeer yet another ship. It wasn't a particularly original plan, but against the forces arrayed against them there was little else a group of Spartans could do.
"Give me a heads-up when we're about to arrive." Jax patted the back of Louie's chair. "We'll deal with whatever's waiting for us when we get there."
Jax tapped the door panel behind him and eased his way into the transport's crew bay. Chris-A189, Martin-A136 and Dan-A105 were sat closely together, playing with a pack of cards someone had found tucked away in the cockpit. If there was one thing a Spartan despised it was inactivity, so after a week cooped up aboard a souped-up dropship sucking in recycled air and subsisting on protein bars they needed some kind of distraction. Ianto-G200 had neglected to join them, and was instead fiddling with a basketball-sized metal sphere they had picked up during their brief stay in the Epsilon Eridani system. A slipspace probe had arrived shortly after they had, and once Jax had ensured it was not a Created trick, had gotten Chris and Martin to retrieve it.
"Any luck with that thing?" Jax asked, stepping past the others, who held their cards close to their chests.
"Something's inside this thing." Ianto didn't even look up, poking the sphere with a screwdriver. "There's no signal being transmitted, and it's definitely not a nuke, so whatever it is, someone wanted to send something far, far away from Earth."
Jax peered at the sphere's thick outer shell, spotting the thinnest of grooves in the metal alongside a tiny access port. "How can you be sure?" 
Ianto finally tore his gaze away from the sphere. "The probe we found was launched from a slipspace COM launcher. They're not so common nowadays, advances in tech being what they are, but during the war they were used for superluminal communication between important planets."
"Like Earth and Reach?"
"Exactly. Now, this one doesn't have a message, but there's some kind of data stored within, meaning that it was either damaged and can't transmit, or it wasn't mean to transmit anything. In any case, once we get somewhere on the ground, I'll see what I can do about accessing it."
"As long as you don't link it up with your suit. Remember-"
"I won't!" Ianto's tone grew sharp, almost aggressive. Jax realised that while he had been thinking of Eugene, Ianto had been present to see what the Created had done to the Spartans of Denegroth Station. Ianto sighed. "Sorry, I-"
"It's fine." Jax waved him away. "Just get that thing secured, we're almost there."
While Ianto did as ordered, pulling a bag down from the rack above to store the sphere, Jax squeezed past him. There was one more person he had to check in on. At the very end of the row, closest to the bay door and still strapped into her crash harness, was Ensign Carmen Stroud, last survivor of Vice Admiral John Hawkins' command staff. Unlike the nigh-unflappable Spartans, Stroud had not been handling the situation well since their escape from Helios Station, and had spent the past few week swaying between utter panic and near-catatonic silence. The cramped quarters, lack of privacy and meagre rations had not helped either.
"Ensign?" Jax said gently as he knelt down, tapping the side of Stroud's harness. 
Stroud's eyes, which had been half-open as she stared blankly at nothing, widened. She let out a little gasp of surprise. Stroud gripped both sides of her crash harness as she peered into Jax's visor, and licked her cracked lips? 
"Yes?" Stroud's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Ma'am, we're due to arrive on Andesia shortly. We can't go further than this, so I need you to be prepared in case things get a little choppy coming in."
"Okay." Stroud nodded, and brushed a stray strand of dark hair from her face. "Are the Created there too?"
"We don't know, ma'am." Jax answered honestly. "Just be ready."
Jax stood up, not expecting much more out of her. While all UNSC military personnel were combat-trained, many were not expected to see direct combat, least of all a junior officer fresh out of OCS assigned to a space station over Mars. For the first time he was almost glad that the rest of Sigma wasn't here; Kane would all but demand orders from Stroud as a superior officer, Marco would quietly dismiss her as dead weight, and Wulf would be first to suggest cutting off said dead weight if it came down to it. He'd have to be the voice of reason in the group. No, Jax thought. We'll get her through this with the rest of us.
As if on cue, an alert siren suddenly chimed from the cockpit, and Louie soon called back to the team. "Coming up on Andesia in two minutes! Our drive's sending me a lot of warnings, so this might be a bumpy ride!"
Jax's team sprang into action at once, securing their gear and weapons as they made last-minute suit checks. Unlike their trip to Helios Station, they couldn't risk abandoning ship and relying on their thruster packs for their final approach. For one, they had no idea of the situation with Andesia's orbital stations, and with Alex's suit compromised and Stroud clad only in her dirty grey officer's uniform neither could be exposed to a vacuum. The lights overhead changed from their usual white to red, and Ianto began to move Stroud out of her seat and back towards one closer to the cockpit. 
Jax worked his way through the confined space and back to the front of the craft, where a dozen tiny alarms were ringing all at once. "Status?" he asked before the cockpit door had even slid open. 
"We're coming in fast, but not at the usual arrival point!" Louie was tapping command after command. "We'll arrive in-system, and I've tried to lock us onto any nav beacons, but right now everything's in the hands of our slipspace drive!"
From the co-pilot's chair came a harsh chuckle. "If the damn thing doesn't blow us all up first."
Alex had finally woken up. The Spartan pushed himself up from his chair with his free hand and turned to face Jax. "Where do you want me?" he asked, waving the stump of his left arm.
Jax understood what he really meant: I'm more of a liability, give me something less important. Even after the trauma of losing most of his arm, Alex was ever the pragmatist. 
"Keep watch over Stroud," Jax said in a low voice, over TEAMCOM so the Ensign couldn't hear. "Rearguard if we're advancing, centre of the group if we're being chased."
"Got it." Alex's right hand tapped the handgun at his side, and began to made his way out of the cockpit. 
Jax stepped aside and pressed his back to the wall to allow the other Spartan out, then turned his attention towards the main console. They would be arriving in the Touchstone System in seconds, and with each passing second the ship seemed to shake more and more. Their tiny slipspace drive was on its last gasps, trying to tear them back into realspace. Jax took a deep breath, and braced himself against the back of Alex's chair as a swirl of blue light appeared amidst the black void. Ahead lay not stars or nebulae, but something large and green and blue and white, filling their viewscreen. They had not arrived at any designated navigation point in the system. They had arrived directly over Andesia itself.
With one final lurch the Calypso ripped itself out of slipspace, particles of white-blue reconciliation streaming off its grey hull. The tiny extraction craft's engines flared as it adjusted to the pull of the colony world's gravity well. For a moment, Jax thought he could breathe a sigh of relief, but a fresh wave of alerts soon flooded in, not from the ship itself but from unidentified craft detected nearby. Several flashed up on the cockpit's miniscule holoscreen, and his heart fell as he sighted the familiar outline of Forerunner Phaetons and, much further away, the birdlike shape of a Guardian. The Created were here too. 
"Make for the surface!" Jax jabbed a finger toward the planet. "Find us a landing zone - any landing zone!"
The little ship rocketed into Andesia's atmosphere, easily outpacing the incoming fighter craft. The Calypso's internal systems, however, had taken a beating from sheer overuse, with several warning signs glowing red to indicate impending thruster burnout and possible loss of life support systems due to the strain. They kept going, shooting through a sea of clouds like a bullet. It was not until Jax could make out the shape of the lands below that Louie finally eased off on the accelerator, needing to slow their rapid descent at least a little so they didn't become a smear on the ground. They dropped lower and lower through the skies, zipping above vast swathes of forest and icy mountain peaks. A city - Promesa - glittered somewhere off to the west, but Louie wisely chose to avoid any urbran sprawls.
"Got a potential landing site," Louie spoke up after another minute of flying, gripping hard on his controls. "There's a series of valleys about thirty klicks north and a week's hike from Noctus. I say we touch down in a clear spot and make for the woods."
"Do it." They weren't out of trouble yet, but Jax was just glad that they were on a planet again. On the ground, they could fight. Perhaps even make a difference.
As the craft dipped into its final approach, a flash of golden light zipped past them. Then another. Louie muttered a curse, and gunned the engines as the holoscreen flashed up at least twenty Phaetons coming in from above, trying to blast the little dropship out of the sky with their hardlight autocannons. Unwilling to give up their landing zone Louie sped up, weaving left and right as the enemy vessels tried to properly tail them. Luckily, they were firing from such a distance that precision was out of the question. Even so, as the exfil craft swooped in low over a sea of dark treetops, making for a grassy clearing some ways ahead, an errant blast ripped through one of their rear thrusters. The ship jerked violently to the left before Louie could regain control, smacking a button to extend the craft's landing gear as fire and smoke bellowed from its rear. 
"Hang onto something!" Louie called, the controls becoming less responsive by the second. They were losing speed, but with only three thrusters and the ship barely holding itself together, this would not be the easiest landing. 
Jax braced himself in the cockpit door. Louie pulled hard on the controls as the ground came up beneath them. The landing gear smacked into the dirt and grass below hard, and the ship only dipped lower as one of the wheels broke off with a horrendous grinding sound. Stroud let out a scream, and soon the craft's nose touched the ground. The engines finally sputtered out as the ship dragged itself through the ground, digging a log furrow through the dirt that half-buried the cockpit before the Calypso came to its final rest with a creaky metal thump. The emergency lights went out a second later, plunging the troop bay into darkness.
"Ianto, door!" Jax's eyes adjusted in seconds. "The rest of you, on your feet and get moving, now!"
The rest of his team had done this sort of thing many times before, but Ensign Stroud obviously had not. Alex tore off her seating harness one-handed and helped the young officer to her feet while Ianto finally hit the ship's emergency release. The troop bay's rear hatch clanked open, letting bright morning sunlight flood into the crowded space. The Spartans wasted no time spilling out onto the grass, weapons raised to the sky. They had gone down hard in a clearing, close to a dense treeline that would provide them with some cover at least. Louie and Alex were last to leave the craft, Stroud between them with her service handgun still holstered. 
With every second now precious, they beat a hasty retreat into the trees, with Martin taking point and Jax and Chris watching the rear. Less than half a minute later, a barrage of golden cannon fire strafed through the field behind them, shredding the Calypso's armour. The dropship exploded with a surprisingly powerful blast, sending flaming bits of wreckage in every direction. Against his better judgement, Jax stopped for a minute to look back at the fiery wreck and shook his head.
"If we'd been a minute shower..." Chris murmured. 
"Don't think about it." Jax glanced towards the sky, daylight barely peeking through the thick forest canopy. "They'll be looking for us. Let's go."
It wasn't long before Jax was proven right. Bright bursts of killing light soon cut randomly through the trees from above, blasting tree trunks apart and gouging deep holes in the grass and dirt. The Spartans wordlessly spread out, a common tactic while under bombardment to minimise the chance of a stray blast hitting an entire group at once. Jax stayed towards the rear of the squad, looking back every few seconds for signs of pursuing infantry, while Alex and Stroud remained in the middle. If it weren't for the Ensign's presence Jax would have ordered the squad to run as quickly as they could, but there was no way she could keep up with the Spartans for more than a short distance.
"Movement." Dan's voice cut across the COM. He held up a hand, and the squad halted immediately. "Hostile contacts ahead."
"Prometheans?" asked Jax.
"Yes, at least twenty. Crawlers at the front, armigers right behind. I'm seeing two knights, too. They're spread out."
Hunting us down. Jax slowly moved to get a closer look, dropping down low and stepping round an ancient tree two of the others had ducked behind. In the distance, he saw an uneven line of silver constructs, the bright orange lines on their body standing out in the forest's gloom. They marched unhurriedly, with a number of quadrupedal crawlers scampering just ahead of them like dogs, glowing pincers clacking noisily. There was no way they would slip past them. Jax tightened the grip on his rifle, and with a sweeping gesture from his free hand sent three of his teammates crawling off to his left. The rest of his squad readied their own weapons. Even Stroud had finally drawn her pistol.
"We're punching through," Jax said softly over TEAMCOM. "Martin, Dan, Chris, fire at will. As soon as their attention's torn, we charge." 
"And me?" asked Alex. He clearly wasn't happy playing babysitter, but he knew better than to complain. 
Jax looked from Alex to Stroud. "Stay here and pick your targets. Ensign, watch our rear. If you see anything, call out." 
"Affirmative." Stroud nodded, turning resolutely to keep an eye on their trail. Her hands were shaking.
Jax took a short breath, readying his entire body for the imminent fight. The week cooped up aboard the Calypso had been excruciatingly boring, so some small part of him welcomed the fight. Ianto and Louie readied themselves on either side of him, the former tightening the straps that held the recovered probe to his suit's rear mag-mount. As if on cue a volley of rifle fire hammered into the approaching Prometheans' left flank, felling several crawlers and an armiger in the first few seconds. The rest changed direction instantly, letting out harsh cries and threats as they bounded towards the attacking Spartans, passing mere feet away from Jax's hiding place. 
"Now!"
Jax, Ianto and Louie burst from the foliage in a shower of leaves and twigs, a blur of red and sliver metal as they closed the gap to the surprised constructs in moments. A few fell to gunfire, but it was the melee that followed that truly broke the enemy offensive. Quickly emptying his magazine, Jax slapped the rifle against its' mag-mount and engaged the remaining Prometheans hand-to-hand, becoming a flawless machine of rapid-fire punches, throws, stomps and twists. The armigers, unusually cocky for machines, were no match for Jax's speed and fury, and fell into disarray as their weapons were torn from them, their limbs ripped apart, and their vitals ruthlessly destroyed. In a battle of sheer firepower they had the advantage, but up close, slaughter was the only option.
The enemy column was wiped out in less than three minutes. Jax finished grinding an armiger's face into a rock, ignoring its electronic rasps as its skull-like face fell to pieces beneath his boot, and looked over to see Martin decapitating another with a blade stolen from one of the fallen knights. He'd almost broken a sweat. 
"Chief!" called Ianto, some ways ahead of the group. "I've sighted enemy phaetons holding position above the forest about thirty metres ahead. I think-"
The rest of Ianto's sentence was drowned out by a series of explosions as a volley of pulse missiles screamed through the treeline. Jax had barely a moment to react as an orange streak of light coursed towards him, flinging himself to one side at the last possible moment. The missile struck dirt a short distance away, and Jax curled into a ball as a fiery blast washed over him. His suit's energy shields flickered momentarily, but ultimately held as the explosion subsided. Jax quickly pulled himself to his feet to see that an entire section of treeline had been torn apart, with trees uprooted or outright destroyed and fires already starting to spread. Noticing smoke in the air, Jax turned and immediately raced towards back through the trees, wary of a second volley.
"Alex, status!" Jax barked, leaping over a smoking tree stump as he neared the dense thicket of bushes his team had launched their ambush from. Three agonising seconds passed before he heard a low groan.
"Alive," muttered Alex.
A sizeable log had fallen over the thicket, and as Jax approached he saw it slowly wobble, rising up a few inches before abruptly falling to one side. It hit the smouldering grass with a dry thud. Knelt in the spot where it had fallen was Alex-A121, his remaining hand still outstretched after having moved the log. Lying beneath him was Ensign Carmen Stroud, looking slightly shaken but none the worse for wear. Alex rose, and turned his hand to help her up. She took it, and was helped to her feet.
"Are you all right, Ensign?" Jax felt obliged to ask. 
"I'm fine." Stroud's voice was shaky, but clearly controlled. "We should go."
Jax nodded. "We should."
"Not until we've taken out those Phaetons," said Alex, peering through the clouds of smoke towards the column of Forerunner attack ships. "If they catch us in the open-"
"We'll manage." Jax swiped two fingers across his dirt-covered visor, imitating a smile.
The rest of the team had survived the initial bombardment, and had wasted no time in firing back. Having expended almost all of their explosives and heavy weapons on Europa and Helios Station, the Spartans had resorted to hit-and-run tactics and scavenging weapons to fight back. From his position a little ways behind his team, Jax counted at least seven fliers above, slowly circling and alternating attacks with either cannons or pulse missiles. If it weren't for the dense canopy beneath them they would have already found their marks, but with each volley setting more of the treeline ablaze it wouldn't be long before the Spartans lost their cover. Taking advantage of the attention being away from him, Jax watched for a pattern, and quickly realised that one of the Phaetons was not joining in on the attack, and was instead hovering several metres above the others. That's what they're homing in on, he realised with a jolt. It was the only way they had dispatched Prometheans to their location so quickly. If another infantry formation hit at the same time as the Phaetons, they would be in serious trouble.
"Marking a priority target," Jax said calmly. He focused in on the high-flier, magnifying the zoom on his helmet and marking it to his team with a HUD. A tiny red marker lit up on the HUD of every Spartan's helmet. "Anyone got a shot?"
It took a moment for a reply to arrive from Chris. "I do," the gruff Spartan spoke confidently. "Gimme five seconds of cover and I'll blow that thing out of the sky."
Jax looked to his right, and saw Chris emerging from cover, his blue and red suit streaked black with scorch marks and dirt. Perched atop his right shoulder, held in place by one hand and pulsing slightly with orange light, was a Forerunner incineration cannon. Catching a glimpse of Jax, Chris nodded in his direction before breaking into a sprint, dashing through the exposed furrow left by the first volley of missiles and towards a fallen tree, its thick trunk broken off and jutting upwards like a ramp. Fire erupted from across the woods, striking one of the Phaetons repeatedly as it whirled around to intercept the Spartan. Jax whipped his rifle out, reloaded, and brought the weapon to bear in an instant, aiming and firing at where the the enemy flier's armour was weakest. Before it could line up a shot on Chris, the combined fire finally scored a vital hit, causing the pulsing light of whatever generator lay in its circular midsection to suddenly flicker and go haywire before blowing itself apart in a shower of disintegrating metal. 
Chris continued to run, speeding up as his boots made contact with the upturned tree trunk before finally leaping off the tip of his makeshift ramp. His suit's internal thrusters kicked in at the zenith of his jump, suspending the half-ton of armoured Spartan in mid-air as he levelled the stolen cannon at the stationary Phaeton. The other attack craft broke off their pursuit of the other Spartans immediately, swerving to intercept Chris, but it was too late. He held the the trigger down, letting the shot charge within the alien weapon, then released. Four powerful bolts of energy erupted from the business end of the cannon and shot upwards, striking the Phaeton's underbelly as it began to move, having evidently been warned of the danger. Fire and light consumed the ship, which fell to pieces in an instant. Chris laughed as his thrusters gave out, dropping the Spartan ungracefully to the burnt earth below.
With their apparent link to reinforcements destroyed, the other Phaetons intensified their firepower, blasting away at anything and everything on the ground below. Wary of the spreading fires and disintegrating trees, Jax ordered his team uphill, seeking higher ground and a reprieve from the flames at the risk of losing cover as the forest grew sparser at the valley's edges. 
"Last mag!" Dan called, slamming a magazine into his MA40. 
"I'm running low on this thing too!" replied Martin, brandishing a scavenged Suppressor. The little weapon unleashed a spray of energy shards at one of the Phaetons as it came in for another bombing run, forcing it to teleport to the side in an orange flash of light.
Jax was down to his last magazine too, which he loaded grimly. He had hoped that they would shoot down a couple more in their flight uphill, but the Phaetons had changed their tactics, striking hard and fast before moving out of effective range for small-arms fire to reliably hit them. A few had sustained damage from lucky hits, but they were wearing the Spartans down and they knew it. Just a few dozen metres uphill lay the very edge of the forest, and beyond it a stretch of rocks and dirt that marked the base of the nearest mountain. Jax had hoped that they would stumble across a cave or crevasse to lose their pursuers in, but it seemed they would have no such luck. Sighting another Phaeton wheeling round for another missile strike, Jax stood his ground and took aim, hoping against all odds that he'd survive another day. He waited for the attack craft to approach, following its movements with the sights of his rifle, then took aim and fired. 
The Phaeton's right half exploded, torn apart piece by piece before the craft's main body exploded, plummeting to the ground. Jax blinked in confusion, having fired only one burst, then looked to the skies. His eyes narrowed, the Spartan's augmented vision straining to pick out the source of the fire as the remaining four Phaetons broke off their attack runs. Suddenly, a second barrage of fire appeared as if from nowhere, ripping two more craft to pieces. Then, he saw it. 
Across the valley, visible only by the faint shimmer it gave off as it approached and the puffs of smoke emanating from a pair of autocannons, was a ship equipped with stealth camouflage.
"Hold position!" Jax waved for his team to cease their ascent. "Looks like backup may have arrived."
"Want me to pop some smoke, let them know we're here?" Louie asked, already reaching for his belt pouch.
"No, not yet." While the appearance of this new ship had lifted his spirits, Jax couldn't take chances. "They probably know we're here already." 
Above the burning valley, the last two Phaetons surged forward, spraying cannon towards their unseen attacker. In response, a pair of blue lasers suddenly flashed through the sky, blowing pinpoint holes through each craft in the blink of an eye. Both Phaetons burst into flames dropped silently towards the forest, disintegrating as they fell. With the skies now clear, Jax strode out of the woods and onto the rocky hillside, his rifle clutched in one hand as he stood in the open. Then, the indistinct shimmer suddenly glowed blue as it flew in towards the Spartans, gradually fading into existence as its active camouflage systems deactivated. It was a human vessel, long and sleek, with a pair of angled wings that made it look more like an oversized fighter than a stealth craft. Jax recognised the make: A Winter-class prowler. Even after the Created's invasion, it didn't surprise him much to find an ONI vessel still operating on an occupied world. Jax's ear buzzed, and his HUD indicated an incoming transmission from the prowler. He allowed it to come through. 
"Spartan team, do you copy?" A voice, flat and accentless, spoke the instant the transmission was allowed. "This is ONI prowler One-Four-Two, here for pickup."
"Prowler One-Four-Two, this is SPARTAN-007." Jax responded instantly, wondering how those aboard knew they were Spartans. "We copy, lock in on my transmission for pickup. Do you think you can land here?"
The voice took a couple of seconds to reply. "Negative. I'll extend the boarding ramp and hover until you're aboard, but we'll have to be quick. I'm counting incoming contacts that'll be on us in less than ten minutes."
"Don't worry, we'll be ready. Over and out."
As the transmission died, the rest of Jax's team left the forest to join him. After all they had been through since that first day of fighting on Europa, he hoped that he and his fellow Spartans could get at least a brief respite before returning to the field. All of their suits had taken a beating, and Alex would need surgery and a replacement for his missing limb. Ensign Stroud looked like she needed some rest too, and a change of clothes. The prowler reached them quickly, coming in as low as it dared over the rocky foothills at the burning forest's edge. A long boarding ramp extended from its underbelly, and as it hovered above them an elderly man, scarred and bearded in plain black fatigues, descended, clutching a SAW machine gun in a black prosthetic hand. 
"All right, you've got thirty seconds to get aboard!" the old man yelled, his voice scratchy with age.
Jax's team didn't need telling twice. Stroud was first aboard, helped up by Alex, then Louie, Martin, Dan and Chris. Ianto was next up, with Jax bringing up the rear. As he hopped onto the boarding ramp, Jax took one last look at the valley behind them, and at the ancient forest now fully ablaze. Less than an hour ago it had been pristine, likely untouched even by Andesia's settlers. Now there would be nothing left but cinders. Jax shook the thoughts away bitterly and headed up and into the prowler as the old man closed the ramp behind them. The craft shuddered suddenly, and a low thrum pulsed through the deck as its stealth camouflage systems reactivated. They were gone from the valley in moments, streaking across Andesia's skies before Created reinforcements could pin them down. Jax let out a long sigh, then tugged off his helmet. He felt drained, even after the week they had spent out of the fight. The rest of the team had taken seats in the prowler's crew bay, but Jax had to know what would come next. He turned to the old man, who had been watching him with some interest.
"Are you-" he began, but the man shook his head.
"I'm not the guy in charge, if that's what you're asking." The old man's eyes met Jax's, one sporting the dull gleam of a robotic prosthetic. "He's flying the ship. I think you'll want to meet him."
"I do." Jax nodded before remembering his manners and straightening up. "Chief Petty Officer Jax-007, UNSC Navy"
"Abd-al-Quadir ibn Asad, contractor." The man folded his arms across his chest in lieu of a salute. "I'll show you to the boss."
As prowlers like this one were meant for espionage and covert operations carried out across great interstellar distances, it did not take long for them to reach their destination. Jax had a feeling that they wouldn't be leaving the planet so soon, but as he stepped through the cockpit door, his rifle stowed on his back and helmet clutched in one hand, he realised that they were already coming in to land not in some remote military base or stretch of land away from prying eyes, but on the spacious covered landing pad of what looked like a civilian mansion. Aware that it took a lot of concentration to land a ship this size on such a small spot, Jax kept quiet and stood by as the pilot did his job, his face concealed by the high-backed chair he sat in. Looking around, Jax realised that the prowler was undermanned, seemingly crewed only by Asad and the pilot. The ship shuddered as the stealth camouflage deactivated and its landing gear extended, touching down with the tiniest of bumps on the pad below. Heavy metal shutters slid over the opening overhead immediately after, concealing the craft from any eyes in the sky. 
"Nice landing," Jax said, taking a step forward. "Must be like threading a needle, thing to put this thing down on a civilian pad."
"It is," the pilot called, powering the ship down. "But I've had plenty of training, just like you."
"We each do our part." The Spartan shrugged, taking it as a compliment.
The pilot's chair slowly swivelled round, revealing an hark-haired, blue-eyed man in a grey jumpsuit. He got to his feet, easily standing as tall as Jax, and smiled warmly as the Spartan resisted the instinctive urge to draw his sidearm and open fire.
"Hello Jax," said Derek-142. "Welcome to Andesia."
"Derek," Jax exhaled his name as thought it were poison. "You were arrested."
"I was." Derek raised his hands, showing that he was unarmed. "Until the Created attacked, and I had the chance to escape from Midnight."
"So what are you doing here?" Jax kept one eye on Derek, but remained keenly aware of Asad at his side. The old man hadn't moved an inch, but could be taken out in less than a second if needed. "Starting up Red Cell again?"
Derek frowned, looking genuinely offended "Not at all. I'm here to fight the Created, same as you."
Jax studied the man's face carefully, searching for any hint of deception. The last time he'd seen Derek, it had been after Sigma Team had foiled his attempt at a coup within the Office of Naval Intelligence some months ago. A former trainee of Project SIGMA, Derek had long been thought dead, only to have been fighting his personal war on the fringes of space with a stolen ship and press-ganged crew. Somewhere along the line he had gotten his hands on a backdoor key into a lot of ONI's resources, and had the delusion of taking over the bloated organisation to reshape it as he saw fit. He'd failed, obviously, and after being badly injured in a fight with Marco had been shipped off to the Midnight Facility, ONI's high-security prison. Despite everything that had happened since the Created invasion, Derek was the last person Jax had expected to run into out here. And yet...
He's telling the truth.
Jax's expression softened slightly. His past treachery aside, Derek was ultimately loyal to the UNSC, and to humanity. 
"I believe you." The words left Jax's mouth, but it would be a while before his mind caught up fully. "I don't know what the others will say, though."
"Is my old team back there?" Derek asked, referring to the Spartans he had all but kidnapped and tricked into serving his clandestine unit.
"Chris and Dan." Jax jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "But you're going to have to speak to them yourself if you want to catch up."
"That's fair. What about Eugene? Wulf?"
"Wulf went outsystem with Marco when the Created attacked Sol. Eugene's KIA."
Surprise and sadness flickered across Derek's stoic features, if only for a moment. "A shame. We could use them for what I'm about to do here."
"That being?"
The smile returned to Derek's face, and he pointed up. "I've got a plan, Jax. We're going to destroy that Guardian."
===Alliance===
The journey towards the ring's control room had been an uneventful one. Unlike the other installations found and documented by the UNSC, which teemed with life and boasted a great diversity in environments, so far Elena's team had seen nothing but barren desert and rocky canyons, marked occasionally by jutting silver monoliths indicating some Forerunner structure or another. As their warthog crested another sand dune, the tip of the spire marking their destination in sight beyond the next set of craggy cliffs, the Spartan couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with this ring, or if it was inhospitable by design. 
"I'm going to split off here," Kane said over TEAMCOM as they approached another incline. "We'll take the high ground and set up an overwatch position on the cliffs."
Elena watched as their second warthog peeled away. "Let us know if you see anything," she replied.
"Will do."
There hadn't been much in the way of conversation since they landed on the ring. Even Redford, acting as their secondary marksman, had been uncharacteristically quiet, and if the Spartans of Fireteam Scythe had anything to say they were keeping it to their own COM channels. If the True Vanguard had already claimed the ring's control room, then it was only a matter of time before they attempted to use it, either as the supreme bargaining chip against everyone else in the galaxy, or to eradicate all life in a misguided attempt to ascend to godhood as the former Covenant had believed. High above them a battle between Sangheili warships was still raging around the ring, but everything depended on who could seize the structure up ahead. They could not fail.
In the warthog's passenger seat, Clayton-G045 looked up from the datapad he had been monitoring. "Picking up contacts on the scanner," he said. "Looks like they're clustered up ahead." 
"Friend or foe?"
"Hard to say." Clayton tapped twice at the pad. "It could be the Swords of Sanghelios, but they're all converging on the control room. Besides, can we be sure that the Swords are our friends here?"
There was a sudden hardness to the young Spartan's voice that Elena picked up on. Most SPARTAN-III personnel she'd encountered had serious grudges against former Covenant races even years after the war, but Clayton seemed fairly level-headed compared to his slightly unruly squadmates and not one to make snap decisions. Still, they had no way of knowing how the Swords had even found Beta Halo, let alone their intentions for the ring. Normally Elena would leave judgements like this to her superiors, but Redford and King had delegated leading this action to her. 
"You've got a point." Elena nodded after a moment's consideration. "We'll let the Swords make the first move. If it looks like they're hostile, we'll act accordingly, got it?"
Kane and the other Spartans replied affirmatively with a green flash from their status lights. Redford said nothing. Elena kept the overloaded warthog moving through the dark of another canyon, rounding a long bend. With this portion of the ring shrouded in darkness visibility was low, but her augmented vision allowed her to see without needing to switch on the warthog's lights. The last thing they needed was to announce their presence, and the military jeep's engine was indication enough that someone was approaching. 
Around the canyon bend lay another hill, rising into a clearing at the end of the rocky maze of rocks they had been traversing. The warthog crested the hill and came to a halt at the edge of a vast desert valley, ringed on all sides by high walls of rock. At its centre was a circular, multi-tiered ziggurat that had to house the ring's control room, shining like a beacon against the dull sand with a central column stretching high into the sky. Little cover lay between their hilltop and the Forerunner facility, save for a few sand dunes and silver markers standing out like gravestones in the desert. Elena focused and her HUD magnified her view of the structure. Alien warriors already walked its walls, and a spiderweb of heavy-duty turrets were being set up in a wide semi-circle around the control room. Feeling eyes on her from the other Spartans, Elena took in the situation and began to formulate a plan.
"Kane," she called, turning her head to look up at the cliffs behind her. "Are you in position?"
"Almost." 
"Do you have eyes on the control room?"
"Affirmative." Kane's voice was as usual; flat and unbothered, but utterly focused. "And we have targets in range."
"No problems making the shot?" she asked, thinking more of Redford than Kane. 
"It's dark, but that's what the low-light scope is for." Kane paused for a moment. "Wind won't be an issue, either, and we've got a great field of view."
"Good." Elena looked back to the distant structure, wondering if the Vanguard knew they were there yet. "We're going to make our approach. As soon as they take notice, start shooting."
"Copy that. Once you start to advance, Jiang's going to advance on foot and rejoin you."
"It's a long trek."
A young Spartan's voice - Jiang's - cut across the COM. "I move faster on my own, ma'am."
Elena didn't answer. As she prepared to gun the engine and send their warthog hurtling down into the valley, she took one last look up at the sky, where a bright flash indicated the destruction of one of the Vanguard's ships. They had seen both sides deploying troops to the surface as Heavens Asunder had moved in to land, but it looked like the Swords were focusing their troops elsewhere. She knew that these rings had other key facilities aside from the control room, most notably a so-called 'Library' housing Halo's activation index for firing, so perhaps they were going there first. More questions piled up in Elena's head, begging to be answered, but she shook them off. All that mattered right now was that facility, and wiping out every single person attempting to use it. She gunned the engine.
The warthog took off down the slope at some speed, Ezra and Clarence clinging tightly to the back of the vehicle as Elena deftly maneuvered the vehicle past the occasional rock until they hit their first dune. They kept going, driving straight and true across the sand straight towards the Forerunner structure, and were noticed in less than thirty seconds. Distant figures moved across the walls, and before long the first plasma turret had swung towards them, loosing a steady stream of fire. Elena swerved left, easily avoiding the first few shots, then right as the bolts zipped by overhead. Then, three other turrets joined the first, and the air filled with bolts of green and blue energy. Several shots struck the warthog's bumper, making the thick armour sizzle menacingly, and Elena knew they didn't have long. 
"Prepare to bail!" Elena barked, doing everything she could to avoid the barrage of fire. "We'll spread out and approach on foot!"
The three Spartans of Fireteam Thor didn't need telling twice. Ezra jumped first, leaping off into the sand in a flash. Clarence, unable to effectively use the vehicle's chaingun, did the same a moment later, tearing the gun off as he threw himself backwards. Clayton was next to go, and the only one to so much as glance at Elena before he made a thruster-assisted jump out of the increasingly damaged vehicle. With her passengers gone Elena just had to extricate herself from the warthog. She hit the accelerator hard, intending on gaining a few more metres before the groaning engine finally gave out, and launched the warthog forward over the next sand dune. 
A burst of green light filled Elena's vision, hurtling past her exposed driver's seat before striking the rear half of the vehicle in a burst of searing energy. The warthog's back wheels vanished into green flame, and the damaged jeep flipped over violently, propelled by the subsequent explosion. Elena was thrown from her seat almost instantly, tumbling helplessly through the air as her energy shields wailed and threatened to dissipate. Regaining control of her body at the last moment, the Spartan tucked herself into a ball, striking the hard sand with a hard thud. Feeling winded, she unfurled and sprang to her feet as quickly as possible, catching sight of the wrecked warthog smashing into the ground nearby. Some thirty metres away was the base of the control room, and at least a hundred hostile aliens just now realising the kind of foe they were up again.
"Ah, shit." Elena breathed, seeing energy light up from a dozen spots ahead of her. 
With few options, Elena ran, her heavy boots pounding against the sand as she made for whatever cover she could. With her suit's energy shields down and preparing to charge, anything more than a few glancing shots would do serious damage if they connected. To her left sat an uneven row of Forerunner pillars, just tall and wide enough for her to hide behind and left sticking out of the sand in odd places. Outpacing enemy fire by microseconds, she made for that at a dead sprint, sand raining down from explosions behind her. Somewhere on the roof of the nearby building was an anti-aircraft Wraith tank, its fuel rod cannons now turned against a solo target like her as she slid into cover. That would have to go first. 
"Elena," Kane spoke calmly over the COM. "Supporting fire's inbound. Stay put and we'll clear the way."
Two cracks sounded, echoing in the distance over the patch of desert. Elena chanced a quick glance out of cover just in time to see a Sangheili warrior topple from the seat of his plasma turret, most of his head missing. The massed warriors on the structure's walls began to dash for cover as another of their number pitched forward, falling soundlessly into the sand. As if emboldened by the sudden sniper support, the other Spartans soon joined the fray, opening fire from three different directions. Clarence used what was left of the warthog turret's ammunition to hose the walls with machine gun fire, giving his comrades time to move and shoot at the defenders on the ground. 
"Moving in on your three, commander!" Clayton called, his indicator flashing on Elena's HUD. "We'll draw their fire!"
There was an odd, almost childish enthusiasm in the young Spartan's voice that hadn't been there before, but it was something that Elena had seen in other Spartans of his company. Killing machines though they might have been, Gamma Company were some of the more exuberant Spartans in battle, she'd noticed. Just glad to have support. Elena snatched the pair of M7 submachine guns from their mag-mounts at her thighs, stepped out from behind her plasma-soaked pillar, and charged.
To her surprise, most of the True Vanguard's warriors had not retreated. Instead, a group of at least ten Sangheili had chosen to make a mad dash towards the Spartans, snarling and hurling curses and insults at their hated foes. Several brandished energy swords as they ran, but most carried only basic plasma rifles and needlers, firing indiscriminately at the advancing Spartans. The translation software in Elena's helmet picked up some of the words drifting towards her, and words like 'demon', 'vermin' and 'cleansing fire' scrolled across her HUD. All painfully familiar phrases from anyone who had spent time fighting the Covenant's fanatics, but one particular phrase caught her eye: 'The Mantle is ours!'
Now that's an odd one. 
Elena internally filed that thought away as something to dwell on later as the True Vanguard's warriors closed in on her. She hosed down one with a barrage of fire, rapidly draining his shields before ventilating his skull and turning to one f the sword-wielders. He died before he could reach her, but a third and a fourth surged forwards, eager to score a kill as Elena dropped her spent weapons, knowing there would be no time to reload. One stabbed at her with an energy dagger and a harsh yell, only to have his arm swiftly broken and his weapon redirected into his throat. The other, eschewing weapons entirely, leapt directly at Elena, taking her by surprise. In her experience, Sangheili tended to have more tact than this. The saurian alien's armoured body collided with the Spartan, knocking Elena off-balance. As she fell backwards, one hand surging for the alien's throat and her leg rising to deliver a kick to the fanatic's chest, she saw that both of her opponent's hands were glowing with a bright white light. Plasma grenades.
A swift kick and a desperate burst from her thruster pack were all that saved Elena's life in that moment. A blinding flash overtook her, tearing at her freshly-rejuvenated shields as Elena was propelled, once again, back onto the sand. A good portion of her black armour's outer shell had been horribly burned, the metal warped in some places. Her techsuit had also sustained damage, and she could feel the skin beneath start to sting and blister beneath its thick lining from the resultant burns. Thankfully, it had not been breached. Elena's suit dispensed a small amount of biofoam instantly, dulling the pain after a sharp tingling sensation. 
"Commander, status?!" Clayton called again. He and Ezra had torn the remaining Sangheili to pieces. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Elena lied, heaving herself to her feet. What the hell was that? she couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed, having almost died at the hands of a single Elite. Even among the Covenant, who used Grunts for suicide attacks, they had never sacrificed their officer caste in such a manner. She'd passed off the True Vanguard as another successor faction of religious fundamentalists, but their fanaticism seemed to have surpassed their predecessors. 
"Looks like we've found our way up," said Ezra, pointing towards a thin ramp that led up to the control structure's upper levels. "Vanguard's falling back too, by the look of it."
Clayton looked around warily. "For now."
Thanks to sniper support from Kane and Redford, backed up by a pair of rockets fired by Clarence at the enemy Wraith, the Spartans had successfully punched through the Vanguard's lines. Elena could still hear the whine of plasma rounds in the distance however, indicating that the Swords of Sanghelios had finally engaged in force. Looking at the more thinly-deployed turret network on this side of the control room structure, it seemed like the Vanguard hadn't been expecting any foes here at all, much less a squad of Spartans. With the ring's night cycle starting to wane, Elena picked up a plasma rifle from one of the fallen warriors and set off up the ramp at a jog, the others falling in close behind.
As they reached the top of the first level it soon became clear why the Vanguard had only spared a token force against the incoming Spartans. The other side of the valley was a haze of smoke and plasma fire, the result of a full-blown assault from the Swords of Sanghelios. Several burnt-out wrecks lay blazing on the sand, while the green-armoured Vanguard fanatics charged into combat with the Swords' own warriors trying to advance on foot. Elena could hear the rhythmic thumping of at least two heavy anti-aircraft cannons in the level above them, spewing plasma bolts into the sky as banshee fliers strafed the battlefield and Phantom dropships circled the control room ziggurat. The Vanguard had committed everything to defending this position, and were matching their enemies blow-to-blow for now. It seemed that all they hadn't accounted for was the Spartans. 
"Hell of a show," said Clarence, looking over at the battlefield with an air of appreciation before turning his head to Elena. "Are we going to help them?"
"Let the hinge-heads fight." Ezra cut in, walking a few steps ahead of the group with his rifle at the ready. "We've got an opportunity here while they're distracted."
Elena nodded in agreement. "He's right, the control room's our priority. Even if the Vanguard manage to get Halo's activation index, they'd need to bring it here. We just need to take and hold this position."
"Or fire off our nuke," Clayton said quietly, but his teammates nodded in unison. "Ma'am, tactically-"
"Tactically it's our option of last resort." Elena's tone grew sharper. She wasn't going to debate things here and now. "If we don't make it out of here, Captain King knows what to do."
Clayton straightened up a little. "Yes ma'am."
With most of the Vanguard's forces concentrated around either the valley below or busy fortifying the structure's upper tiers, this level was surprisingly clear of foes, barring the remains of the Wraith Clarence had destroyed or the defence turrets, swiftly unmanned thanks to Kane and Redford's sniper support. If anything, it was too empty, and as she moved forward, plasma rifle at the ready, Elena's eyes sharpened, looking for the tiniest signs of movement or the telltale shimmer of an assassin equipped with active camouflage. 
"Kane," Elena breathed over the COM. "Anything on thermals?"
"Negative," he replied. "But there's a lot of activity on the tiers above you. They're clearing space on the upper platform, right by the control room's entrance."
"Expecting reinforcements?"
"Most likely. The Swords are pressing hard, both on the ground and from above, but they're starting to divert troops your way."
"How many?"
Kane paused. "Counting thirteen Sangheili heading towards the ramp on the tiers above you. Energy swords and needlers, mostly."
"Heavy weapons?"
"None. The Swords are sending more Wraiths and the Vanguard are down to three Locusts, so they're diverting all their firepower that way."
"Copy that." Elena couldn't help but wonder if the warriors they had engaged had time to report that they were fighting Spartans, considering the underwhelming response. Still, she couldn't complain if that made things easier. "Fire at will."
A distant crack from the rocky hills to the east sounded almost immediately. A second later, a dead Sangheili tumbled off a ledge above them and dropped limply to the sand below. Shouts and bellows erupted from the upper level, and the Spartans charged up the next ramp. Elena found herself proven right as she rounded the corner to the next level, one littered with empty crates and trailing power cables, and turned to find herself within a few feet of a sword-wielding Sangheili officer leading a troop of snarling warriors. The aliens halted almost at once, bumping into each other comically as they took in the sight of not one, but four Spartan supersoldiers. In that split second Elena felt an invisible shiver of trepidation run through the Sangheili, most of whom looked quite young. No doubt they had heard the stories of so-called 'demons' during the war, and of the horrors that such creatures inflicted on the battlefield.
Elena felt a smile creep over her face, and raised her rifle. The Sangheili, momentarily taken aback, responded with fierce battle cries of their own and surged forward, each and every one of them eager to claim a worthy kill. None of them reached her. High-velocity sniper fire from Kane and Redford hammered into their sides, felling the leading officer and two of his compatriots in seconds as Elena, Clayton, Clarence and Ezra lay down a withering hail of fire. Had the warriors spaced out on more even terrain and focused on ranged fire, they might have stood more of a chance, but here, packed together on a too-narrow walkway, their numbers meant nothing. Elena held down the trigger until her plasma rifle grew too hot in he hands, then threw it as hard as she could at her nearest foe. The weapon struck one warrior in the face, venting scalding heat as it did so. The young Sangheili lurched back with a howl, falling into one of his comrades. The Spartans advanced, reloading or snatching up weapons from their fallen opponents, and the fight was over in under a minute.
Ezra let out a snort of mirth. "That was poor," he said, kicking a corpse with his boot. "Even by hinge-head standards."
Looking at the pile of ruined corpses, Elena couldn't help but agree. Most reports she'd seen of the True Vanguard painted them as a frightening bunch of supremacist killers, striking hard and terrorising their opponents before withdrawing. While that first group of warriors had fought decently, even catching her off-guard, this had been a slaughter. 
"They're cannon fodder," Clayton spoke grimly, gingerly prising a Needler from the hands of a corpse. It hadn't even been fired. "Meant to slow us down, not stop us."
The young Spartan shared a glance with Elena, understanding each other immediately. If the Vanguard are focusing on stalling us, it means they've got something. Without another word, Elena waved the group forward, picking up the pace. 
The battle around the ziggurat was not going well. Plasma artillery from the Swords had hammered the other side of the structure, destroying the Vanguard's remaining Locust walkers but leaving the nigh-impervious Forerunner metal undamaged. Even so, the fanatical defenders were racking up a sizeable kill count, dashing from dune to dune with shoulder-mounted fuel rod guns to bring down enemy tanks and flinging plasma grenades from behind cover. It was a battle the Swords would win, but at a cost. Rounding a corner, the Spartans found themselves at the back of a pair of spherical, four-barrelled 'Shrike' turrets, swivelling in their mounts as they fired almost non-stop towards enemy aircraft. More Vanguard warriors were scattered around this level, carrying boxes or dragging the injured towards the upper levels. A cry went up as one of them spotted the Spartans, and the team quickly found itself engaged once more. 
"Clarence!" Clayton made a cutting motion towards the anti-aircraft turrets. "You're up. Ezra, cover!"
Clarence made a beeline for the turrets at once, fishing a pair of small cubes from his belt pouch. A few enemy warriors saw what the young Spartan was doing and focused their fire on him, glancing rounds making his shields flare violently, but Clayton and Ezra protected their teammate well, hammering anyone who so much as looked towards Clarence with fire in unison. Elena couldn't help but admire Fireteam Scythe's superb coordination, content to allow Clayton to order his loyal comrades around while she picked off stragglers from the sidelines. Clayton slid down between the two turrets, and got to work. The cubes he carried were C10 explosive charges, and stuck easily to the Shrike's hardened bases. It took Clarence only a few seconds to deploy the C10, arm both charges, and return to the fray alongside his brothers. 
"Ten seconds!" Clarence announced, darting sideways past Ezra and Clayton, who fell in alongside him. 
Elena moved too, retreating back the way they had come alongside the younger Spartans as more Vanguard troops came sprinting down a ramp from the upper levels, more well-equipped than their fellows by far. Evading white-hot bolts of plasma, the Spartans cleared the corner just in time as both charges detonated simultaneously, consuming the entire platform in a billowing fireball that surged after Elena and the others, flames gnawing away at her energy shields as she ran, struggling to keep her balance. The flames soon dissipated, leaving nothing but a flat platform of blackened, twisted metal and incinerated corpses. The air stank of smoke and charred meat, and the whine of plasma fire ceased, replaced with the groans of the dying. Having gained another opportunity, the Spartan team turned on their heels, and resumed their advance. 
The COM crackled slightly as Kane spoke up. "Team, we've got enemy aircraft inbound; five phantoms, heading downspin towards the control room."
"Are the Swords intercepting?" Elena asked, sighting the dropships slowly closing in on them.
"They're trying, but the Vanguard's main force were just backed up by a flight of silver-coloured banshees. They're tearing up the skies right now."
"Must be ex-Imperium forces backing them up. Can you do anything about them?"
"I could, but that might give away our position and put Captain Redford in danger."
"Both of us, you mean?" Alexander Redford joined the conversation, sounding slightly annoyed at being considered a liability. "We still have a clear line of sight on the structure's upper level, Commander. It would be for the best if we hold our fire until a more opportune target reveals itself."
"Good point." Elena could hear the sound of the Phantoms' engines now. "If we can't stop them from landing, we'll hit them as soon as they disembark."
With their current level now cleared of enemies thanks to the explosion, Elena's team were able to move up another level, grabbing weapons and grenades as they went. Elena managed to procure an undamaged carbine from an unattended weapon rack, and quickly readied it as they began their approach to the structure's summit, looking up to the towering spire above them. The Spartans ducked into cover as the first of the five Phantoms passed overhead, hovering above landing space as its gravity lift activated, emitting a stream of purple light that allowed passengers to descend safely. From below Elena could only see the rear half of the dropship floating above, wary of the others slowly circling like massive birds of prey. One Phantom was enough to deal with, but trying to approach with that many around would only get her team shot to pieces by their plasma cannons.
The Spartans moved carefully, backs to the wall and eyes fixed on the dropships. One more walkway would lead them around to the final ramp leading up to the structure's summit, and to Halo's control room. Elena began to calculate the possibilities in her head. If she ran, would she make it? If they all ran, could Fireteam Scythe serve as a distraction? All unpleasant thoughts, but with all life at stake, what choice did she have? What if she failed? Jiang was still en-route, and Kane and Redford would have to drive some way to reach this place. She took a slow, calming breath. King and the nuke were still an option, but that didn't mean she could act rashly. As her thoughts went to the elderly ONI agent, wondering if he could even get the Heavens Asunder into position to launch a nuclear strike in his current condition, the man's sharp voice sounded over their COM. 
"Team, this is Captain King. Both fleets in orbit are breaking off and committing to troop deployment. I've just detected a wave of signatures heading to your location from the Swords' carrier, and fast!"
"Deployment pods?" Elena asked, looking for pinpricks of light in the ringworld's night sky.
"Looks like it," King said. "I've been trying to intercept transmissions from both sides, and it looks like they're worried."
"About firing the ring?"
"No. About us. You."
Unannounced Spartan deployments tended to have that effect on people. "What are the Swords saying?"
"Just to investigate, if this translation software is correct. You've not attacked them, have you?"
"Negative."
"Good." A touch of humour appeared in King's voice for once. "Then it's time to make friends."
Two of the Phantoms on the summit finished offloading their passengers, and swiftly rose into the sky, no doubt returning to their ships for reinforcements while one remained behind. A new group of warriors, clad in grey armour of an exotic design, appeared on the battlements, heavily-armed and disciplines. These were not the Vanguard's fanatics, but soldiers of the Imperium of Clarity. Before they could spot the Spartan team creeping its way towards the ramp, the sky above was suddenly filled with noise and light. Elena looked round to see a trio of oblong pods hurling towards their structure, dodging or ignoring cannon fire. As they approached, thrusters lit up beneath each pod until they slowed to a hover, and translucent energy barriers flashed brightly on each pod. To the Spartan's eyes they looked like flying siege towers, and in this case, this was exactly their purpose. The barriers vanished, and a small horde of Sangheili and Unggoy combatants poured out of the pods, leaping onto the control room's upper levels as its defenders opened fire. 
The Swords of Sanghelios had arrived. 
With no point in hiding any longer, Elena rose from her crouched position and took aim at the first enemy she could see, gunning down one of the Imperium's soldiers while the other Spartans followed suit. Hit on all sides by a hail of plasma and bullets, the Vanguard's forces were torn to shreds, falling back towards the summit. The lone Phantom turned its plasma cannons towards the hovering drop pods, only for each to rocket upwards the moment it had dispensed its troops. Explosive fuel rod bolts soon hammered against the dropship's underside, blowing the cannon to pieces in a fiery explosion. Further shots punched through its hull, and the Phantom soon lurched drunkenly to one side, rapidly losing altitude as it dropped out of sight altogether.
Elena took a few steps up the ramp, only to catch a glimpse of green out of the corner of her eye. She span round, finger on the trigger, to find a Sangheili in battered armour moving up alongside her, a plasma rifle in each hand. He inclined his helmeted head towards her for a moment, and let out an amused huff. 
"Our enemy lies ahead," the Sangheili spoke in heavily-accented English. "We should kill them first before we start shooting each other."
It took Elena a second to realise that his armour was a shade darker than that of the Vanguard, and heavily patched and modified in certain places. The Sangheili wore a bulky helmet that covered most of his face, and attached to his armour was the hilt of an energy sword and, curiously, a metal dagger of sorts with a curved handle. Questions rose in the Spartan's mind, but they would have to wait. As he had said, their enemy was right in front of them. Moving up together, Elena and her new ally led the charge to the control room's summit, cutting down all who lay in their path. The Vanguard had thrown down a few deployable shield barriers, though those did little more than offer a few seconds of protection from the unstoppable force heading their way. Finally reaching the summit, Elena made out a door at the other end of a wide platform, and several figures fleeing towards it. One suddenly flopped sideways as a torrent of blood and gore burst from his neck, followed by the far-off sound of Kane's rifle. 
"Chase them down!" roared the Swords' leader in Sangheili, spraying bolts into the Vanguard's fanatics as they tried a desperate charge. His words scrolled across Elena's HUD as her suit's translation software kicked in. "Leave none of these wretched scum alive!"
A series of cries went up from his allies. With most of their allies gone, the Vanguard's remaining troops fought to the bitter end, flinging themselves into the fray with reckless abandon or arming themselves with live plasma grenades for suicide attacks. None were successful, and before long the control room's summit was clear. Elena stood beside her new ally amidst the carnage, and watched as he holstered his rifles and drew the long dagger to finish off the wounded and dying. He moved quickly and killed cleanly, but there was a sense of anger in each stab and strike that told her that this battle meant something to him. 
"Good work." Elena waited until the last warrior had fallen before speaking. "The Vanguard didn't stand a chance."
The Sangheili nodded, and shook purple blood off the edge of his blade before stowing it. He then looked her up and down, his orange eyes narrowed and wary. 
"What is your name, Spartan?" he asked. 
Not the question I was expecting. "I'm Commander Elena-071," she said. "We're with the UNSC."
The Sangheili nodded, and seemed to relax a little. "That much is obvious. I am Rora 'Marak, serving the Swords of Sanghelios."
Rora 'Marak. Now it was Elena's turn to be wary. She'd come across his name plenty of times in reports filed by ONI. Not long after the Human-Covenant War he'd sprung up out of nowhere as a particularly vicious mercenary, fighting primarily along the borders of former Covenant space. In time he'd come to be known as the 'Outrider' for his distinctive armour, and soon his raids led him into human territory. His little warband had hit a few colonies, and 'Marak had been responsible for almost wiping out a Spartan team sent to track him down. Normally Spartan-killers were at the top of ONI's hit-list, and Elena had been among those considered for the eventual assassination herself, but 'Marak had promptly vanished, only to return working for the Swords of Sanghelios. The kill order promptly vanished, but Elena wasn't one to forget. 
"The Outrider," Elena spoke through gritted teeth. "I've heard of you."
"It is a name I hope to leave behind." Rora sounded almost apologetic. "But we have little time to speak. The Vanguard seeks to light this ring, and we are here to stop them."
Elena nodded, then pointed towards the control room's entrance. "That we can agree on. Let's move."
Walking together with Rora as Fireteam Scythe caught up, Elena approached the heavy metal doors, which glowed brightly with white Forerunner glyphs. When it did not open immediately, she looked around for a panel or switch, and found none. Rora seemed to have done the same, and gave the door an experimental kick. It did not budge. 
"Dorenn, you coward," Rora growled. "He has locked himself inside."
Thinking back to her briefing on the Halo rings, Elena considered their situation. "Does he have the ring's activation index?" she asked.
Rora shook his head. "No. When we were told of the ring's location, our forces were given instruction on how to prevent one from firing. We dispatched an entire Legion to this ring's library before the True Vanguard could reach it. Dorenn 'Tenon intends to hide here until help arrives, no doubt."
"Is he the Vanguard's leader?"
"Yes." Rora made a fist, and slammed it against the door once more, to little effect. "He was an ally one, ever scheming, ever seeking power and glory. He proclaimed himself my greatest ally and advisor, only to abandon me when he felt it convenient."
"I get it. So you're here for revenge."
Rora took a moment to answer. "Duty brings me to this ring, Spartan, and my vengeance is reserved for another. Once we find Dorenn 'Tenon, I will thank him before I kill him."
"Why's that?"
"Because had he not left me to die I would not have found my purpose." Rora almost sounded happy. "We will have to cut through this door."
"No need." Elena stepped forward, and placed her palm against the glyph-covered door. At her touch, the white glyphs glowed blue, and the metal immediately parted, revealing an empty chamber beyond. The Spartan felt her hand tingle even through her armoured gloves, and tried not to seem too pleased with herself. 
"Of course," Rora muttered. "The Forerunners left your kind with a special gift, Spartan."
"If you could call it-" Elena began, only to stop as an alarming thought materialised. The Vanguard got in here.
Elena scanned the doorway, and saw no signs of forced entry. These installations had been locked up tight for millennia, and though reports had indicated that the Covenant were able to access some systems eventually, the Vanguard had come prepared. They had brought human prisoners.
Clayton stepped up beside her. "The colonists they abducted. Ma'am-"
"I know." Elena cut him off. "Spartans, we need to pursue immediately."
Rora waved for his own troops to fall in. "And we will join you."
The allied force raced inside, following a long corridor that sloped downwards. They were inside the spire now, and the slope soon turned off into a ramp leading them further down until it evened out into a spacious chamber. At its centre sat a great pit, with a glowing blue panel hovering at its edge. Not a pit, Elena realised instantly. An elevator shaft.. She hurried to the edge and waved her hand over the panel, which flickered to orange. Elena peered over the edge and saw that the shaft went so deeply she could not even see the elevator coming back up. 
"We've not got time." Elena shook her head. "Spartans, prepare to jump. We'll stick to the sides and drop past the elevator.
Rora stepped to the edge of the shaft. "I will come with you." He indicated the thruster pack built into his modified harness, then barked orders at a group of similarly-outfitted Sangheili. "The rest can follow."
"Agreed."
Elena wasted no time, and promptly stepped off the ledge. She fell like a stone in her half-ton of armour, falling faster than she had anticipated through the darkness. As she fell she angled her body to the right, extending one arm until her gloves scraped against the outer wall. The elevator - a rectangle of hard light - soon shot past her at the middle of the shaft, and Elena waited until she could see dim lights below before finally kicking in her suit's thrusters. They flared to life, jolting her out of her freefall as every bit of power was used to slow the Spartan's descent. Elena kept them going as long as she could, waiting until emergency power warnings flashed across her visor before shutting them down just a metre from ground level. She touched down quietly, and immediately resumed her pursuit. 
The room ahead did not resemble the spherical chamber described in the reports Elena had read. Instead, she found herself just a few feet away from a sheer drop into a massive chasm, spanned by several bridges of hard light. Tiny robotic drones drifted lazily overhead in groups of five or six, going about some unknown task as the intruders stepped inside. At the other end of the bridges lay row after row of floating platforms, arranged neatly as if along invisible tracks. As she slowly moved down towards the bridges and Rora and the rest of their allies entered the chamber, Elena felt that the place resembled some kind of transit station, not the hub of control for Halo itself. Worst of all, Dorenn 'Tenon and his forces were nowhere to be found. 
"This doesn't feel right," Ezra was the first to speak, breaking the thick layer of silence that had settled on this ancient structure. "Commander, are you sure we got the right place?"
In any other situation Elena would have rebuked him for that kind of remark, but something was off, and it was making her doubt herself. Was it possible that the UNSC, Swords of Sanghelios, and True Vanguard had all converged on the entrance to a glorified Forerunner train station? It seemed too ludicrous to be true. 
"Apparently," Elena allowed herself a small sigh. "Every ring is different. Perhaps the control room here is more well-hidden than we thought."
There was a long pause as the Spartans and Sangheili stood together, looking over the great expanse in front of them. Looking at how far it stretched away on both sides, Elena had a feeling that this tunnel ran the length of the entire ring, and that the control room lay somewhere along it. 
"So what now?" asked Clarence, glancing suspiciously towards Rora's warriors. 
"We'll have to search the ring," Clayton answered first. "Find the control room before they do."
"And how long is that going to take?" 
"Days." Rora said. "And we must be cautious. There are secrets hidden on these rings that are best left uncovered."
Elena hadn't even thought of that. While the prospect of Halo firing was a terrifying one, the ancient Forerunners tended to keep research facilities with specimens of the creatures they had built these rings to destroy, known as the Flood. The reports and simulations of even small-scale Flood infestations had been enough to put fear into even Elena's heart, and with the Vanguard clearly getting desperate there was a good chance they could cause an outbreak out of sheer spite. 
"We'll just have to deal with that when we get to it." Elena said resolutely, stowing her weapon on her back. "Commander 'Marak, do you think your troops can hold the Library?"
Rora nodded. "They will have to. Our Fleet Master will prioritise its defence above all else while we hunt down the Vanguard's leaders and purge them from this ring."
"Good." Elena cast her gaze out towards the transport station across the chasm. "As long as we have the ring's Activation Index from the Library, the Vanguard can't fire it. Most of their ships have gone to ground, so it'll be a ground war from here on out."
"Indeed." Rora folded his arms across his chest. "Then on my honour and in the name of the Swords of Sanghelios, I will join you in this hunt, Spartan, as long as it may take."
Not too long, I hope. Elena couldn't say she was too happy to team up with a known Spartan-killer, but she'd take anyone right now if it meant stopping the True Vanguard. Her team would need some time to get organised while the Swords fortified the Library and began their search proper, and both Redford and King would want some input on what to do next. Even if they did emerge victorious on this ring, what then? Could they use Halo in some way against the Created, or would destroying it be the better option? If the Forerunners left anything of value on this ring that wasn't an omnicidal superweapon and a virulent parasite, then she had to make use of it. While the rest of the galaxy found itself besieged, Elena and her comrades had to win this war on their own.
===Amanda===
This is it. All this time running, all those near-misses, and now it's over.
Amanda Wade lay in her bunk in the Peacemaker's brig with one arm across her face, trying her best to sleep. Since their capture and arrival aboard the warship, she and Ash had been thoroughly searched, processed, re-clothed and sent to separate cells without so much as a word from their captors as to what would happen next. Days had gone by, with only a digital clock built into the wall of her cell to indicate the passing of time and a tiny hatch through which meals were passed twice a day. The ship had gone into slipspace several times, judging by the slight tremor of the floor each time its drive fired up. Aside from this, Amanda had nothing but her own thoughts for company, and had not spoken to another human being since her arrival.
It's an ONI tactic, Amanda reminded herself, gritting her teeth. They deprive you of stimuli to break you. She'd known people who had survived imprisonment by the Office of Naval Intelligence, and knew of some of their tactics. All she had to do was endure. 
Sighing as she knew that sleep wouldn't come, Amanda sat up and got to her feet, stretching wearily. The cell she had been placed in was larger than she had expected, containing a bunk, a tiny desk and chair, and a shower and toilet on one side of the room behind a translucent screen. While this gave her some degree of privacy, she wasn't naïve enough to think that she wasn't being watched. A ship this size almost certainly had an AI onboard, which could easily monitor her at all times without need for a human observer. Across from her bunk was a reinforced doorway set into the seamless metal walls, with a tiny access panel adorned with a red light. Amanda had tried pressing her ear to the door a few times to listen for any potential chatter outside the room, but to no avail. The entire cell was thoroughly soundproofed. Sighing, Amanda rubbed her eyes, wondering if the other prisoners were getting the same treatment. 
They hated Ash, she thought, aware of her partner's not entirely deserved reputation as a mass-murderer. That girl they brought in with Magnus looked terrified, too. Still, if they've done the right thing and killed that sick bastard, then maybe all this-
A sudden chime from the door cut through Amanda's thought process, making her jump. She took a step back towards her bunk as the red light on the door panel turned to green, and the door to her cell slid open. There were no commands or threats issued, though she remained still and slowly raised her hands as two women entered the room. The first carried a datapad, while the second had a foldable chair under one arm. 
"Hello Amanda," the first woman smiled as she stepped forward. "Why don't you take a seat?"
Amanda dragged her little chair towards her and gently sat down, watching as the second woman unfurled a chair opposite hers and pulled the little desk between them. Her fellow then took a seat opposite Amanda. She didn't look much older than Amanda, with black hair cut just above her shoulders and dark eyes that focused themselves intently on the prisoner. She wore a plain black uniform, noticeably lacking in any rank insignia, but this only made it clearer to Amanda that this woman worked for ONI. Her companion, taller than her by at least a foot, was obviously a Spartan, with close-cropped black hair, a set of piercing green eyes and a noticeable scar that ran across her pale face, tugging the right side of her mouth down into a partial frown. She did not take a seat, and instead stood by the door as it closed with her arms folded.
"So," Amanda looked to her interrogators in turn before speaking, her voice dry. "What have you got for me?"
The ONI agent showed no signs of surprise at Amanda's attempt at nonchalance, and set her datapad down on the tiny metal desk. "My name is Jill Urbach, and this is my partner, Violet. You've met her already."
Violet nodded a greeting, her face impassive. 
"I've still got the bruise," Amanda said, touching at the fading mark on her chin. "I know you guys are working for Alexander Redford."
Urbach nodded. "Violet told me that you know who sent us. It's not often that we're assigned to capture rather than kill, but here we are. Do you know why we're here today?"
"You're here to tell me that I've been pardoned and that I'm free to go." Amanda snorted, unable to keep a straight face. Humour was about the only thing keeping her together right now. "No, I imagine you want to see if you can wring some more information out of me before handing me over to Redford so he can kill me himself, right?"
"Yes and no," Urbach said calmly, tapping a command into her datapad. "I'm sure you're aware by now that human colonies are under attack?"
"I know something big hit Gilgamesh." Amanda thought back to the frantic signals coming in as they'd been captured while leaving the planet. "Nothing since then."
"Well, since it's hardly a secret, the fact is that we've lost contact with most UEG-affiliated worlds, including Earth."
Amanda's eyes widened. If Earth's gone, then that might mean ONI's gone too. "So what does that mean for me?" she asked. 
Urbach took a moment to consider her words. "It means that we're alone right now. It means that we're at war, and that right now you're a prisoner taking up resources that may soon start to become scarce the longer we're out here. Since we're cut off from command right now we've deferred judgement to this ship's captain, and while he says to keep you as we would any other captive, that may end up changing."
"So you're saying I'm a liability." Amanda understood at once. "And if you've got to cut someone loose-"
"You'll be the first to go." Urbach said matter-of-factly. "You, Ash Mitchell, and our two other prisoners. So if you want to remain useful, then you'd do well to cooperate. We've had a few months to go over your file, Amanda, but while we're out here I thought that we might as well have a complete account for when we re-establish a link with command."
Amanda leaned back slightly in her chair. "It's not like I've got anything better to do." She sighed. "But before we start, I've got to ask about Magnus."
Urbach exchanged a look with Violet, who scowled. "My partner made me aware of your claims regarding this 'Magnus'. I'd say that your claims of him conveniently being responsible for so much destruction over the past few years was just a convenient way of shifting blame away from your own terrorist cell if he hadn't owned up to just about everything since his capture."
"What?" Amanda's mouth fell open. She'd last seen Magnus being led away by a group of armed Spartans, mocking her as he went. "So is he-?"
Now it was Urbach's turn to sigh, this time in annoyance. "He's made himself useful in unexpected ways since we captured him. I did speak to the captain about your request and the danger associated with keeping him prisoner, for what it's worth, but for now he's been deemed a temporary asset."
"He has to die." Amanda swallowed heavily, leaning across the table. "I told your buddy there what he's done. He's orchestrated massacres, even killed Spartans! He-"
"We know." Violet cut her off, her voice a low growl. "One of those Spartans was a close friend of mine, but we're not putting a bullet in him without the captain's say-so."
"Violet's right." Urbach shot her partner a look that was part-sympathy, part-warning. "But we're not here to talk about him. If you want to keep yourself off the chopping block, you'll do as we say."
Seeing no point in continuing this line of questioning, Amanda conceded, trying hard to push down her rage. "Fine, but can I ask one more thing before we start?"
"Of course."
"Is Ash Mitchell okay?"
"Mitchell is doing fine," Urbach said reassuringly. "He's under heavier guard than you are for his own protection, and while we thought we'd speak to you first, he has undergone separate questioning and been cooperative so far."
Amanda's eyes met Urbach's and after a moment she accepted that the woman was telling the truth. ONI agent or not, she had little reason to make things up just to make her prisoner feel better. "Okay," Amanda spread her hands out. "What do you want to know?"
"Just a little history." Urbach swiped at her datapad again. "Because you're quite the enigma, Amanda. Born in thirty-two, no homeworld, spent your childhood in refugee camps before moving back to Earth with your folks, did pretty well in school, all things considered..."
Though she didn't anticipate it, hearing Urbach's list-like summation of her early years hit Amanda hard. She'd spent the past few years suppressing those memories, focusing herself completely and utterly on her new life in the frontier and her ultimate goal of revenge.
Urbach paused for a second, eyes scanning the pad before continuing. "You spent a few years living with your parents and long-lost brother's family, and even got into med school. Things seemed pretty okay for you until the Covenant invasion."
Amanda's jaw clenched tightly. "They were. Didn't even think about the war until the evacuation sirens went off and I looked up to see the sky on fire."
"You lost your parents in the attack on London," Urbach stated calmly, watching Amanda's face carefully for any reaction. "And after the war ended a few months later you quit university and joined the Marine Corps. Any reason for that?"
"It seemed like the right thing to do," Amanda nodded to herself. "Besides, my brothers were in the military. Why not me?"
Urbach raised an eyebrow. "Brothers? We've only got a Michael Wade on file."
"Brother." Amanda corrected herself. "Sorry, I'm tired." 
Urbach didn't probe her further on this, but did tap a few lines into her datapad faster than Amanda could make out. She'd not found out about her eldest brother, Marco, until she'd joined the Marine Corps, and it hadn't taken long for her to piece together based on hints he'd dropped that his recruitment to become one of the legendary Spartan supersoldiers had not been a voluntary one. If even an ONI agent like Urbach didn't know about their relation, then it was definitely a secret best kept buried. 
"Moving on." Urbach waved her hand nonchalantly. "Based on your records you were a model Marine, and made Lance Corporal in barely a year. Then came your deployment on Circumstance."
Amanda braced herself. "Here it comes."
"In August of 2554 you were court-martialled and dishonourably discharged for grievously beating a senior NCO, one Gregory Moore. Records show that you seemed proud of yourself at your trial and made no effort to defend yourself."
"He was a nasty prick and got what was coming to him," Amanda said. "Everybody knew it."
"Apparently so." Urbach's eyes scanned the next document. "Because the base on Circumstance was investigated and several officers and NCO's found guilty of numerous crimes, ranging from corruption to physical assault on personnel. Many of them were themselves discharged or imprisoned, including Moore and the base's CO, who was found to have fast-tracked your dismissal without proper authorisation from offworld."
Amanda blinked suddenly "I hadn't heard of any of this," she muttered. 
"There were also calls to find and reinstate you with a full pardon, considering how you attacked Moore to prevent the physical abuse of a fellow Marine. The only problem was that by the time anyone made an effort to track you down, you'd fallen in with a group of terrorists, become involved in the killings of several UNSC personnel and fled offworld in a stolen cargo freighter." 
This revelation hit Amanda like a punch to the gut. She fell silent, taking some time to process everything as Urbach smiled pleasantly at her. She realised now that the ONI agent could hurt her worse with the truth and its implications than any kind of physical torture. "I didn't know," Amanda said weakly.
"And if you had, would you have still joined up with the Insurrection?"
Amanda had to think hard on this one. Even before she'd made her inglorious exit from the Marine Corps, she'd had her doubts about the benevolence of the UNSC. Like so many others she'd been swept up in a surge of post-war patriotism, though on her part she'd been running from the deaths of her parents, and found herself trying to serve as a loyal Marine. Even so, many recruits, brought up on stories of fighting against the alien menace of the Covenant, had found themselves surprisingly out of their depth when battling their fellow man. She'd heard of deserters, defections and internal arrests early on, but hadn't expected to join the fight for colonial independence herself until she'd drunkenly marched into a fake insurrectionist rally set up by the police to trap illegal protestors and found herself rescued by actual rebels. Well, at least one rebel.
"I don't know," Amanda answered truthfully. "Why speculate on what-ifs?"
"To build a profile." Urbach tapped at her datapad. "You'd be surprised at how many people of a similar upbringing end up with anti-UNSC sentiments, even if they didn't have a homeworld to fight for."
"I had a home." Amanda corrected her with a raised finger. "I was born on a place called The Rubble, near Madrigal. People still count space stations as homeworlds on their passports."
"True," Urbach conceded. "But not unauthorised insurrectionist-run habitats, and especially not ones that were abandoned or fell apart after one slipspace jump. I'll make a note of that on your file, though."
"Please do." Amanda looked as Urbach began typing before leaning in. "So, is this profile meant to stop people from rebelling against the UNSC? Gonna write a book on me?"
"Someone might." Urbach didn't look up as she continued making notes. "Believe it or not, but not all ONI agents spend their time as assassins. We've got to do dirty work to keep mankind together, but most of that is just intelligence-gathering."
Amanda rolled her eyes. "I've heard the party line before," she said boredly. "Your boss, Redford? He had to kill folks working for the UNSC too. He watched as those two undercover cops who tried to arrest me on Circumstance were shot dead. How does that keep mankind together?"
Urbach's face stiffened, and she finally looked up. "Like I said, it's dirty work. Sacrifice a couple of people to maintain your cover in the hopes that you'll get a big score along the road."
Christ, she means it too. "Well, I'll save you recounting the rest of my life story. Remi Marshall's crew took me in, and we were raided before I could figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life. Before I knew it I was offworld, had warrants out for my arrest, and just kept going with his group. We decided that if we lit enough fires we'd convince the UEG that certain colony worlds weren't worth the effort and that they could govern themselves. It didn't work, we fell in with Magnus and his lunatic friend Verensky, and got ourselves mostly wiped out after the NOVA bomb heist. I tried to do some good and set up my own little colony after I shot Verensky, tried to track down Magnus for murdering my friend Remi, and then ONI burned down my colony and I've spent the time since then trying to hunt down that evil bastard because I've got nothing else to live for. That's it." 
Amanda paused to draw breath, having not realised that she'd raised her voice while speaking. Urbach was furiously taking notes while her Spartan protector had taken a tiny step forward - enough to pounce if Amanda tried anything funny. The room remained silent until Urbach finally finished tapping away at her datapad, and brushed a few stray hairs out of her face. 
"Well," the ONI agent looked from her pad to Amanda. "That was brief, but enlightening. Maybe I will write a book if you want to go into further detail, though I can't say that people will buy the idea of someone drunkenly stumbling into a life of terrorism. Too unrealistic."
"It's what happened." Amanda couldn't help but smile at how ridiculous her own tale sounded. "I caught up on the theory part a little later, but I was never a particularly good revolutionary."
"I can tell." Urbach gave the tiniest of smiles back, which Amanda felt was genuine. "In any case, I think we should stop for now. I was hoping to stretch these sessions out until the Peacemaker re-establishes contact with command and we can offload you prisoners, but nowadays anything could happen."
Amanda clasped her hands together atop the table. "So I know you said that we're losing colonies out there, but is it really the end of days out there? Be honest."
For a moment Amanda thought that Urbach was going to be deliberately vague with her in the name of confidentiality, but a tired look crossed her face. "We don't know." Urbach said. "We're up against Forerunner technology out there in the hands of rogue AI. A veritable army of fleet-killers, with our own Navy scattered. Violet and I aren't running this ship, so we're doing what we can to continue our jobs."
"By building up your 'profile' on my life?" Amanda nearly laughed. "I'm almost flattered. Thanks for telling me, though."
Urbach's face hardened. "I'm telling you about an existential threat as one human being to another, Amanda. You're still a terrorist and a killer, and with any luck Captain Redford will have you and your friend Mitchell in front of a judge for your crimes."
"Here's hoping." Amanda tried to make light of things, but she couldn't help but wonder what was worse: being put on trial, or facing whatever Alexander Redford likely had planned for her once he caught her. Compared to that, perhaps facing a firing squad aboard this ship wasn't so bad. 
With their conversation over, Jill Urbach rose to her feet and stood aside, allowing Violet to take her chair. The Spartan scooped it up as though it weighed nothing, stopping only when she caught Amanda staring at her. 
"What?" Violet met Amanda's gaze, her eyes fiercely intense. "Got anything else to say?" 
Amanda thought it over for a second. "Yeah. What was your friend's name? The one Magnus killed."
For a moment, the Spartan's body tensed up, and Amanda thought she was about to fling the chair directly at her. Violet exhaled slowly, and clicked her tongue. "Leandra," she said softly, the pain creeping through in her voice.
"Remember her when you next see Magnus. And think about what I asked you to do back on his ship."
Violet snorted. "The world doesn't work that way, Wade. I follow orders."
"The whole galaxy's on fire from what I hear." Amanda shrugged. "I'm just saying. It's not like I can do anything from in here."
The Spartan said nothing more. Urbach swiped a keycard over the door panel, which flashed green and allowed the pair to exit. She began to speak to Violet as they stepped out into the corridor beyond, but their words were soon cut off as the door sealed itself shut behind them. After a few seconds, Amanda lay her head down atop the little table, her mind racing. Urbach and Violet weren't what she had expected, but then again, perhaps that was the point. Even so, Amanda had precious little to hide from her captors. Aside from the knowledge of her Spartan brother and his presence aboard this warship, she was all out of secrets. She'd run as far as she could and sacrificed everything to reach this point, and was left with nothing but desperate pleas to people who had every right to hate her. Magnus had to die, and perhaps he would if these 'Created' ever tracked down the Peacemaker, even she hoped that would not happen. Once it was all over - once he was gone - she could look to the future, if indeed one even existed for her.
But for now, all Amanda Wade could do was hope for a miracle.
===Persistence===
From above, Persistence looked about as unremarkable as a planet could be. A hazy sphere of green and blue, clearly habitable even from orbit, it was the kind of world that the colony ships spearheading mankind's expansion into the stars would have flooded to years ago. Now, it was a place to hide. 
Marco stood before the thick glass window of the Peacemaker's observation deck, looking down at the planet they had arrived over barely an hour ago. 'Persistence', Jack had called it. It was a name that evoked the tough frontier spirit of many colonial settlers, though to the former insurrectionists who had been quietly emigrating there, it was a sign that they had not given up in their fight for freedom; that they would survive out here in this remote part of space to fight another day. A few weeks ago Marco might have dismissed such thoughts as the kind of flowery rhetoric spouted by terrorists fleeing justice, but today they were all in the same boat. There had been no contact from HIGHCOM, or any communication from the UNSC's other fleets. For all they knew, the Peacemaker and its crew could be all that was left of the military.
Marco shook his helmeted head, dispelling such thoughts. There's others still fighting out there. Other ships, other fleets. Other Spartans. Naturally, he'd heard nothing from Elena, Wulf or Jax, but he held on to hope that they were still alive and doing whatever they could against the Created, and that they would meet each other again some day.
The door to the observation deck slid open. Marco didn't avert his gaze from Persistence. "Mack," he called out a greeting. 
Behind Marco, a Spartan clad in black ENFORCER-class armour stepped through the threshold, holding his helmet in one hand. He was close to Marco's height, with short brown hair and pale, lean features. A faded scar crossed his right cheek, and his mouth turned upwards into a smile. 
"How did you know it was me?" Richard Mack Junior asked, sounding amused. "Let me guess - my cologne?"
Marco let out a snort of laughter, then turned around and tapped the side of his helmet. "Motion tracker picked you up from down the hallway, then pinged me your IFF."
"And here I was hoping you'd say something funny for once." Mack shook his head in mock embarrassment. "You okay?"
That wasn't a question Marco was accustomed to being asked, but it wasn't an unwelcome one. Aside from his fellows in Sigma, Mack was one of a rare few that Marco had known long enough to consider a good friend. They had first met back in 2532, when Mack was a freshly-trained ODST as part of Whiskey-04, a squad assigned by ONI as field support for Sigma Team. They had fought their way through some hellish conflicts, from the Siege of Fargad to the Fall of Reach, and when news of Mack's recruitment to the SPARTAN-IV program arrived Marco had been overjoyed. After a moment, he nodded. 
"Just a little tense," Marco admitted. "I've got a lot on my mind."
"Don't we all." Mack sighed. "The other Spartans are feeling it too, me included. Especially with Earth being..."
Mack trailed off. Marco knew that he had a wife and young daughter on Earth, and often spoke of them fondly. He had similar fears about his brother's family, also on Earth. 
"Earth should be fine," Marco said reassuringly. "The Created are going after military targets, not civilians."
"Yeah." Mack sounded slightly better. "Nothing we can do about it from here yet, anyway. We've got those rebels to worry about, and your cyborg monster buddy."
Marco made a disgusted noise. "I know."
There was a pause as Mack pursed his lips, clearly thinking over his next words carefully. "Marco, I know with you guys there's a lot I'm not supposed to ask, and you know I never do, but that guy, is he-?"
"He was a Spartan, yes." Marco answered before Mack could finish his sentence. "He was one of ours. Sigma, I mean."
"Thought so." Mack's features hardened. "So he knew Dad too, then."
While the official details of the SPARTAN-II Program and its offshoot, Project SIGMA, were still highly classified military secrets buried under a hell of a lot of black tape, red ink, and fabricated cover stories, Mack Junior had figured out a lot from sheer proximity to Marco and his fellows over the years. It was hard not to, considering how his father, Mack Senior, had been SIGMA's primary trainer. Even so, he'd kept quiet, accepting the truth that his father spent years training up a group of Spartans without ever asking about the age of his trainees or the methods used in their training. 
"He did." Marco fought hard to push down any memories of his youth with Jack and Mack Senior. "He also once put a gun to his head and would've pulled the trigger if we didn't let him leave. Don't trust a word that comes out of his mouth, Mack."
"I didn't plan on it." Mack's eyes narrowed. While he looked the spitting image of Mack Senior, he'd not inherited his father's dark eyes. Instead, his were a light shade of blue. Marco had always thought that they made him look more innocent than his hard-edged father. "But I thought I'd let you know that Al-Sayed wants him to come down to the surface with us to placate the locals."
"Or incite them," Marco growled. "Neural collar or no, he's a danger every second we let him out of the cell."
"Captain's orders." Mack shrugged. "He's already sent Wulf to retrieve him. He wants Jack and that Bakos woman there to speak to the rebels on the surface, with yourself, Wulf, and my fireteam as backup alongside a couple of officers present as negotiators."
Since the capture of the Hydra, Captain Al-Sayed had kept the rebel frigate's inhabitants aboard the ship, having thoroughly deactivated its engines and slipspace drive before attaching it to the side of the Peacemaker's hardpoints. While they had been as fair as possible to its crew, even sharing supplies and medical aid with them, the entire frigate was serving as hostages to ensure their leader's continued cooperation. General Miriam Bakos had seemed like any other rhetoric-spouting insurrectionist Marco had met during their brief encounter, but she definitely wasn't an idiot. As long as she complied and ensured that the UNSC could use Persistence as a base of operations while they found new ways to counter the Created threat she and her people would be safe. 
Marco took a moment to reply, internally counting the variables on such a mission. "Landing with a squad of Spartans is going to leave an impression," he said. "Think they'll comply?"
"The captain said they would." Mack didn't seem entirely sure. "They're going to have Bakos and Jack contact them first and try to explain the situation before we send in a landing party. Any funny business and the Peacemaker starts raining fire down on whatever they've got built up down there."
While they were playing nice with the rebels, the reality was that a ship this size had the resources to be self-sufficient for quite a while. If they had to, they could wipe the rebel settlement off the map and have a fortified firebase set up on the surface in less than a day. Marco hoped that the rebels understood that. 
"That's fair." Marco looked back at the main observation window, and the planet beyond. "So, when are we leaving?"
Mack put his helmet on, which sealed itself with a hiss. "Ten minutes. I offered to collect you."
"Why? Are comms down?" 
"No," Mack began to turn back towards the door. "But Wulf said you'd be here and I didn't want to disrupt your meditation by yelling over the COM. I know you like your quiet time."
"Cheeky bastard," Marco muttered, joining Mack as they exited the room. "Next time, just yell if there's a mission. I'm getting space legs from all this time in microgravity."
"I hear ya." Mack cracked his knuckles. "God, some days I almost miss fighting the Covenant."
"I don't."
***
The hangar bay was already bustling with activity by the time Marco and Mack arrived. Six Pelican dropships sat side by side in the vast, well-lit chamber, tended to by crewmen performing last-minute checks. A number of Marines, fully-armed and ready, were clustered around one side of the hangar, conversing quietly. A few heads turned as the two Spartans strode past, towards the group stood at the centre of the room. The rest of Fireteam Whiskey - Devin Harland, Anna Volkov and Umar Amur - stood in a rough triangle around a manacled Jack-085 and the URF's so-called General, Miriam Bakos. Wulf stood slightly away from the group, one hand resting gently on the handgun magnetised to his armoured hip, while another Spartan in sand-coloured armour conversed with a pair of uniformed officers. At Marco's approach, he turned away from the two and folded his arms across his chest. 
"You're late," said Mikhail Schultz, the Peacemaker's Spartan Commander. "I told you to call Marco, Mack, not go for a walk with him."
"His COM was off." Mack gave a shrug. 
Schultz grunted. "Then use the damn intercom. We're on a schedule here."
One of the officers Schultz had been speaking to, a thin, grey-haired man in a grey uniform, edged past him to greet the newcomers. "We've still got plenty of time," he said in a placating tone, glancing towards Schultz's visor. "But I would like to be groundside while it's still daytime at the settlement."
Noting the golden leaf on his uniform, Marco recognised this man as Commander Peter Bell, the Peacemaker's executive officer. He'd only been on the bridge a few times during Marco's visits there, and was usually off addressing issues aboard the carrier that didn't warrant Captain Al-Sayed's immediate attention. Still, he'd heard good things about him in passing.
"You're leading the ground party, sir?" Marco asked.
"I am." Bell nodded gravely. "A Spartan deployment isn't exactly the best way to enter negotiations with a potentially hostile party, no offence intended. Captain Al-Sayed wants to ensure that we leave a good first impression on the settlers here, even if they are or were insurrectionists."
"What's the ground party composition?" Mack looked around. "I didn't realise we were sending in so many dropships."
"We aren't." Bell waved towards the waiting Pelicans and the Marines crowded around the hangar bay. "They're out backup plan, should things go south. Five dropships carrying two Marine platoons to reinforce us."
"Plus two Spartan fireteams waiting in our drop pod bays." Schultz added. "Myself included."
That'd turn any negotiations into a massacre. Marco looked over at Jack, sat on a crate with his head bowed. "Have our prisoners been briefed, sir?"
Bell followed the turn of Marco's helmet towards the two prisoners. "I did. Both of them seem receptive to the notion of a peace agreement, for the sake of those on the planet's surface and those within the Hydra. Not an ounce of the usual insurrectionist rhetoric, surprisingly."
"I doubt you'd see much out of him, sir." Marco pointed towards Jack. "He's-"
"A Spartan-killer." Bell finished Marco's sentence for him, pursing his lips. "I read the report. I'll stay far out of his reach." 
"That would be for the best." Marco knew just how fast Jack could move at close range. Neural collar or no, he'd snap Bell's neck in a heartbeat if he had the chance. "We'll gear up and get ready to go, sir."
Bell dismissed them with a polite nod, and went back to overseeing the landing party. Aside from Marco, Wulf, the two prisoners and Fireteam Whiskey, Bell was bringing a junior officer and four Marines to act as his personal guard. They'd be a fearsome sight to the rebels on the surface, peace flag or no. A few portable weapons racks sat close to the Pelican's rear entrance, and Marco took an M6 handgun and a BR75 rifle off of one. Mack took a slimmer BR85, and let out a snort of laughter at Marco's choice of weapon. 
"Seriously?" Mack looked the weapon up and down as Marco fiddled with the sights. "You're using that piece of crap?"
"You can talk." Marco attached the rifle to the mag-mount on his back. "I like a gun that doesn't feel like you could snap it in half with the slightest tug."
"That's because you're heavy-handed." Mack did the same. "No tact, no finesse."
Marco almost smiled. "There's no need when you've got skill, Mack. Remember that when I save you for the hundredth time." 
"Ninety-ninth!" Mack jabbed a finger at him in faux outrage. "That time on Fargad didn't count."
"If you say so."
Turning away from Mack, Marco took a deep breath and steeled himself as he walked over to Jack. The three members of Fireteam Whiskey seemed to take a step back at his approach, still watching the ex-Spartan prisoner, while Wulf kept his distant vigil, acknowledging Marco with a barely perceptible nod. Marco's shadow fell over Jack's bald head, and the manacled cyborg looked up slowly, a mocking sneer already forming on his bearded face. 
"Morning Marco," Jack greeted him with false cheer. "They tell me I'm a diplomat today."
Category:Sigmaverse Stories
Category:Sigmaverse PW