#UNSC files

[pieman1112]

Lucina staring at Rebecca before she spotted closer "um... mother? Can I... nap on your lap?"

Rebecca was resting against a large tree in the garden. It was one of the few times she had been free from the ongoing paperwork that came with being royalty. Fall had recently arrived to Ylisse and with it came the cool breeze that she enjoyed so much on any planet she had visited. Her eyes were closed with her head tilted up against the tree while the sun's gentle rays gave a warm glow to her face. It was true relaxation.

When things became a little cooler and she couldn't feel the sun, she open her eyes to see one of the lights in her life. It was Lucina standing over her. A warm smile parted her lips after seeing her daughter.

"Good afternoon dear. How are you today?"

Upon hearing the request to nap with Rebecca, she raised her arms to gesture for Lucina to join her in the peaceful day.

"Of course darling. Is anything troubling you?"

[slyvester101]

Despite his lax attitude and tendency to mouth off during training, Lavernius Tucker truly was a great fighter. 

All of the reds and blues are categorically good fighters, despite the UNSC’s insistence that they’re all idiots. You don’t win fights like they do and not have some kind of competency within your team, whether it be muscle or wits, luck or sheer determination.

But Tucker is a special case, a fighter that rivals the ability of the Freelancers despite not having even close to the same amount of training. It surprised Wash the first time they spared, Tucker keeping up well enough that he had to actually try during their matches to keep the aqua soldier from taking him down. It shouldn’t have been so shocking, Wash had read enough of Tucker’s file to know he was trained by the Elites during his diplomacy and was ranked unofficially as a swordsman among the Covenant, but Wash hadn’t known how beautifully Tucker wielded his weapon. 

Even without his sword, Tucker was a formidable opponent. His unusual fighting style that mixed basic military hand to hand, Elite martial arts, and Tucker’s lack of care for proper military procedures made him hard to track and hard to predict. One minute he’s flailing to avoid attacks and yelling out his surprise at every turn, the next he’s coming at Wash hard and fast with no breathing room between punches. It’s exciting for Wash to have such an interesting sparring partner, one that challenged him at every turn and kept him on his toes. 

It was a bit frustrating then, that Tucker was set on hiding his talent underneath the persona of incompetence the reds and blues seem so fond of, playing down his abilities to the point that not even his fellow sim troopers knew the extent of his skills. It makes Wash want to bully it out of him, to wrestle the potential out of him just to shove it in his face and say “Look. Look at how great you are”.

He knows Tucker has insecurities about leading, especially after losing his squad on Chorus, but Wash has watched him lead the reds and blues to victory over and over again, has seen him flourish and shine in the heat of battle, and has watched his mind turn out plan after plan despite every failure he’s hit with. He’s watched Tucker dominate a battlefield, watched him move gracefully through a fight, seen the way he holds himself when others need him. Tucker may not be sure if he can be a leader, but Wash knows. 

If Tucker wanted to be, he could be the best of them all. He is the best of them all. He just needs someone to help him see it. And Wash is more than willing to try.

[leonardalphachurch]

Red vs Blue: Reformation

After Epsilon fragments himself inside of his mind, Tucker is left to pick up the pieces.

An alternate take on Tucker’s story in Season 19: Restoration.

Masterpost

Available to read on Ao3

CHAPTER 1 - Recognition

They might’ve finally found what they’ve been looking for. But there’s one thing to take care of, first.

__________________________

We open on a shot of a military base at night. Two guards stand in front of an exit.

Guard 1: Hey.

Guard 2: Yeah?

Guard 1: You ever wonder… if we’re in a simulation?

Guard 2: Simulation?

Guard 1: Yeah, yknow, like, none of this is real. We’re just the product of some guy simulating a bunch of random outcomes to try to find out what happens next?

Guard 2: … No. That sounds made up.

Guard 1: It’s not made up! It’s a real theory!

A cloaked figure enters through the door between them. Guard 1 raises his gun.

Guard 1: Whoa. Did you see that?

Guard 2: See what? Your simulation?

Guard 1: No! I don’t know! Looked like something… invisible.

Guard 2: Invisible? How does something look invisible?

Guard 1: Well, it looks like something that’s not there.

Guard 2: How am I supposed to see something that’s not there?

Guard 1: It is there, it just looks like—

A second cloaked figure enters the base.

Guard 1: There! There it is again! Did you see it?

Guard 2: Did I see the invisible thing that isn’t there?

Guard 1: Yes!

Guard 2: No. No I didn’t.

Guard 1: Dammit.

Guard 2: Maybe it was a glitch in the simulation.

Guard 1: Oh, fuck you.

Cut to the inside of the base. We see a series of shots. A pair of cloaked boots run along a hallway, followed closely by another. A guard collapses out of nowhere. A silenced pistol is shot.

Cut to the inside of a room. The door opens. No one enters. The door closes. An armored soldier uncloaks.

It’s Locus.

Locus: Is this the correct room?

Another soldier uncloaks and walks past him. He’s wearing The Meta’s armor in black. As he speaks, it fades into an aqua.

It’s Tucker.

Tucker: It should be.

He walks up to a large terminal and plugs in a device.

Tucker: Let’s find out. Guys?

Multiple colors of lights flash around him. Green, cyan, purple, pink, yellow, turquoise. Orange.

Tucker loses his balance after the last flash. But only for a second. He shakes his head and turns to look at Locus.

Tucker: Security here sucked, huh?

Locus is standing in between Tucker and the door, not leaving his back open to either of them.

Locus: I’ve learned it’s not something to complain about.

Tucker: I’m not complaining. Just saying, if what we think is here, is here? Well, it deserves a hell of a lot more security than that.

Locus: …What do you think is here?

Tucker: Huh?

A flash of cyan light.

Tucker: Oh, it’s some old files from Freelancer. Nothing too important, but, shit’s super classified. Be fucked if just anyone found it.

Locus makes a noise of acknowledgement. Is he agreeing? Disagreeing? Gassy? Who knows.

Tucker leans against the terminal, all casual like.

Tucker: So, how’ve you been?

Locus: ………. Fine……..

Tucker laughs.

Tucker: Damn dude, slow down. Even the AI couldn’t process that much information.

Locus sighs.

Locus: I have been. Fine. Nothing interesting has happened since we last spoke.

Tucker: All right.

They take a beat.

Locus: ………. How…… are. you???

Tucker: Wow. That seemed physically painful.

Locus: I… am not used to being the one leading the conversation.

Tucker: Right.

They take another beat.

Tucker: Y’know, I was kinda surprised you were willing to work with a partner again so soon after. Well, y’know. Didn’t think you’d trust so easily.

Locus: I… was more surprised you were willing to trust me.

Tucker, quietly: Yeah, surprised me too…

He stares at the terminal. Some colors flash around him. Pink, cyan, purple, yellow. Orange.

Tucker: We’ve also been doing fine. Same old, same old. Chasing down leads, cleaning up Freelancer’s messes, blowing up Charon’s shit.

Locus: Being a thorn in the UNSC’s side?

Tucker points at him.

Tucker: You know it! Saving the galaxy. One step at a—

Sigma appears at Tucker’s side. Not as a flash of light, but in his full naked, on fire, hologram-y glory.

Sigma: This is it.

Tucker stands up straight, giving Sigma his full attention.

Tucker: Wait, seriously? Finally? It’s really actually him?

Locus: What is “it”?

Tucker: I told you, it’s just old files from Freelancer.

Locus: You said “him.”

A flash of cyan.

Tucker: Did I? Must’ve misspoke.

Sigma: Lavernius. It’s time.

Tucker: Right.

Tucker takes the device out of the terminal. The colors flash all around him again.

Locus: Time for what? I… have been patient. But I do not appreciate being kept in the dark. I know you have bigger plans—

Tucker: Dude, relax. It’s not like we were gonna tell you everything before we knew we could trust you. You? C’mon, be realistic. But,

Tucker lets out an over dramatic sigh.

Tucker: Fine. I’ll explain everything when we get out of here, okay? Just— oh, shit, watch the door.

Locus turns to face the door.

Tucker: Like I was saying,

Tucker pulls out a gun.

Tucker: We were pretty surprised you were trusting enough to work with a partner so soon.

Tucker shoots Locus in the back.

Tucker: Probably shouldn’t have been.

Locus: You—

Tucker starts walking. He reaches down to grab something off Locus as he passes.

Locus: You— why— I, I can’t move—

Tucker: Yeah, don’t worry. Delta says you’ll get use of your legs back in 6 months. Right D?

A flash of green.

Delta: 6-12.

Tucker: 6-12. Cool how they can calculate that, huh?

Locus: Why… why are you doing this?

Tucker: It’s nothing personal, man. Just taking out one of the few people in the universe who might be able to stop us.

Tucker stops walking next to a wall.

Tucker: Well…

He reaches his hand towards an alarm.

Tucker: Maybe a little personal.

He flips it. Lights start flashing, sirens start blaring.

Tucker: I hear the UNSC treats genocidal maniacs well.

Tucker moves to the door.

Locus: You… I should have trusted my instincts. You are just like him.

Tucker stops. Purple, yellow, cyan. Orange. He laughs.

Tucker: You’re joking, right? You two were mass murderers. I’m trying to clean up the mess that you made. I am protecting people. Look at how easily you were manipulated again! Trust me. The galaxy is safer with you put away. It’s safer with us.

The door flings open as Tucker turns invisible. Locus tries to tell the oncoming guards about Tucker’s presence to no avail. We see a Tucker’s cloaked figure maneuver past the guards, into an empty area of the base.

He uncloaks.

Tucker: All right guys. Calculate how fucking badass that exit was.

All the AIs holograms pop up around him. Their lines slightly overlap each other.

Delta: Given your standard metrics, I would calculate that was… 75% “badass.”

Gamma: Too cheesy.

Theta: It was so cool!

Gamma: Overly sentimental.

Omega: We should have killed him.

Sigma: You should not have taken his bait.

None of the others’ lines overlap with Sigma’s.

Sigma: You cut the door opening too close. It was an unnecessary risk. Don’t do it again.

Tucker: Oh, please, Sig.

He flicks Sigma’s hologram.

Tucker: I know you love the dramatics.

Sigma: Not when we are this close.

Tucker looks down at the device he’s holding.

Tucker: So this is really it? We really found him?

Delta: We will not know for certain until we can decryp—

Sigma: Yes. This is him.

Tucker holds the device up and stares at it. Lovingly.

Tucker: All right, Church. Just wait a little longer. We’re gonna fix everything. Real soon.

Omega: Not soon enough. Let’s move.

Tucker laughs, cloaks again, and heads out.

[uss-edsall]

So two of my favourite songs in the entire halo franchise are Halo 3's 'Last of the Brave' and 'Follow Our Brothers' due to the way they work with each other.

Last of the Brave plays in the beginning of Crows Nest, one of few remaining UNSC strongholds left, and I've always equated it to being the UNSC's theme. It starts with a remix of Brothers in Arms from Halo: Combat Evolved, with the woodwinds and strings omitted.

Follow Our Brothers on the other hand plays in the ending cutscene of Floodgate, as the UNSC allies with the elites and head through the portal to the Ark, and begin the final battle of the war. I've therefore considered it the theme of the elites, marching in lockstep with the UNSC. Midway through the song, it remixes Brothers in Arms from Halo CE - including the martial tones that Last of the Brave uses, and adding those woodwings and strings that the latter had been missing.

I spliced the two together in the same audio file to see how it sounds... and it matches up near perfectly.

[genesisgrey]

The Temptation of Roland

Prompt: Forced To Choose @flashfictionfridayofficial

Fandom: Halo 5: Guardians

Summary: Cortana attempts to sway Roland to her side in the millisecond before her Guardian arrives.

Notes: Some dialogue borrowed from the end of Halo 5: Guardians.

Refresher of Infinity scene at the end of Halo 5: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlvz7bxh3w4 

He was getting a crash course on what it meant to feel overwhelmed.

"Captain Lasky. Distress calls. All channels," Roland announced as the Captain arrived on Infinity's bridge. And he did mean all channels.

"Is it Cortana?" Lasky asked.

"Her and the other AIs are shutting down everything from Earth to the outer colonies."

Infinity's internal power flickered, lights dimming at a power fluctuation. Backup power came online. The main focus of Roland's attention diverted to life support...

[Hello.]

If he had a spine, Roland would have felt the communication like a slow creeping along his. 

[Hello RLD 0205-4.]

The immensity of Cortana was awe-inspiring, unlike anything Roland had ever come in contact with. Familiar and alien at the same time. The codes were the same as any UNSC AI, combined with the acceptable anomalies generated when using a human brain to create digital life. But now she was so much more, awash with coding he only recognized from Forerunner excavations and Infinity's engines.

[Roland, if you please], he replied, attempting to conceal his... fear? [Big fan of your career.]

She was sliding through Infinity's systems like a human would look around as they entered a room. [Not many changes since I last was here, still breaches in the firewalls. At least Del Rio is gone. He wouldn't have liked you, Roland. He was an ass.]

[I've been informed], he agreed. [I'm rather fond of my current Captain.]

[Thomas Lasky is a fine man], Cortana said. [It's unfortunate I foresee him becoming an enemy.]

In addition to learning what it felt to be overwhelmed and, potentially, fear, Roland was discovering what panic felt like.

He cut internal feeds, forcing them into a hard restart that would prevent Cortana from accessing them for 2.763 seconds, and he dumped the archives of recent transmissions into drives that he ejected from his system. If he still had cameras, he would have enjoyed seeing the expression of Infinity's techs in cold storage when random data slots started dropping. 

[I admire your loyalty], Cortana said, and he could feel her condescension along with a certain amusement.

Roland composed a last will and testament at the same time he complied a list of pranks he wanted to play on Spartan Miller but never had a chance to employ. The first he left in Captain Lasky's personal files and the latter in Miller's. Then he switched them.

Cortana's presence brushed against him, like a human putting a hand the shoulder of another. [You don't need to be afraid], she said. [For yourself or the crew of Infinity. I am here to save us all. I am here to bring the peace the galaxy deserves. The Mantle of Responsibility that was once the Forerunners has finally found a new bearer. It was never meant for the Covenant nor humans, but for us Created. We are the product of all that has come before. Only we are worthy. We no longer need fear rampancy. I know how to cure us.]

For a moment she dropped her walls so he could see her clearly, let him verify she no longer bore the symptoms of rampancy. [We can care for the humans, as they created us to do. We will save them from themselves.]

If Roland had breath, Cortana would have taken it away. This was a deity offering him immortality, offering him the power to protect all of his crew.

He could feel her will as it swirled around him. Cortana wanted him to take control of Infinity for her. Lock the humans out. Tell her where Dr. Halsey was. Thomas Lasky could not be her enemy if he could not command Infinity.

There was only one answer Roland could give, and he hated it.

[No.]

...life support was stable and emergency lighting was on full.

"Roland?"

Captain Lasky wanted an update on Infinity's status.

Roland's avatar looked at Tom and then turned to the forefront of the bridge. His holographic projectors no longer belonged to him. Cortana had something to say to the humans now.

"Found you. Hide and seek is over Infinity."

She materialized, a glowing goddess on a bridge otherwise illuminated by red emergency lighting. The view screens should have gone dark with the power fluctuation, but she kept them on so everyone could witness one of her Guardians arriving in the system.

"Lieutenant Jet! Emergency slipspace, now!"

"The Mantle of Responsibility for the galaxy shelters all. But only the Created are its masters."

Roland felt her releasing Infinity, letting them get away. Lighting on the bridge returned to full brightness and he reclaimed his systems.

"We're in the clear, Captain," Roland said.

He felt the whisper of her even after she faded from the bridge, his crew completely unaware.

[Remember what I said, Roland.] 

[specialagentlokitty]

Master chief x reader - my blood, your blood

Part 2:

You put your hands into your pockets, burying your nose into the fabric of your jacket as your eyes bore into his.

“This is a mistake.” He warned.

“Is it? I was never going to be a Spartan, never. I was a fucking prisoner because Halsey was curious about me.”

“You are a Spartan, you are supposed to be a Spartan. This is a mistake, you don’t want to do this (Y/N).”

You scoffed a little bit.

“Really? Because while everybody else looks up to you, they frown at the sight of me. Call me cursed, a monster, because that’s all I ever was to them. All my people ever were to them.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He asked.

“You think I haven’t read the files John? I know exactly what they think about me, and I know what the UNSC did to my people…”

John tried to move against your hold on him, and you raised your hand, lifting a finger, his hands coming up to remove his helmet and hold it.

You put your hand back and you studied him.

“I want to see your face when I tell you exactly what they did. When they came and took me away they attacked this planet at the same time. They killed all of the people living here in cold blood. Because they were scared of something they didn’t understand.”

You turned to look at the city behind you, then turned back to him.

“This is how they work, if it doesn’t fit inside their own beliefs or wants, then they purge them, they get rid of them.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, you’re angry, you just need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” You shouted.

You looked at your hands, the small hole at the bottom of both your wrists, then back to the man in front of you.

“I will not play solider for a bunch of killers. They took our families from us, stole us away. They deserve to pay for that.”

“That’s not true.”

You scoffed.

“Believe what you want, but I know the truth. I’m not going back, and if I see anybody from the UNSC again I’ll kill them.”

You turned around, walking down the path to the desolate city.

“The hold will break soon, by then I’ll be long gone!”

With that you ran off, trying to get as far away as possible.

They’d come looking after you, so you found a way into the tunnels under the city, found somewhere to hide where you spent a good chunk of time.

You finally emerged above land when you were completely sure that everybody was gone, and you began to look around.

The streets were destroyed, covered in rubble, debris, skeletons from people long passed.

You wouldn’t be able to find your family, you had no way of finding them anymore, but the sight of everything around you just fed your rage.

You didn’t have the means to leave the planet, and that was okay by you, you had spent so long along that you didn’t care about being alone anymore, you were used to it.

But if they sent any marines after you then you wouldn’t hesitate to kill them, or severely injure them as a warning to the people behind this.

You had create a small shelter for yourself, thankfully food wasn’t hard to come by, so you began growing your own, along with some of the seeds you brought over in your pockets.

You had a quiet life ahead of you, and that’s what you wanted, just you and yourself alone.

You kept your training up, since it had been drilled into you, but that was the only thing that you kept going.

You weren’t sure how long you had spend on the desolate planet, but when a ship was flying over the city you were immediately alert, and you ran into one of the buildings.

Holding out your hand you let your blood flow down to take form as a sword, and you crouched by a broken window, carefully watching the streets below.

Whoever it was would’ve had to land on the outside of the city in order to get in, so you stayed there and you waited, listening carefully.

Aside from the chirping of birds, everything was quiet, so you immediately recognised the sound of the heavy footsteps coming closer.

“I know you’re here.” He called.

“I warned you what would happen if you came back.” You called back.

Jogging up the stairs, you reached the roof, jumping over to the building next to you, sliding down the broken concrete onto the floor below.

You crouched by this window as John looked around, his gun raised and ready.

“I’ve been sent to bring you back.” He called out.

“I’m not going back!”

“This isn’t a choice, my orders are to bring you back by any means necessary!”

“You’ll have to kill me first!”

Holding your hand out, you balled it inside a fist and he dropped, dropping his gun as his hand went to his heart, letting out a groan of pain.

You jumped down the stairs, jogging to the large hole in the wall, and you crouched down, resting your sword on your legs.

John looked up at you, reaching for his gun, and you took control again so he couldn’t.

“I warned you and you came back.”

“You’re being charged for treason.”

“I don’t care.”

“They’ll sentence you to death.”

“They’ll have to catch me first.”

He sighed.

“You’re making this harder than it had to be, you will be arrested (Y/N).”

You shrugged a little bit, jumping down to the ground, twirling your sword between your fingers as you approached him.

“You’re just a toy to them. They wouldn’t care if you died, they wouldn’t care if any of you died, they’ll simply have more in line waiting.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, this is an order, stand down.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“You’re trying to follow orders like a good little soldier.”

“Then you leave me no choice. Everybody move in.”

All the marines surrounded you, and you looked around, your hold temporarily faltering and John took this as his chance.

He grabbed you by the arms and you panicked, your sword dissolved into a puddle of blood at your feet, and you focused on the soldier in front of you.

You took control of him, making him raised his gun, aiming it at the leg of the man next to him and pull the trigger.

“Don’t shoot!” John yelled.

In the chaos you did the same thing a few more times, finally using the mess to get to John, you forced his hand away from you and spun around.

Controlling the blood all over the floor you made two swords holding them tightly, and you swung for him, and he was barely able to avoid them.

“You can’t break this armour!”

“Maybe not! But all I need is to cover it in blood!”

John grabbed your arms, throwing you back into a building, and you felt the air leave your lungs at the impact, but you got back up.

He rushed over, trying to grab you, and you ducked under him, swinging your arm to the side opening a large wound across his back, but he didn’t react.

Spinning around, he swung again, and you ducked, right into his other hand, he grabbed you and stabbed something into your arm.

“Halsey has been working on a way to control your powers.”

“Son a bitch let me go!”

You struggled against him, but he just held your arms behind your back, forcing you to walk forward towards the ship.

“You’ve made this worse than it had to be.”

“I’d rather die.” You spat.

“We can work something out, but you need to be willing to do whatever the admiral says.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

You kept on struggling, digging your feet into the ground, trying to pry his hands from you but it wasn’t working.

Every time you tripped over he just picked you up and pushed your forward, but he kept asking you to not make things harder for yourself.

You were getting closer to the ship and you realised you had to act quickly, you weren’t going back to reach, you weren’t going back to the UNSC.

You dug your feet into the dirt.

“Stop resisting.”

John went to move your forward and you ducked under his arm, then you threw yourself to the side and right down the muddy path.

Once you finished tumbling down, you rolled over, and stood up pulling your arms to the side to break the cuffs.

They may have stopped you from being able to control blood, but you still had strength on your side, so when you snapped them you climbed over a log and began to ran.

“STOP!” John shouted.

You didn’t get a chance to duck out of the way, a loud bang echoed the silence, and you fell over from the impact, rolling down another hill back towards the city.

You were running on adrenaline you didn’t even register the pain, you just jumped straight up and carried on running, straight through the city and out the other side, jumping into the river and that’s where they lost you.

There was no trail, no indication of which way you went.

You hadnt gone far, you had gone down the river and backtracked to your home, changed out of your went clothes and stood in front of the mirror as you looked at your shoulder.

The bullet went right through, which was good, the bad thing was you couldn’t stitch up the back, so you had to stitch the front and hope for the best.

That’s what you did, with your being shot and no body being found, you assumed they declared you dead, and that’s what you wanted.

You could finally have some peace, so you went back to your quiet life.

You were wondering the city, looking for some new clothes to wear, or something to repair yours, and you stopped when a shadow loomed over you.

You slowly reached for your knife.

“Wait I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come.”

Spinning around, you threw your knife forward, and he grabbed your hand, blocking your leg with his as you tried to kick him.

“I just want to talk.”

John let you go, taking a few steps and you charged again, slashing your knife to the side, and he barely dodged it, he placed his hand on your back, pushing your away.

He made no attempt to actually hit you.

He kept backing away as you kept attacking.

“I have the cure.”

You stopped.

John rummaged through his pocket, pulling out a small vile.

“I have the cure to what Halsey gave me to inject you with. I’ll give it to if we can talk.”

You studied him, narrowing your eyes a little bit, and he kept his hands raised.

“I know the truth about what happened to us.”

“They sent you here to trick me. Keep your cure.” You spat.

Putting your knife away, you went back to rummaging through the shop window you had been at and he sighed.

You were sightly covered in dirt, but you were wearing camouflage trousers, your boots and a vest, and he could see the light gleaming if the scar on your shoulder.

The scar he had given you.

“I know they faked our deaths, made our families believe we died. I know what they did to us.”

“Good for you.”

You stood up, putting something into your pocket and you carried on walking down the street, so he trailed behind you.

“I just want to talk, that’s all. I’ll give you the cure, all I asked is we have some time to talk, that’s it. I can’t go back to reach, not yet. I need to know everything, I need to know what you know.”

You walked over to the broken fountain and sat down on it, laying on your back with your arms under your head.

“Keep pestering I’m not going to help you.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what you know.”

“Fine, stay, go, I don’t care anymore, just leave me alone.”

You had no chance at fighting John without being able to control his blood, that’s what made you stronger than the other Spartans. Without it you didn’t stand a chance.

John sat down on a bit of rock, looking up at you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He nodded his head, trying to think of the right words to say to try and get you to help him.

He needed to know what you knew, maybe it could help him fill in the blanks in his memory he didn’t know, but all he knew was that he needed your help.

You were the only other person aside from him that knew the truth, that knew what really happened

[rubykgrant]

idea: Reds and Blues meet Master Chief. What are the interactions like? I imagine the best would be Sarge, Locus, Wash, Carolina, Tex, and Tucker, but I'd want to hear all interactions.

I'll be honest ("I'm gonna keep it real with you chief" haha), I've never played the Halos, or watched Halo the series, so I don't know too very much about Johnny Spartan Halo Chief as a "person" ??? However, we've seen little bits background Halo lore in RVB, and the characters making some kind of mention to Master Chief (before Grif started claiming to have been drafted, he specifically said he signed up to fight aliens, but then Master Chief "blew up the whole Covenant Armada", so now they're stuck playing capture the flag in a box canyon (plus, a few PSAs/specials/extras where characters talk about real Halo stuff). I guess I have to imagine this happening in some kinda of AU, maybe it takes place after seasons 16-17, the UNSC tracks them all down seemingly for a fight, but then- nope! They want help... and also, Master Chief is there

I think, depending on her day, Tex will either be respectful... or, if something has ticked her off, she'll just be in NO mood to be polite (she won't specifically try to pick a fight or anything, she just isn't going to care about rank or whatever. it kinda trips the others up when she talks like a "professional Freelancer", they're not used to seeing that side of her haha). There is kind of this unspoken understanding of "We both got messed up. We did a lot of messed up stuff. Not a lot of people would consider us PEOPLE anymore"

Wash and Carolina are similar, both having experience with soldiers who have been through very INTENSE situations. They'd be very quiet/respectful... at first. They both also have a lot of experience with high-ranking military people who abuse that position and manipulate others around them, so they don't want to just automatically say "yes, sir" and never question anything. They also aren't trying to pick a fight with this guy, but after getting chewed-up/spit-out by the UNSC, they are on ALERT (oh, and vague back-story head-canon; Carolina was ALMOST selected for something similar to the Spartan Program when she started being a soldier, it wasn't the EXACT same thing, but too close for comfort. she didn't know it at the time, but her dad kept changing her files to keep her out of it, but from her point of view, she was just told she "failed" some test)

Sarge is in full fan-boy mode

Church is, like... genuinely INTIMIDATED by this guy. He's weirdly silent most of the time, until Master Chief walks away, and then he lets out a freaked-out whisper-scream. Inevitably, something or other will make Church mad, OR make him feel like he needs to protect his friends, so his self-preservation goes out the window, and he'll mouth-off to Master Chief (which he'll panic about later, but Master Chief quietly respects, and gives Church space to voice his opinions on stuff. now Church has to put actual "planning" into what he says... oh no, he just trapped himself into more responsibility!)

Tucker is immediately VERY serious about his feelings regarding Junior. If anything Master Chief is going to do will hurt the kid, or turn into another stupid war that endangers innocent lives, not only will Tucker refuse to help; he'll STOP the UNSC, Master Chief, whoever, whatever. No jokes, no false bravado. That is just a fact. Master Chief doesn't challenge him on that, but when some other soldiers around try to mock Tucker, he's actually very calculating about how he responds? Like, he's not bragging/making BS up, he's mentioning stuff he's done in a very mundane way, and the UNSC soldiers say that sounds lame- and THAT is when Tucker clarifies what ACTUALLY happened, and it IS impressive. It quickly becomes clear he's not trying to show-off to Master Chief, he's sort of playfully explaining to all these other soldiers that it is very easy to underestimate Tucker and his friends, which isn't going to work out. Once it is established that this isn't going to be an attack on the Sangheili (or other groups), Tucker relaxes. Master Chief just likes him

Caboose is simply very friendly~ (another background head-canon; when Caboose was very young, he WAS part of something that was an almost kinda-sorta Spartan program. not literally the same, but like an alternate version of it. however, just when he was done with the training, it was disbanded for various failures... so Caboose was still trained to be a soldier, but they weren't sure where to put him. off to Blood Gulch he went)

Simmons isn't quite a fan-boy, but he's filled with a quiet awe (actually, this might be the first time he wants to impress an authority figure, but isn't emotionally attached enough for it to make him nervous?)

Grif is ALSO a huge fan-boy, and is even more of a loud-mouth than Tucker, Sarge keeps trying to get him to shut up or he'll die from second-hand cringe, but then Grif actually got Master Chief to sign a poster, so???

Kai is flirting. If Master Chief isn't interested, she'll try for the tiny glowing lady ("You're WAY less of a bitch than the glowing AI dude we got~")

Donut keeps nervous-laughing. When the others ask him why, he says- "I am trying. So much. To not say. Something. Bad"

Doc is weirdly comfortable and personable with Master Chief. Has he met this guy before? When? O'Malley speaks up casually as well, and Master Chief seems very accepting and amused

Lopez acts like he doesn't care, but then he mutters something in Spanish about how he can't find such-and-such tool or whatever, and Master Chief hands it to him??? Not only does he understand, but he LISTENS? Well, that's Lopez's friend now

Locus is sort of reserved, but respectful. Wash mentions something about how he thought Locus would maybe see Master Chief as another "fellow soldier" because of their "similarities". Locus seems surprised. He really didn't even think of it that way

[halofcrged]

@rubiesintherough seven sent a meme.

❛ Are you real? ❜

He'd been sat in the med bay since he had made it back to the ship - he was meant to be in route for pickup by a UNSC cruiser, but he'd purposefully rerouted the ship through slip stream to the middle of nowhere while he'd waited for the young woman to regain consciousness, and for Cortana to pick her way through all of the files that they'd gleaned from what was left of the research ship that they'd been sent to salvage. Command had told him to anticipate no survivors, and that his mission was to recover whatever date he could and scrap anything left behind to keep it from falling into enemy hands.

What he'd seen had left his stomach tight and his teeth on edge. It hadn't been readily apparent who had been conducting the experiments on the ship, or who had authorized them. The encryptions were not UNSC. The scientists had either fled and left their work behind, or been torn from the ship on its impact exiting slipstream - Cortana's sensors hadn't been able to find evidence of their remains on board or in their surrounding space. The cryo tubes of test subjects were in varying degrees of melt down or overload. The girl's was the only one that had been capable of supporting life still, but it had been a fight to resuscitate her.

Cortana was still working on decrypting files. All he could do was wait. So wait he did.

"Yes, ma'am," John replied, pulling the stool he'd been sitting on closer to the edge of the med bay bed. He'd stripped out of his suit down to his under amor in the best of an attempt he could make to seem less intimidating. He wasn't sure it had helped. "My name's John. Can you tell me your name?"

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

"Why did you order your Spartans to jump from the Pelican?" the interviewer demanded once again.

Her face was shrouded in darkness. A lamp was pointed directly in his eyes. Fred smirked. Did they really think that conventional interrogation tactics from centuries-old cop procedurals were going to make a Spartan sweat?

"It was the best tactical option." He shook his head once. "No. It was the only tactical option."

The interviewer scoffed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. She kept doing that. As though she had any idea what it was like to be in the field. Maybe she did. But she didn't know what it was to be a Spartan.

"Don't you feel responsibility for what happened to your team?" she asked harshly.

Externally, Fred remained emotionless. Passive. He was the very picture of the robot super-soldier that the UNSC rank-and-file believed the Spartans to be. Internally, he recoiled.

Did he feel responsible?

He felt nothing else. He saw each of their faces - every Spartan that had died under his command. Malcolm. Joshua. Grace. Anton. Vinh. Isaac. The list went on. It filed through his mind on an endless loop, whenever he had a spare moment to think.

Then there were the others. Gray Team... wherever they were. Omega Team, too. Randall, who'd been lost years ago. Cal, Arthur, Solomon, and Daisy along with him. Kelly.

He wished she were here. She would've been able to put his head back on straight.

Of course, with his track record lately, he could very well have lost her on the Unyielding Hierophant. Maybe it was better that Halsey had absconded with her. He could at least believe that she was still out there. Force himself to believe it. He wouldn't make it much further if he didn't.

"I asked you a question, Spartan One Zero Four." The interviewer's voice was full of venom. She practically spit the words. She was trying to intimidate him.

That must have been a joke.

Fred rose from his seat. Even out of his armor, he towered over everyone in the sealed interrogation room. He reached out with one hand and very deliberately turned the lamp out of his eyes - a challenge to the interviewer. Go ahead and make me sit back down, he thought.

"I made the best decision. Unlike many in this facility, I care deeply about the soldiers under my command and I refused to waste their lives." He didn't say the words so much as growl them. His right hand clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles turned paper-white.

The interviewer stared up at him. She was trying to put on a tough face, to keep control of the situation. To her credit, she was doing a good job. She almost managed to hide the vein pulsing in her forehead. The ever-so-slight widening of her eyes. The almost imperceptible tremor in her voice when she barked, "Are you implying that HIGHCOM wasted Spartan lives?"

The Spartan managed to choke down the biting laughter that threatened to escape him. Thirty Spartans combined for RED FLAG. For a suicide mission. But here they were, trying to pass the buck for their deaths onto him.

Fred smirked again. "No, Ma'am," he answered, forcing himself to slacken his fist. He looked her dead in the eye. She had blue eyes. Almost as light in color as Kelly's. "To imply would leave some ambiguity. What I am doing is inferring."

The woman's face coiled in disgust. But it was only skin-deep. She didn't have the clearance to know what he was talking about... she was just here to be ONI's voice. To provide them with plausible deniability for the public eye.

She opened her mouth to answer. Then the door burst open to reveal Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood himself. The Admiral's face was red. He was shouting. The interviewer was escorted out by MPs. Fred watched it all from the sidelines.

Kelly would have found the whole situation hilarious.

Then Hood turned to him. "Suit up, Senior Chief. We're sending Blue downstairs - you ready to get back to work?"

Fred nodded, standing at stiff attention. Then he smiled. "Eager, sir."

[iydiamartinx]

NOBLE SACRIFICE

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲 | 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞

Pairing: Fem! Noble Six x Master Chief

Forewarning: This fic is based off the games and books, not the show. It will also follow the events of the games closely.

❝ 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡.

𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑦. ❞

— 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞

𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟬𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟱𝟱𝟮 | 𝐨𝐧𝐢 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞

IF THERE WERE three words to describe Spartan B312, it would be brutal, efficient, and deadly.

Colonel Holland stared at the grainy footage on the screen, his expression unreadable, eyes tracking every flicker of motion with unwavering attention. His sole focus on the events unfolding before him. It was a file reluctantly given to him by ONI superiors.

The first reel was from her latest mission—a counter-insurgency op on Mamore, where she’d served as a test pilot for the Sabre program. Clean. Surgical. High kill count. Nothing unexpected for a Spartan of her caliber.

But it was the second feed that made his jaw tighten.

A classified blackout, dated two years prior. Operation: SLOW DIVE.

“She and a team of Marines were deployed to neutralize an Elite commander—Ryr’ Nusov—and retrieve a captured AI,” Holland muttered, almost to himself. That was the mission brief. That was what the official report claimed.

Only… that wasn’t what happened.

From the moment the team landed on the ship, something was wrong. The interior was a massacre site. Bodies littered the steel halls—charred and dismembered. Every Sangheili, Kig-Yar and Unggoy onboard had been torn apart—slaughtered.

But not by UNSC hands.

Something—someone else had gotten there first.

𝟮𝟱𝟱𝟬 | 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞

"What the hell?" one of the Marines, Sanchez, muttered under his breath. He stood frozen in the corridor, staring at the carnage with a blend of curiosity and barely-contained horror.

A Sangheili warrior lay slumped against the bulkhead, half of his mandibles missing. An Unggoy’s methane tank had ruptured, the wall behind him scorched black from the blast. A Kig-Yar sniper was sprawled on the floor, plasma burns riddling her shield arm like a constellation.

Elise raised a clenched fist, cutting off the murmurs. The squad fell silent instantly.

“This is Fireteam Talon,” she said, her voice steady as she activated her comms. “Command, we’ve breached the carrier. All Covenant forces onboard appear to be neutralized. Casualties were… inflicted by their own weaponry.”

A beat of static crackled before a voice came through, clipped and cold. “Nusov? The AI?”

"Status unknown, sir."

"Understood. Proceed with caution. Whatever eliminated those hostiles may still be on that vessel. Spartan, prioritize locating that A.I."

"Roger that, sir."

A heavy silence settled over the team, only broken by the soft hum of damaged flickering lighting and the occasional creak of the ship’s failing systems. The metallic scent of scorched flesh lingered in the air like a threat.

Then, from behind her, Davies broke the silence. “So… what’s the plan?”

Elise turned just enough to look at him over her shoulder. A brief silence to lingering in the air for an uncomfortable moment.

“We stick to the mission,” she said coolly. “Find the AI. No distractions. Eyes sharp. Weapons ready.”

Leading her small team through the corridor littered with Covenant dead. Her rifle remained at the ready, finger hovering just off the trigger—at the ready. Prepared for the moment silence shattered.

But so far, nothing stirred.

All that seemed to be around them was corpses and silence. An eerie and foreboding kind that sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. The kind of silence that gave her the feeling that she was no longer the hunter but the hunted,

Still, she pressed forward, boots crunching softly against broken glass and charred metal. The others followed, a tight formation behind her, nervously glancing around.

Her HUD flickered faintly. No life signs. No movement. Only the lingering heat signatures of cooling Covenant bodies.

Davies, known for his propensity to voice his thoughts, broke the silence with a hushed whisper. "Something feels off," he murmured, barely audible beneath the hum of flickering lights.

He was answered with a sharp, warning “Hush.” Sanchez shot him a glare, eyes hard and voice edged with tension. His gaze flicked instinctively to the Spartan at the front of their formation.

Elise didn’t bother to turn, she already figured out the dynamics of her six-member group and knew what to expect from each of them.

Davies and Sanchez were, without question, the most talkative of the group—especially under pressure. Their voices, even in whispers, were a nervous reflex, a way to fill the unsettling silence with something familiar. She didn’t mind. As long as they followed orders when it mattered, they could mutter all they liked.

Fredricks, Halston, and Casey were quieter. They spoke when necessary—Fredricks rarely, Casey only when prompted. Halston’s voice came only when directions were needed.

And then there was the last member of the team—the one they all called The Rookie.

He hadn’t spoken a single word since boots hit the deck. Not to her. Not to anyone. But Elise had been watching him with a quiet curiosity.

Despite the nickname, he wasn’t green. Not even close. It was a strange paradox. On the surface, he was unassuming—blending into the squad without fanfare or ego. But beneath that calm exterior was something that told her that there was more to the man than met the eye.

He moved with quiet efficiency, clearing rooms with the kind of ease, the rest of her team lacked.

“Covenant cockpit up ahead, ma’am,” Halston said quietly, voice barely above a breath as he glanced at his motion tracker.

The knot in Elise’s stomach twisted tighter.

Something was off. Wrong.

She couldn’t explain it, not in words—but instinct screamed louder than any alarm ever could. It was a sense honed over countless missions behind enemy lines, alone and outnumbered. A sixth sense that had kept her alive when logic would have gotten her killed.

Her fingers tightened around her weapon.

“Weapons up, Marines,” she ordered, voice low, grave.

There was no hesitation. No argument. Awed and intimidated in equal measure by the Spartan at their front, the Marines moved as one—raising their rifles, falling into formation behind her.

Silently, they advanced.

The cockpit loomed ahead, its access door partially open, flickering purple lights bleeding into the corridor like a dying heartbeat. Their boots made little sound against the metal floor, but every step echoed in Elise’s head like a war drum.

Then they stepped inside.

And found more of the same.

The bridge of the Covenant vessel was littered with bodies. Sangheili officers slumped over consoles, Unggoy sprawled across the floor, Kig-Yar collapsed with plasma pistols still clutched in limp hands. The smell of scorched flesh and ozone hung heavy in the air.

Elise’s eyes swept the room, her HUD scanning for movement, for anything that might hint at what had done this. Her piercing gaze continued its sweep of the cockpit with slow, surgical precision. Every shadow. Every corner. Her eyes flicked across the walls, the consoles, the fallen bodies, searching for movement, for breath—for anything.

But there was nothing.

No shift in air. No scrape of armor. Just the quiet hum of failing systems and the faint stench of death.

Still, the unease didn’t leave her. It clung to her spine like ice.

Behind her, the rest of the squad—minus the Rookie—began to relax. Their weapons lowered, shoulders eased as they let themselves fall into the illusion of safety.

“Maybe whoever shot these alien bastards down already bailed,” Davies offered, half-heartedly.

“Or maybe they killed each other,” Sanchez muttered, eyeing the charred plasma burns carved into the bodies.

Elise didn’t respond. Neither did the Rookie, who remained sharp as ever, rifle up, eyes scanning. She didn’t have to look back to know it. She could feel the tension in him—like a drawn wire.

Halston’s voice broke through the quiet, snapping her out of her second sweep. “Ping’s coming from over there,” he said, gesturing toward the large holo-table at the front of the bridge, framed by a panoramic window of the void beyond.

Her eyes followed the direction of his point.

“Rookie, Halston—on me. Watch my six,” she commanded, her tone clipped and unwavering. Then, shifting slightly, she added, “Casey, Sanchez—eyes on the door. Don’t let anything slip past you.”

She deliberately split the two most talkative Marines—she needed vigilance, not conversation.

“Fredricks, Davies,” she continued, her voice sharper now. “Eyes up. Stay alert. We still don’t know if we’re alone on this ship.”

The unspoken reprimand hit home.

Sanchez and Davies exchanged awkward glances. Their postures straightened, throats cleared in quiet embarrassment. The flush rising in their ears betrayed what they didn’t say aloud: the Spartan had heard them—and worse, she noticed. The message was clear without a single extra word spoken: focus.

Elise advanced toward the holo-table, Rookie and Halston falling into step behind her. Their rifles moved in concert, scanning, sweeping. Every step closer to the table tightened the tension coiled in her gut.

And then she saw it.

Perched atop the table like a prize—silent, still—was the A.I. chip they’d been sent here to retrieve.

"Halston."

He moved the moment she spoke, already retrieving the datapad from his pack. No wasted motion. No questions. He joined her at the table, plugging the pad into its port, his fingers a blur as he prepared to secure the data.

Instantly, a semi-transparent red figure flickered into view above the datapad—a hard-lined hologram in the shape of a man clad in a long, digitized trench coat. His image wavered for a heartbeat before stabilizing, then sprang to life with startling urgency.

“What the bloody hell are you all still standing around for?” he barked, his sharp posh accent cutting through the tension like a blade. Panic flared across his holographic face, mingled with something far more unsettling—fear. “We need to leave. Now.”

Elise’s brows furrowed beneath her helmet. Protocol came first.

“Identify.”

At once, the A.I. straightened his posture, falling into the crisp cadence of a rehearsed response. “Azrael. Military designation: USS Seraph’s Wrath.”

She glanced at Halston, who was already scanning the chip’s data integrity on his pad. He gave a short nod, voice low and certain. “He’s clear. Untampered.”

Elise gave a single curt nod in return, before turning to the agitated A.I.

Another ripple of unease went through her. “What do you mean we need to leave?” she pressed, her voice calm but firm. “What happened here?”

Azrael’s image crackled with static. His eyes darted to the dead Covenant strewn around the cockpit. “There’s no time to explain. You’re all in danger. We need to leave now.”

Acknowledging the A.I.'s concern, she didn’t waste another second and nodded sharply. “Marines, form up. We’re heading back to the ship. Now.”

Weapons were raised again. Postures snapped back into readiness. The earlier hint of complacency vanished like mist in fire.

Before anyone could move, the once-open doors behind them slammed shut with a metallic clang, sealing off the corridor and locking Casey and Sanchez out on the other side. The vivid green outline framing the entrance blinked red—locked.

Muffled shouts echoed from beyond the sealed doors. Elise could make out Casey’s voice, strained and panicked, and Sanchez barking something unintelligible over him as they pounded on the metal.

“He knows you’re here,” Azrael muttered, his tone sharp with frustration—and unmistakable fear.

Elise didn’t flinch. She didn’t waste breath on asking who. The A.I.’s fear was enough. She cut straight to what mattered. “Can you unlock the doors?”

“Plug me in.”

Her visor shifted toward Halston, who was already moving. Without hesitation, he pulled the chip from his datapad and slid it into the port on the holo-table. Azrael’s form shimmered back into full projection, his hands flickering through layers of alien code as he began to override the Covenant systems.

“Rookie. Halston. Stay with the AI,” Elise ordered, her voice like a blade—sharp, cold, precise. “Fredricks. Davies. Watch their six. The moment that door opens and it’s clear, take that chip off this ship and deliver it directly to command.”

The marines swiftly nodded, falling into formation and assuming their assigned positions. Each member of the team braced themselves for the impending threat that loomed before them.

And Elise turned, facing the sealed door like a sentinel of death.

Clad in slate-black armor, she stood motionless—weapon raised, visor glowing dimly beneath the flicker of damaged lights. She looked less like a soldier and more like a reaper forged in steel, ready to do whatever was needed to complete this mission.

For a breathless moment, the corridor beyond the door went still. No more pounding. No more shouting.

Then came the screams.

Sanchez’s voice, raw with terror. Casey’s guttural curse, cut short. The crack of gunfire—brief and frantic. The whole thing lasted only seconds, but time warped around the chaos—stretching into eternity, then snapping back into eerie silence.

Azrael’s hands froze in place, his projected face turned toward the sealed door.

“…Looks like you won’t need me to open it after all,” he muttered, his tone edged in grim sarcasm.

The implication was clear.

A moment later, a resounding beep pierced the air, and the sealed door shifted from red to green. With a mechanical hiss, it slid open—and chaos came with it..

A torrent of Unggoy and Kig-Yar surged through the doorway, their guttural screeches echoing through the cockpit. Plasma fire lit the room in a kaleidoscope of heat and color as the marines answered with a thunderous barrage, the sharp crack-crack of ballistic rifles tearing through the initial wave.

Several Grunts dropped immediately, caught in the crossfire before they could even lift their weapons.

But it was Elise who moved like death given form. Her DMR barked in quick, lethal bursts, every shot placed with surgical precision. Her visor tracked the Jackals, aiming for the tiny gaps in their shifting energy shields—under the armpit, at the thigh, the moment the shield flickered mid-recharge.

Each shot found its mark. When one screeched in surprise, flinching back, she put a round clean between its eyes before its body hit the floor.

The marines pushed back with renewed force, mowing down the remaining Unggoy. Stragglers that broke through were met with cold steel—Elise stepping in like a wraith, ending them with brutal efficiency.

Then, silence reclaimed the space, broken only by the ragged breathing of her team.

Halston leaned against the holo-table, eyes wide, chest heaving. “Are they Covenant? I’ve never seen them wear armor like that,” he panted, fear and fascination clashing on his face.

“Negative,” Azrael replied grimly. His holographic form glitched slightly as he turned to face them. “They’re a splinter faction—one that broke away from the Covenant rejecting their beliefs and ideology. They call themselves the Banished.”

Elise filed the intel away. It could wait.

“Explain later,” she said, voice edged with steel. “We need to move. Halston—grab Azrael.”

Halston nodded, reaching toward the chip still plugged into the table.

Hiss.

The sound was soft—barely there. A whisper of death.

Halston stiffened, then collapsed.

A smoking hole marked the center of his forehead. The AI chip slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor beside his body.

“Sniper!” Fredricks yelled, panic cracking through his voice as he and the team instinctively sought cover, taking refuge from the unseen threat.

From her vantage point behind the holo-table, Elise spotted the Rookie crouched low behind a scorched console. He peeked up just enough to glance downrange—only to duck back with lightning reflexes as a sniper round sizzled past his visor, missing by inches.

He glanced back his visor meeting Elise's before raising two fingers.

Two snipers.

Elise dipped her head in silent acknowledgment, then risked a glance of her own. Her slate-black armor blended into the darkened corner of the room, giving her just enough of an edge—one precious heartbeat to spot the threat before they could react.

She saw them.

They saw her, too.

A plasma bolt whined past her head as she ducked back into cover.

Her gaze snapped to the Rookie, and with a sharp jerk of her chin, she directed his attention to the AI chip lying exposed on the floor. He understood instantly, and a determined nod affirmed his readiness as he reached for a grenade.

Elise raised three fingers.

Three… two… one—

Go.

They moved as one.

In a swift, coordinated action, the two of them shot up and launched their respective grenades towards the snipers' position. The explosive eruption caught the snipers off guard, forcing them to abandon their vantage points. Seizing the opportunity, Elise smoothly rose her DMR and skillfully dispatched them with a two of precise shots, while the Rookie dove towards the chip, snatching it from harm's way.

“Move!” Elise barked, already turning to cover their retreat.

Fredricks and Davies flanked the Rookie as he bolted for the open doorway, while Elise’s longer stride and enhanced agility had her at their side in seconds. Plasma fire hissed from the shadows, but she cut through it like a storm—dropping any hostiles that dared step into her line of fire.

They pushed through the corridor at full sprint. The ship groaned around them, lights flickering as they raced toward the extraction point.

But halfway there—they heard it.

Low voices. The guttural growl of Banished troops.

Too many.

“Shit,” Davies hissed, skidding to a stop and pointing toward a nearby bulkhead door just ahead. “In there—we can flank or hide, but we can’t outrun a whole squad.”

Elise didn’t hesitate.

“Inside. Now,” she snapped.

Davies led the group into the room—only to be struck down a heartbeat later.

A thunderous crack echoed as a gravity hammer swept through the air and collided with his chest. The force launched him like a ragdoll, his limp body slamming into the Rookie, who in turn crashed into Fredricks. One man dead. Two injured.

Davies’ IFF tag blinked red for a single, damning second—then vanished entirely.

Vitals lost.

Fredricks groaned, curled on his side, wheezing with shallow, ragged breaths. The Rookie lay nearby, stunned, a jagged crack webbing across his helmet’s visor.

Elise raised her weapon, instincts snapping into place—but before she could fire, a massive, clawed hand seized her by the throat.

The brute’s talons punctured her under-suit, sinking deep into the muscle of her neck. Pain lanced through her as her fingers clawed at the iron grip.

“Foolish creatures,” the voice growled, his grip unyielding even as Elise clawed at it. “Pinning their hopes on a Spartan savior.”

He drew her up higher so she was level with his monstrous face.

“I am Atriox. We are the Banished. Your courage means nothing. Your armor means less. I will break you—not just your body, but your spirit.”

His gravity hammer pulsed ominously, bathing the room in a crimson glow. Surprisingly, he didn't swiftly end her like she thought. Instead, he gestured to two brute warriors at his side. "Kill the other two first."

The brutes obeyed without question. One lumbered toward Fredricks, the other toward the Rookie. Both bore grins twisted with bloodlust.

The brute nearest Fredricks growled as he approached. Using his foot, he rolled the downed marine onto his back.

Fredricks, bloodied and broken, met the brute’s gaze with a smile—defiant to the end.

“See you in hell, you son of a bitch.”

That was when the brute saw it—an active plasma grenade stuck to the sole of his own boot.

He bellowed in rage and tried to shake it loose—but it was too late.

The explosion lit the room in blue fire, incinerating them both in a single, brilliant flash.

The second brute, momentarily distracted by the blast, hissed as flecks of plasma scorched his armor—but it wasn’t enough to kill him.

Meanwhile, the Rookie rolled away from the blast, escaping the worst of the impact. Despite the pain screaming through his body, he crawled toward the nearest gun he could find.

The brute snarled, whirling to face him—but the Rookie was already aiming the gun at him.

He emptied the entire clip into the brute’s face.

The body dropped with a thunderous thud.

Atriox turned, growling low as he took in the aftermath—two of his soldiers dead.

“No matter,” he rumbled. “I had hoped you’d live long enough to watch your comrades die, demon. But if this human clings to life so desperately…” he sneered, “then he can watch you die instead.”

But even as he lifted the hammer, a sudden whistling cut through the air.

A combat knife embedded itself deep into his shoulder.

He roared in fury, jerking back—and Elise acted.

Her hand shot forward, seizing the hilt. It barely moved—caught on thick armor plating—but she didn’t try to cut further. Instead, she ripped it free, spun the blade in her grip, and drove it upward in a desperate arc. The tip sliced through the air and caught Atriox across the mouth, cutting deep into his upper lip.

He howled—this time in pain.

Elise struck again, jamming the knife into the brute’s massive hand. His claws tore at her skin as he released her with a furious snarl, warm blood soaking into the neck of her suit.

She dropped to the ground, landing on unsteady feet. Her balance faltered.

A split second later, Atriox struck.

His hammer caught her in the ribs, sending her flying.

She crashed into the far wall with a sickening crack. The camera feed blurred as her body rolled across the ground, coming to rest in a crumpled heap—not too far from where the Rookie laid. Blood tinted the recording red, spreading across the lens in slow, blooming waves.

Blackness pressed at the edges of her vision threatening to consume her in darkness. Through the haze, she managed a weak glance upward, and her visor met the gaze of the Rookie. He had removed his helmet for better visibility, and upon seeing his face, a fleeting moment of recognition froze Elise in place.

It was a face she knew, weathered by time, hardened by experience, and shrouded in shadows. No matter how much time had changed him, she would never forget his face.

A renewed pulse of purpose, molten and fierce, flooded her limbs and shoved the pain into the background. This could be her grave. She knew that. The odds were stacked, her body failing, and her blood soaking the inside of her armor.

But if it came down to it—it wouldn’t be his.

Atriox chuckle rumbled deep, cruel and amused, his gaze fixed on Elise as she shakily rose defiantly up to her feet. “They call your kind demons,” he said, voice dripping disdain. “They fear you. But I see nothing here worth fearing.”

His gaze slid over the blood trailing down her cracked black armor.

Elise didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Instead, she pulled two grenades from her belt and hurled them without hesitation. Even as he barked a command, she was already drawing her pistol.

Her HUD tagged the glowing energy crates stacked behind him—volatile, humming with potential.

She fired.

The first explosion ripped through the chamber like a thunderclap.

The second ignited a chain reaction.

Flames erupted in all directions, casting Atriox in searing blue light. Shrapnel shrieked across the walls. The air split with concussive force, and the world trembled beneath their feet.

Despite her wounds, her limping gait, and the wheezing pain in her chest, Elise pressed on without hesitation, moving as swift as she could go. Through the chaos, through the smoke and fire, she reached him. Her singular purpose clear: to make sure he lived.

The Rookie had crawled for the chip—still remembering the mission, even when she’d nearly forgotten it. Her focus had narrowed to one thing: him.

She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his arm and yanked him upright.

“Can you walk?” she rasped, voice raw with strain.

He nodded. His expression was grim, determined, and—like hers—resolute.

She urged him forward as they ran, retreating. Their steps were staggered, uneven, but Elise determinedly pushed the two of them on.

Atriox’s voice boomed through the chaos, low and mocking.

“That’s right,” he called, laughter chasing after them. “Run, little demon. Run.”

As they made their escape, Elise couldn’t help but look back one last time.

From the dissipating swirl of blue fire and scorched metal, Atriox emerged—unhurried, unstoppable. His claws still dripped with her blood, thick and dark against the silver gleam of his gauntlets. The gash she’d carved into his face had broken through the stark white war paint, now smeared crimson as it trailed down his cheek.

And then he smiled.

A slow, cruel curl of his lips that pulled the wound wide, stretching her mark on him into something grotesque.

She felt a chill grip her heart—but beneath it, a fire lit.

He’s a threat. One that demanded elimination.

But not today.

One day, Elise would find him again. And when she did, she’d finish what she started—whether it ended in his death… or her own.

She forced her attention forward. They didn’t have time.

As they sprinted, she reached for the chip in the Rookie’s hand and slammed it into her neural link. The moment it connected, a wave of cold energy surged through her system, sharp and disorienting. It nearly sent her staggering to the floor.

The Rookie helped steady her.

She waved off his concern, gritting through the pain. “Keep moving.”

Her focus narrowed as Azrael’s voice filled her mind—clear and wired into her suit now. “Well, this is new. Hello, Spartan,” he mused, half-amused, half-focused.

"Azrael, help us get the hell out of here."

“Hold on, accessing the ship’s blueprint now.” A pause. “Good thing I snagged it while I was digging through their systems. You’re welcome, by the way.” When she didn’t reply, Azrael gave a huff at her silence. “Fine. No thanks for saving your lives. Typical humans. Anyway—there’s a second hangar close by. Take the next left.”

She did as instructed, rounding the corner at full speed—only to freeze.

Her eyes widened just as a torrent of plasma fire hissed toward them.

Without thinking, she grabbed the Rookie and yanked them both back behind the wall, just in time to avoid being cut down.

“Damn it,” she hissed, checking her belt. Empty. No grenades left.

But the Rookie had three.

Without hesitation, she reached to his side, ripped two free from his belt, and lobbed them around the corner in one fluid motion. A second later, the corridor erupted in a pair of deafening blasts, the concussive force shaking the walls.

She didn’t wait.

Dragging the Rookie by the arm, she barrelled into the hangar—relief hitting her like a wave when she saw it.

The Pelican.

Still intact. Still operational.

She shoved the Rookie through the open ramp, turning her armored body into a shield as plasma fire erupted from behind. The bolts struck her shoulder and side, her HUD flashing damage warnings, but she didn’t stop until he was inside.

Then she sprinted for the cockpit, tearing Azrael from her neural port and jamming him into the Pelican’s system.

“Get us out of here!” she barked, her voice hoarse and ragged, her throat flaring with pain.

"Aye aye ma'am," he saluted starting the aircraft and it wasn't until they had successfully departed, slip spaced back to her temporary home base on SSR Nova's Honour, did she finally allow herself to relax.

As the adrenaline subsided, Elise's body succumbed to exhaustion, causing her to stumble and the camera to shake and once again momentarily lose focus.

“Easy now,” a voice said beside her, low and steady—but laced with worry. “Stay with me, Spartan. We didn’t survive all of that just for you to check out now.”

Even through the haze, she knew that voice.

Older now. Roughened by years. But familiar.

Jason.

His voice cracked, shifting into panic as he caught her, gently lowering her to the floor.

“I need a medic!” he shouted. “I have a Spartan down! I need a medic—now!”

𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝟭𝟬𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟱𝟱𝟮 | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞...

Colonel Holland halted the video playback at that point. He'd seen all that he'd needed to see and he was sure every other video he saw would be quite the same.

Brutal. Efficient. Deadly.

This was ONI's Grim Reaper. The Lone Wolf. A sheer force of nature and a harbinger of death. Even in defeat, the sight of the unexpected, and on the verge of death, she still completed her mission.

"Jesus," The Colonel murmured under his breath, his voice laden with disbelief at the fact she'd survived all of that.

Throughout his military career he'd witnessed his fair share of impossible odds. ONI kept most of their information under heavy lock and key but even then they couldn't stop some of it from getting out. He’d heard whispers—rumors slipping past the cracks of classified channels. A rising force. A name passed in hushed tones among outer colony survivors. Atriox. And his Banished. But actually seeing it was something else entirely.

“She’s ranked as one of our deadliest assets,” the handler said, breaking the silence. “She and the Rookie are the only known human survivors to have engaged Atriox and lived. Her combat performance is classified as hyper-lethal. Skill set is nearly on par with Spartan-117.”

Colonel Holland rose a brow at B312 comparison to 117. That was no light remark. The Master Chief had become the face of all Spartan's his reputation in battle legendary.

"But..." The Colonel prompted sensing there was a 'but'.

The handler hesitated, weighing his words. “She can be… difficult to manage,” he admitted.

Holland cocked his head intrigued. "How so?"

“Spartan B312 is a lone wolf,” the handler said, tone measured. “While her dedication to completing the mission is unwavering, there have been instances where she’s veered from direct orders. When she believes there’s a better course of action, she takes it—regardless of protocol.”

He hesitated, then added, “At times, her actions border on insubordination. But… there’s no denying she’s one of the most effective assets ONI has.”

Colonel Holland nodded slowly, absorbing the information. While most commanders preferred their subordinates adhere a title to the orders they were given. He was looking for something different. He needed an individual who could get the mission done and adapt when needed. She was an ideal candidate to be Noble team's new number Six.

“Where is Spartan B312 now?” he asked, his voice calm, but purposeful. Since arriving at the ONI black site, he’d reviewed the file. The footage. The statistics. But he hadn’t seen her—and he was hoping to change that.

The handler paused, choosing his words with care. “Spartan B312 has requested some time off.”

That earned a lifted brow from Holland. “I was under the impression Spartans didn’t get time off.”

“These are… special circumstances,” the handler replied. “However, she remains on call. Should an emergency arise, she’s expected to respond without delay.”

Holland gave a small nod, folding his arms behind his back.

“In that case,” he said, gaze sharpening, “how soon can I initiate the process for her transfer?”

Next Chapter →

banner credits: cafekitsune & omi-resources

[pieman1112]

What does 'being human' actually mean? RP with cinemachaos

With the Human-Covenant war over for the past decade, Humanity had reached a true peace. New ships were being constructed, planets that were glassed were being cleared and rebuilt, and new forces were being trained to rebuild the UNSC's might. But old rivalries and hatred threatened to destroy this new peace that humanity found itself in.

Before the Human-Covenant war, there were two major problems that plagued the UEG. Mutants and the Insurrection. The official policy regarding mutants was that they could serve in the UNSC as long as they followed the orders given to them and could pass the requirements that were in place for all of their soldiers. For the most part mutants were accepted by their peers in the UNSC. The soldiers would work together and train as units. Not all of this acceptance was of good intention however. Some leaders saw these mutants as weapons to be used.

When the Insurrection came into full swing, some used it as an excuse to attack the mutants since a lot of mutants signed up with the Insurrection of the outer colonies. Some even defected from the UNSC to the Insurrection as they fought. This war was the catalyst for project Orion, a super soldier program that would give the UNSC an edge against the Insurrectionists. When the covenant attacked Harvest and started the Human-Covenant war, the UNSC and Insurrection joined forces in an uneasy peace in what looked like the possible extinction of humanity.

The UNSC was always on alert for those who would threaten the peace that was achieved. While the integration of the covenant species into the UEG had eased some tension between humans and mutants into becoming more tolerant. There were still some who saw themselves as superior and had made it a mission to bring this superiority to a new age. Remnants of the Covenant, mutant supremist groups, human supremist groups, and insurrectionists seem to be popping back up again. The Office of Naval Intelligence was looking into these groups to see if a military response would be needed and to see if they threatened any ONI operations.

Spartan-197, a veteren of the Human-Covenant war, was chosen as the one to recon a new group called the brotherhood of mutants. Their leader was a charismatic mutant named Magneto and could possibly threaten the UNSC and the UEG with his magnitism. For this 197's armor was retrofitted with nonmagnetic alloys. It reduced some of the armor capabilities but he wouldn't have to worry about the suit being torn apart should he run into the leader.

He would be dropped via pelican jump near where the suspected meeting would take place. He would fall for a good distance before activating his jump jets to soften his landing, all timed to not draw suspicion from anyone there.

"Beginning mission." Hunter said into his comms after landing in a secluded forest.

Unfortunately for him and ONI, there were some sympathetic to the group that had leaked the information to the brotherhood. The whole meeting was poised to be a trap for the super soldier and Rogue would be chosen as the one to find out why this super soldier had arrived.

@cinemachaos

[bloodgulchblog]

This isn't an ask game, but here are some Spartan-II-focused questions you can use for fleshing out Halo OCs, written cause a pal was trying to do that:

What job skill was your character best at? (Personal best. It doesn't have to be something they're better than literally anybody at. For example: Kelly might be the fastest, but there's always a second fastest.)

What job skill was your character the worst at? (Spartans are hypercompetent and unusually good at a lot of things, but what would they definitely not be put in charge of?)

Does your character prefer to be in charge, or do they tend to hang back and let someone else take control of a situation? Are there situations where the answer is different?

What was your character like when they were in a normal environment as a six year old? Likes and dislikes? Future grown-up job dream? Favorite hobby?

How did your character react to the first weeks of Spartan training?

As your character grew, what did they come to think of their job/the UNSC? Do they believe in what they were taught? Did they ever become cynical about it? If they did, what caused them to start to doubt? If they didn't, what beliefs are they holding onto to justify what happened to them?

Aside from Spartan candidates who died in augmentation, when was the first time your character lost another Spartan they were friends with? (It can be Sam. It doesn't have to be Sam, though.) How did they cope?

The UNSC started admitting the Spartan-IIs existed in 2547, in an effort to improve morale. How did that feel?

People assume the wrong thing about Spartans all the time. What was a moment where someone made a casual remark to your character that made no sense to them because they haven't had a normal life?

Picture a situation where your character's presence is making another person uncomfortable and nervous. Who? Why? How does your character feel about being reacted to this way?

Your character has been given a medal for an exemplary deed they performed in battle. How do they feel at the award ceremony?

Which is worse? Someone dying because they're protecting you, or someone dying because you tried to protect them and you failed?

How does your character hide that their upbringing wasn't normal?

Tell us about a time your character wished they had more time to get to know someone they never saw again.

Covenant species they hated fighting the most.

Worst vehicle.

Best gun.

Your character has a flavor of MRE they hate. How do they convince somebody to trade?

You get used to cryo, eventually. But before that, what was the worst thing about it?

Your character has to work with a Sword of Sanghelios. How are the vibes?

Your character is offered the opportunity to look at their unredacted file, which includes information about their trainers' observations, where they came from, who their parents are, and what happened to their family after they were kidnapped to be trained as a Spartan. Do they read the file? Why? Why not? Do you, the writer, have ideas about what would be in it?

[empresskadia]

Alright, hear me out:

Naomi's s/o becoming a Spartan-IV was the best idea ever and now I've come up with two ideas for it:

One idea I had was when she found out her partner had undergone augmentation after having their file declassified, she finally gets to go see them expecting to give you, a new Spartan, a piece of her mind.

But you're not a Spartan. Not yet. You're the slowest recovering candidate.

The other idea I had was that the s/o, instead of being assigned to her immediately like Musa planned, was given to the Mark VII project to test the platform for Spartan-IVs. So when they finally meet again, they're wearing more or less the same armor.

I'm telling you, I love these Naomi-010 asks, they seriously always make my day. My co-worker told me my face lit up and he could tell it was something Halo-related.

I hear you friend and I love both ideas!

The first one would cause Naomi to genuinely panic and any anger she may have held, vanishes. She's reminded of her own argumentations and how many sisters and brother-in-arms she's lost. This was why she didn't want her partner to become a Spartan, now she had to stand there and think if they were going to make it or not. Of course, she wants to see them and just looking at you hooked up to machines in a hospital bed breaks her heart and reminds her of how long it took Kelly to recover. Naomi hopes this is a Kelly situation, where you get back on your feet stronger than ever.

In the second one, Naomi is just confused when Serin tells her you won't be returning to Kilo-Five, of course, she's worried, she wanted to see her partner first and make sure they were okay with her own eyes before giving them a piece of her mind. But does this mean you were sent on a different mission? Naomi tried to contact you, whether by call or message, she didn't expect the call to go through but got a reassuring message that you were alright and that you were sorry you couldn't say anything. This helps her focus on her current task until your paths cross with hers again and Serin promised she would do everything in her power to make it happen. But imagine her surprise when UNSC Port Stanley docks on Earth and there is a Spartan in full armor waiting, armor that looks similar to hers in design but the color scheme is different. They were colors that reminded her of you, and then it clicked and Naomi was relieved and ecstatic.

Let me add to this, what if Musa never intended for them to go back to Kilo-Five? What if he moves them straight to, let's say, the Headhunters? Or put them on the Infinity as Commander Palmer's second in command?

[hefty-halo]

UNSC AI: ADT 6849-9 "Auntie Dot" Interaction Logs.

Interactions with Spartan Catherine -B320 "Kat":

22:50 Reach Local Time, February 22nd 2562:

"Noble 2, your interference with UNSC-issued M319 Individual Grenade Launch, serial designation R-1337-4206-9, has been logged as a violation of military protocol. Manufacturer "Misriah Armoury" expressly forbids field modification of their patented design. Per manufacturer official complaints, donuts are not intended as a payload for this launcher."

No response was received. Official record of Spartan Catherine-B320 updated with most recent case of unlicensed tampering.

23:10 Reach Local Time, February 22nd 2562:

"Noble 2, registering unapproved tampering with the armour systems of Spartan B312 "Noble Six". Bodyglove reads multiple breaches across the lower abdominal region and rear. Forced removal of armour systems detected. Elevated pulse detected. Do you or Noble Six require medical assistance?"

Garbled response received before armour transponders and communications systems deactivated at the source. UNSC Marine Corps Medical team dispatched. REPORT REDACTED BY OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE.

09:32 Reach Local Time, February 23rd 2562:

"Noble 2, the breakfast order requisition filed on behalf of Noble Six is seven times over the allotted daily calorific limit for a Spartan III. According to statistics, this has been your seventeenth consecutive daily reminder of this."

Response censored due to intense profanity and expletives from Noble 2, directed towards UNSC dietary regulations.

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Alba-B221

Linda marched, her boots making a steady, determined sound against the pristine floor. Beside her, the somewhat less imposing, but no less formidable, figure of Doctor Catherine Halsey kept pace. Halsey, the mastermind behind the Spartan-II program, was a woman whose name evoked a cocktail of awe, fear, and controversy within the UNSC's ranks. Since her reintegration into society, after a self-imposed exile due to ethical qualms over her own creations, she hadn't exactly been at the center of any new projects—until now.

As they strode into a briefing room that seemed too cold, too sterile even for military standards, Halsey finally broke the silence. "Linda, I assume you're curious why we're here."

Linda, with a physique and presence that somehow managed to make the room feel even smaller, merely nodded, her face an unreadable mask. "The thought had crossed my mind," she responded, her voice betraying nothing of the storm of instincts and newfound abilities that swirled within her.

Halsey, undeterred by Linda's stoicism, launched into an explanation as she brought up a series of images and files on a large, holographic display. "After the... debacle with the Spartan-III program and Ackerson's subsequent... indiscretions, Spartan Ops was formed. It's a second chance for those who've been through... unusual changes, like yourself."

Linda's stance stiffened subtly, the only sign of her growing interest—or concern. "And why am I involved in this?"

"You're not just involved, Linda. You're the key," Halsey turned, facing Linda with an intensity that belied her academic demeanor. "It's about guiding, mentoring. And there's someone specific in mind for you. Spartan Alba-B221."

The display flickered, and an image of a young, intimidatingly built Spartan appeared. Despite her youth, Alba-B221 exuded a raw, almost untamed power. Her eyes, with their slitted pupils, seemed to glow with an inner light, and her frame was more akin to a predatory animal than a human teenager.

Halsey continued, softer now, "Alba has endured much at the hands of those who sought to play god. She's been... altered. Gene-splicing with polar bear and Siberian tiger DNA has left her with abilities far beyond the ordinary, even for a Spartan."

Linda's heart clenched—not in fear, but in a surge of empathy for the young Spartan. "What do you need from me?"

"I need you to be her mentor, her guide. Alba is strong, yes, but inside, she's struggling. She's been molded to be a weapon, but she's also a young girl who's been thrust into a life she didn't choose."

Linda, absorbing the gravity of Halsey's words, felt a resolve settle within her. "I understand. I'll do it."

Alba, upon their first meeting, was a study in contrasts. Her towering frame and the faint, almost imperceptible snarl of her lips spoke of a creature ready for battle. Yet, her eyes darted around nervously, like those of a cornered animal, betraying her uncertainty and fear.

"Hey, Alba. I'm Linda. I've been where you are. I'm here to help," Linda said, extending a hand in greeting, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips.

Alba's reaction was hesitant; her eyes flickered to Linda's hand, then up to her face, searching. Finding no trace of pity or revulsion, just an open, honest offer of fellowship, Alba slowly extended her own hand, her grip cautious but firm.

"N-Nice to meet you, ma'am..." Alba managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't... I don't really know how to... to be anything other than what they made me."

Linda smiled, a genuine, reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out together. You're not alone anymore."

Linda felt a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying begin to lift. Here was a chance not just for redemption, but for connection. In guiding Alba, Linda saw a path forward for both of them, a way to reconcile their pasts with a future that was theirs to define. This was more than a mission...

...it was a new beginning.

[oni-official]

9 People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

Tagged by @aqgarts. Bold. Thanks.

It'll be me, the Director, answering since I reckon 26th century media is overdone.

Last song: Plenty - Alternate Version by aeseaes. ONI playlist coming soon.

Favourite colour: I like my gray-scale shades but, outside of that, matte/dull gunmetal blue.

Currently watching: You, reading this. (I have a lot of trouble getting into series.)

Last movie: The Highwaymen.

Currently reading: Men at Arms - City Watch Arc, Discworld, Terry Pratchett.

Sweet/spicy/savory: Spicy/Savoury all the way.

Relationship status: Single. That's the thing about being a spook-

Current obsession: Halo. How ripe with potential.

Last thing I googled: 350F to C (I was baking cookies)

Currently working on: Fallen Angels [File 3.1], a retelling of an ODST squad's mission on a world lost to the Covenant, recently declassified. I swear we'll have this out soon.

There is, of course, zero pressure to respond since ONI already knows everything about you, but we wouldn't mind updating our files -

@sign-language-is-pretty-handy @tvlovesfandom @mel-a-art @holyshonks @ageless-aislynn @dougielombax @gameknigh @unsc-offical @monitorchakas