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[hey y’all. so I’ve merged Artemis & my multimuse sideblog into their own thing, following the URL of my multi tho that’s changed now to be an archived blog, and I’ve followed people from there. just to make sure y’all know who that is, follow me @ycvng-gcns; because that’s where I am from now on]

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[hey y’all. so I’ve merged Artemis & my multimuse sideblog into their own thing, following the URL of my multi tho that’s changed now to be an archived blog, and I’ve followed people from there. just to make sure y’all know who that is, follow me @ycvng-gcns; because that’s where I am from now on]

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By Micha Röder

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By Micha Röder

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Sophie Turner as Jean Grey in X-Men: Apocalypse (2016)

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mxchineandnerve‌:

John followed suit; he needed to, as he hadn’t explored very much of the cavernous ship the last time he’d been on it. This one seemed more familiar with the place, a fitting guide, no doubt.

So John followed her lead. As he floated through the wide halls, his mere presence drew eyes. People gawked, backed away, whispered amongst themselves. It was as if some mythical beast, some dragon or pegasus had come gallivanting into their lives.

The hallway opened to an expansive deck. Hundreds of gyroscopic structures compromised the floors, and like bees in a hive, the place was abuzz with activity. It was here, John fully appreciated the enormity of the population of Spartans on this ship. There were hundreds among him, all in various stages of practice and armament. And yet, even they seemed aghast by his presence.

Every time John got remotely close to one, he seemed to give them pause. Comedically enough, one skidded off his treadmill.

Technicians led the legendary Spartan away to one of the gyroscopes. Rather than place him in it, they put him through a more familiar process. They went to work with their tools, prying John’s suit off piece by piece.

Moment by moment, his limbs grew lighter and his body more prone. John, like the rest of his kind, had no qualms nor shame about nudity, but this, this was a stripping down of a sort. At a time like this, John could understand the shame of nakedness, he felt naked himself, prone before the whole of civilization.

As the last piece came off, John shuddered. The light hit his pale flesh and the air seemed to nip. How long had it been since he felt the air on his skin? It was almost alien, to say the least.

Without his armor, the stares of the surrounding people seemed to grow wider. It hit him, for many, this may be the first time anyone had seen his face. To much of his species, John as a faceless shell, a war-machine, a shield guarding the realms of men. Many didn’t expect flesh beneath the armor, a soul in the machine.

Promise by the end of this, you’ll find out which one of us is the machine. She’d said to him.

Those words had cut doubt into him now.

Artemis couldn’t help the snort that escaped her when one of the Spartan-IVs tripped on the treadmill, and almost wound up flying, when he laid eyes on the Master Chief. She couldn’t blame him, really, but it was still amusing to watch him trip up. After all, given that Spartans had the best reflexes out of any human in existence, he shouldn’t have tripped at all.

As the two Spartans walked up to a line of the Brokkr armour mechanisms, a couple of techs approached the smaller of the two, and she handed her railgun off to them. She then stepped up onto the machine beside the Chief’s, and let it do the work for her.

That was how she was finished by the time she saw the Spartan-II’s helmet getting removed, and she tipped her head as she studied him for a moment. Pale, scarred flesh; faded freckles; bright blue eyes. There was no mistaking the face that was so like her own.

The Spartan-III seemed so much smaller now that her armour was gone and she was only in her techsuit. She stepped off the platform and stood off to one side to wait for the Master Chief, arms folded across her chest. Studying him, appraising him.

He looked exhausted - there was no doubt about it. And not just the type of exhausted that came from so many years of nearly non-stop fighting. He was world weary. His heart was so heavy, and there was such a burden on his shoulders. He was physically being weighted down by metaphorical feelings.

Her heart went out to him.

“Master Chief, if you’ll follow me.” Her voice was soft, gentle, and about as reassuring as she could make it.

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All is revealed.

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battle-scarred-raven‌:

California made her way to the cockpit wordlessly to sit in the co-pilot’s chair, thinking practically. They weren’t likely to be attacked considering the type of ship they were on, but if they were, she would be better off in the front helping to co-pilot as opposed to stuck in the troop bay. She was a firm believer in being prepared for anything, than being caught unawares. Not that she couldn’t improvise on the fly if needs be; the ex-Freelancer just preferred not to have to in the first place if it could be avoided in any way.

“It’s your ship,” California eventually answered, shaking her head as she settled into the co-pilot’s chair and got herself comfortable, “play whatever you want. Though I have a request - make sure it’s not catchy. I’ll be humming or singing it all day otherwise and we don’t need to hear that. The latter, especially.”

Truthfully, California much preferred silence - maybe with a bit of white noise mixed in - but she was a guest here. Besides, she could always get her AI to dampen her helmet’s microphones if the music got a bit much. The ex-Freelancer would humour the Spartan for the time being, however.

“So, what’s our ETA to the Infinity?”

“Don’t worry, I imagine that at least half of the stuff I listen to isn’t catchy.”

Well, for Artemis, it kind of was. But that was simply because she enjoyed it so much, and it soothed her soul. For anyone else, though, the songs probably wouldn’t stick in their heads, because they lacked lyrics. And since she’d come to learn that most people didn’t get songs caught in their minds if there were no lyrics, she figured she was in the clear.

A Slipspace portal opened up in front of the Prowler’s nose, and the craft zipped through, quickly closing in their wake. The viewscreens showed nothing but inky blackness, and the Spartan sighed in relief, kicking her feet up onto the console and crossing them at the ankles.

Since there was nothing else to do, she could just relax for the time being. She was at ease; nothing could go wrong while they were in the Slipstream, and besides that, she was the best damn pilot out of perhaps all of the Spartans. If not most of them.

“Should be roughly two hours, give or take a couple of minutes.” Normally, it would have taken longer, but given the In Absentia’s Forerunner engines and Slipspace drive, the transit was much faster. And she knew that the Infinity was still hanging in the same spot it had been when she’d departed. There was no need for any course-corrections.

One eye remained cracked open, dancing about the cabin every now and then, but mostly, remaining fixated on the avatar of her AI. She waved a hand at the Intelligence, and then stated, “This is Seeker, my personal Smart AI. Very helpful in combat planning, and aiding me in combat itself.”

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“tell us about yourself”

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mxchineandnerve‌:

This was true. It was something he hadn’t considered when he’d stepped off that dropship. John had been far too lost in thought to consider things like where he’d find a place to rest. He usually didn’t get to choose that sort of thing; he’d make do with whatever was assigned to him.

Needless to say, the smaller Spartan’s offer of hospitality was appreciated, even if John would have preferred some time alone.

So, with a nod he accepted the woman’s offer.

But there came a dilemma.

“How do I find you again, when I’m done?” He asked.

In Mjolnir, she was indistinguishable from the the rest of her outfit, as it should be. Her voice was markedly distinct from the rest, there was more of a youthful vigor to it. Whether or not that voice would slip his mind after he had his armor processed and scraped five years of grime from his body remained to be seen.

It had been so long since his skin had seen the sun. John, oddly enough, preferred it that way. He felt safe his armor, in his impregnable shell. Mind you, he was not reliant on it, but it granted him some greater sense of impregnability, especially now.

But, eventually, even that shell needed to crack.

A smirk flickered across her features, and although the other Spartan couldn’t see it, he certainly would have heard it in her tone of voice.

“Don’t worry about that, Master Chief,” Artemis reassured him, “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but this warship is on the... very big side. You might get lost, and I know this place better than a lot of other people. Captain Lasky was going to ask someone to guide you to where you needed to go, and I volunteered.”

Despite the youthfulness in her voice, there was no barely-concealed awe, or businesslike seriousness. There was something else, instead. A lightness, laced with a well-hidden edge. A voice that said, be careful; don’t push my buttons. Something that made her sound more similar to the Spartan-IIs, albeit those who were more fierce and warlike in their ways.

“And, well, I need to head in the direction of the armour bay myself. Been awhile since I’ve donned this kit... Much rather be out of it and breathing fresh air. Well... as fresh as you can get aboard a ship in space.”

She rolled her shoulders and took half a pace back, so that she wouldn’t wind up with a crick in her neck from having to stare up at the Spartan-II. She’d often had to do that with Jorge, but lucky enough, he was kind and understanding, and he’d told her that she didn’t have to look into his faceplate every time she wanted to talk to him while they were standing. None of the team did it, he’d said, and she was part of the team, and she didn’t have to, either.

Thinking of the old bear had her chest aching, and one hand reached up to tap the spot on her chestplate where his dogtags normally would have hung, had they been there. A gesture of self-comfort, she supposed.

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goals

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mxchineandnerve‌:

Though he offered no outward signs of it, the grizzled Spartan was tired. His fatigue was more than a simple need for sleep and sustenance. It was fatigue of a deeper, more potent sort.

Some small part of him wished they hadn’t found him. John hadn’t even the time to consider what had happened to him, to pick apart and compartmentalize the alien newness of it all before he’d been thrust back into his place again.

He needed time, more time to consider this, and, perhaps in private, to let himself feel what he needed to feel.

But what he felt foremost was a piercing loneliness. Though some would call her a piece of hardware, the one whom he’d lost was like family to him, the same way his Spartan kin were. Perhaps more; none of his brothers and sisters could ever step into his mind, at least, not in the literal sense of the word.

But now was not the time to show it. He needed to be what he was expected to be. John needed to be sturdy, indomitable, the reliable figure his species needed him to be.

He was a soldier.

He was a protector of humanity.

He was…..

Being followed?

John hearkened to the sound of an extra pair of footfalls and the voice behind them. He turned, finding another Spartan had followed him. They were one of the ’newer models’ , no doubt. Though he hadn’t enough time to observe all the details, these Spartan-IVs were unusual for their mind. They were smaller, a bit less disciplined, and numerous. There had to be a thousand or more, just on this ship.

And this one….

He should have come to expect their curiosity, seeing as he seemed to have become some sort of a celebrity. While he appreciated the gratitude, the status miffed John. Had he not just done his job when he’d accomplished the feats he had? What made that any more worthy of veritable worship than any other servicemen and women?

Artemis stopped just shy of the legendary Spartan, and she realized that she had to tip her helmet upwards, just so that she could get a good, proper look at him. Yes, this was the fierce and indomitable 117 alright. There was no mistaking that trademark green armour, complete with orange visor. And sure, she’d known that it was him - Captain Lasky had told her so - but she’d had to be sure herself. She’d had to know...

Because the disbelief right now was so strong that she simply had to see him up close and personal. Had to double-check, before actually speaking to him.

She allowed herself to relax, just a little, the ARC-920 Railgun she was carrying dropping loose to hang at her side, its muzzle just shy of touching the floor. She would have saluted, but she’d done that already... Problem was, she just did not know how to address him. How to go about speaking to him.

How to bring up...

Right. That bit comes later. Don’t freak him out, B312; he’s just woken up from nearly five years of cryo. Take it easy. You don’t even have to tell him today.

“Master Chief, Sir. I, uh...” To him, she would have sounded young; younger, in fact, than a lot of the Spartan-IVs sounded. Although they were young themselves, most of them were at least five years older than her, and it showed in their voices. But this Spartan, whoever she was?

It might have even seemed like she was green, to him. But this was completely not the case. It was quite the opposite, in fact.

“Uh, you probably don’t.... have any quarters. If you’d like, after you’ve taken off your kit and had a shower - if that’s what you’re planning on doing - I can take you to mine. There’s room.” A meek, shy offer.

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onelastpatrol‌:

Conversation continued until the last of them had finished eating. At least one marine admired the way the knife passed through her fingers with ease, impressed how she was able to do that with that kind of armour on. But eventually they were all done, even the pilot, who seemed miffed that he wasn’t going to fly his own bird into combat again.

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Corporal Baker said. The marines began to get up from their positions, wearily shouldering their weaponry and marching up the ramp onto the pelican. The medic followed after checking her equipment one final time, especially the medical equipment on her back. She muttered under her breath, something none of the other marines heard. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall up with our English dead…”

Fox rose to her feet in a smooth motion, and gathered up the rubbish and trays after tucking the knife back into a secure compartment on her armour. “I won’t be long.” Even at a trot, she was bloody quick, and in no time she’d gone to the mess hall, returned the trays and put the rubbish in the bin, before returning to the Pelican.

She lingered a moment in the bay, scrounging around for some new weapons, before clopping up into the dropship, checking over the Marines once in turn.

She saw they were all seated, and eager to get going. That was good - she gave the soldiers a respectful nod, and then seated herself into the pilot’s chair. The ramp rose up and shut with a clang, and soon the Pelican began to lift off the ground, spinning slowly to point its nose in the direction of the exit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would take pains to secure your crash harnesses, because we are performing a drop from space straight into atmosphere. I’d hate  to have anybody fly about and get hurt.”

Just a bit of light humour and a pointless instruction. Something to ease the tension in the air. Something to boost morale.

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Artemis hadn’t expected for her pulse to be pounding in her throat.

And yet, as she stood at attention with five Spartan-IVs, and roughly two dozen Marines, lined up in neat rows and waiting for the Master Chief to disembark his Pelican.... She could not help but feel a sense of trepidation.

He did not know her, and he would not be able to tell her apart from the Spartan-IVs. She wore the same RECRUIT armour as they, and it wasn’t like she was particularly tall, or powerfully built. Both things would have helped her stand out. But she’d been wearing the GEN2 kit ever since she’d been assigned to the Infinity, and Commander - now Captain - Lasky had gently insisted that she wear the same colour scheme as the others. To help them feel more at ease, and to keep then-Captain Del Rio from yelling at her.

She wasn’t really supposed to be here, Lasky had said, and the more she blended in, the better. So she’d grudgingly followed his instructions, and now, right when she was seeing John-117 in the flesh for the first time - her own brother - she would not be able to single him out.

Not yet, at least.

As the legendary warrior finally stepped down the ramp, the soldiers immediately saluted her. They all held that position as he strode slowly past them, and once they were released, went their separate ways.

But not the Spartan-III.

Without hesitation, she trotted after the aged, indomitable protector of humanity. Hoping for a chance to catch up to him. Hoping for a chance to single him out. Hoping for a chance to talk.

Flicking on her helmet’s external speakers, the Spartan cleared her throat.

summoning @mxchineandnerve !

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Growling wolf

Picture by Maxime Riendeau

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