Futuristic Halo: Operation SHATTERED SKY (IC - CLOSED)

[Solar Daddy]

Owen listened in on the briefing intently. He had no real idea what the spooks were up to; but if they were going to get him in on some Covenant killing action, he'd sign up for anything. When Tremell volunteered himself and Owen, Bassett was quick to stand proud with his buddy. Looks like he'd get to spend more time with Tremell and Davis; something Owen was looking forward to greatly. Even with his helmet off, Owen felt like there was a barrier between himself and the others. He had a perpetual poker face on; while inside he felt quite excited at the prospect of this new mission, and was happy to see his fellow soldiers easily as eager as he was, his grim expression never wavered. He wasn't one of those grizzled veterans who perpetually held the thousand yard stare; no, Bassett was just always in his head, wondering about the next engagement, the next battle. Mulling over past ones and looking forward to the future.

When it was time for liftoff, Bassett was one of the first in. Helmet on and opaque visor equipped, Owen couldn't help but glance around at everyone. A bunch of fresh faces, especially the ONI spooks; he admittedly felt unsure working along their secretive operators, but Owen knew he could match whatever firepower they could output. He was confident in his abilities to be a reliable squadmate. Owen had survived a few rough patches during the Human-Covenant War, and Bassett was sure of his capabilities enough to think he could go on fighting at least a few more years.

Bassett turned to face his closest compatriot - Pierce, designated by the tag on his armor - and bumped his arm. "Don't worry about the spooks. They're just dudes in armor, same as us." Pierce was a bit quiet, or shy at the least. He hoped to pop that shell now in hopes of making things more comfortable when someone inevitably took a hit. Owen took his lackluster opener to introduce himself. "Bassett. And that's Tremell. Remember; save some biofoam for that guy. He has a tendency to K.O. on missions." Owen knew he'd get a jab for that comment from his buddy, but it was worth it to ease some tension. A little chatter before a mission always helped in Owen's eyes.

NamelessTrax

 

[NamelessTrax]

“As a medical professional, I have to advise against trying to get shot. I’d like to not drag you the rest of the way home.” Dax replied sarcastically. Typically this was normal for Soldiers of any type to joke about war wound’s, it varies from person to person. “Call me Dax, I’ll be your Medic, questions can be answered after I patch you up.” Seem like a good bunch so far, The Spooks with them weren’t really what he paid attention to, if anything they were just interesting to be around. First mission with the new unit, so much more high class then the usual rescue or assault he’d been apart of.

 

[0stinato]

Until they got out of any potential danger-zone and into theoretically safer airways, Lyster kept his helm on; once the Pelican entered that space though, he took it off, sighed, and brought out a thin pack of nicotine gum. It wouldn’t do much with his tolerance, but it’d keep his mood in check. The briefing had left him a tad too calm, meditative, almost divorced from the events of earlier. He let his head fall to whatever direction his thoughts willed it, eyes snapping back and forth between two random points on the compartment’s ceiling as he mulled over the gum with rhythmic grinding. He was thinking about Bang and Bunny, two troopers he’d probably never encounter again; like spilling a cup of water into the ocean, it was impossible to gather that same cup in physical terms ever again. But what was certain was the dichotomy of their fate: success or failure, life or death. Feet first, as demanded.

Perhaps it was for the best they had split from the group Lyster remained in. He had opinions about Bunny that had no place being welcomed or even listened to. Additionally, Bang’s closeness with her would likely result in Lyster’s – uh – well-intentioned advice being side-lined in favour of a vicious argument at least. Lyster wasn’t her superior, he wasn’t her commander, he had no platform on which to berate, scorn, scold, mock, belittle—- whatever he would have done. Nah, none of those words matched the pressure he’d impose, pressure to seize her mind and hold it steady while he implanted in her his way of thinking. The way he saw things.

Think of a four-letter word beginning with H. Beginning with H. Internalise it in you. What’s the word? What’s your chosen word? Tell it to me, open your lungs and tell it to me.

And yes, there is a correct answer.

Yeah. Best they’d left, for his sake. Keep him away from ethical questions others would snark and mutter behind his back. He passed his gloved hand through his hair and sat straighter to listen to Black. The man talked a lot. A lot for an ONI spook anyway. It was all simple in the end. Get the weapon by any means, kill if you have to, but do try not to be complete barbarians about it.

He exhaled in a derisive snort to himself, tasting the nicotine behind his teeth. How many braincells in the compartment were curious about the weapon? Eager to find out more than Black was supposed to say? Which minds were tasting the information, breaking it down and building it back up again into a shape that interested them the most? Lyster was willing to bet at least three troopers were doing just that.

And what about the new ones? To Person’s joke, Lyster smiled, mirthlessly and ugly, finding no humour at all. With his helm doffed, his expression was quite visible, as was George Harek’s blood, which Lyster had now completely forgotten about on the front of his chest. ‘Weapon to end the war. Wouldn’t that be a blessing.’

Would it?

Would it really? For him?

At least with the war and constant orders to kill-or-be-killed he didn’t have to wonder where home was.

‘Good to know you’re cheerful at war,’ Lyster continued to Ray, then glanced in a syncopated pattern around the rest of the team. Three of the new ones - Dax, Bassett and Tremell- were chatting, leaving the last new faceless visor to him.

‘And what about you?’ Lyster raised his eyebrows at Sticks. ‘Who are you when you’re at war? Are you hope-filled or hate-filled?’

Ah, yeah, that was the word. That was the four-letter H-word. Fuel granting energy granting exhaustion granting light. The word that made all the fighting and blood worth it. We revelled in the stink and howled the word, we chewed the figurative bones and wasted ammo, we wrote letters and laughed while we considered for what purpose we kept our sweat dripping. That was the word. Loyalty lived and died on that word. Lyster’s loyalty lived and died on that word.

--
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[Worthlessplebian]

The reprieve at Jigsaw Mountains broke up the dullness of the facility. King did not know if it was the bustling movement of troops, the chattering of Black and Yasir, or the hymn of engines that livened up the place. He liked it. Even breathing the air unobstructed by the helmet's filters felt cheerful. Funny how an ONI agent could feel after just hours ago taking the life of an innocent man. It couldn't be helped, but Joseph's own mechanics for dealing with injustices like that held up.

The news of additions certainly didn't raise an eyebrow from King, they needed them. Though, he might have questions about their capability. "Da," The thick-accented ONI agent agreed with Ray's witty jab. "Shitshows are our speciality. Ones that no one knows about are way too common." Without looking at him, King continued to turn over his M7 SMG. Meticulously inspecting every inch as if it was the treasure of the Gods. This particular SMG had served him well, evident by the scratches around the stock and grip. His head perked up when Owen said "spooks" as if the word had become synonymous with the agent's self. "We're men in armour, as you say," His thumb then pointed behind him as if drawing attention to an imaginary backline in the pelican. "But the Romeo Echo Mike Foxtrots aren't exactly humanlike." Underneath King's helmet, he flashed a bitter smile.

His attention switched to the new medic, who King eyed greatly. "Add not getting blown up, haha." A small chuckle escaped from him. This was broken up when the walking detergent advertisement spoke up, his melancholy did not escape King's attention. "Ah, Lyster. If only life were that simple." While Joseph mentioned Lyster, it was clear that he did not direct the comment to him. He chambered a round in his BR55. "You got good taste, Person." Nodding to his choice of weaponry matching King's.

SpazTheButcher NamelessTrax 0stinato Viper Actual Solar Daddy

 

[Viper Actual]

"Take care of yourself kid," Ray said, grinning as he boarded the Pelican. His eyes followed Yasir as his fate and the ramp were sealed.

Alvarez nodded and grinned. "Give 'em hell, old-timer." As the Pelican gently lifted off of the ground Alvarez remained by Yasir's side, staring at the craft until the hatch closed.

"See you in hell, Ray."

*
​

"Just another shitshow with ONI."

"Shitshows are our speciality. Ones that no one knows about are way too common."

Black eyeballed both Person- the JTAC-trooper generously transferred to his squad from Captain Yasir- and King as the two of them commented on the briefing. While the first comment might not have been intentionally provocative Black would still keep tabs on the trooper that had uttered it.

After all the odds for this mission had gone from bad to incredibly optimistic and the last thing the squad needed was someone spreading doubt among friendly ranks. Hopefully everyone involved would remember what was at stake and that they were some of the best the UNSC could offer.

‘Weapon to end the war. Wouldn’t that be a blessing.’

Sergeant Davis let out an amused grunt in response to Lyster's comment which caught the attention of both Black and Grey. "No such thing," the veteran ODST said. "The UNSC is going to need more than fancy toys to win it all. Wars are won by motivated, trained and equipped soldiers- not with gizmos and certainly not by staring at the sky and wondering if there's more to life."

Davis glanced at the other troopers from Yasir's company. "Ain't that right, troopers?"

Grey rolled her eyes and glanced at Black who had once again defaulted to his unreadable neutral expression. She looked to the trooper next to her- Rose- and bumped him lightly. "You alright, Rose? I heard things got a bit dicey up there."

"Bassett. And that's Tremell. Remember; save some biofoam for that guy. He has a tendency to K.O. on missions."

Tremell mockingly opened and closed his hand in front of Bassett repeatedly. "Yeah yeah, funny guy." He turned towards the new medic and did a quick two-finger salute towards him. "Tremell- nice to meet you-, you're one of the recent transfers, right?"

Meanwhile Hayworth, Wendell and Johansen remained silent with the latter being the most junior of the three troopers. Being an obvious exception to UNSC military regulations, Johansen was a mere Private that had been transferred to a combat unit straight out of boot camp, as had everyone else in his training unit. With the war kicking into high gear it was obvious that the UNSC needed every soldier it could get its hands on and while everyone didn't talk about it aloud the statistics were looking grim as far as casualty-reports went.

For every ground engagement the UNSC won through sheer firepower and local knowledge the Covenant eradicated both military personnel and civilians alike using their deadly spacecraft. Suddenly the statistics didn't look good when enemy casualties numbered in the hundreds whereas friendly casualties were steadily growing well beyond into hundreds of thousands.

Hayworth leaned back into his seat and visibly relaxed. His armor remains scorched but thanks to some field medics he was mostly A-okay. Meanwhile both Wendell and Johansen remained silent as they took in the atmosphere of everyone aboard the Pelican. Johansen couldn't help but stare at Lyster's blood-soaked armor and because the young soldier has removed his helmet- which was still in near mint condition- the expression on his face was perfectly visible for everyone.

A mix of fear and suspicion, Johansen appeared to both widen and narrow his eyes at the same time. Wendell noticed this and elbowed his fellow trooper. "You're staring," he whispered.

Johansen nodded and hesitated briefly before looking down into the metal flooring.

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[darth]

"And what about you?"

Sticks didn't look up from his gear, he was making sure his kit was tight to his chest. Despite the fact that Sticks had carried the load plenty of times before, he never really enjoyed lugging so much equipment on his back. He shifted the weight of the kitbag strapped to his back, trying to get more comfortable. There were nearly sixty pounds on his back alone, not to mention some forty-odd pounds of body armor and ammunition. He reached down and slung his BR55 around his shoulder. Might as well add to the load, another eight pounds.

"...Are you hope-filled or hate-filled?"

Sticks suddenly realizes that the bloke was actually talking to him. He looks up for the first time, meeting a face rather than a visor. His eyebrows raised and a smile across his face. The man was a bit taller, he cocked his head to the side. He read the nameplate on his chest: "Lyster."

What's this bloke on about? Am I hope-filled?

What kind of question is that?

Sticks took a moment to take in Lyster's comment. At first, he was going to say something along the lines of how strange the question was. He held his tongue. He was the "new guy," and Sticks didn't think it would be smart to get off on the wrong foot. He also noticed that Lyster had blood spattered about his armor. He suddenly felt less inclined to speak at all.

"Uh..." Sticks finally said, "Yeah, mate, uh..."

"I reckon I feel both at the same time..."

Sticks hoped that answer would be enough to satisfy the question.

At least he remembered my name...

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[0stinato]

It wasn’t always like this, but Lyster had noticed years ago that men gave their guns a lot more attention than women did while stationary or waiting for something. While a woman might occasionally give her sidearm or main weapon a polish or check-over, a man would polish, stroke, rub, admire and finger his weapons, as well as checking them once, twice, thrice… and whatever the one after thrice was. And there was a lot of gun-rubbing and gun-checking going on in this cramped, incredibly male-heavy compartment. A lot of trained fingers parallel to the triggers of their weapons while their free hand rubbed away.

He thought about making the observation to Grey, the only other person in the compartment who wasn’t male, but thought better of it; she’d been shot, for God’s sake, so bringing up guns when it wasn’t necessary might be taken badly. And he wasn’t exactly confident she would find humour in his lewd comparison.

Yeah… probably best keep his undoubtedly very hilarious, totally unique and incredibly mature bout of humour to himself for now. Besides, he was clearly making some of the younger teammates uncomfortable with his questions already, there was no need to add to it. So, while he listened to everyone agree that yeah, it was improbable that any one thing would end the war, he chewed his gum and didn’t respond, glancing instead towards Sticks. They’d summed it up perfectly. If one object, one person or one vehicle could end the war, it would’ve happened by now.

As he dragged his gaze to Sticks though, he saw Johansen look away from him. And Sticks spoke like he was particularly perturbed too. Was he that off-putting? Impressive. Although, Johansen, from what Lyster saw in his peripheral vision, hadn’t been looking at his face. His head was tilted too far down for that. So Lyster looked down at himself and--

Oh. Yeaaah.

He caught his lower lip between his teeth in a suppressed snicker. The blood had been somewhat spread and thinned by his and King’s stint in the armoured truck, with him sticking out into the wind while King drove. Previously, the stencilled message of ‘GET FUCKED’ he’d applied to his own armour with spray paint a few weeks ago was rather obscured by the blood, but it had thinned considerably and would probably flake if Lyster ran a thumb across the plate. No doubt it was the colour rather than the presence of the blood that was The Big Problem. Luminous bluish-green, perhaps even turquoise if it was so inclined, Covie blood couldn’t be further away from the thin reddish-brown dried blood on Lyster’s chest. In fact, wouldn’t they even be opposite on a colour-wheel?

He looked up to Johansen and Sticks, softening his previously sardonic features into a comforting smile, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, internally fighting against the comedic urge to adopt Sticks’ accent, ‘it’s not mine. And um, fair answer, I guess. Hey, don’t be nervous. Confidence is good for accuracy. Although, I use a shotgun so what do I know about accuracy?’

Continuing the smile, he raised a hand to indicate the shotgun but, recalling that was also a little bloodstained, turned his gesture into a light shrug. If he drew attention to that, then he’d be participating in genuine cruelty. And be doing it distastefully too. He’d flake the blood off when the pelican landed, if indeed he had a moment to do so. As much as it made for a joke, parading around the blood of a dead man really wasn’t good for morale.

And as far as Lyster knew, morale was good for accuracy too.

--
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[DrabberRogue]

The crimson marked sniper hadn't removed his helmet, or lifted the opaque screen of his visor, at all throughout the rendezvous with the other units now attached to their mission. Its reassuring weight on his head, as well as the faint orange of his HUD, helped him keep his focus on the mission. Meanwhile the visor concealed his wandering eyes, curiously straying over the many unfamiliar faces and their gear. The men and women of the Empire, in particular, who wore their service in the surely storied scars of their armor.

Little was different, in that sense, as Jace now sat once more within the confines of the covert pelican. Another ride in the once cozy, now cramped compartment to chase down that weapon. Just another shitshow with ONI. His head turned slightly in the direction of the JTAC, a hidden smirk creeping onto his face behind his veiled visor.

Just another day at the office, Jace jokingly thought to himself. Much of his career, since he'd earned his helljumping boots, had seen him working alongside similar teams. This wasn't the first time his CO had been a non-existent agent without a name. He didn't think he'd ever had such an important objective, though. Hard to say for sure, since he didn't have the clearance, but recovering a 'war winning weapon' sure seemed like a big deal. Speaking of which, his mind was still crunching the contents of the short after-briefing Black had just given them.

'Project Deliverance.'

There wasn't a lot to go on, especially with the lead spook apparently not having much intel himself, but it was intriguing enough to keep Jace wondering about it. Just what could a 'transmitter' do that might bring down an entire covenant battlegroup? Was it some kind of energy weapon, or something? Aside from that, how was Kinsley able to just steal something like that and run off? Jace would've thought something so powerful would be massive, the sort of weapon you might mount on a planetary emplacement, or on a heavy cruiser at the very least.

A faint nudge to his side dragged the trooper from his curious daydreaming, the words of the lieutenant beside him taking their place. Jace habitually flashed her an easy smile in response, the expression totally wasted behind his dark visor, as he shrugged nonchalantly at the subject.

"Little close for comfort, but nothing we couldn't handle." He replied in a jovial, confident tone, as if he hadn't been seconds from vaporization by a diverse array of heavy plasma armaments. It had been long enough since the skirmish that his adrenaline had settled down. Having run through the events in his head a few times afterwards, Jace's only regret was that he hadn't started firing on the grunts earlier. Keeping his barrel trained in the direction of the distant elite had been the right call at the time, 14.5mm was wasted on grunts anyways, but he couldn't help feeling a little responsible for Hayworth's wound.

Jace kept that to himself though, no reason to read anyone else in on his shortcomings. Leaning back in his seat, he shifted his rifle, the barrel of which was resting upright against his shoulder. It passed briefly in front of him before settling snugly against the opposite shoulder, securing it out of the way so as to better regard Grey. He had actually removed the weapon from its stowage on his back before boarding the pelican, in order to better keep it out of the way while seated. Now it sat roughly where it had on the first ride down, stock perched in his lap.

"I should be asking you that question though, Lieutenant." The marksman remarked soon after, tilting his head slightly at her. Although he failed to elaborate on what exactly he meant by that – he was certain he didn't need to.


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[SpazTheButcher]

"You got good taste, Person."

"This baby here?" Ray said, motioning to his rifle. "All based off preference. It gets the job done anyways. Listen, I've used all manners of shit to kill Covvies," Then gaining inspiration, he unbuckled and stood up, remembering and quoting the great Bill Paxton, began his rant, "Check it out!" He yelled, going to the front of the bulkhead, "Independently targeting autocannons. Bam! Destroy half a building with this puppy. We got tactical smart missiles, 'Armor Piercing' Assault rifles, RPGs, we got sonic electronic ball breakers! We got nukes, we got knives, sharp sticks. But nothing hits like a Battle Rifle or DMR. When I'm shootin', I want to use a rifle I know will put them blue boys down, y'know? Its either a rifle that runs slicker than shit(Assault Rifle), or an overly powerful rifle that kicks like a mule(DMR). This baby is my happy medium."

 

[Viper Actual]

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, internally fighting against the comedic urge to adopt Sticks’ accent, ‘it’s not mine. And um, fair answer, I guess. Hey, don’t be nervous. Confidence is good for accuracy. Although, I use a shotgun so what do I know about accuracy?’

Johansen tried his best to ignore Lyster's comment but couldn't help himself from choking audibly in response to the very last words of the statement. Wendell glanced at his companion before looking to Lyster and unlike his younger teammate Wendell's face remained obscured behind his visor.

"Good to know," he responded with a sarcastic tone that bordered on being snappy. Hayworth didn't seem to pay any attention to the conversation and was seemingly lost in thought.

Wendell straightened up a bit before nodding towards Lyster. "You guys ran into a couple of Innies or something? Those fuckers have a habit of popping up right out of the ground when you least want them to." He shrugged. "Though I prefer fighting URF-idiots over aliens any day of the week."

"I should be asking you that question though, Lieutenant."

Grey smirked in response to Rose's initial response. She rolled her eyes in a somewhat playful manner and for a moment she appeared not as a hardened ONI operative but as a fellow soldier exchanging some friendly banter. "I'm sure that the team couldn't have hoped for a better overwatch," she replied.

When Rose switched the subject over to Grey with the tilt of his head she shrugged lightly and immediately seemed to distance herself from the conversation. The operative was back. "I've been through worse so I'm in no real position to complain," she said while staring up into the troop compartment's ceiling.

"Besides, you should've seen the other guy- what was left of him." In the back Johansen widened his eyes slightly.

"This baby here?"

As Ray went on and on about his service weapon Davis couldn't help but laugh once Ray finished talking. He shook his head and smiled before looking at Ray. "Hell Ray, it's almost as if Misriah paid you to say all that." Davis chuckled. "At the end of the day the weapon in your hand doesn't matter: Motivation and training. That's the key to victory right there."

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[SpazTheButcher]

As Ray went on and on about his service weapon Davis couldn't help but laugh once Ray finished talking. He shook his head and smiled before looking at Ray. "Hell Ray, it's almost as if Misriah paid you to say all that." Davis chuckled. "At the end of the day the weapon in your hand doesn't matter: Motivation and training. That's the key to victory right there."

"Shit brother, that's all we're paid to do," Ray said, grinning, knowing he was working his magic. He almost got the nickname "Joker" in basic, but when they found out he was a Midwesterner, "Sheriff" became his identity. Obviously joking, but in a tone that made him sound sarcastically serious, he spoke in a "stage whisper." Loud enough that everyone can hear him, but in a way that sounded hushed. "Don't you know? Covvies are all secretly robots. Misriah invented them as a solution for their products. If the Innies won, or even if they lost, they'd have to stop selling. Lack of wars ain't good for profit margins. So, they invented the Covenant so that we'd have to buy from them. Sadistic, but smart bastards."

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[DrabberRogue]

A short breath escaped through Jace's nose at Grey's response. He followed her example, that impassive visor of his turning to face elsewhere in the cabin. It shifted first further back, to Lyster's blood spattered armor, before fixing idly on the boisterous Ray. The concealed smirk on his face never quite went away, in spite of the morbid turn his and Grey's exchange had immediately taken. A fact mainly due to the joking dialogue going on around them.

"Must've been a sight." The sniper remarked, his tone somewhat non-committal. He was all too aware of the conversational stiff arm the agent's body language represented. Whoops. Jace probably should've known better than to turn a subject like that back on a spook. Looking back down to his rifle, he adjusted its position against his leg, his gaze briefly scanning over its frame for imperfections. More a force of subconscious habit than anything else.

"...Well, I've still got plenty of ammo, so don't be afraid to call if you need a little more firepower." He eventually said, speaking up again after a short pause. His head turned back towards Grey again, the trooper jokingly making a 'call me' gesture before tapping his helmet twice with his thumb. "Overwatch'll see about keeping the split-jaws at arm's length."

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[Worthlessplebian]

The ONI agent had taken to himself for a brief period of the banter. Losing himself in the place where all ONI agent go when they aren't actively thinking about which civvie to inspire about the aspects of self-termination or whether that document needed altering with the black marker. Or if the aforementioned needed to exist at all. You can telll by how he was thumbing his safety like an absent-minded fool. Only when Ray the Gray-Jay spoke up about conspiracy of the covenant being robotic constructs meant to further UNSC (read: ONI) dominion over the human race.

King's head snapped like the burst fire of his battle-rifle towards the ODST. His lungs huffed, as King began to speak. "You know too much, comrade..." He paused dramatically, playing up the theatrics of being an agent. "Perhaps, you'd like a permanent vacation, hhmmm?" It was obvious to all who had a healthy sense of humour that King is merely jostling the tree. Or was he? "I'm kidding, comrade, kidding. If only our R&D division had bots that enhanced." He mused. "But that is a kooky theory. Next, you'll be telling me that I'm actually a split-jaw infiltrator disguised as Section One Agent Joseph King." His blank vizard stared at Ray and others, his hand trailed to his belt as if he was readying an energy sword. "Hahahahah!" In actuality, he slapped his knee because of the hilarity of the situation. "I got you, didn't I? Hoho!"

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[darth]

Sticks felt a little out of place among these grizzled troopers. It seemed many of them had known each other for quite some time. The casual and playful banter hinted at a deeper bond, the one forged in the heat of battle. What was more off-putting was how nonchalant they were about the whole thing. Moments ago, they might have been inches away from being obliterated by plasma fire or skewered by needler rounds. Yet, here they stood, laughing and counting how many uglies they'd put in the earth. In a way, Sticks liked it. It reminded him of the bond he once had with his friends in his time as a marine. Sticks now stood among the UNSC's finest. Sticks himself had only been an ODST for barely a year. He suspected he'd need to earn his stripes before these troopers would accept him as one of their own.

Sticks overheard the JTAC talking about his preferred weapon of choice. Sticks couldn't make out his nameplate from where he was sitting, although the troopers seemed to refer to him as "Ray."

"But nothing hits like a Battle Rifle or DMR," he said, "I want to use a rifle I know will put them blue boys down, y'know?"

Sticks couldn't agree more. Power and precision. It also helps a lot more when you don't have to empty half a magazine.

Sticks chuckled. He'd met yanks many times before, but these guys seemed a lot rougher than the marines he'd known.

Exactly his kind of crowd.

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[0stinato]

Wendell straightened up a bit before nodding towards Lyster. "You guys ran into a couple of Innies or something? Those fuckers have a habit of popping up right out of the ground when you least want them to." He shrugged. "Though I prefer fighting URF-idiots over aliens any day of the week."

‘Not Innies no, just a poor scared, confused guy who made a bad call, didn’t listen to us and ended up being killed for it. You know. Classic citizen tragedy,’ Lyster replied to Wendell and Johansen. As he spoke, he raised a hand and pushed his hair back behind his ear. Even that small action cooled him down and refreshed his face. Talking of citizen deaths always made him conscious of his own body heat. Didn’t do much else, though. ‘Sadly enough, he wasn’t--’

He faltered, train of thought having collided with the immovable distraction that was Ray standing up and giving a speech right from the heart about rifles. The event was so sudden that Lyster was entranced for a few moments, judgement and confusion marking his tattooed face as he watched Ray. If this was the in-flight entertainment, why was it dressed as an ODST? He could have worn a velvet suit or carried a pack of cards at least. Perhaps colourful bunting was gonna come spurting out of his Battle Rifle when they landed and started shooting. Or he was gonna pull ammo out from behind someone’s ear. This guy was clearly a performer.

He dragged his eyes back to Wendell and Johansen, failing to remember what he was going to say and musing over his gum. ‘He uh… doesn’t really matter. Remembering someone else’s stories isn’t my job.’

Loyal to remember the death of a comrade. Selfless to remember the deaths of civvies. Traitorous to pity the corpse of any of the Covenant. Pointless to reflect on it all. Lyster didn’t bother doing any of it. He’d seen comrades die, he’d been there when squad commanders fell, and taken control in two such situations which had earned him rank. Rank alongside the stink of plasma on flesh. Whose body was that he’d ordered the squad to ignore? He didn’t care. Caring would slow him down, distract him. And if he was taking charge, as he did in that moment, it’d be to the detriment of every faceless soldier there if he started sobbing where he stood. Or maybe that was a bit hyperbolic. Nah, he’d not cry, but he would use the deaths of others as an excuse to smoke what he wanted. But he’d played the game for a long time. He’d shot thousands of bullets. He’d been patched up a myriad of times. He’d got lucky. But until he was the one bleeding and dying on the floor, he wouldn’t let himself care. Or remember. Wasn’t his body, wasn’t his story. On, comrades. On.

Hang on. Comrade? That wasn’t his vocabulary. Who the hell was spinning their words in his mind now? He already had enough to worry about with Sticks’ accent, as incredible as it was, strewthing and galah’ing into his sponge of an aural mind, and now, King was invading it too, was he?

King's head snapped like the burst fire of his battle-rifle towards the ODST. His lungs huffed, as King began to speak. "You know too much, comrade..." He paused dramatically, playing up the theatrics of being an agent. "Perhaps, you'd like a permanent vacation, hhmmm?" It was obvious to all who had a healthy sense of humour that King is merely jostling the tree. Or was he? "I'm kidding, comrade, kidding. If only our R&D division had bots that enhanced." He mused. "But that is a kooky theory. Next, you'll be telling me that I'm actually a split-jaw infiltrator disguised as Section One Agent Joseph King." His blank vizard stared at Ray and others, his hand trailed to his belt as if he was readying an energy sword. "Hahahahah!" In actuality, he slapped his knee because of the hilarity of the situation. "I got you, didn't I? Hoho!"

Of course he was, he was bouncing off Ray’s performative nature. Infectious. Once again, Lyster realised he had been listening, drawn to their ridiculousness as if it was stage-lit and pantomimic. When King said his name, Lyster smirked and sat straighter with that unattractive half-grin. He was entertained, and couldn’t help the urge to contribute.

‘I figure it’d be pretty simple to spot an imposter with the name Joe King, can barely take that seriously as it is. At least there’s no one here called - I dunno - Mister Person, or something. That’d be even sillier. They’d definitely be the alien infiltrator.’ He flipped his hand dismissively, grey eyes resting on Ray for a moment. He brought a finger to his lips and winked at Ray.

--
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[NamelessTrax]

“Yes, my former unit was a no-go after a hectic Firefight, I’ll do my best to support you all. Just… you know, don’t get hit in the vitals it you get shot.” Dax replied surely, his tone left it hard to see if he was sarcastic or serious. Most medical professionals are always giving lip about getting injured, or just being really reassuring when treating you. Dax had a different approach, stemming from a darker side, a coping mechanism to prevent the reality of things. Glancing around, he familiarized himself with Officer’s and leadership, ONI Agents, team members. Knowing who is who, analyzing their medical data, prior documented injuries. Blood type. His medical pad on his left wrist was kept updated, almost religiously, personalized with separate notes. However, that was his old squad, he would be taking a moment when he could to question everyone individually. He looked over at the one marked through his visor, “Lyster”. Dax had a feeling, this one in particular would be a lot of note taking… or extremely short.

 

[SpazTheButcher]

King's head snapped like the burst fire of his battle-rifle towards the ODST. His lungs huffed, as King began to speak. "You know too much, comrade..." He paused dramatically, playing up the theatrics of being an agent. "Perhaps, you'd like a permanent vacation, hhmmm?" It was obvious to all who had a healthy sense of humour that King is merely jostling the tree. Or was he? "I'm kidding, comrade, kidding. If only our R&D division had bots that enhanced." He mused. "But that is a kooky theory. Next, you'll be telling me that I'm actually a split-jaw infiltrator disguised as Section One Agent Joseph King." His blank vizard stared at Ray and others, his hand trailed to his belt as if he was readying an energy sword. "Hahahahah!" In actuality, he slapped his knee because of the hilarity of the situation. "I got you, didn't I? Hoho!"

Playing along with it and remaining as theatrical as always, Ray faked his surprise and tore off is helmet as if he had to inspect King with his own eyes. "I knew it! I knew they were among us!" Ray said, falsely excited. He let the punchline settle for a minute before settling himself down from the jokes. He then realized that if they began taking fire, he'd be in a shitty situation, so he grabbed one of the above handholds like one in a old tram system.

‘I figure it’d be pretty simple to spot an imposter with the name Joe King, can barely take that seriously as it is. At least there’s no one here called - I dunno - Mister Person, or something. That’d be even sillier. They’d definitely be the alien infiltrator.’ He flipped his hand dismissively, grey eyes resting on Ray for a moment. He brought a finger to his lips and winked at Ray.

Ray helmet off and now smirking, had a rehearsed line for this. After all, in the military especially, you didn't get far with a last name like that. "Well..." Ray read his name, "Lyster. I'm an Angel. An Angel without wings. I'm just a Person," Ray finished with his godawful pun.

 

[Viper Actual]

"Don't you know? Covvies are all secretly robots. Misriah invented them as a solution for their products. If the Innies won, or even if they lost, they'd have to stop selling. Lack of wars ain't good for profit margins. So, they invented the Covenant so that we'd have to buy from them. Sadistic, but smart bastards."

Davis chuckled, shook his head and moved his right hand in wave-like motion as if trying to wave the words away. As others in the Pelican chimed in Davis glanced in the direction of Tremell and Bassett and formed the word 'Whacko' with his lips.

"Overwatch'll see about keeping the split-jaws at arm's length."

Grey narrowed her eyes momentarily before her expression softened. "Is that so?" She asked with a somewhat playful tone. "I'll keep that in mind, sailor." Before Rose had a chance to reply the agent turned away, her face now a wall which masked any of the humor and vulnerability that had been there a mere second ago.

‘Not Innies no, just a poor scared, confused guy who made a bad call, didn’t listen to us and ended up being killed for it. You know. Classic citizen tragedy...’

Wendell simply nodded whereas Johansen looked as if he was trying his best to sink into the seat he was strapped into. Fortunately for Lyster neither of them noted the veteran ODST being lost in thought as the spectacle that was Ray drew both of their ire. Johansen still looked uneasy whereas Wendell looked half-amused, as did Hayworth whom had opened one eye to witness the banter that was taking place inside the Pelican.

“Yes, my former unit was a no-go after a hectic Firefight, I’ll do my best to support you all. Just… you know, don’t get hit in the vitals it you get shot.”

Tremell grinned, nodded and elbowed Bassett into his chestplate. "Roger that, Doc! If shit hits the fan you can always hose us down with biofoam, right Bassett?"

Suddenly, amidst all the banter inside the troop compartment, the door leading into the cockpit was opened. A weary-looking crew chief in an ONI jumper mixed with a green UNSC pilot harness and helmet appeared. Identified by a name-tab on the harness as 'L. Morales' the pilot was of apparent Hispanic descent and looked like he was in his late 30s. Two brown eyes watched the commotion inside with great disinterest before nodding towards Black.

"Sir, we're approaching the city limits now. We still own the skies around here but I wouldn't be surprised if one of the little guys attempted to throw some plasma our way. Make sure you're all secured."

Black nodded. "Will do, Chief." The ONI agent turned towards the squad just as the crew chief spun around and left, sealing himself and the pilot inside the cockpit. "Alright folks, you heard him. Helmets on, check your gear and make sure to fill up your magazines. We're dropping into UNSC-controlled territory soon but we'll start humping it to the objective as soon as we touch the ground."

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[SpazTheButcher]

Being the angel he was, Ray decided he had made enough jokes for now. There would be time for that later, under fire, and at the least convenient time. So he sat down and put his helmet on, checking his harness and pouches before strapping in. Despite already loading his BR 55, he took the mag out and tapped it on his helmet for good luck, specifically on his spade. He pushed the mag back into the rifle and looked around the cabin. He was ready.

But, parts of his mind drifted back to his earlier years, living on the ranch with his dad, and somewhere in there he remembered his 16th summer. He and his dad spent every weekend watching movies and tv shows from all eras, mostly war related, and his dad explained events and told family stories from soldiers from the eras. Classics ranged from Apocalypse Now, to Full Metal Jacket, The Pacific, and Saving Private Ryan. There had even been a submariner somewhere in there. Ray's dad explained that the Persons had been serving the world for hundreds of years, and that Ray was to continue that service. That Ray had a gift in intelligence, but that no matter what, he had been born with another gift. That he had been born to kill. And that's what he did.

Now Ray closed his eyes and smiled. He knew where they were going.

Feet first into hell and back again.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The sociable atmosphere began to die down as the ever-commanding, straight shooter agent Black took the metaphysical reins of the situation. Joseph gave a silent nod, lauding the decision with the respect it deserves. This brief respite from danger is about to end and fate will once again hang Damocles' sword over their thin necks. The pressure exerted will corrade away their psyche, until it resembles a spiky hexagon indicating that they're too far gone. Or perhaps, it won't.... Lord knows how many missions King undertook and not one shattered his mind. His fingers scraped the partially-scratched, partially smooth surface of his submachine gun. Whilst not leaving a physical mark, it did leave mental one for him to etch later in his alone time.

His sheathed eyes locked at each member, an apprise of their size—not of length, but of skill—and he did not find them wanting. If nothing else, he shall meet his demise alongside their sides, and theirs with him. To prepare one's self for death is the ultimate duty of a soldier and an agent. Prepared, but never giving up the hope that they'll live.

"Let's do this people!" His voice roused.
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[Solar Daddy]

Bassett didn't partake much in the social event that became of the pelican ride. He stuck with those he knew for conversations, unless it involved getting in good with someone of importance. Tremell and the medic would be his go-to's when it came to buddying up. Bassett threw on his helmet when the copilot emerged from the cockpit and spoke out to Black. With his visor clear, he turned to Tremell and gave him a nod; the two then collided their helmets together in their typical pre-mission sign of comradery. "We got this, baby." Bassett said sarcastically, primarily to his buddy, but the message could be meant for everyone who heard it. Squad or not, they'd all be relying on each other to get this mission done. Owen activated his visor, now opaque and sinister with unknown intention.

Tremell grinned, nodded and elbowed Bassett into his chestplate. "Roger that, Doc! If shit hits the fan you can always hose us down with biofoam, right Bassett?"

"Oorah," Owen replied with a surfer hand signal. He even stuck his tongue out for extra effect, though it was obviously invisible behind his helmet.

Owen checked the various pockets on his armor, ensuring nothing had fallen off during his time in the pelican. Then he checked his AR; he made sure the ammo counter readings were correct and ensured the chamber was clear of muck. Then his fingers lightly scraped over the plasma scoring on his iconic ODST chestplate. Had it not just been a splash, he'd probably be sitting in a ditch with his helmet propped up on a gun to signify a haphazard grave. Owen was a lucky one. Hopefully, he'd continue to be lucky for the remainder of this damn war. Him and Tremell had plans for beers after this was all over. Couldn't let the sod down now.

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[0stinato]

Ray Person was just a little too much for him. He'd interjected with all the ridiculous comedy he could muster for the month, but it was quite clear Ray was from another dimension completely. He held Ray's eye for a moment, the amused expression flaking into cynical bemusement. If Lyster's humour was dry, and occasionally cruel, Ray's was moist at least. Still, he had a read on the guy, and he'd learned more about King during the interaction too. The others in this compartment he still knew very little about. Those he'd come in with - Rose, Grey, Black, Hayworth - he couldn't pinpoint well yet. And those he'd just met were keeping their personalities very close to the chest. Careful, precise, perhaps. Or nervous. He regressed to his original sitting position, noting Johansen's body language through narrowed eyes.

The warning by the Chief, and Black's instructions, came one after another, and Lyster wondered what those words would do to poor Johansen. What if the compartment was punched through by a lucky firework of plasma? Alternatively, what if the compartment did not have that done to it? It was a shame paranoia didn't go both ways.

Helms-on time. Lyster had to deal with the gum between his teeth first though, and ended up resorting to rewrapping it in the foil it had come from. Not the most suave of solutions, but much more preferable to the impolite disposing of it in the compartment, or the unthinkable discarding it on the battlefield. He knew he didn't have to check his weapons though; he hadn't fired a single shot from them the entire time they'd been down at the facility. Still, he checked anyway. Despite him being one of the scrapings the UNSC had prised from the bottom of the barrel that was the able-bodied people of Bliss, he had all the abilities of a good sergeant and excellent soldier beneath his personality. Professionalism kept him rigid and on target, organisation was obsessive and thorough, and his juggernaut presence lent itself well to command. But he wasn't typical. If he was, he wouldn't have mostly self-imposed graffiti all over his gear.

Gunnery Sergeant Piss-Eater. That was the one that was not self-imposed, but it was his favourite, despite the effluvium allusion. The military rank he'd earned alongside the single distilled aspect that should have kept him from such an achievement. Well, too bad. As much as a commander could fault his personal attitudes, they couldn't fault his performance or his techniques.

So, he checked the ammunition situation on both his DMR and his Shotgun, checked his breaching charges and checked everything of any importance whatsoever. After tucking his pink hair behind his ears, he readied his helm, smiling at Johansen. But, just as before, the smile was only present on his tattooed lips, and got nowhere near his eyes. This time, though, there was mirth somewhere behind it.

'Pull your thumb out of your arse, soldier. I told you. Confidence is good for accuracy,' Lyster said, and raised his helm, letting the smile drop only a moment before he slotted it over his head. The visor faded opaque before he continued. 'None of us want to rely on someone who hesitates.'

--
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[Naril]

In the noise, the signal; through the entropy, the order; amid the chaos, the symphony. Signal traces flowed down a screen to one side, but Samara only caught them in the edge of her peripheral vision. Instead, her eyes half-closed, she held one cup of a pair of headphones to her ear, the steel fingers of her hand tapping gently on the outer shell. The sound inside bore some resemblance to the ocean in a seashell, shot through with the pulse of a distant nightclub, and the shrieking sound of metal tearing on the other side of a reinforced door. Her living hand traced a figure in the air with her pointer finger, equal parts orchestral conductor and mad diviner. And in her mind, in colors and shapes that have no place in the physical world, all of this whirls apart in fractal spirals, then together in new and living designs. Patterns overlay on patterns and, moment by moment, breath by breath, from a whirlwind of chaos, cryptic and meaningless, come the hidden truths, the data, the movements, and the endless, constant, alien, prayer.

This is a side of you I haven’t seen before, The voice was smooth, gently British, and more than a little amused, You’re rather full of yourself. Building psychedelic cathedrals in your mind to throw encryption traces on? Really? A pause. This isn’t even a new key. We pulled that one an hour ago. Who exactly are you showing off for?

“You’ve an unparalleled ability to kill the mood, Zee,” Samara said, very nearly sotto voce, “Give a girl a chance to be dramatic.” Samara set the headphones down, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before blowing it out in a rush.

And you look like you’re talking to yourself again, came Zee’s voice, in a tone that managed to be both smug and exasperated. Nobody’s given me a console to speak through, so your’ the only one that can hear me. But maybe let’s not give ONI a reason to dig into your brain anymore than it already has, hm?

Behind her, Samara could feel the curious eyes of the corporal, and she half-turned toward him, her inner eye still following the traces of signal chatter and decrypted data, searching for something very, very specific.

“We’re all waiting for something, Corporal,” Samara said, distracted, “Love, fame, a million credits, armored vehicles.” She paused, her attention catching on something in the data stream, her mouth running on autopilot, “I already brought you a present - and you didn’t get me anything. Still, you needn’t worry. Christmas comes early for good boys and girls.”

Samara, Zephyr’s voice again, You don’t actually have to be this weird. Another pause. This is why you don’t get many second dates.

Samara bit down a reply, her attention suddenly focused on the data streams running through her head. She turned away from the Corporal and leaned into her display surface, her hands suddenly dancing across the interface controls. Outside, the sound of men and equipment seemed swelled, shouts and running, booted feet. In the distance, the chirruping sound of plasma bolts, refracted through atmospheric boundary layers; an unwelcome distraction. Samara shook her head, her living hand swiping across the interface, pulling data from a specific set of listening posts. Their enemy - the Covenant - had moved past them not long ago, plasma fire burning out what had been some Marine’s last stand in this roiling, pitched battle, and in the few moments before the listeners died, the words Samara had been hunting for burned in the waveforms.

“Tell me that you’re seeing this.” Samara said, tracing her metal fingers over the display.

In Samara’s vision, an overlay appeared, isolating and clarifying part of a signal. An archival comparison, pulled from another time, another place. The second waveform pulsed, overlaid the first.

“Now who’s showing off,” Samara muttered.

You know, there’s a kind of person who might be concerned with how long you’ve spent listening to Sangheili transmissions, came Zephyr’s voice.

“But you hear it too,” Samara’s words came quickly. She didn’t bother to notice the Corporal’s sidelong look.

If a bodiless intelligence, for the moment denied visual representation could nod, Zephyr would have.

“Didn’t expect it to be quite so close,” Samara said.

I don’t think I need to remind you about how far a kilometer can be under fire. Zephyr said, And do you really think you’re up to the task of running after it?

Samara opened her mouth to reply, then closed it at a small sound from her display surface. She swiped the signal analysis out of the way, a view of the local map, bright dots picking last known locations of materiel, troops, Covenant. Another indicator on the display pinged, and the air started to thrum with the distant roar of a Pelican’s engines.

You know Black’s on that bird. So’s Grey. Zephyr said, I could never get much of a read on them.

Samara swiped back to the signal decoding software, a smirk tugging at one side of her mouth. “Think they’ll be impressed?”

Maybe don’t tell Black you understand Sangheili by ear. Zephyr’s voice was, at the very best, uncertain.

Sam blew out a breath, a sound not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, “The story of my life.”

“Corporal,” Samara said, the sound of Pelican engines getting louder, “Father Christmas has come early, and all your dreams have come true.” A pause, “For at least a few minutes. I may need to borrow some of your toys.”

Behind her, the waveforms pulsed over one another, one word glowing on the display surface: Huragok.

 

[NamelessTrax]

Black’s voice brought Dax’s thoughts to reality, checking his gear once more over. The BR-55 was ready, his sidearm loaded, medical gear prepped. His HUD displayed the notification of his ongoing download complete, the medical files of his old unit overwritten with new names. Checking his wrist computer, everything looked good. Except for the files of the ONI agents, not that he was surprised. Their files consisted of the very basic, about a third of his ODST counterpart’s, but it was enough for first-aid. Nodding in content, Dax felt that grip of anxiety he always got right before the mission, something that would dissolve as soon as boots were on ground.

As the Medic, his job was to provide first-aid support and stabilization of the severely wounded. Almost always, first contact resulted in someone being hit, therefore his pulling of the trigger was to provide cover as he moved to assist. As always, Dax made his personal vow, ‘No one dies’. He thought to himself, exhaling softly.

 

[Viper Actual]

Innovation Plaza - Marine CP

Watching Samara without blinking, Lt. Dawson was now leaning against the tactical display. He'd been on assignments before working with or watching over eccentric types- mostly eggheads- but this ONI lady put them all to shame. As she worked the display she kept talking like she was having an actual conversation but to Dawson it just looked like the ramblings of someone in panic. Sort of.

Then- after a continuous stream of one-way chatter- the agent looked up at Dawson;

“Father Christmas has come early, and all your dreams have come true.”

Dawson resisted the urge to ask if that sentence held only a figuratively meaning or if she was talking out of her ass but then the sound of approaching Pelicans reached his ears. Shaking his head, Dawson grinned briefly. "You can borrow anything you need, ma'am."

*
​

The door leading into the cockpit opened once more and just like before Crew Chief Morales stood peeking into his troop compartment. Whether or not he remained as disinterested as he had been a few minutes ago was difficult to say as he had pulled down the visor on his helmet. Dangling from his pilot harness was also an M7 SMG with both its stock and forward grip completely folded up.

Morales moved past everyone inside in a unbothered way, not uttering a single word. Black nodded towards his team, prompting immediate silence just as Morales pressed down a button. The rear hatch opened up with a hiss and as the bottom half was lowered Morales crouched and attached a metal clip from his harness onto a metal handlebar.

Outside the immediate view was dominated by concrete buildings that looked like they had been carved and chopped out of massive blocks. Narrow streets and alleyways ran in a criss-cross pattern that was broken up by a few larger roads and streets. The Pelican tore through a pillar of smoke and as it continued forward a freeway covered in burning civilian vehicles became visible.

Surprisingly the streets looked empty, though anyone with keen eyes would be able to spot smaller groups of civilians traversing quickly between buildings or Covenant scout parties ducking into cover. Verent City was anything but calm though and while the outer residential zones might have been stuck in an uneasy silence the rest of the city was still caught in deadly battle. As the Pelican continued onward the sound of battle drew closer with distant RATATATATA- and PSSSWOOOSH-sounds from Human and Covenant weapons, respectively.

A wailing air raid siren was on a loop as well, being drowned out by the rare sound of heavy weapons fire or passing aircraft carrying out bombing runs on Covenant positions. It was a mess really. Eventually the squad would witness some of it as the dropship passed over two squads of Grunts advancing across a plaza towards several marked police vehicles. From this distance the police officers- members of the Verent City Constabulary- were only visible as tiny black shapes hunkering behind cover.

Muzzle-flashes from their sidearms were visible half a second before the sound of the gunfire reached the Pelican and from this angle it was clear that they could probably hold their own against the aliens bearing down on them. Luckily for them a Falcon emerged from behind a building, carpeted the air with flares and engaged the Grunts with its chingun. Morales smiled and muttered something to himself just as the Grunts scattered in panic.

The entire scene came out of view as the Pelican turned around a building. Static could be heard from the crew chief's helmet as the pilot spoke from the cockpit. Morales glanced over his shoulder and held up his right fist which he opened and closed three times.

"FIFTEEN SECONDS!"

Black nodded and raised a thumb before repeating it; "Fifteen seconds!"

By now it was time to get up. Davis and Grey followed Black by standing up relatively fast. Wendell and Hayworth were also quick on their feet whereas Johansen seemed to hesitate, shaking his head before standing up.

Outside the concrete buildings had been replaced with finely constructed white and tan structures covered in glass and decorative panels in a show of beautiful architecture. Some buildings were even lined with flowerbeds, fountains or precision-crafted statues of a marble-like material.

Most of the buildings looked relatively intact which indicated that the Pelican was now flying over friendly territory as opposed to the blocks of scorched and battle-damaged apartments left in the wake of the Covenant ground forces.

Morales stood up. "Time's up," he motioned towards the hatch. "Give 'em hell, troopers!"

As he spoke the Pelican descended and rotated clockwise, revealing Innovation Plaza in its entirety. Surrounded by large five-story campus dormitories the actual plaza itself was a mix between a courtyard and a park. Before the invasion Innovation Plaza had been a central hub for the surrounding campus but now it was home to prefabricated military buildings, containers, a vehicle depot and more.

Landing space for Pelicans, Falcons and other VTOL-aircraft had been cleared in three different locations while defenses had either been constructed or erected- depending on if they were instacrete barriers and bunkers or portable barricades and sandbags- around the perimeter.

Sergeant Davis rolled his shoulders and disembarked as soon as the Pelican was relatively close to the ground with everyone else following closely. Outside squads of marines and members of the Verent Militia were running across the plaza to carry out their respective orders. A weathered marine in dirty uniform and gear approached the squad's Pelican. He scanned all members with a single bloodshot eye until he spotted Black and stopped.

"Sir!" The main said, saluting. Half of his face was covered in blood-stained bandages. A barely visible rank tab on his body armor identified the marine as a corporal. "CP's this way! I'll show the way."

Black nodded and gestured towards the corporal. "Form up, squad." He nodded towards Dax. "Check his wounds once we reach the CP, trooper."

Two more Pelicans touched down rapidly not too far away, revealing Major Mokoena and two reinforced squads of veteran ODSTS. By now the mere sight of so many ODSTS (and ONI) showing up had caught the attention of many with several wounded marines leaning against a truck watched the newcomers with weary faces and empty eyes. A pair of military police officers stepped aside as Black- led by the marine corporal- marched towards the command building with his team in tow.

Maj. Mokoena reached the steps to the pre-fabricated building at the same time as Black with the latter approaching the ODST major and greeting him with a nod. "Any news on the heavy ordnance?"

Mokoena shook his head. "First-Lieutenant Al-Saif reports that he and the rest of his company are stuck in heavy traffic. Lots of abandoned civilian vehicles have forced them to do some creative remodeling or to find alternate routes. It'll take time for them to reach us but he said that he'll most likely catch up with us at the university building."

Black nodded. "At least they're on their way."

Then, before the conversation could proceed, Lt. Dawson emerged from the command building followed closely by Samara. The former extended a hand to both Mokoena and Black, introducing himself. "Lieutenant Dawson, part of the 33rd Marine Expeditionary Force, 5th Company, 5th Platoon." He shook his head. "Damn good to have all of you here, never seen this much action in my life."

Sergeant Davis stepped forward and positioned himself next to Black, towering over everyone else. "The Covenant tend to have that effect, son." He nodded. "At least your men are still alive and kicking."

Dawson nodded. "It'll take more to bring us down," he said turning towards Davis before looking back at Mokoena and Black. "Your advance team is still holding out a short distance from here at the university building though they reported that the enemy was most likely preparing for another push some thirty minutes ago or so. Also, this is ONI spe-"

The lieutenant was cut short as Black nodded towards Samara. "Sam." He tilted his head slightly. "How's Zephyr?"

Dawson looked between the two, now puzzled, before continuing. "I know you're all very busy but if you could I'd appreciate it greatly if you could be on the look out for one of my squads. They were attached to 4th Platoon and led by our company CO, Major Kovac. I could use him badly back here."

Meanwhile, a couple of meters away the wounded corporal that had escorted the SRG team looked at Sticks and Dax with a single deep and bloodshot eye. "You guys are here to save us, right? You're gonna send the Covies back home I bet."

Grey turned around, looking at Jace, King and Lyster. "If we need to split up out on the street I suggest we stick to what we know what works. King and Lyster will form one pair while Rose and I form the second one." She glanced at Hayworth, Wendell and Johansen with a faint smirk. "Black can look after the kids."

Tremell sighed and looked to Bassett and Ray, shrugging. "This here sure looks like a shitshow. Hell, even against the Innies you'd never see a Marine CP in the middle of a city like this. I sure hope this isn't the new normal."

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