The Takedown

The mission was supposed to be a simple grab and bag. Get into the compound, capture or kill Frek, and stop pirate activity in the sector. But now, Captain James O'Neill was on the floor wrestling with the crafty and nimble Kig-Yar, the lifeless cadaver of one of his most trusted lieutenants a few meters away, and most of his men dead or in the midst of a heated firefight in the ship's hangar. Although, he had to admit, he had had worse days.

Frek, on the other hand, had been enjoying every second of this, bearing an entertained grimace as he attempted to gain the upper hand on O'Neill. He really had to be thankful to the local human rebels, who had helped organize this ambush, but he didn't prevent that from boosting his own over-confidence in himself.

O'Neill managed to throw Frek off of him and onto a nearby console, before lunging forwards with his combat knife. Frek, being thinner and more nimble than the experienced ODST officer, moved his long neck out of the way, the rest of his body following soon after. O'Neill recovered, and lunged forward again, this time allowing Frek to get a hold of his arm, attempting to grapple the knife from his hand. But the much stronger human gained the upper hand, and began to slowly push the knife down onto the Kig-Yar's jaw. He only managed a small scratch when Frek hoofed O'Neill away, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to lose his grip on the knife. It clattered onto the metal deck.

Frek leapt onto the ground, clambering for the knife, wrapping his spindly fingers around the handle. O'Neill, still reeling from the force of the kick, could only look up as Frek pounced on him. He attempted to evade the attack, but Frek grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him to the ground. Frek placed his foot onto O'Neill's chest and crouched down, bringing his elongated head closer to O'Neill's helmeted face. Frek chuckled, the grimace having grown wider.

In a sudden burst of energy and rage, O'Neill began to struggle, knocking the surprised Frek off balance. O'Neill threw himself at Frek's already unsteady legs, sending them both tumbling over. The knife flew out of Frek's hand and slid across the deck. O'Neill then rolled on top of Frek, pinning him down. He pulled his fingers into a fist and began beating Frek's bird-like head. Purple ichor began to spatter onto the deck and O'Neill's visor, but he continued until it was nothing but an unrecognizable pulp.

Suddenly, the door to the bridge opened, and one of Valkyrie's NCOs stepped through.

"Sir, sir! Are you-" the NCO paused, staring in awe at the sheer amount of blood all over the room. O'Neill stood up and wiped some blood from his visor. "I, uh, guess the whole taking him prisoner thing didn't go so well, sir?"

"No, not at all."

"Alright, we have evac inbound, ETA two minutes. I suggest we get to the LZ."

"Good plan." The two Marines exited the gore covered room, and, as he did, O'Neill felt incredibly and strangely satisfied. It'd be a great story to brag about to any smart-mouthed, obnoxious, new generation Spartans he would inevitably have to cooperate with in the future. He highly doubted that many of them had been instrumental in toppling any infamous Jackal pirate groups.