RP:First Encounter

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Welcome to PROJECT: First Encounter, a Halo Fanon namespace project page created by the user RR.

Current Status as of August.28.2024: Roleplaying

Background Plot
The world Coral has been known for its enigmatic properties, the voluminous electromagnetic field, the disproportionate atmosphere barely conducive to human life, and greatest of all - the Forerunner structures that run underneath its crust. However, on November 3, 2552, hell materializes on Coral for the UNSC garrison. The structures unearth themselves in prismatic bursts of energy...and torrents of unknown entities emerge, slaughtering the UNSC personnel by the millions.

After several days of systematic eradication, however, there still remains one last bastion: Bravo Base, residence to several regiments of UNSC Marines, several dozen Warthogs and Scorpions, and greatest of all - a SPARTAN-II Special Operations unit - Aleph Team. It appears to be the site of a heroic, valiant defense by the SPARTAN-IIs...a heroic, climatic inferno...yet when ONI learns of this planet-scale destruction and sends a cloaked ONI prowler to investigate, the Seer...most unnerving evidence is recovered, contradictory to all beliefs...this is immediately encoded, and sent to HIGHCOM.

However, when the Seer and the rest of the ONI group in orbit is shot down by UNSC reinforcements straight from Tantalus, the crew, Marines, and even Spartans of the recon force struggle to evade and survive the Forerunner creations and hostile UNSC forces...what secret so vile could Bravo Base and Aleph Team contain?

Everything and nothing.

Covenant Seperatists
Primary Commander: Councilor Shch 'Nodotee 

Combined Regional Fleet of Contrite Purpose Taskforce
Commander: Supreme Commander Ryse Zar 'Uasumee
 * 1 Reverence-class Flagship - 3000 meters
 * Glorified Vengeance - '''Supreme Commander Ryse Zar 'Uasumee
 * Xt'ayd Legion
 * 4 CCS-class Battlecruisers - 1782.2 meters
 * Glorious Truth - Ship Master Sozei 'Zorfitee
 * Devastation - Ship Master Odch 'Siburee
 * Subjugated Phoenix - Ship Master Rach Adomoree
 * Light Revived - '''Ship Master Grel Dar 'Wandoree
 * Dr'ead Warrior Crèche
 * 5 Destroyers - 1500 meters
 * Revival -
 * Aftermath - Ship Master Myca 'Hetodee
 * Gloried Life
 * Seeker of Law
 * Obedience

Unknown Taskforce
Commander: Imperial Admiral Vysar Tar 'Xztanee
 * 1 Supercarrier - 7245 meters
 * Anger & Retribution - Imperial Admiral Vysar Tar 'Xztanee
 * 2 Destroyers - 1500 meters
 * Reborn Sacrifice
 * Superior Wind

Covenant Loyalists
Primary Commander: Alpha Jiralhanae Aringal

Regional Fleet of Absolution Task Force
Commander: Alpha Jiralhanae Aringal
 * 1 Assault Carrier - 5346 meters
 * Warmonger - Alpha Jiralhanae Aringal
 * 2 Battleships - 2000 meters
 * Glorious Schism
 * Blood Renewed
 * Compliment
 * Jiralhanae-Pack Sigma
 * 1 Scarab Walker - Renewed Loyalty


 * 5 Destroyers - 1500 meters
 * Great Revival
 * Guilty Wind
 * Divine Destruction
 * Glorious End
 * Hopefull

UNSC

 * 1 Parabola-class Freighter - 525 meters
 * UNSC Hesperus - Captain Adam Graves
 * ''1 X-121 Prototype MAC-Cannon
 * 1 D77-TC Pelican-Class Dropships
 * 2 C709 Longsword-Class Interceptors
 * 2 Shortsword-Class Bombers
 * 6 Archer Missile pods
 * 20 50mm MLA-Auto Cannons
 * Compliment
 * SPARTAN-II Adrian-014
 * SPARTAN-II Angel-054
 * Third Generation Hybrid MIL AI "Helen"
 * 42 Marines
 * 30 Crew Members
 * 5 Orbital Drop Shock Troopers


 * 1 Marathon-class Cruiser - 1192 meters
 * UNSC Nautilus - Major Terry Jones
 * 3 Magnetic Accelerator Cannons
 * 2 Shiva Nuclear Warheads
 * 75 Archer missile pods
 * 8 Pelicans
 * 36 Longswords
 * 80 50mm MLA-Auto Cannons
 * Compliment
 * Major Terry Jones
 * Sergeant Major Ding Chavez
 * SPARTAN-II Petty Officer First Class Kyle-100
 * 140 ODSTs


 * Coral Garrison
 * Small Defense Fleet
 * Several Regiments of Marines
 * SPARTAN II Aleph Team
 * Complement
 * Second Lieutenant Jesse Arm

Confirmed Active

 * 1) Councilor 'Nodotee [[Image:Donut 7.JPG|35px]] [ BattleNet ] - [ Covenant of Halopedia ] [ ASSISTANT MODERATOR ]
 * 2) Gho st I nsi de the M ach ine (Whisper through the Storm ) (My Journeys ) (Omens )  [ CHIEF MODERATOR ]
 * 3) Ares.117
 * 4) CaptainAdamGraves )
 * 5) Master Gunnery Sergeant Hank J Wimbleton IV COM
 * 6) James-001
 * 7) User:fork
 * 8) user:SPARTAN-077
 * 9) Troubleshooter
 * 10) Qual 'Fulsamsee

Unconfirmed Active

 * 1) Chickenman

RelentlessRecusant

 * Role: Nova Team
 * Side: United Nations Space Command, Office of Naval Intelligence
 * Location: Undisclosed
 * Status: MIA
 * Other: SPARTAN-II Special Operations element, paramilitary
 * Role: Other
 * Side: Various
 * Location: Various
 * Status: Various
 * Other: To start RPG later tonight! =D

Donut THX 1138

 * Role: Supreme Commander Ryse Zar 'Uasumee
 * Side: Covenant Separatists
 * Location: Space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Commander of Covenant forces (naval & ground)
 * Role: Ship Master Odch 'Siburee
 * Side: Covenant Separatists
 * Location: Space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Zealot Ship Master
 * Role: Major Terry Jones
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: onboard UNSC Nautilus in space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: ODST Divison Commander and commander of UNSC Nautilus
 * Role: Councilor Shch 'Nodotee
 * Side: Covenant Separatists
 * Location: High Charity
 * Status: Active
 * Other: not actually here, but sending transmissions

Rotaretilbo

 * Role: Ship Master Myca 'Hetodee
 * Side: Covenant Separatists
 * Location: Space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Ship Master of Aftermath
 * Role: Master Gunnery Sergeant Hank J Wimbleton IV
 * Side: Unknown
 * Location: Unknown Covenant Ship
 * Status: Confused
 * Other: Pi

Ares.117

 * Role: Ship Master Grel Dar 'Wandoree
 * Side: Covenant Seperatists
 * Location: Space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Ship Master of Light Revived and sole leader of Dr'ead Warrior Crèche
 * Role: Alpha Jiralhanae Aringal
 * Side Covenant Loyalists
 * Location: Space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Leader of the Regional Fleet of Absolution and Ship Master of Warmonger

CaptainAdamGraves

 * Role: Captain Adam Deadrus Graves
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: Slip-space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Commanding officer of the UNSC Hesperus
 * Role: Spartan-II Adrian-014
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: Slip-space/Cargo Room aboard the UNSC Hesperus
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Training in Cargo Room/Re-cooperating.
 * Role: Spartan-II Angel-054
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: Slip-space/ Weight-Training Room aboard the UNSC Hesperus
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Training/Re-cooperating.
 * Role: Warren Leats
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: Slip-space aboard the Hesperus
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Working with Engineer staff/Training with Adrian-014.
 * Role: Curtis
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: Slip-space/Cargo Room aboard the Hesperus
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Training in Cargo Room with Spartan-014/Re-cooperating.
 * Role: Jason Orion
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: Slip-space aboard the Hesperus.
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Refitting his Longsword.

James-001

 * Role: Sergeant Major Ding Chavez
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: onboard UNSC Nautilus in space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Cleaning his gun.
 * Role: Spartan-II Petty Officer First Class Kyle-100
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: onboard UNSC Nautilus in space
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Receiving upgrade to Mark VI armor to increase reaction time.

fork

 * Role: ODST Jon Grates
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: Changes frequently
 * Status: Active
 * Other: N/A
 * Role: Fleet Master Rach' Adomoree
 * Side: Covenant Separtists
 * Location: Revival
 * Status: Active
 * Other: N/A

KillerCRS

 * Role: Special Operations Commander Sangheili Zamin 'Gunnada
 * Side: Covenant Separatists
 * Location: Coral
 * Status: Active
 * Other: SpecOps Sangheili Sader 'Derasu
 * Side: Covenant Separatists
 * Location: Coral
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Ship Master "Qutar 'Radomee"
 * Side: Covenant Separatists
 * Location: Coral
 * Status: Active

SPARTAN-077

 * Role: Edward SPARTAN-077
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: various
 * Status: Active
 * Role: Colonel Roy Stang
 * Side: UNSC, ONI
 * Location: Currently in Slipspace, aboard the Hope(Prowler Class)
 * Status: Active

Chickenman

 * Role: Second Lieutenant Jesse Arm
 * Side: UNSC
 * Location: On the surface of Coral.
 * Status: Active
 * Other: Platoon Leader in a Marine unit.
 * Others characters on the way...

0
Prologue

The particle/wave duality of photons (light particles) leads to a most interesting paradox, for how can a particle exist in two forms simultaneously? A photon in itself is a particle that is like a point in space with an infinitessimal radius.

i

That is, it occupies essentially zero volume. Then how can it exist? It just does. One of the quantum paradoxes that non-quantum physicists would rather shoot themselves than begin to unravel.

know

A photon is a boson, a particle that exhibits non-local quantum interactions. What the hell is that? Some particles form enigmatic pairs where they are inextricably tied to each other. (if you understand none of the above, just continue listening, sire, madame) That is, no matter how far away they are, the action of one effects the other's quantum state.

all

A clarification and a bringing about to the point. Let us say that two photons are on opposite sides of the freaking universe. One is changed, the other is also changed. Time lag? Zero. The changes on both particles occur instantaneously.

fears

Just let that fact sink into your mind. Two particles almost an infinite distance away from each other are effected simultaneously. That's a faster-than-light (FTL) effect, folks. Two particles are communicating at uber-faster-than-light speeds, simultaneous communications. Do you understand? Particle-less communications with no lag regardless of the distance!

where

Application for this? Well, of course, faster-than-light communications. However, neither the UNSC nor the Covenant don't utilize this, instead weaving through Slipspace and manipulating the quantum strings in order to shove their transmissions across the ethereal alternate dimensions. (if you still don't understand any of this, it's expected)

light

Why does this exist? How? This particle pairing is the pre-requisite for quamtum symmetry, indistinguishability. That is, you can't tell two photons apart after a while because their unique quantum waveforms dissapate. That's why in a photon particle pair, you can't tell the two apart! However, because they've both decayed so that their waveforms are each other, you can't tell the difference between photon numero uno and dos! What the Halo's going on?!

does

What if, however, you tried to communicate through this. How? Link trillions and trillions of bosons together, possibly photons, shove half onto one planet, the other half onto another planet. Change the quantum statuses of the particles in boson clump uno, and boson clump two yada-yada-yada light-years away reflects this change: a transmission of no lag, an alternate to power-gargantuan Slipspace communications.

not

Guess what branch of the UNSC was tasked with investigating this? ONI, Office of Naval Intelligence, Quantum Sciences Research Division. Don't ask who/what they are, or you'll find a red dot on your chest in under three hours. Well...QSRD was investigating this quantum pairing and possible alternate FTL communications for minimal energy expenditure, was encountering problems herding the waveforms...(technical problems, let's just say)...but conducted their first tests on Coral, a nice little place where no one could find out about ONI's myriad wierdo projects. Then strange things began to happen.

exist

One of QSRD's subprojects regarding quantum pairing FTL communications was finding out the relation between infinitessimal photon size and instantaneous communications. Two zeroes have to do with each other, eh? Some secrets were better left hidden, let's just say.

Cheers,

Gho st I nsi de the M ach ine <font color="#808080">''(<font color="#808080">Whisper through the Storm ) (<font color="#808080">My Journeys ) (<font color="#808080">Omens ) 18:03, 15 March 2007 (UTC)

1
And so, the Hesperus begins another chapter in it's story of survival...

All of the trials they had been through. From the drug ring on Ladnia IV to the Pirate attack in the 179 Lana-Atari System; along with the most current fights with the Covenant and the newest enemy: The Flood. The crew had lost good men, neigh, good family. Each of them had a different day of mourning whilst on the Halo; and a ceremony complete with testimony by each crew member in their honor.

Now... Twelve of the MLA Auto-Cannons have new names; in tribute to the memory of their fallen brethen, who will forever live within this ship.

'''Punch. Kick. Punch. Kick. '''

Though, even as time goes on, some things never change.

'''Dodge. Counter. Punch. Block.'''

To maintain some state of normalcy in ones life, when faced with extreme situations, people institute new activities to balance their lives out; daily rituals in which they keep themselves in check. Those who cannot re-assimilate with society, those who get lost in their struggle for normalcy, are washed away and tossed to the side. Those who can adapt and change to fit their new circumstances survive. This is the foundation to the principles of Social Darwinism. Who would’ve thought such an idea could hold universally true for so long…

The Leviathan: Adrian-Gray, the embodiment of courage, power and skill. Cast out of the Spartan project over twenty years before, he is a testament to the will power of humanity’s greatest defenders. All who had gone against him have fallen, whether it is from luck or his own personal skill. He has defied both the will of the Covenant, the UNSC and the Flood. Lent the power of a near-unimaginable Forerunner entity, he has used his strength to defend those he has cared about and those who have come to care for him.

He is a protector…

And to protect, one must be powerful. To protect everyone, one must attain ultimate power…

And that is what Adrian was hoping to find in the near-future, believing in the idea of fate and that he couldn’t have survived this long by accident.

Grey Team… Such a disillusioned, foreboding assignment. It held true to the mental state of he was in. ''Fuzzy. Distorted. Grey.''

A shining metal blade cut through the air, seemingly tearing a slit in the atmosphere of the cargo room with its sharpness. Adrian fastidiously dodged to the left; his reflexes at their peak in his Mjolnir Mark VI Armor. Another slash came down from above, to which he jumped back for several meters. The blade continued its attack, in the capable hands of Maximus “No-Look” Peterson, as Adrian continued to dodge and counter his friends moves. Adrian knew he was in no danger, the dense steel polymer blade could never puncture the titanium-A of his armor severely.

The nickname belonging to Peterson, which you are probably wondering about, came from his uncanny ability to take a split second look into his sniper scope and hit his mark. Reflexes like that had come from nearly ten years of training with the sword, studying near-ancient styles of kendo. He was now donning the robes which he had earned when graduating from the Kenmushin School of Aikido and Aiido over five years ago. Training, regimented daily, had kept his skills sharp.

Another slash tore through the veil of the artificial gravity and atmosphere of the cargo bay. In the background, the sound of a crane moving on its treads could be heard picking up the large, magnetized blue cargo boxes. The sound of metal slamming on metal, as it placed the large boxes down on the surface of the floor, reverberated throughout the room. Curtis, as he had come to be known only by his first name, showed a very rare smile as he placed the last ten foot box down in place. He leaned out of the side of the crane, and looked over at his two comrades training.

Then they stopped their attacks…

Adrian was apparently on the defense, as Peterson had come from above and slashed down on him. His blade was attempting to slice into Adrian, as he had brought his right arm up to defend. But there was something strange… Seemingly different about the defense from Adrian. Peterson’s blade seemed to be inches away from connecting with Adrian’s arm itself, as if some unseen barrier was stopping him.

Then there was a crackle of light at the point of the two contacts, as if a spark of lightning surged in that small pocket. That small space then crackled to life, in that instant, with a flooding of glowing, white energy. It resembled that of an over-shield used by the Covenant, yet it seemed more dense and refined with a different aura than that of the Covenant version. Peterson gritted his teeth as he applied more pressure and then lunged back in frustration, as Adrian stood up straight.

“So you figured out how to work that thing well, huh…” Peterson said, heaving a heavy sigh and sheathing his weapon. Though swords had become less than adequate several hundred years ago, he had often brought the katana into battle. Being a sniper, he had to be ready for anything. And he was confident, in his mind, that anything meant bringing his sword. Just in case some unlucky Covenant found itself trying to sneak up on Peterson, he would have a surprise waiting for him. And oddly enough it was a great asset when fighting the Flood.

“We’ll see… I don’t really know yet, but I think I’m getting a handle on it.” Adrian muttered out, taking the two round orbs from their individual leg satchels. He stared at them, as the right one’s symbols still retained some glow from that last charge.

“You’ve gotten a handle on it?” A voice in Adrian’s “mind” filtered out, a touch annoyed. The truth of the matter was, without Helen to compute the complex algorithmic equations associated with the distribution of the energy, he wouldn’t be able to utilize the power of the orb. But that was all small talk, as him and Helen were almost one cohesive unit. As long as he was around, so was she.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the ability he now had. He was harnessing forerunner technology to make him stronger, to increase his combat defenses and hopefully protect a lot more people.

And that’s all he wanted, to protect more people.

A young man with spiked, deep red hair stood staring at the chassis of his C709 Longsword-class Starfighter, bringing a less than enthused hand up to his face as he examined the burns it had received whilst engaging the several thousand sentinels that he had destroyed whilst on Halo. One mark in particular made him anxious. It had nicked his ship slightly, coursing from the tip of the wing to the bulk of the ship on the wing’s underside.

He loathed the fact he hadn’t been able to destroy those mechanical pushovers without being touched. Taking pride in his piloting skills, the ex-rebel pilot was that of legend, which is probably why ONI picked him when they foresaw this mission being somewhat dangerous. In the beginning it was only marked as a simple escort mission. Yet Jason had perceived deeper into the situation after noticing the outboard MAC-Cannon. He had seen and been through more than any other pilot he ever knew, and that was a testament to his survival skills. Or his luck…

Some good men were lost on Reach that day. He had witnessed their destruction first hand. It was the first time his hands had shook whilst in the cockpit since the battle of Ageon III, where of course his commanding officer had been slaughtered by the Covenant.

That had been the time he had formed his resolve.

Join the UNSC, and kill every bastard in the Covenant with his Longsword. And it was his Longsword. He had the ship for the last ten years of his life, since nineteen. He had practically taught himself how to fly it. When joining the rebels, after they learnt of his extensive training as a pilot of terrestrial craft, they handed him a Longsword and told him to get comfortable with it.

There was nothing comfortable about the Longsword…

Terrestrial aircraft are nothing like Starfighters. Starfighters require more logic and calculation than skill; the reverse almost always the case with atmospheric jets and airliners. Though logic came into play, in the air it was more reflex and skill. In space it became more like a game of strategy; like chess. If he made one wrong move, there were weapons big enough to turn him into smoldering ash in seconds.

Needless to say, he compensated.

Within seven months, he had nearly mastered the Longsword with virtually no coaching. It was all instructional videos and tablets for him. He proved himself later on, by dispatching a UNSC frigate all alone, after dodging a near perfect MAC salvo and several dozen missiles as well.

Jason Orion: The Miracle.

But now he looked at his craft and heaved an even heavier sigh. “Great… Look at what they did to you…” He growled, into his palm. Then, a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Need a hand fixing her?” A familiar voice sounded, standing next to Jason now. Pearly white teeth shone off of the lights within the hangar bay. A face full of life and energy stared straight at the Longsword, several tools in hand and a force of Engineers rushing up to the bird to begin repairs.

“Thanks a lot, Warren.” Orion said with a grin, and the two of the laughed. Sentiments of thanks were often exchanged but nearly never spoken. They both grinned, walking up to the ship and beginning the refitting process. The Hesperus’ crew were finally getting their footing back.

“This isn’t ever going to end… Is it, Sir…” A whisper of a woman’s voice sounded in the medical bay, as a near sleeping Angellique Wilson lie in her bed. Her long, silky black hair stretched down to her waist; raising several questions about how her helmet got on. But that was beside the point. She was re-cooperating, having worked for several months just after watching her entire team decimated, fighting alien hordes on a mysterious planet and waking from a coma.

Strong girl, huh?

“Probably not for you. But for us, it’s possible.” The deep voice of her commanding officer sounded, clear authority coming from the way he spoke. Though, it wasn’t that of commanding authority to put others in their place, but rather that which came from years of running a ship and its crew efficiently. It came from leading troops into battle and coming out victorious.

It also came from the heart.

Adam Graves peered near reminiscently out the window, lost in his thoughts of the past months whilst staring into the blackness of space. What could possibly happen next? They had survived it all, from ancient death machines to the parasitic Flood to forces of Covenant soldiers ten times their own in strength. So now, what could possibly be in store for the crew of the Hesperus?

This was what he was trying to figure out; what did Fate have in store for them next?

Angellique pondered that for a moment, laying back in her plain white bed and staring at the plain white ceiling with her deep black eyes; their hint of silver shining off of the luminescent light fixtures set up all around the medical corridor. At the base of her bed hung her Mjolnir armor on a special Titanium-A hanger along with her sniper rifle and pistols, just in case she had to jump from her bed and get back to the fight once more in an instance.

And she was willing to do so.

She turned her head to her Captain, one she had come to trust and enjoy being in the company of. She would gladly lay her life on the line for him once more, after surviving two battles of high risk under his skillful command. To think, such a young man had such a promise in his future. Maybe when this damned war was over, he could go on to make something of himself one day. Maybe he could become a diplomat between races or something like that. And she would work night and day to see that happen. “So does that mean… You’re leaving me somewhere?” She asked tentatively, half of her wanting to know her future and the other wishing she never asked. She wanted to stay with Adrian, and would fight to the death to see that happen. No-one was separating the two Spartans again as long as she still drew breath.

“Yes… At the next planet we go to.” He said, closing his eyes. “But that’s not important, just rest now, Angel.” He said with a smile, turning to her and then walking towards the door. He looked back at her with a face full of hope and pride. “I’ll tell you more later. We still have a long time before we arrive at Coral. So, just sleep now.” He assured her, before shutting off the lights. CaptainAdamGraves 23:48, 14 March 2007 (UTC)

2
"Prepare to exit slipspace!" ordered Aringal holding tightly onto his Spiker. They were coming out of slipspace over a hostile world. Any mistake and the punishment was death. At least for his crew. A Minor Jiralhanae walked onto the bridge without completing the proper proceedure. He didn`t kneel in the might of the Prophets. Aringal snarled and drew his Spiker. "MINOR!" he yelled as he emptied his clip into the Jiralhanae`s face. The corpse of the now dead Brute fell to the floor that was stained with blood. "That will teach you to dihonour the Prophets" the Alpha Jiralhanae said to himself.

"Your excellency were coming out of Slipspace over the world" said the Jiralhanae at the Navigation Controls "Good bring us up to combat status" ordered Aringal with a smirk on his face. A world covered in browns and greens suddenly appeared on the main viewer. Aringals eye`s locked onto a moon on the left of the planet. It was covered in greens. "Sensor`s does that moon have an atmosphere?" he asked. "Why yes Alpha" replied the crewman. "Bring the ships to the dark side of that moon and send Blood Renewed to the surface to scout the Planet while we set up the main base on the moon. No one would suspect such a mass of troops on a moon" Aringal said grinning. "Yes excellency" Replied the Jiralhanae Chieftan in charge of all the ground forces as he backed out of the room and walked towards the Troop holding area.

"Sensor`s scan for any enemies. When they are sited let me know, we`ll have to hold them off while Blood Renewed makes its scan" said Aringal "and if they find anything Sir?" asked the officer. "Wipe the enemy from the planet. Ground forces. NO orbital attacks" ordered the Alpha as he walked to his chamber. "Excellency, where are you going ?" asked an Officer "A warrior needs armour" proclaimed the Jiralhanae.

 The God Of War  (Speak with Me)   (My Work) 

3
Time Unknown, Date Unknown, Location Unknown

Questions. Where? What? Why? When? They all ran through his head at once. How had he gotten here? All he could feel was the cold floor. All he could see was the ceiling. The purple ceiling. Wherever he was, it was Covenant. He tried to look to his side, but couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He tried to move his arm. It too would not answer his mind’s call. Neither would his other arm. Nor his legs.

Be still! Came an outraged voice in his head.

He shut his eyes, concentrating. What is going on? Do the Covenant possess telepathy now?

''Fool! The Covenant are nothing!'' came a quick, angry reply.

If it isn’t the Covenant, then is ONI messing with my head?

You pathetic humans and your organizations mean less than the Covenant! Again, the response was angry.

What then?

In good time.

Good time? How long have I been here?

Perhaps eighty hours or so.

Three days then? How did I get here?

''So your home planet takes less than twenty-six hours to fully rotate? This will make our search easier. We had trouble…converting you, but we will find a way.''

Converting?

''Oh yes. But this will be explained all in good time.''

What holds me here? I feel no bindings?

''Will of mind. Our will is superior to yours.''

We shall see. We shall see.

Or shall we? The invading presence drained from Master Gunnery Sergeant Hank J Winbleton IV’s mind.


 * --Master Gunnery Sergeant Hank J Wimbleton IV COM 23:39, 15 March 2007 (UTC)

4
Adrian looked over at the wall of empty blue cargo boxes like they were an impenetrable blockade impeding his advance to a destination worth traveling to. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath full of life and energy, which flowed down his throat and began to clean his lungs of all impurities which remained from the last breath he had taken. Each was the same though; filtered by his Mjolnir armor to perfection. But when he took the time to fully embrace the crispness of the air which flowed into his helmet and savor it, he was able to appreciate much more than breathing.

Life.

He was still alive. Being able to not just draw that breath, but let it escape his lips without feeling any pang of regret was the joy of a healthy, living man. He had seen men, dying on the battlefield, fight with every ounce of energy in their body to hold onto one final breath. Yet he let it go so easily, without more than a second thought for the most part.

Ignorance in bliss...

He could no longer afford the luxury of playing on the sidelines any longer. Sidelines, you ask? Yes, in his mind, he could have done more to save all the people that had been lost. Eleven, count them, eleven men were lost on the Halo. They had been replaced by several able-bodied men from the Anasazi along with several others who had engineering experience as well.

But the fact remained, they could have been saved.

And it was with this resolve that the Spartan man was planning to push the limits of everything he had to become the greatest protector humanity had at its disposal. He could hold nothing back, leave no rock unturned and keep nothing to be left as regret.

No more death... No more crying.

He opened his eyes and the curtains drew on the scene in front of him. Curtis and Peterson stood by him, several feet to his left whilst watching. Peterson's sword was now in its sheath with his arms limply dangling at his side and Curtis with his rather muscular arms crossed on his chest. They were both waiting to see if this training session would come to be as inconsequential as the last. Yet Adrian had convinced them thoroughly that Helen and he had something new to try.

Try being the key word in that statement.

And now all eyes lay on Adrian, as he stared with concentration and a sense of anger at the stack of crates nearly fifteen feet from where he stood. The seemed to tower over him, casting a shadow of doubt and question upon him. It seemed to reflect his inner feelings of inadequacy and shame, having failed his self-appointed mission.

The thoughts of that snapped him awake from his trance-like state, as his eyes grew wide and he quickly went into action. The pouched containing the orbs sprung open, as he thrust his hands within them and retrieved the ancient energy recyclers. It was a near perfect system, as Helen had surmised, that kept the recycled energy concealed within the small orbs.

The process is rather extraordinary, as most Forerunner tech is. A marvel of innovation and obviously time spent studying the capabilities of Slip-Space for nearly all scientific fields. First, the orbs forcefully rip energy from another source, as if being charged like a battery. This energy can be heat, or electricity or even the particle field which form the energy shield of the Mjolnir armor. This energy is then used to begin the process of recycling within the orb, manipulating and distorting that energy to create even more energy. It's like a bike, but all the bike would need was one revolution of the pedal to continue riding for blocks on its own; driven by that single pedal.

The capacitor within the battery works with the recycled energy to further it's energy increase, but this is where it gets interesting. But studying the physics involved with the release of the energy back into the shield system, Helen found slight traces of the same radiation emitted from the Shaw-Fujikawa Trans-light Engines. This intrigued the construct into delving further into its inner workings, and what she found was astounding...

The Forerunner used contained Slip-space within the orbs to store excess energy which the orb created. What a magnificent use of a seemingly un-related field of technology. And there-in lays the mysterious intrigue which is coupled with the Forerunner.

Adrian growled, his anger rising, thinking of the many reasons why he would want to gain even more power. Not for greed... Or for himself...

But we had already gone over this.

His arms rose up in front of him, an orb in both hands. If Chris hadn't decided to let him have the energy recycler from the Halo they had been on he didn't think this could have been possible, or even it if it had this trial would have been more dangerous or harder. With more than on, the energy output could be doubled and it had an even greater potential of working. Now, it all rested on whether or not Helen's calculations were correct.

Adrian's thumbs and pinky’s pressed down on the circles on the top and bottom of the orbs, as the wing-like projections sprang out glowing a multitude of faceted rainbow colors. Several symbols in the ancient scrit of the Forerunner glowed as well; the same way several of the Forerunner chambers had glowed mysteriously. Adrian growled, in concentration. Though it wasn't about his physical body, he needed his mind to be sharp and ready. The suit's shielding was tailored to react to his thoughts, to increase it's density in one spent or decrease it in others. Now, he was planning to ask it something else...

"Helen... Drain fifty percent of the shield energy into the orb generators..." He mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. His shields on the outside crackled and fizzled, draining into the two orbs which glowed with even more intensity. One could almost see the process by which it was recycled and released back into shield's systems en masse. Everything so far was normal; the shield's capacitors had shown remarkable resilience in handling the pressure of exorbitant amounts of energy which he had used in the past. On the Forerunner world, he had used the orbs power with very little knowledge of its capabilities and nearly fried his suit's battery charger. But what he had learnt from that engagement was the hidden power of both the Mjolnir armor and the objects he held in his hands now.

Enough power to stop anything...

"Warren... Can I ask you a question?" The voice of the young pilot Jason Orion sounds, as he lifts two ASGM-10 missiles and places them into their carrying bays on his Long-sword. There were machines that could do this for him; refit and repair his ship automatically. There were professionals who were trained and willing to do the job in an instance. But he did it himself, picking up two more of the long, white missiles into place on his ship. That made ten... And with that a smile alit on his face, and he placed his hands on his hips, as he closed his eyes momentarily.

"Sure, why not?" The young black man asked while continuing to sodder new metal to the portion of the craft that was singed by the Sentinels, with a sense of confusion and underlying worry in his voice. Asking whether or not you can ask of something was usually a pre-condescend to something serious. He didn't necessarily like serious, but he gave it a try every once in a while.

Jason straightened up and ran his right fingertips through his rather spiky, red hair. Red hair, to be naturally born with, was a rather rare feature for anyone. But on the colony world Jason was born, Arolin, it was rather common. For some reason the planet's atmosphere lended itself to manipulating the gene in the human body which dealt with establishing ones hair color. People had all colors of hair: Purple, Red, Green, and Blue. Strange... But true.

But that was beside the point. Right now, all he wanted to know was one thing from the other young man helping him with fixing the Long-sword. He opened his eyes; a sudden narrowing of his eyelids coupled with it gave the sense of seriousness as he looked over at Warren. "Why is it you trust in Adrian so much?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and staring over at Warren.

Warren stopped his work, and turned to Jason, averting his gaze slightly. The question had continuously filtered around in his head as well. But he knew the answer. "I trust him... Because I know he fights for me..." Warren muttered, before looking back up at the now somewhat surprised Jason.

His eyes were slightly wider for a moment, seeing the confidence and seriousness in Warren's eyes. He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, as he closed his eyes. "Thanks, I was just wondering." He said, before reaching into another box and taking out a few bolts to replace the aging ones on his ship.

The reason he had asked that was not because he didn't trust Adrian, or his actions, but wanted some insight into those who blindly would go on a near suicide without any way of getting back just because he had suggested it. If Jason and the other pilots hadn't come to the aide of Councilor Nodotee' and the others, the crew from the Hesperus would have indeed died. But, answers like that calmed him and gave him new resolve.

Another pair of eyes stood looking at Adrian, concerned for his friend's safety. He watched as the energy around the Spartan warped and popped; the white glow of the over-shield dancing vibrantly around him. It was a rather scary sight, completely distorting the way the Spartan previously looked. Electricity wrapped around him, sparks leaping in all directions and even lancing the floor slightly. They carved small gashes in the ground; almost as if they were tiny blades extending from his body.

Adrian then lowered his left hand, keeping his right steady and facing the tower of crates in front of him. This is was it... Either make it or break it... "Helen, this is it..." He said with a lack of enthusiasm, closing his eyes and keeping his concentration.

"I understand..." Helen's voice sounded, as if she too felt the worry in his heart. What if something went wrong? What if he put the others in danger? What if he died?

That was the thing that would drag him down; his own doubt. He needed to push that aside if he was ever going to rise to protect.

And with that in mind, his eyes snapped open and the shield around him instantaneously disappeared and flooded over the palm of his hand. The sheer density of the shielding covering his hand was incredible, the sparks and light exploding from that area illuminated his entire body.

The deep, worried eyes of Private First Class Angelou Denahey looked on as the man who had guided him through the turbulent trials of the past year took on the form of more that of a Demon than a Spartan. CaptainAdamGraves

5
"Major, the Covenant forces have doubled in numbers. Although, it appears that they're fighting each other, several ships have already been destroyed."

Major Terry Jones walked over to the crewman's station, "Keep an eye on them. If they're fighting, I'm perfectly fine with letting them blow the s--- out of each other." The Major walked over to the Captain's chair and took a seat. A bridge crewmen approached him.

"Sir, FLEETCOM says they can't get us a replacement command crew anytime soon. So, i guess you'll be leading us for another few weeks. Sorry, sir"

"Understood. Dismissed." Major Jones stood up and addressed the rest of the command crew, "So, here we are. Now as you all just heard, we're going to be captain-less for another few weeks. So that puts me in command until then. You've all done great so far, but with the Covenant out there, you need to be perfect. Now, let's get back to work." Jones sat back down, letting out a sigh. "Move us around behind Coral's moon. We'll wait there until the Covenant's done blasting each other." Ryse Zar 'Uasumee clicked his mandibles, very much annoyed, "Excellency, the betrayers have followed us here. We're preparing to engage. Once the loyalists are finished, we'll continue as planned. The humans here are in great need of reinforcements, we arrived just in time. I'll do my best Councilor 'Nodotee. Ryse out."

Councilor 'Nodotee's image on the viewscreen nodded, and then disappeared.

Ryse Zar 'Uasumee then brought up the BattleNet, sending coordinates to the rest of the fleet. Several ships, including Ryse's Reverence-class, broke formation and moved off towards the plant's moon. The remaining ships moved around behind the plant, setting the final positions in Ryse's trap.

Ryse made a Sangheili equal of a smile. The betrayers wouldn't know what hit them.


 * Councilor 'Nodotee [[Image:Donut 7.JPG|35px]] [ BattleNet ] - [ Covenant of Halopedia ] 20:16, 16 March 2007 (UTC)

6
Aringal walked back into the bridge clad in his gold battle armour with his Plasma Cannon on his back and his Gravity Hammer in his hands. As he walked onto the bridge he heard a voice. "Sir, a Seperatist force is coming around the moon! orders?" asked the Jiralhanae. "Get the fleet in battle formation and prepare the ground troops for Combat, any remaining troops onboard are going to board their ships !" ordered Aringal as his crew suddenly felt the stress of battle on them. "Good. More kills for me" he muttered to himself.

"Communications have all ships charge their Plasma Turrets and have the Battleships charge all of their Energy Projectors ! Weapons charge our Plasma Turrets ! we'll have enough energy projectors from the Battleships" ordered the Jiralhanae. When the Sangheili came around the Planet he would have numerous Plasma Turrets ready and in total 24 Energy Projectors from the Battleships ready for firing. He couldn't lose this fight.

Grel Dar 'Wandoree stood on the bridge of Light Revived. It had been a while since he was on the command deck. After all, he did prefer to fight on the ground where he was in control. However even in such a fine vessel he worried for the lives of his Elites. The Dr'ead Warrior Crèche were his to command. They were also his to look after. "Ship Master we are recieving strange energy bursts from the far side of the moon. It is as if something is there" said the Sangheili at Ops. Grel's jaw almost dropped. How could the Loyalists have known their plan ? he thought to himslef. "'Calonsee ready the Dr'ead. Just in case and communications open up a channel to the Supreme Commander. I must inform him of the situation!" ordered the Ship Master as a holographic image of the Sangheili appeared on the viewer.

Grel knelt at the figure. It was his act of acknowledging the honour the Supreme Commander had. "Supreme Commander there may be a large Loyalist force waiting for us on the dark side of the moon" said Grel still kneeling on the deck.

 The God Of War  (Speak with Me)   (My Work)   20:45, 16 March 2007 (UTC)

7
Sergeant Major Ding Chavez stood in the cargo bay, of the UNSC ship Nautilus in normal space. Ding was in his mid 60's, but he barely looked half that. He has jet black hair and a face and body chiseled of stone. But, there was one secret he managed to keep from even from the Captain. He stared out into the blank void of space, behind a moon size rock, whistling quietly to himself. He walked down the hall, passing cryotubes, noting that most of the personnel were just waking up. He also noticed that noticed Spartan-II Kyle-100 was out of his tube.

"Figures, that kid can never sit still." He whispered to no one in particular.

Kyle-100 was one of the few later Spartan-II's that volunteered to be a Spartan. He grew up and trained to try to mirror his idol and hero, the famous John-117, who was substantially older, but could still wipe the floor with Kyle.

Ding continued down the hall and entered the gym. He knew exactly where to find the young spartan. And there he was, working out is the high G section. Kyle methodically worked each area of his body in rapid fashion. Ding envied the Kyle. Though he was only 16 years old, he was in better shape than Ding for his age. Ding strolled in through the door and Kyle immediatly stopped working out and snapped off a crisp salute. Ding returned it.

"At ease Kyle," he said.

Kyle spaced his feet roughtly a foot apart and snapped his hands in the small of his back, but otherwise did not relax an inch.

"So son, you think you're done with your workout yet," he said.

"Almost sir, I just wish there was another spartan here so I could spar," he replied.

A slight smirk tugged at the end of Ding's mouth hearing that last remark. What Kyle didn't know was that Ding was one of the few living Spartan-I's.

"Well," Ding said, "I'll take you on, get in that ring and get ready."

"Sir?" Kyle said confused. "I don't want to hurt you sir."

"Did I stutter Petty officer?" The Sergeant Major said. "Don't worry son, I can take care of myself, you just worry about yourself, and don't hold back."

Kyle did as he was told and leaped 2 meters up and over the ring ropes like it was nothing. The Sergeant Major however took his time, climbing up the steps and under the ropes.

"Whenever you're ready kid," he said.

Kyle acknowledged with a single nod and sprang off his back foot and launched a crushing strike. In one motion, Ding grabed his hand and flipped Kyle over on his back. This came as quite a shock to Kyle who took a second before he rolled back on his feet. Ding had that same slight smirk on his face and connected with a roundhouse kick to Kyle's gut. To his surprize, that kick hurt kyle's side. It was like he was fighting a spartan.

"What's wrong kid, this old dog too much for you," Ding said sarcastically.

"No sir, just wasn't expecting you to be so strong"

"Dammit kid," Ding said, "Haven't you been training to expect the unexpected"

"Well..., yes sir"

"Good, now this time, don't hold back, or I'll bust your ass down to Third Class."

"Alright sir, I'll give it all I got," Kyle said.

Kyle made the first move, he made a quick fast uppercut that missed the Sarge's jaw my millimeters. The punch was so fast that the Sarge felt a gust of wind on his chin. Kyle rebounded and prepared to launch a kick at the Sarge's sternum. He let it fly, but the Sarge countered and punched and it was countered by Kyle. The two of them were in a stalemate. The Sarge backed off and Kyle was just about to attack when Sarge held up his hand. Kyle stopped.

"Awww comon' Sarge, I was just getting warmed up," Kyle said.

"Yeah, so was I," Ding said. "But we can't afford to beat ourselves up; save that energy for the Covenant son."

"Yeah, I guess you're right Sarge," Kyle said admittingly.

"Hey Sarge," Kyle said, "Where did you learn those moves from, and how are you that strong. You're about as strong and quick as I am. It's like you were a spartan before...were you?"

The Sarge pondered the idea of telling this young kid the truth, that he was an original Spartan-I.

"Well kid," Ding said, "I--

Ding glanced over at the entrance to the gym and saw Major Terry Jones listening intently, as if he were interested in the answer. The Major had hoped to find out before Ding noticed him. But it was not meant to be.

"Officer on the deck," Ding barked.

Ding and Kyle simultaneously snapped off crisp salutes, which were promptly returned.

"At ease men," the Major said. "We'll be moving soon, get ready."

"Get ready for what sir," Kyle said.

"Why, for battle son. It's time for these covie scum to meet the best the UNSC has to offer."

"You two ready?" the Major said.

"Sir yes sir," they both replied in unison. James-001 23:03, 16 March 2007 (UTC)

8
Covenant Slipspace Transmission

Diviner, Coral

The Diviner was a Covenant Stealth Ship, one of the shortest, swiftest, yet most au courant and elegant of all Covenant starships. As Major Domo Rann 'Uranee held the 3D tracing laser's wireframe in his armored glove, he beheld it with a reverence, running his gauntlet's index finger down the sleek, piscene back, like beautific, slender, lithe muscles running down an amphibian's back. This entrancement was almost religious, as if the stealth ship was sacrosanct. A most unusual turn-on for any Major Domo, especially one in Reconnaisance Command and tasked with the ship's navigational matters. Because the Diviner was on Alert Two, slightly elevated because of hostiles in the vicinity but at almost zero probability of detection and subsequent detection, Rann 'Uranee had the pleasure of staying at the rear station - the observational deck. An extremely restricted view, not the panorama of splendrous stars afforded by the bridges of Ape...or rather, UNSC ships (one was demanded to treat the former Ape enemies with respect, now that they were uniting with the Sangheili, but this dictum had not jerked itself into 'Uranee's mind fully yet)...but also thrilling. Most perplexing.

Ship Master 'Okoruee was at the command station (the poor fellow was also forced to be at the bridge during all alert stauses), as was the diligent Major 'Jakoqee (of Sensors). Diligent because of fear for 'Okoruee, a brutish cudgel with no intellect that deserves to be vaped like the Jiralhanae filth that had clung in murky strands to the boots of Sangheili glory, but was not being surgically excised by pulse lasers. 'Okoruee had even executed a Minor Domo two cycles ago for failing to reset the secondary particle screens for the Slipspace plasma coils. A greivous mistake, yes, but not one to murder for.

The third Major onboard was the Tactics and Communications Master, who also dually served as the onboard religious sermonizer during the ship's scheduled hours of prayer. Both an Ossonna and a Major, Eru 'Gathsee was a Major in that he was responsible for both tactical advising for 'Uranee, and an Ossonna, a spy of the (not Prophets any more) Central Command to ensure that no Sangheili onboard still favored the Jiralhanae (who would?) and to ensure moral and religious discipline. He had the authority to spy upon crewmen that he suspected were traitors or religious heretics, place them under arrest by the ship's diminuitive eight-man security force, and send them to the Politiburo for...trial by plasma shot.

As 'Uranee continued stroking the beautiful wireframe, the words that sounded within his light crewman's armored helmet materialized into...letters. Most unusual. Sound and sight are not equovicable!, he thought. The next imperative seized his mind with maddening force.

You will kill 'Gathsee, 'Jakoqee, and 'Okoruee.

There was not even an iota of mental resistance as his mandibles went slack as he incorporated the command into himself like a computer willingly accepting a computer virus. His eyes glimmered crimson for a moment, and his hands twisted in paroxysms, fingers flumbling over glossy armor and fingers, and his head oddly inclined itself one way, and the starfield before him twisted.

Cheers,

<font color="#D3D3D3">Gho <font color="#A9A9A9">st I <font color="#808080">nsi <font color="#000000">de the M <font color="#808080">ach <font color="#A9A9A9">ine <font color="#808080">''(<font color="#808080">Whisper through the Storm ) (<font color="#808080">My Journeys ) (<font color="#808080">Omens ) 23:36, 16 March 2007 (UTC)

9
D + 00:19:46 (Master Gunnery Sergeant Wimbleton Mission Clock), Aboard unknown ship, unknown location

MOVE! Hank willed himself. Still nothing. He had been trying to break the iron grip this otherly being had on him for at least twenty minutes since he had awaken. He had tried everything that came to mind. Nothing worked. He had a thought. What if he were to think about something that would tie up the mental intrusion?

You can’t defeat me. the voice replied, as if on cue.

Can’t I? Hank replied. Hank searched his memory for something extremely difficult. Then he had it. Hank began to do the mathematics in his head to derive pi. His brow twitched.

No! the voice demanded. He continued his thoughts on pi. NO!! the voice virtually shouted. He continued to derive. Hank brought his right hand in front of his face. A smile widened across his face. He continued to calculate in the back of his mind. He was still in his uniform. The only injury he could surmise was a puncture wound at the base of his neck. It seemed odd that it didn’t hurt at all. Hank’s guns were gone, but when he felt his back, his sword was still there, cleverly sown covertly into the uniform. He drew his sword.

“Let’s find out who you really are!” Hank shouted. He paused. He had derived pi. For a second, the voice took control. Then Hank began to cross-check his work. The voice again lost control of Hank. Hank looked around him. He was in a room. There were two doors. One was red, signifying that it was locked. The other was white. Hank walked up and the door flashed several times before sliding open.

They were everywhere. They were on the floor. They were on the walls. They were on the ceiling. They were atop each other. The Flood was here. Hank stopped. What could he do?

Give up? the voice weakly suggested, having no pull over him anymore.

“No!” he shouted in defiance. Hank suddenly understood what the puncture wound was, and what the voice had meant by convert. He couldn’t be infected! He didn’t know how, but it seemed to be true. But then, it would more than likely be very painful to get poked by one of those pods again. Hank looked to his left down a corridor. Just what he needed. There stood a human combat form holding an SMG. It’s back was turned to him. He rushed forward and sliced it first across the waste, cleaving it in half, and then while its top half was still falling, he cut it cleanly from top to bottom. He picked up the fallen M7. The noise seemed to have gotten the infection forms’ attention, and they rushed en masse. The shells from the M7, which thankfully had an extended clip, clattered to the ground all about Hank like rain from heaven. After only a few seconds of continuous fire, the corridor was clear of the Flood and Hank was out of ammo.

D + 00:21:04 (Master Gunnery Sergeant Wimbleton Mission Clock), Aboard unknown ship, unknown location

Hank dropped the spent M7 and shifted his beautiful sword to his right hand. It was true that he could wield it just as well in his left, but he still preferred his right. Hank took a moment to consider the work of art his ancestor had forged so many centuries ago. The blade was made on an unknown metal. Diamonds couldn’t even scratch the surface. On it, written in Thai, an ancient and forgotten language, it read บดเยี ทำสัำย ม่ำ, which roughly translated to Crush, Kill, Destroy. The blade was very fine, so fine that it could slice through steel like it was butter. Were this not so, Hank would surely not think it a practical weapon to use against the Elites with their shields and armor. But Hank’s sword had never let him down, and he doubted it would let him down now.

Hank walked into the next room. It seemed to have once been an armory. On the right, Hank saw his helmet, his guns, and most importantly, his red shades. Hank sheathed his sword and approached the stack. He put the shades on, then the helmet, and finally holstered his two M7s, slung the MA5B across his back, and picked up two M90s, one shotgun in each hand. The door across the way flashed and a chime sounded to alert Hank that the door was about to open. Hank squeezed one of the shotguns between himself and his arm, then grabbed an M9 fragmentation grenade from the table, primed it, and threw it too the door. As the door opened, revealing a clutch of combat forms, Elites this time, the grenade exploded, splattering the wall with green goo.

“It’s party time!” Hank shouted, grabbing up the rest of the grenades and then his second shotgun. He checked that both were fully loaded, and then set out through the door. A single combat form stood at the end of the corridor. He fired both shotguns simultaneously. The combat form was nearly shorn in half by the blasts. Hank jerked the two shotguns violently forward, and then just as violently back, cocking both the pumps. Two expended shells dropped to his feet. He’d have to conserve ammo. He only had two packs of sixty rounds in his small rucksack. Hank didn’t know where he was, but he figured he would have to get to the bridge to find the source of his problems. He finished cross-checking pi. Now all that was left was to list pi out. Hank wouldn’t have too much time. Hank only knew it to the fiftieth place.

Three. Hank charged down a corridor, hooked right, and blasted two carrier forms at range. Point. Both exploded, showering Hank with bits of flesh and green blood. One. Hank ran on, coming to a long service corridor. Four. The corridor was heavily guarded. One. A group of combat forms several meters ahead opened fire. Five. Hank dove into a roll around a bulkhead. Nine. Hank primed a grenade. Two. He threw it at the group and was rewarded by a shower of parts. Six. A group of carrier forms rushed forward. Five. Hank rolled another grenade forward. Three. There was another explosion, followed by a series of explosions. Five. Hank sprinted from cover. Eight. Hank blasted a combat form on the run. Nine. Hank didn’t have time to stop and cock the shotgun, so he dropped it. Seven. Hank came to another group of combat forms and infection forms. Nine. Hank blew them away with his shotgun. Three. Hank slung the shotgun and drew his assault rifle. Two. He rushed through another door. Three. He was in the bridge. Hank paused.


 * --Master Gunnery Sergeant Hank J Wimbleton IV COM 07:33, 17 March 2007 (UTC)

10
Diviner

The security Sangheili's corpse laid before Major 'Uranee with such alacitry that 'Uranee was unaware how he had even executed his comrade. It was as if his hands had been enlightened in the art of warfare. All Sangheili, while on starship cruises or periods of waiting with zero risk of infiltration from enemy sources, had their personal energy shields deactivated for those times to conserve energy. Therefore, 'Uranee had grasped his Needler sidearm's base, and then jabbed the crystalline spikes fancifully arrayed across the top into the base of the Sangheili's neck-armor. Veins and arteries alike had been skewered, and then extravagant blood pressures had inexorably driven flourescent cyan blood upon him. 'Uranee raided the corpse. Its morbidity did not even have a note on him, nor did the oddness of the act he'd just done strike him. Carbine, four plasma grenades.

His blood-stained gauntlets then snaked around the corpse, and he heaved with exertion as he struggled to take the Sangheili, armor and all, into a secluded corner on the observational deck. He with quick command, his armor's shields raised for a millisecond, the intense heat projected by their raising flash-vaporizing the blood on his armor. The Major Domo's crimson armor was now blood-free, or at least momentarily. Sliding his needler into its holster, grenades onto magnetic latchers onto his belt, and carbine in hand, he strode boldly to the Station of Clarity - the meditative lounge that doubled as a recreational center.

Within its spartan travails: arcing marble walls that formed a sphere and running lights inlaid in the darkened room, was Major 'Okoruee and two or three Minor Domos...even with his weaponry, 'Uranee was a tad concerned that he would be mortally wounded. Yet, the intercranial pressure encapsulating his brain rose to maddening levels, discordant voices howled with corybantic

<TBC...>

11
They say there are two things that make a fighter strong. Two things, that at his very core, he must have. When a fighter lacks either of these motives, he becomes useless, no more than a lump on the battlefield. One, who cannot raise his fists to strike, will be struck down by those who can. A protector with nothing to protect becomes nothing more than a testament to time.

What are those two things?

Anger.... and Love.

Without them, the trial of fighting becomes meaningless. Even those who fight for no reason, fight for the love of fighting, have inside of them a hungry anger which unleashes itself on the battlefield. Those who fight for love, to protect, have a healthy bout of anger for those that oppose them and pose danger to those they protect.

So...

What do you fight with?

The glowing field of particulate energy amassed itself on the palm of Adrian-014's right hand. In his left hand, which hung by his side, were two glowing objects which resembled rainbow colored X's. Those looking on were wide eyed with both concern and excitement, as they watched the scene unfold. Not one said a word; Curtis or Peterson. If they had, it wouldn't have been much. Because in both of their minds, the only thing being thought was; 'Whoa'.

"What are you going to do now?" A voice asked, flowing into Adrian's mind like a river exploding through a flimsy dam. He was quickly brought back to his senses, having lost himself in the moment. Helen's voice had stopped him from losing his concentration and resolve in the moment to come.

"Just watch..." He muttered, taking a step back with his right foot and planting it firmly on the ground. He didn't know why, but this whole unfolding scene made his emotions run wild; and the sense of anger overcoming him was prevalent. His blood pressure spiked and his mind slowly became fuzzy and sterile. He had no though except for one; I have to get stronger...

He growled out, as he pulled his glowing hand back and got a bit lower. His face still stared at the mountain of boxes, as if they were the only thing standing between him and saving the one he loved; Angel. If she were on the other side of those things, trapped by some omnipotent being, he would gladly do anything in his power to get her out. That was the intent, the thought that was rushing through his mind at that moment. It slowly transcended into anger, which voiced itself loudly. He yelled out, his mind encapsulated with the one notion of bringing those boxes tumbling to the ground.

"Adrian!" Helen yelled out, fearing that her Spartan partner was losing himself. She had never seen him so angry, so ridden with angst and mal-content. She had to snap him back to reality, but even her 'yell' didn't faze him at all. He thrust his hand forwards, and with it every fiber in his being cried out as well.

"So I hear you got a promotion, right?" Warren asked, finishing the necessary welding on the wing. He smiled his coy little smile, rubbing the perfectly smooth job with his thumb just to see how it felt. Kind of hot, but cooling rapidly. It should pose no problem to Jason's flying in the future, as he knew it was vitally important that the pilot be in top form.

Jason laughed out, running a somewhat greasy hand through his hair. He hadn't noticed the grease until he brought his hand back down, and the laugh was replaced by a look of bewilderment as he stared down at the grease laden hand in front of him. "Fuck!" He shouted, stomping his foot in adolescent frustration.

Warren raised an eyebrow in concern, looking over at Jason before bursting out in laughter, so much so he needed to bend over and grab his knees for support. The laughter Warren had was from the streak of black grease which marred the red-heads perfectly styled hair and a small portion of his forehead. Jason growled, lowering his eyes and scoffing at Warren and his own stupidity. "Yea, the Brass finally paid attention to my work on that ring. Made me a "Full Lieutenant" or whatever that means..." He said wiping his face with a sweat rag, as Warren got back to his feet, laughing slightly still.

He took a deep breath, finding his Zen-like center and brought his arms to his side. He closed his eyes and stopped himself from laughing at his friend, who was still wiping his face. "That's pretty damn cool," Warren said with a now meaningful grin, bending over and putting his soddering iron away. He bent back up, to see Jason with a large grin and his arms out to the side.

"Better?" He asked, having wiped his face with the rag. What he didn't realize is that the rag was where the grease which had gotten on his hand had originally come from. The young black man was then lost in his laughter, as Jason found a place to examine his appearance; subsequently shocked by what he saw. CaptainAdamGraves 20:14, 17 March 2007 (UTC)

12
Zamin 'Gunnada yawned. He hadn't had any sleep since the Major Domo, Sader 'Derasu, arrived at the training center in ***** //Location Censored//. But, he had to admit, the Major Domo was growing on him.

"'Derasu!" yelled 'Gunnada, in a groggy voice from all the yelling he did the previous day. "TIME FOR YOUR NEXT LESSON"

'Derasu rised from his bed. He had a pounding headache, and was in no mood to be taught anything. "Commander, I am not well." he announced.

"Oh, is that so?" 'Gunnada said suspiciously. "Shall we call a doctor to see if you are unhealthy?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I have a pounding headache. I can't train with a headache."

"You think the Jiralhanae care about that? The only thing they'd want to do with your head is shoot it off!"

"I suppose. All right then sir. What is my lesson?"

"Active camouflage. The SpecOps' main tool of devastation."

'Derasu seemed intrigued. He was always interested with Active Camouflage, and would be happy to work with it...finally.

"Sir, before we continue, how does it work?"

"Well, this container I am holding is an active camouflage. Since your armor contains no system, you shall use one of these from now on in training. I suppose we all need a break, so we can take the day off. Death to the Jiralhanae."

"Yes sir, see you tomorrow."

The next day...

'Gunnada flickered on his COM. Ship master Qutar 'Radomee was on the channel

"Commander 'Gunnada? Are you there?" 'Radomee asked.

"Um...yes sir. What are calling me for?"

'Radomee sighed. "Well commander, for one, the Jiralhanae have invaded the human controlled planet they call 'Coral'-."

"How does this affect us? We are light years away from that place. It would take quite a while before they'd arrive here. And even if they do make it here, we have a cloaking device. And besides, the Humans can hold off on their own. They've proven that on a few occasions, with their 'Spartans' and what not." Interrupted 'Gunnada.

"Please Commander, let me finish. Now, you know that the Jiralhanae, Brutes, Bravo Kilos, Baby Kongs, whatever you want to call them are fools, but, they are mighty fools. Our UNSC allies are being slaughtered." Said 'Radomee. "Councilor 'Nodotee has already sent in hundreds of troops. We need SpecOps."

"Sir, I haven't even finished training the Minor and Major Domos you sent me!" 'Gunnada protested. "And another thing, why aren't you getting Rtas 'Vadumee's SpecOps soldiers there while I train these ones."

"'Vadumee is on Earth with the Arbiter, on other affairs, so I'm afraid you must send your SpecOps."

"*Sigh* OK sir. I shall finish with final lessons and-"

"Just get it done."

"...Aye sir."

Two hours later

'Gunnada called for all his men to form a line. As they stood there, patiently, he picked up a large crate marked "Ration" and stopped around 2 meters from his men.

"Sangheili!" He called out.

"Sir yes sir?!" They replied.

"IT IS TIME FOR YOU ALL THE GRADUATE! YOUR FIRST BATTLE IS NEAR!"

Everyone froze in spot. They weren't prepared for this.

"Inside of this crate, is armor. Not just ANY armor, Special Operations armor. You hear me?"

Still, everyone was quiet. Then, Sader 'Derasu walked up to 'Gunnada.

"I heard you sir. I am honoured."

"MEN! YOU COULD LEARN A THING OR TWO FROM 'DERASU OVER HERE! Now, get on your damn armor!"

After around 15 minutes, everyone had put on the SpecOps armor. There were mixed emotions all around. Still, 'Derasu seemed confident, and proud of his new promotion, and decided to speak.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Major Domo?"

"Where is it that we are being stationed?"

"That, my friend, is on a need to know basis. You do not need to know. Now all of you, we are leaving in 20 units, hurry up, and grab your guns. You are going to need them."

Qutar 'Radomee had 4 Lances behind him, all armed with Plasma Rifles. Since the Prophets were no longer in charge, Plamsa Rifles were standard issue to Unggoy, yet most opted for Needlers. He approached a ruin, with the Lances all following closely, watching his every move. He raised his head into the air, and started searching for a scent. Quickly, he turned to the Lances and pointed an area to the Northwest of their position. Then, 'Radomee approached an Ultra and whispered in his ear: "Take control and flank them from the Northwest, while I call for re-enforcements. There are many Jiralhanae here".

The Ultra nodded, and signaled the Lances to follow him. They hesitated at first, but then followed. 'Radomee flickered on his COM, and whispered into it:

"I need snipers at my position, tell them to walk. We can't risk losing this area because some soldiers were lazy."

Just then, 'Radomee heard a bloodcurdling scream, followed by Gunshots.

" *Sigh* Never mind then, send them in Wraith tanks. It appears as though stealth is no longer a virtue."

A distorted "Yes sir" could be distinguished from the static.

Restless Nights Reborn stopped 200 metres over the planet. It deployed it's Grav Lift which slowly fell to the ground. Inside the ship, Phantoms and Spirits were being filled with supplies.

"Sir, you haven't even prepped us yet!" Whined a Sangheili.

"Shut it, minor. Your mission is to kill Jiralhanae, but first, you must locate Ship Master 'Radomee and give him sniper cover. I hope you all have your Carbines?"

The Sangheili all shuffled, looking for the Carbines that were just spoke of.

"Just under the seat..."

'Derasu got up, and lifted up the seat. Inside was a Carbine, with ammunition scattered across the floor. Mimicing their major, the Sangheili all lifted their seats, and took out the carbines that were promised.

"Now men, these are special Carbines. They have energy shield peircing rounds, and are gassed powered. You can thank our UNSC allies for that one. But, don't go shooting your brothers for target practice just because it's a Carbine, because you would cause some serious damage, and may possibly even kill them. These are for those blasted Jiralhanae!"

Everyone inside Phantom cheered, and jumped out, to see Wraith tanks waiting for them. There were a few ghosts too, and eventually, everyone was on some sort of vehicle.

'Radomee waited patiently for his tank support. The sounds of Plasma rifles and Type-25 "Spiker" Carbines almost seemed infinite. 'Radomee knew that the Lances would be safe, as Kwarsh was with them, and he was an amazing tactician. 'Radomee flickered his COM channel to Kwarsh's frequency. "Hello, Kwarsh?" He whispered, not to give himself away.

"I'm kinda busy, what is it?"

"How are you and your men fairing?" 'Radomee asked.

"You might want to ask someone else at the moment, I'm surrounded by Jiralhanae..."

"Do you want me to assist?"

"They're just on top of the buildings to the Northeast, give us some sniper cover soon."

"All right then. I shall see you in a few Units."

"Kwarsh out."

CLICK

As 'Radomee waited, a new scent filled the air, coming from the south. It smelled like...Wraith tanks. He turned around to confront the Tanks, and saw that they were the ones he ordered to come. There were also some Ghost escorts, and they would be truly useful. 'Radomee paced around the new Sangheili troops, and gave them a grunt of approval. He noticed the bulk of them were SpecOps, while many of them were Domos. Minor and Major. There was one SpecOps commander...which had to be 'Gunnada.

'Gunnada signaled everyone to get in position on higher ground, as to get a height advantage over the Jiralhanae. They all drew out their modified Carbines and look in their scopes. 'Gunnada took out his Monocular and viewed the ruins.

"'Radomee sir," 'Gunnada said.

"Yes Commander?" 'Radomee replied.

"The Jiralhanae own the ruins, and are on top of one of the main buildings. Shall we strike there?"

"Yes Commander. Fire at will. But please, leave some men for the tanks. Also, get us some damn Banshee cover!"

"Sir yes sir!" 'Gunnada flickered on his COM. "We need Banshee support. Come in quietly."

'Derasu looked in his scope. Ugly Jiralhanae were firing at his allies down below. He applied pressure to the trigger, and took aim. He then squeezed and the Jiralhanae was dead. It's allies scampered around taking cover behind a rock. It would've worked too, but 'Radomee ordered a Tank flanking. Blue-white plasma mortars flew over his head, and drooped down to where the Jiralhanae were hiding. 'Derasu was blinded by white-hot intensified explosion, and when it cleared, saw a black hole in the ground.

The Sangheili who did the shot hopped out of the tank. "Hahaha! Nice shot, Eh Ship master?"

"I suppose. Is the sniping operation done?"

"Yes sir."

"All right, time to assist our allies."

‘Radomee approached a clearing where his Lances were. To his surprise, there were very little Separatist corpses. This was a good sign. That meant that the Second wave would be successful. Ordering all the soldiers into a crowd, he told them to split into groups. There was Ghost team 1, 2, 3 and 4. Lances 1,2,3,4 and 5 (more troops were added, making a fifth lance). Tank teams 1 and 2, Banshee groups 1,2,3 and 4. And SpecOps team.

“Excellent. All of you are in your teams and groups. Now, to explain the waves. Ghost 1, Lance 1 and Banshee 1 will go in first. After 20 units, I’ll send Ghost 2, Lance 2 and Banshee 2. 10 units later, I will send Ghost 4, Lance 4 and Banshee 4. Then, in 15 units, I will send in Lance 5 and Tank 1. 5 units after that, I will send myself, SpecOps team, and Tank 2. It should be an effective strike.”

Kwarsh slowly raised his hand.

“Yes Kwarsh?”

“Um, sir, I’m not in a Lance.”

“Well, that would be because you are with me.”

“Oh ok.”

‘Derusa was in the SpecOps team. It had been 50 units since the first wave had been sent in, and now it was his team’s turn to fight.

He was told to sit on one of the Wings of a Wraith tank. Behind him was an Unggoy that ‘Radomee called “Kwarsh”. He had silver-white armour, and seemed to be the Unggoy commander. He was friendly, but seemed to be able to take control of the situation. Kwarsh was Bloodied and Bruised, which showed he had been in many battles.

Tank 2 and the SpecOps team approached the battlefield. It was littered in blood. The occasional Spiker round was fired, but besides that, it seemed pretty much under control. Then, as if the Jiralhanae had heard his thoughts and felt his calmness, they bombarded the clearing with Banshees where the Separatists made camp. In retaliation, the Wraith Tank ‘Derusa was on fired a Blue White mortar, hitting one of the Banshees. It plummeted to the ground and exploded. The corpse that was once the Pilot hit the ground with a ‘thud’, landing right after the Banshee.

After a few more waves of Banshees, what was left of the Jiralhanae Lances attacked. Loyalist Unggoy and Kig-Yar accompanied them. Sticking to the original Covenant attack form, Unggoy went first, followed by Kig-Yar, then the bulk of the Jiralhanae. The rest of the Jiralhanae arrived when the majority of Unggoy and Kig-Yar were gone, which proved to be an effective tactic. As the Separatists were running low on weapons and ammunition.

‘Radomee chased after a Jiralhanae that decided to retreat. He showed no mercy, first slicing off his legs, then jumping in the air, coming down on the Jiralhanae with his blade. It choked on it’s own blood, twitched, then died. ‘Radomee retracted his Energy Sword, and pulled out his Carbine, seeing if any stragglers were in his immediate position. Two wretched Jiralhanae were behind a grouping of trees. Occasionally, they fired a few pot shots, but they didn’t hit anyone. Annoyed, ‘Radomee lined up his scope so both their heads were in a straight line, he pulled the trigger…and…

'Gunnada led many SpecOps into battle. But it seemed as if they were all being killed by the Jiralhanae travesties. Disappointed, he ordered his SpecOps to make a retreat. This proved to be a foolish mistake, as he no longer had anyone to cover him. 10 Units after the retreat, ‘Gunnasa was shot, and killed by a Kig-Yar sniper. Afterwards, ‘Radomee ordered another assault on the Jiralhanae.


 * --Kwarsh [[image:Gruntiness.jpeg|35px]][ Talk to me! ] - [ Stuff I've done! ] 22:08, 19 March 2007 (UTC)

13
Edward, SPARTAN-077, moved his head from side to side. Nothing. The hallway was clear. Behind him, the squad of ODSTs shifted uncomfortably. "Command, this is Delta Team, we have reached the structure, please advise on next orders." There was a pause, then, "roger that Delta, any contacts? "No" Edward replied "all clear." There were footsteps behind and one of the ODSTs walked up and saluted. "Sir" he began "ready for orders" Edward turned toward the metal door blocking the way, "do you have cutting equipment?"The ODST nodded, and whistled to another one. The second ODST came over lugging a cutting torch, he set it against the door then started to cut.

Roy Stang yawned, though tried hard to hide from his crew. seeing their captain yawn would fuel.....ideas. "Lt" Roy called to Lt Kim "status on Delta Squad."Sir" Lt Kim began "their okay." "Good" Roy said, he leaned back in the command chair. "perhaps" Roy began. "What, sir?" Lt Harp asked. "I simply thought perhaps two more squads of ODSTs would....lessen the chances of failure. Lt Kim and Lt Harp both looked at each other. "Sir" Lt Kim said "If they have a SPARTAN with them.... "Sir" Lt Harp with a note of confusion in his voice "theres an incoming message, its checks out on frequencies."Patch it through." This is Rear Admiral Wales from ONI, I am ordering you to jump to the Planet Coral"what reason, sir"Roy asked. "A special reason"the voice said, rather calmly. The voice didn't answer. "Well" Roy said "that matter is....settled."

The cutter stopped slicing and the metal slab finally fell. Edward poked his head through. Nothing. he was getting a bad feeling about that. He walked through, careful with every step. The ODSTs followed, waving their rifles around watching, waiting. Edward came up on something he hadn't seen many times before: a holographic control panel. "Covenant tech" one of the ODSTs muttered. Edward turned to it, it wasn't Covenant tech, at least, it didn't look like it. He tapped it. Nothing happened. Instead, he pressed, there was the sound of a lock opening. "Think we got it" one of the ODSTs murmured. Edward turned just in time to see something big, hairy, and snarling come out. Whatever it was, it was pissed to see them. "HUMANS!" it growled at the top of it's lungs. One of the ODSTs fired his Battle Rifle. Big mistake. It did nothing other than get it's attention, and with lightning reflexes the creature threw itself at the soldier. The ODST fired his rifle, then fell. Suddenly, there was a bark and then the creature stood down. Edward looked in the direction of the command, and saw another creature stride toward him. It had a sort of flag attached to its back and wielded a blade-tipped weapon. The first creature moved over and to the second and began to mutter. Edward didn't have a clue what they were saying. The two creatures seem to have forgotten the ODSTs and Edward were there. One of the ODSTs took a step forward, Edward placed a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "They'll kill you in one swipe."

14
Second Lieutenant Jesse Arm was disgusted with himself. At only nineteen years of age, he should have been in college. Instead, he was responsible for the lives of fifty-four other men. Well, was responsible. After days of devestating energy storms and the recent fighting with the Covenant invaders, Jesse had lost all but nineteen men. He had gone from commanding four full squads to a squad and a half. He was nothing more than a glorified sergeant. He had let down the men he had sworn to protect. He had let down the families of those men. He-

"Sir?" asked his platoon sergeant, pulling Jesse back from his episode of self-loathing. "Your orders?" Jesse took a moment to reexamine the situation. B Company had been tasked with taking this hill, which was currently occupied by the Covenant. The summit of the hill had until recently been the sight of a UNSC armory. After extended fighting with the Covenant, the UNSC was starting to run low on ammo. And now B Company had to get it. The problem was that the Covenant were allready there, and were dug in very well. The hill was covered in a thick forest of trees and boulders, providing plenty of cover, so Jesse's company commander had made the decision to assault the hill. As they slowly made their way up the hill, the Covenant rained plasma and needles down on them. The needles were especially tricky, as they could manuever around obstacles to nail the marines who thought they were relatively safe. Meanwhile Banshees were making strafing runs. Worst of all though, the same trees and rocks that provided cover for the marines, also provided camoflauge for numerous Covenant ambushes. Needless to say, many of Jesse's platoon's losses had died on this hill. Jesse vaguely recalled reading about a similair battle in school, something about "Hamburger Hill." He wished he could remember which side won.

He glanced around some more, noted the fatigue on his soldiers' faces, as they dug in, trying to get some rest before Jesse ordered them to march up the mountain again. He turned back to his platoon sergeant, Ben.

"Sarge, I'm still new to this 'life or death' decision-making thing. What do you suggest we should do?"

Ben paused, considering. "The way I see it, we have two options. Try another push at the hill, or bug out. We can't tell what the other platoons have opted to try, as these damned storms have been intereferring with communications. So really, the only thing we can-"

He paused, as Jesse lifted his MA5B Assault Rifle and aimed it in his direction. And he pulled the trigger.

Ben braced for impact, but instead heard each round whizz over his shoulder. He turned and saw a Jackal crumple over, dead.

"Th-thanks sir," he said. Jesse just reloaded his weapon.

"So, Sarge. Your advice."

Ben paused again. "I don't know," he admitted.

Jesse nodded. "Okay then. It looks like it's back up the hill." The platoon members within earshot heard this and groaned, getting up and preparing for another flirt with death.

Only moments later, the platoon heard a high, whiny noise. Ben swore. A sergeant yelled, "Banshee! Get to cover and get low!" and the platoon was moving.

The Banshee swooped in, strafing the platoon with it's plasma cannons. Earth blasted apart, showering the platoon with dirt and rocks. It began to make a tight turn, preparing for another pass.

What I wouldn't give for a Jackhammer right now.

It had finished its turn and was just about to fire when it suddenly exploded and burst into flames. Another banshee flashed by the tumbling wreckage before turning to pursue another banshee.

The Marines were dumbstruck. They had all heard rumors that the Covenant were going through a Civil War...

Jesse was on his feet in an instant. "Status Report!" he barked.

Everyone had somehow made it unscathed. Maybe things were looking up after all.

A needle came from nowhere and nailed a private in the neck. The needle stuck for a moment before exploding, ripping the marine's throat to pieces. Maybe they aren't. The platoon medic was there in an instant, hoping the damage wasn't too extensive. Another private gunned down the Grunt that had fired the needle.

Wraith tanks began to pelt the summit of the hill. So it was a civil war after all.

The medic turned to Jesse apologetically. "I'm sorry sir, I did all I could."

Eighteen men left. Thirty six dead.

"Let's let the Covenant decide this for themselves. We're heading back to Bravo Base."

Jesse began to make his way down the hill, the remains of his platoon in tow. The whole way down, he could feel their angry eyes staring at him.

-Chickenman 07:09, 23 March 2007 (UTC)