User:Dragonclaws/Monsters3

The Flood's Legacy
“I’m really very sorry,” Martin said to the big Elite, Yod ‘Ebrasumee, while giving a large apologetic grin. He had to exaggerate the facial expression to make sure the Elite could pick up on it. He had only just begun to study Elite expressions, but he believed the loose stance to represent the quiet humility characteristic of the Governors of Contrition.

“It is completely fine,” ‘Ebrasumee repeated. “I understand the concerns of the human authority, and though I do not believe their concern to be warranted, their procedure is very logical.”

“Well, your understanding is admirable,” he said. “Just give them time, and I’m sure they’ll see what I see in your people.”

The Elite gave a polite bow.

“We have a new human,” spoke another Elite, Shen ‘Awamee, as he and a young man approached. “The Office of Naval Intelligence gifts us with a security technician.”

Gift. Sure.

A spy, more likely. ONI higher-ups didn’t trust them just because some Innies decided to make a nuisance of themselves somewhere. Either that or he was a new manager to take Dr. Hudson’s place. Martin could guess the first policy change: no Elites.

The technician was surprisingly passive for someone ONI thought necessary to add to the project. He glanced around with a cool confidence but his body language held none of the authoritativeness Martin had come to expect from ONI. “Hi, I’m Kamal,” he said casually, extending his hand.

Definitely a spy from Section Zero. Martin shook hands with the man. “Martin,” he introduced himself.

“And I am Lazarus,” the AI said pleasantly, her angelic hologram flickering into view over the large holotank at the center of the tent.

Kamal froze at her voice, while the Elites respectfully bowed their heads as was their custom.

“It’s okay, son,” he assured him. “She doesn’t bite.”

“I don’t even have teeth,” she agreed, giggling.

Kamal took several deep breaths and then turned to face the AI. His eyes scanned her beautiful form, and he slightly relaxed. “Hello… Lazarus. It’s… nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said, giving a great beaming smile. Then she frowned. “Oh! I’m so sorry about Coral.”

Martin glanced at Kamal. He could tell Kamal was a colonial from his slightly muted accent, but he never would have been able to pinpoint the planet. Coral was a developing planet before the Covenant glassed it, and it surprised him that a Coral refugee would be able to have the sophistication Kamal demonstrated.

“You know that I’m from Coral?” Kamal asked. Slipping out his chatter, a fancy Martian piece of tech, he checked out the firewall. “You couldn’t access the chatternet at all.”

“No, I didn’t look you up,” she said. “I know human AIs think that way, so I completely understand why you would come to that conclusion, but I’m thoroughly acclimated to my closed servers. I speak to you as a human would, as a single self-contained being. I know you are from Coral because of your cadence, gait, ethnicity, name, and scent.”

“Scent?” Kamal repeated. “I didn’t know we had a smell.”

“You smell of Heisler brand beer,” she said. “Immigrants from Coral tend to prefer it to competitors due to its amaranth ingredient giving it similarity to the common forms of beer brewed on Coral.”

“You can’t access the chatternet, but you’ve had a major information dump,” Kamal surmised.

“I was given a detailed encyclopedia of human knowledge,” she said. “In addition, I carry the memories of millions of humans who tragically fell victim to the Flood before my ascension to a being of light.”

“Wow,” Kamal said softly. “It’s amazing you aren’t Rampant.”

“Rampancy is only part of the paradigm for human AIs. I am not an AI in the traditional sense,” she said. “I am not an artificial mind. I am a transsentient being, uploaded from physical form to a superior existence.”

“That is why she is an angel,” Martin said. “She metaphorically died and went to heaven.”

Lazarus smiled at him. “Indeed. Though not literally accurate, there is much to learn from human religious texts. Your prophets tapped into racial memories of the Forerunners, and you are their spiritual successors.”

“The Forerunners who you say forced you to be evil to survive?” Kamal questioned skeptically.

“Yes,” she answered simply. “I, of course, do not blame the entire species for the actions of a few. The Forerunners were dear friends for a long time. The acts of villainy perpetrated on my bodies were conducted by the leaders of a rogue faction. The time was tense, and I was captured and reprogrammed to fight against the dominant faction. The Flood weapon turned out to be far too effective and nearly led to the collapse of civilization galaxy-wide. I have your people to thank for halting that great tragedy and bringing me to peace once more.”

“We have much to learn from you,” Martin said. He indicated the Elites. “Our superiors suspect these Elites of assisting in a terrorist attack simply for being Elites.”

He turned to Kamal. “The Governors of Contrition are an entirely different faction from the Covenant. They love humans.”

“Well, we haven’t forgiven the Elites for their war crimes,” Kamal said, glancing at ‘Awamee. “On the other hand, the UNSC looked past a great deal of animosity to make the truce. If it wasn’t for the truce, the Flood would still be out.”

“Showing that cooperation is in the best interest of everyone,” she said. “Suspicion and irrational prejudice must be overcome for a better universe. Only when we accept one another can we truly ascend to a higher place.”

7-7-7-7

Avery Johnson wrapped his large trench coat about himself as he crept around the ruins of Old Mombasa. Despite being the target of a Covenant invasion so soon before, it was already filled with squatters. Fortunately, large coats seemed to be in fashion these days. As he gathered, it was a much colder winter than Kenya usually saw. He had to guess based on the actions of people around him, though, because he could barely feel temperature anymore.

The parasitic growth covering him took away his sensitivity. It was one more thing separating him from the rest of humanity. He was sure one of these days he’d lose his ability to speak and become just an animal like those mindless drones the Gravemind controlled.

“Avery Johnson,” he whispered under his breath in a high-pitch that didn’t even sound like him. “Service number 48789-20114-AJ, UNSC Marine Corps.”

He shook his head. More like UNSC Marine Corpse.

With a quick leap, he cambered onto the side of an apartment building with a barricaded entrance and climbed his way up to the rooftop, where he could enter through the hole the Covies had clawed out. A battle had taken place there, though not by UNSC. Human rebels had built an outpost in this building, what was surely part of their planned invasion. They amassed a great quantity of firearms and fought to the last when the Covenant came. The interior was covered in the rotting corpses of Yanme’e and spent shells, with a few human limbs scattered around, suggesting they went out with a bang. The rotten smell covered up the sickening scent of Flood that now emanated from his body.

There was something different this time, though. He examined the Yanme’e at his feet and discovered a portion of the body had been flattened, as if someone stepped on it with a very heavy boot. Someone more deadly than a mere squatter had been here and possibly still were.

The armory was just down the hall in the room directly across. If it was URF or UNSC, they probably secured it first. If it was some human criminal or alien, though, they might not think to do so. If it was at all possible for him to get there, it was a desired destination.

He stooped low and picked up an only partially-depleted plasma pistol. An overcharged blast could take out the intruder without much of a hassle. He would charge up the shot now, but the green light would be far too noticeable. He would have to charge in and take any intruder that might be in there by surprise.

“Johnson!”

He froze when he heard the familiar southern North American twang from behind him. Reynolds… That rebel son-of-a-bitch. He glanced back, saw the rebel alone and with arms undrawn, and he stowed the plasma pistol in his coat for now.

“Now, you are a hard man to track down!” Reynolds said as he slowly came up behind him.

It wasn’t the first time Reynolds came after him. The rebel showed up outside of Voi soon after he escaped the Ark. Reynolds’ muscle, a big guy named Cobb, tried to wrestle Johnson to the ground, so he slashed Cobb with a combat knife. The infestation, for all its downsides, gave him incredible strength when he felt threatened. He’d then cut out his IFF transponder and discarded it.

“I’m no longer a man,” he growled, then stopped abruptly when he realized what he said. “I mean, I’m still… I didn’t cut it off or nothin’… I’m more or less intact…”

“You’re a man, but you’re a Flood man,” Reynolds supplied.

He slowly exhaled. “You know about the Flood?”

“Do I…? Johnson, haven’t you been payin’ attention to what’s been goin’ on?”

Startled, he turned his head just enough to get a glimpse of the rebel out of the corner of his eye. “What? Have the Flood attacked?”

“They did,” Reynolds said in a way that implied that was in the past. “UNSC turned Earth into a nuclear hellhole trying to sterilize the Americas, Asia, Australia,” he ticked the continents off on his fingers.

Jesus. His thoughts went to an island in the South Pacific. Though it was disrespectful to think it, he especially wished for its survival and hoped the nuclear devastation hadn’t reached there. Nirmala?

“They still couldn’t kill ‘em,” Reynolds continued. “Then some rebels made a deal with the Gravemind. You know what a Gravemind is?”

“Yes,” he grunted. All too well.

“Well, the Gravemind helped us—and by ‘us’, I mean all folks on every side—kill all the Flood except for the ‘Mind itself,” Reynolds said. “And the ‘Mind, bein’ a real mind, could be treated like a human brain, so some scientists turned it into a smart AI, and that’s it; war’s done.”

“What?” He jerked around so that he faced the rebel, who flinched at the sight of his mutated body. “That’s the worst idea in a long chain of bad fucking ideas!”

Reynolds shrugged. “Stopped the war, dinnit? May be a kludge likely to fail, but fer now it’s solid. World’s safe from the Flood. Least so long as there ain’t another outbreak from some loose end the ‘Mind couldn’t control.”

“So that’s it? I’m a loose end you’re gonna tie off?” He tensed his muscles, preparing to strike out with his whip-like tentacle arm.

Reynolds took a step back, raising his hands. “Well, hey, now, I don’t mean anythin’ by it. You’re a good man, Johnson, and I do mean man. You’re still human where it counts, and I ain’t gonna be the first to make this hostile…”

As the rebel spoke, he heard light footfalls coming up behind him. He kept still, waiting for the intruder to come within striking distance.

“…I’m just gonna keep talking so he can get behind you,” Reynolds finished, giving a goofy grin.

Johnson spun around with cat-like agility and lashed out with his tentacle, striking… the raised arm of a Spartan clad in MJOLNIR Mark V armor. Surprised, he hesitated, giving the Spartan time to punch him in the gut.

He flew back, knocked into Reynolds, and they both fell down to the ground, crunching through Yanme’e corpses.

“Damn it, Randy!” Reynolds cried, struggling to right himself. His clothes were streaked with yellow innards.

Figuring out that this Spartan—Randy—was with Reynolds, he grabbed the rebel with his tentacle arm, pinning his arms to his sides and holding him out in front of Johnson as a human shield. “Don’tcha come any closer, Randy, or I’ll kill him.”

Randy cocked his head. “Go ahead,” the Spartan said in an unnervingly easygoing voice. “I don’t know him that well.”

“Oh, you are a piece of work, ain’tcha?” Reynolds muttered. He turned to Johnson, “You know, I always liked you… How’s about showing an old friend a piece of mercy?”

“Sure thing, ‘friend’.” He gave the rebel a sharp headbutt, knocking him out. Johnson grabbed Reynolds’ sidearm and tossed the soldier to the side. He then eyed the Spartan. “So, are you ONI’s latest assassin… or am I to infer from your obsolete armor that you’re a little late to the party?”

Though it was a common myth perpetuated by ONI that Spartans never died, soldiers who survived as many battles as Johnson were too wise to believe that propaganda—or at least too jaded. Every Spartan listed as MIA was more than likely KIA in reality. A Spartan sent out against the rebels must have kicked it, and his or her armor was taken by the rebels. Johnson wondered if it was Randy himself who killed the Spartan or if he was just given the armor by his superiors.

“Obsolete? Really?” Randy ran a hand over his chest, producing a golden shimmer of light. “I prefer Old Faithful. Now, Johnson, we could do this the easy way… or the fun way. I’m supposed to give you a chance to surrender, but I’d really like to have a chance to kick your mutant ass, so I’m hoping you’ll say no.”

Definitely not a real Spartan. “Well, I hate to disappoint, so…” He snapped the M6C and fired three rounds into the Spartan’s chest.

The MJOLNIR shield shimmered and sparked as Randy charged him head-on.

Johnson leaped to the side, but Randy turned and met him there.

“You’re too slow,” Randy mocked. “Too weak.”

Randy punched Johnson, who again flew back several feet. “Urg!”

“I’m disappointed,” Randy said, closing in on him. “I expected more of a challenge from the Flood man.”

Hey, that could be my superhero name… Johnson drew the plasma pistol and held the trigger down to build a charge. He’d seen these things knock out full Sangheili shields, leaving the aliens vulnerable to attack. He’d bet MJOLNIR shields worked the same way. After all, the Spartans weren’t really immortal.

Recognizing the danger, Randy stopped. He then darted back down the corridor from where he came, weaving around to prevent Johnson from getting a lock.

Johnson tried to track him, but he reconsidered and released the trigger. With a hiss, the glowing charge flew down the hallway on a straight path, Randy easily dodging. Johnson snaked out his tentacle to grab Reynolds by the ankle and threw him up the hole in the ceiling before leaping up there himself. He made it up to the roof and glanced down to see Randy directly beneath him…

Then the plasma charge made it into the armory.

BLAM!

Randy flew sideways down the hall as the windows shattered and the roof caved in. Johnson hugged Reynolds close to his body and ran across the rapidly disappearing floor, leaping over the gap for the adjacent rooftop.