Halo: Shrike

Plot Summary
''The Great war has been over for several years now, but humanity is nowhere near achieving peace. Throughout the remaining and rebuilding human colonies, Insurrection is rising up once again, and the struggling UNSC needs it dealt with swiftly and effectively, using the best soldiers they have: Spartans.''

''Meanwhile, a wayward soul with no real purpose in life finds friendship and family within one of the most dangerous professions in the galaxy: that of an Insurrectionist. The ends, however, may not always justify the means, as loyalty is pulled into question.''

However, in a world where treachery, secrets and murder are the norm, the SPARTAN-III's of Shrike Team and their rebel enemies may face an even greater danger than their previous Covenant foes as they venture into the darkest corners of the galaxy.

Dramatis Personae
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Prologue
//AUGUST 12th, 2556\\

//ASTEROID WT-95, CORVUS SYSTEM\\

//1340 HOURS\\


 * LhlHqANcKjU

It had been nine hours since the distress beacon had been picked up from the remote ONI outpost, far outside the usual confines of human space. Eight figures trudged across the rocky surface of the asteroid, clad in high-tech pressure suits and wielding an assortment of weapons, just in case. The team had been dispatched on the Prowler, UNSC Agnus Dei, to investigate the situation here. Officially, the facility here didn't even exist.

"Not bad for a first mission, eh Verensky?" called the group leader, Agent Yang. He was a balding, middle aged man, and had obviously seen a great deal of experience in investigatory missions such as this. Like most ONI agents, his appearance was deceptive. He probably knew a thousand different ways to kill a person.

"It's fine, sir," replied John Verensky. At the age of 21, he was the youngest person sent out on the mission. He guessed that his superiors were testing his mettle in the field. A veritable prodigy, the young man had attained extraordinarily high marks on his examinations and had entered the Intelligence community after graduating from university. Yang was probably some form of final examiner.

"Got a view on the facility. It's totally dark."

"Keep moving, Sergeant." Accompanying Yang and Verensky were several ODST's, just in case. The station had been constructed back in 2534, and had been used for weapons development throughout the Human-Covenant War. Fortunately, it was one of the few not to have been found by their alien foes. As the group neared the large steel airlock, something else came into view. It was a ship, matte black and roughly five hundred metres in length, a little shorter than a UNSC Frigate. No lights could be seen coming from it.

"What the hell is that thing?" asked the ODST sergeant, Erikson. The ship wasn't human, but it lacked any distinctive Covenant features. It didn't even match the classifications of any Forerunner ships that had been recently discovered by ONI. It seemed to blend into the blackness of space perfectly; they had not seen it while coming in to land. Yang strode forward, one hand holding a recording device as he documented evidence of the unknown ship. He then motioned to the ODST's, who ran to the airlock and began bypassing it with their portable 'hackers'.

"Agent Verensky, what do you think of this?"

"I think..." The young man cocked his head to one side, gazing at their new find. "I think that we may be encountering a new kind of foe, sir. Other than that, I have little to go on." Verensky made no attempt to disguise the wonder in his voice.

Yang grunted. "Fair enough. Let's get inside. We'll check out the ship later."

The airlock slid open, and the six men entered the facility. After checking the oxygen levels within the facility, the two agents removed their helmets. The ODST's immediately raised their weapons, utilising their armour's VISR systems to check for hostiles. Erikson waved his men forward, and they crept along the dimly lit corridor. After rounding the first corner, the first signs of a firefight were spotted. The metal floor was stained almost black with blood, and patches of the wall had been melted. Erikson ran his hands over the scorched metal.

"Plasma damage, I've seen this before. Guess your student was wrong, Yang."

"Maybe. Some excitement is natural for the boy, though we need to classify the ship before we-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off by the sound of clattering metal from the next room. Two of the troopers immediately sprinted for the door, and kicked it open, levelling their rifles. There was a short burst of fire and the sound of running feet. The rest of the group followed suit, chasing the fleeing figure.

"Corporal, what was that?"

"Might have been a split-lip Sarge, sure as hell moved like one!"

Verensky and Yang followed the troopers, drawing their submachine guns as they did. Though they lacked the intense training and body armour of the helljumpers, the two of them could handle themselves well enough. Looking up at a flickering sign on the ceiling, Verensky saw that they were heading for the Operations centre of the facility. Something told him that this was a bad idea. He slowed his pace down to a jog, allowing himself to fall behind the others as they sprinted onwards. Calling them over wouldn't do him much good at this point. He moved away, down a darkened side corridor.

Lighting the way with his weapon's flashlight, Verensky eventually came to a flight of stairs that overlooked the Operations centre. Below, the others were caught up in an intense firefight with a group of Sangheili. He hadn't seen the creatures up close before, but had, like so many thousands before him, lost his parents to them in the war. Verensky calmly walked to a control panel. One of the troopers went down screaming as a burst of plasma hit him full in the face. Yang managed to take down two of his foes as the humans advanced on the aliens. Looking down, Verensky noticed a large red button, bordered with yellow and black markings. Usually, buttons such as this did very interesting things.

He placed his helmet on, and tapped the button. The airlock in the operations centre below him juddered open, immediately sucking out the room's oxygen. Debris and corpses shot towards the cold vacuum of space. Smiling, he pressed it once more, and the door closed. The fighters, disoriented and confused, staggered around, looking for their weapons. Then, he arrived. Verensky watched in fascinated horror as a dark shape, roughly the same size as the Sangheili, cannoned into the room, a single blow sending Sergeant Erikson flying into a steel girder. He did not get up. Yang, still dazed, looked up at the young agent in the control booth, the fear evident on his face.

"Verensky, for God's sake, help us!"

John Verensky crossed his arms, giving the older agent a wry smile as the shadow pummelled another trooper to death. Yang cursed, and dived for a discarded rifle. He never reached it. Having killed off the last soldier, the shadow picked up Yang by the throat, throttling him as it turned to look up at Verensky. It was human-shaped, though abnormally tall. It's face was obscured by a round, spherical helmet. Verensky tapped the airlock button again, watching the explosive decompression once more. The figure stood stock still, not being moved at all as the mangled bodies and several surviving elites were pulled outside to their doom. Yang was released, and immediately pulled towards the airlock, reaching outwards, his eyes still on Verensky. The figure began to walk forwards. His blood turned to ice as he looked for another button on the panel.

"I don't think so, Human," came a guttural voice from behind him. An alien hand closed the airlock, while another lifted him into the air. He kicked and struggled, but to no avail. The large Sangheili, clad in armour the colour of human blood, chuckled as another entered the room, closely followed by the dark figure.

"Magnus, what shall we do with this one?" the elite holding Verensky asked in clear English. He seemed to be treating the other as a superior. 'Magnus' removed his helmet. He was, or at least appeared to be, human. He was quite pale, and bald except for a goatee beard. His eyes, however, seemed to be a dark red colour, emotionless and cold. He gently removed Verensky's helmet, and peered into his face. The young man didn't flinch, looking back into those inhuman eyes unblinkingly.

"Why did you knowingly kill your comrades, human?" he didn't so much ask as demand an answer, speaking in a high, clear voice.

"Aren't you human too?" replied Verensky. Magnus snorted, turning away from him for a few seconds before facing him again.

"Once, maybe, but don't insult me. I'm a superior form of life now, far above homo sapiens on the evolutionary scale. Answer my question."

Verensky found himself fighting the urge to laugh. Whoever this Magnus person was, he was clearly arrogant, with a hint of God complex about him. Still, he saw a way out of this. "They were not my comrades. To be honest, I was more interested in ways of getting out of this dull mission" He answered truthfully. In his mind, Yang and the others had underestimated him. Hadn't forgotten the comment about him being 'excited'. Magnus paced the room, the two Sangheili standing guard.

"Sur, release him." The elite dropped Verensky to the floor. He picked himself up and stood still, arms behind his back. Magnus motioned for the elites to leave the room. "Rol, Sur, collect the bodies. I want evidence of a fight here, one from which out friend here was the only survivor" The two left without a word.

"So, am I free to go?" Verensky asked.

"You know, you and I may have something in common. What is your name and profession?"

"John Verensky. I'm an agent for the Office of Naval Intelligence."

Magnus smiled at this. "Are you now? That is good. Well then, John, what is your opinion on the United Nations Space Command, and the government that you serve?" Verensky shrugged. They had never meant anything much to him. He had joined ONI so he could test his own skills, not out of any sort of loyalty to humanity.

"They don't mean anything. Just a means to an end."

"So, what do you think about destroying it?" This came as something of a shock. The UNSC and UEG had always been there, like a huge, impenetrable beast. The largest threat it had faced was that of the Covenant, which had essentially ceased to exist as an effective force a few years ago. While declining the offer would probably be bad for his health, there seemed to be something attractive about it, corrupting and slowly destroying an organisation from the inside. Verensky knew his capabilities. He would probably be assigned to something important, secret. He could use that to his advantage.

"I think that would be a lovely idea, Magnus."

The huge cyborg grinned again and patted him on the back. "Well then, I suppose we have a lot of work to do, my friend" He looked down at the two elites, who were suiting up for retrieving the bodies. He spoke to himself in a soft, almost loving tone. "Excellent. This is only the beginning, my friend."

In the Dark
//UNSC HELIOS STATION, MARS ORBIT\\

//OCTOBER 29TH, 2556\\

//0900 HOURS\\


 * 0Sx3iKZjfLI

Martin-A136 climbed down the metal steps of the transport ship, and found himself in a large hangar bay. Several Pelican dropships sat side by side next to the ship, crates of supplies scattered about. Otherwise, the area was totally deserted. He had been remotely woken from cryosleep to find himself on an empty ship, with his MJOLNIR armour missing. He didn't see the point in panicking over something like this. ONI had a habit of doing bothersome things.

"Nice to see you awake, Master Chief." He knew that voice. Turning, Martin saw a woman, dressed in plain black navy fatigues, striding towards him. She was a good seven feet tall, with chin-length black hair. On her uniform, the words ELENA-071 were stencilled next to the silver leaf representing the rank of Commander. He saluted.

"Nice to see you again, ma'am. Been a while, hasn't it?"

"Four years, actually. Sorry we didn't get acquainted back then. Genocidal alien attacks are real conversation killers." She shook her head, smiling. Martin hadn't seen her out of the jet black armour she had worn during the Human-Covenant War. He knew he couldn't get too friendly with her. Even back then, she had been totally focused on her mission, and had disappeared the moment she had what she wanted.

"So, what has ONI called me for this time?" He was no stranger to the Office of Naval Intelligence and it's unsavoury methods. Martin himself had been part of one such program that created an army of child suicide soldiers. There were only a handful left now, unsurprisingly. Elena beckoned to him, turning away into a side corridor. Helios Station had been built barely a year after the war, and was officially used for 'sensory purposes'. Several men and women walked along the corridors of the station, barely casting a second glance at the two supersoldiers. Martin had a feeling that he was about to be given a suicide mission. Good. He didn't exactly have anything to live for, having signed on at the age of six to kill aliens.

"I hear the mission was a success then? Brute enclave slaughtered and tech recovered. Nice work, Master Chief."

That was when it hit him. "I think you're mistaken, ma'am. I don't hold that rank" Elena shook her head knowingly, giving him the wry smile that ONI agents usually carried. It usually meant that they knew something you didn't. Martin hated it. They came to an elevator. Elena pressed the button before responding. "We promoted you while you were in cryosleep. You deserve it with all you've done, anyway."

The elevator arrived and the two Spartans stepped in. They stood in silence for almost a minute before Martin spoke. "There's a reason behind my promotion, isn't there?"

"Whatever do you mean?" That smile was back.

"Well, for one, I don't need a rank to fight. Took the promotions I was given in the war, but other than that, my only purpose was to kill aliens."

"Purpose? You're a Spartan, not a machine, Martin."

He found himself frowning, and wished the elevator would hurry the hell up. "You wouldn't understand. You guys were abducted. I chose to become what I am." He recalled his first night on Onyx, the SPARTAN-III training ground, seeing the monolithic SPARTAN-II and wishing he could be like him. Twenty-Six years later, and he was practically living the dream. The elevator came to a halt. Martin began following Elena again.

"'You guys', huh? I thought you were friends with Marco and the others. You're being disrespectful to a superior officer, too."

Martin straightened up, the obedient soldier once more. "I apologise, ma'am. Didn't mean to cause any offence" He wasn't sure if Elena thought he was mocking her with the sudden mood change. If she did, she wasn't showing it. The two came to a door, flanked by two bored looking ODST's. They stood to attention at the sight of the Commander.

"In there, Martin. They're waiting."

He wasn't sure who 'they' were, and didn't really want to find out, not that he had any real choice. He took a deep breath, and allowed the door to slide open before sliding in. He was in some kind of Operations room. Various computers and electronic devices were scattered around the place. On the metal benches, eight others sat, some reclined and at ease, some straight-backed and alert, and some looking slightly wary and even nervous. At first, he thought they were marines on the same assignment, but then he began to notice the telltale signs. And the nametags. He read the two nearest to him. Leandra-B031, Graham-G101.

It all made sense now. The promotion, the secretive nature of his transport here, the way that Elena was being all mysterious (or, moreso than spooks usually are) and the fact that he didn't recognise a single face from Alpha Company in the room. Almost all had been killed during Operation: PROMETHEUS, nineteen years ago, but there were still a handful alive and kicking. For a moment, he wished he had just been sent on another suicide mission than have to deal with this. The SPARTAN-III's of Beta and Gamma Company had shifted to face him

''So now I get a team. ONI's screwed me''.

"Shit," Martin muttered, to no one in particular.

Introductions
"Ah, Master Chief, glad to see you could finally join us."

Martin turned to see a man in navy attire entering the room behind him. He saluted upon seeing the captain's insignia pinned to his uniform. The man nodded, and strode to the front of the room, beckoning for Martin to follow. He did so, feeling slightly embarrassed as the other SPARTAN-III's turned to face him. He stood behind the Captain as he cleared his throat.

"It's good to see you here, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Captain Ryan Samson. I am an agent of the Office of Naval Intelligence, and your new operational commander. Each of you has been chosen for this team because of your unique skills, and because it has been decided that working as a coordinated group will be something that you need to work on."

Martin knew what that meant. He was getting a bunch of misfits who didn't play nice. Great. He recalled how Alpha Company had been when they had first arrived for training years ago: wild, angry. They had been beaten into shape over the years. He hoped that Chief Mendez had trained them similarly. They had arrived broken; war orphans who wanted revenge. While they hadn't been 'fixed' exactly, they had been trained to kill and taught some discipline. Hopefully, they would be disciplined well enough to function effectively as a team. Samson leaned forward and continued.

"You will be our seek-and-destroy team. You report only to me. When you are in the field, you will have no reinforcements, no outside support, and virtually no accountability to anyone but ONI. If you die, you die. Your deaths, should they occur, will be unpublished and unrecognised. Your accomplishments and achievements will be known to no one outside this room. Welcome to Shrike, ladies and gentlemen."

None of the Spartans in the room so much as blinked after this. Their program had been founded in secret anyway, what was a few more classified missions to them? Samson smiled, glad to have gotten his point across. He gestured to Martin, who was standing next to him, arms clasped behind his back.

"This is Master Chief Petty Officer Martin-A136. He will be your field commander. You will follow his orders at all times, clear?"

A chorus of affirmatives responded around the room. Samson took out a datapad and handed it to Martin. "Check these when you have a chance. I'd get to know your team now. Report to deck nineteen when you're done with the meet and greet, we need you suited up for your first mission." Martin nodded. Samson made his way to the door without another word, and exited. The others eased up a little at this. Martin wondered how the hell he was supposed to do this.

"Well then," he began, his eyes slowly roving over the eight attentive Spartans. "We'd better get to know each other before we head out. I want names, ranks, and proficiency, now!"

He'd added a lot emphasis on the last part. They stood up immediately. Martin may not have had the voice of Chief Mendez, but he'd seen enough to know how to command respect from his troops. He approached the first Spartan, who saluted him.

"Grantley, SPARTAN-B130. Chief Petty Officer. I'll be your XO. Tactical Assault, Recon, Demolitions, I'm your man. Was a Headhunter too, I can handle myself." Even for a Spartan, he was heavily built, a noticeable scar running down one side of his face, tracing over his unshaven chin and the beginnings of a moustache. The fact that he had nonchalantly declared himself as a Headhunter surprised Martin, who had heard the legends of two-man SPARTAN kill teams causing havoc behind enemy lines, and had assumed that they had all gotten themselves killed. Martin nodded and moved on.

"Julian. SPARTAN-G209. Petty Officer First Class. Most of this lot-" he gestured at some of the others. "-came from my team in Gamma. I'm good for scouting, Chief." This one was younger, and definitely had some cockiness about him. It wasn't a bad trait, though he had a feeling that this one would have a mouth on him. He had been a leader before, though, so must be reasonably competent in that department.

"Amos. SPARTAN-G028. Petty Officer Second Class. I specialise in EOD and Demo Ops, sir." He looked slightly nervous, his eyes darting around at the others. Martin kept going.

"I'm May. SPARTAN-G210. Petty Officer Second Class as well, everyone else is. Mostly good as a grenadier and for assault work. Nice to be working with you, Chief." She seemed to be more at ease than most, smiling at Martin as he made his way past.

"Cesare. Gamma One-Seven-Seven. Same rank as the others. I'm the heavy weapons guy. If it makes a nice 'boom', it's mine." He was another one who looked like he was a bit too laid back. Martin made a mental note to keep an eye on him as well.

"Leandra. SPARTAN-B031. No, I never participated in TORPEDO. I've had extensive training in computer hacking and electronics under ONI. I've never worked as part of a team, and I'm ranked as a Petty Officer Second Class. Nice to meet you, sir." Leandra spoke in short bursts, releasing small amounts of information at a time. She seemed to have the markings of a spook, and by the way she looked at the others a little apprehensively, might have trouble fitting in.

"Graham. Gamma-101. Petty Officer. Marksman." This one seemed to be quite laconic, looking bored at their current inactivity. He seemed to fit the typical 'cold sniper' routine, at least. Martin would make sure to get through to him at some point. If he was to be a team leader, he would have to get to know everyone as well as he could. Last one.

"Alrik-G040, reporting for duty. Petty Officer like the rest. I'm good for EVA combat and piloting as well as the usual stuff, sir." This one was in a surprisingly good mood, a malicious grin on his face as though he was plotting something. Other than that, he appeared to be fine. That was everyone. Martin would get to know them in the missions to come. Since Upsilon had been all but wiped out on Reach, and Sigma had disbanded at the end of the war, Martin had been working solo. Now, with his own team to command, things would be different. He had never been one for change, but this was quite exciting. As he began to move towards the door, a familiar voice spoke up.

"Well, Chief. Nice to see you've introduced yourself to your subordinates."

Martin turned to see a ghostly blue image of a robed and hooded man, a dagger dangling at his belt. Only the lower half of his face was visible, revealing a devious smile. "Armand" he replied. He had met the AI at the end of his previous mission, only a few days before. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm the support AI for this new 'Shrike' Team. Seems that after our first encounter, ONI thought that you would need my vast array of skills to assist you so, here I am."

Martin sighed, and strode out without replying. He should have really seen that one coming. His chance meeting with a UNSC-affiliated AI couldn't just have been a happy coincidence. He made his way to the elevator, followed by his fellow Spartans, and mentally prepared himself for whatever assignment they were about to receive. With any luck, he'd get the hang of this 'leadership' thing.

"I think he's perfect for the job."

"Why is that, Commander?"

"Aside from knowing what he is doing, the Chief is a quick thinker and knows exactly what's going on around him."

"What's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"He has a conscience, Captain."

"Huh. Well, if I know ONI, Shrike will be dispatched into places where a conscience is a liability. No offence, but you Spartans were trained to be ruthless killing machines."

"None taken. Listen, one of the best Spartans I know is also one with a pretty heavy conscience about his actions. Martin will do fine in the field, sir. Anyway, after ASHES last year, I know that although you have to do whatever it takes to win, following orders can be...difficult, to say the least."

"Ah, you're referring to the assassination mission, correct? At least you got something, or rather, someone out of there. How is he?"

"Still recuperating. He was gone for a long time. Jax is getting him up to speed. He'll be combat ready very soon."

"That's good to hear. We're giving them a sort of 'trial run' on Circumstance. We've got a whole hive ready to be shaken up down there, and ONI wants to make it clear that we're sending the best we have against the innies."

"Is our intel solid? I don't want to send them in only to have a Mamore-type attack. They're all combat-tested. Martin was on Reach, for God's sake."

"There's nothing to worry about, Commander. We've got Alex the Red down there now. Believe me, once he's got in there, Spartans will be the least of the innies' worries. We've looked over this."

"Redford is one of the best. Can't say I agree with his methods, but if he gets the job done he's fine by me. Where is Shrike now?"

"Coming up the elevator now. Let's get this briefing done with so we can hand out some of the new toys the guys in R&D have been developing."

Wanderer
//KUIPER, CIRCUMSTANCE\\

//OCTOBER 30TH, 2556\\

//0249 HOURS\\


 * F-Q04VwH8cs

Well, the rain definitely wasn't helping with the bloody anger.

The streets, usually packed with drunken partygoers even at this late hour, were pretty much empty, most people being driven home or within Kuiper's more spacious nightclubs. The colony had been one of a fortunate few not to have been glassed by the Covenant when they invaded the Epsilon Eridani system four years ago, attacking Reach, Tribute and Tantalus. Though famous for it's universities and courts of justice, Circumstance had been a popular destination for thousands of refugees and visitors following the Human-Covenant war, seeking a safe place to go. Even Earth had suffered a devastating attack.

Amanda Wade walked along the rainswept street, a hooded raincoat protecting her from the worst of the storm. Though her features betrayed no emotion, she was seething inside. Today had been, to put it lightly, a bit of a let-down. In her rucksack, a slightly soggy letter declaring her dishonourable discharge was crumpled up beside her only change of clothes, and a sidearm that she had managed to conceal when leaving the base. She was surprised that a letter had been sent at all; most things were covered via messages directly to a personal datapad. After leaving the base, she had done what thousands of other humans in history had done in a similar situation: hit the bars.

Several hours later, and the drinks had done nothing more than stoke her anger at the unfairness of the dismissal. So, after leaving the fifth bar, ready to break the face of the first person to look at her funny, she had wandered Kuiper's streets until something hit her in the face. It was a flyer. Looking at it through a slightly drunken haze, it had piqued her interest. It read:

SICK OF BEING TREATED AS SECOND RATE CITIZENS BY THE UNSC?

SICK OF BEING SIDELINED IN FAVOUR OF EARTH AND INNER COLONIES?

SICK OF HAVING TO PUT UP WITH RESTRICTIONS ON YOUR RIGHTS AND FREEDOMS IN THE NAME OF 'SECURITY'?

''IF SO, THEN YOU ARE NOT ALONE. JOIN THE FIGHT AGAINST THE OPPRESSORS TODAY, ATTEND THE RALLY AT 3AM, WAREHOUSE 23-G, GREENWICH STREET, KUIPER.''

Even in her slightly inebriated state, Amanda had to wonder why the insurrection was on Circumstance, of all places. Wasn't it an inner colony? Then again, with the end of the war, with so many worlds gone, the lines had probably shifted closer to Earth. After her treatment over the last few days, joining up seemed like a good idea. She'd heard from a friend that the Insurrection had changed from a terrorist movement into a sort of unified organisation over the years, the Human-Covenant war forcing it to adapt and change. So, here she was, walking down the street towards the allocated meeting point. There were more flyers lying around or pasted to nearby walls.

Amanda was the type of person who, if angry, stays angry for a very long time. She had signed up as part of a post-war recruitment drive, a surge of Earth-centric patriotism that had risen after humanity's ceasefire with the Covenant. Nobody called it a victory. Too much had been lost for it to even resemble a victory. Three years of exemplary service in the Marine Corps had ended with a single incident. Though furious at the injustice of the situation, it had opened her eyes to the true situation. The whiskey had probably helped, but Amanda had definitely made up her mind. She was going to join the Insurrection. She wasn't a stranger to the ideas behind it all, having grown up amongst older rebels who had fought the UNSC long before the war.

It wasn't all raving lunatics and suicide attacks. It consisted of this in some small part, but there were fringe groups in every organisation. One bad apple could spoil the bunch, something that the media took full advantage of in their news coverage. The young woman wondered what her parents would have thought of it. They had been killed on Earth a few years previously, leaving her with no family. Well, at least no family that she had any interest in talking to. Dad had been a very vocal, if non-violent sort. He was an understanding man, and would have probably accepted her decision. Mum? Well, she was different. While growing up, he had noticed her willingness to discuss openly fighting the UNSC with some of the older men, and often led others into heated debates. God only knows how Dad had managed to put up with her, though he had often told his daughter that she had not always been like that. Amanda wondered what changed her mother.

It didn't really matter. They were dead, and she was making this decision alone, for herself. She checked her watch: 3.02am. Taking a deep breath, she marched across the street to the warehouse, and pushed open the large metal door, which had been left slightly ajar. The room was well lit, with two young men standing idly by a large door, which led to the main part of the warehouse, and the rally. Amanda could hear the sound of voices in the background. One of the men nudged the other as she approached, and they both straightened up. The first, a stocky man with scruffy hair and a patched coat, approached her.

"What's your business?"

"I'm here for the meeting?"

"What meeting?"

Amanda held up the flyer. "The one you've got going on in here. Look, I want to join up with you guys. Is this the place or not?" The first man smirked, and stood aside to let her pass. "Sure, go on in. I'll make sure you weren't followed." He began walking towards the door. The other man watched her intently. As her hand reached for the handle, she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, and jumped to the side as a stun baton whizzed past her head. Amanda launched a few punches at the attacker while his friend ran to lock the door. The man was able to dodge the blows before swinging the baton once more. This time, it caught her shoulder, sending ripples of electricity coursing through her. The jerked in pain before falling to the ground.

"That's another one. Man, these innies are pretty dumb."

"Tell me about it" replied the other man, who was keeping a lookout at the door. "I mean, who thinks that they just go around handing out-" The rest of his sentence was cut off by a muffled noise. He slumped to the ground. On the floor, Amanda could see through a daze that he had been shot. His partner attempted to unholster his pistol, only to catch a bullet between the eyes. He fell back soundlessly onto the stone floor, a pool of blood quickly accumulating. She groaned. The baton was designed to incapacitate opponents for several minutes, and was usually used by riot police. There were footsteps advancing towards her.

"Remi, it seems that these two gentlemen were about to entertain a guest, as it were." The first voice was clear yet strangely gentle, with an accent that suggested a North American descent, though she couldn't be sure. Rolling her head, she found herself looking at a middle aged man, carefully stepping over the corpse to avoid getting blood on his immaculate shoes. He checked her pulse, before pulling her into a sitting position. "Are you all right?" he asked, a genuine look of concern on his face. Amanda nodded. He turned back towards the door.

"She's stunned, Remi. What shall we do with her?"

A second man emerged from the shadows. He had a haggard looking face, dark, sunken eyes and hair that, by the looks of it, was greying prematurely. His left hand clutched a pistol. He had been the one to kill those men. "We're taking her with us, Alexander. Let's get going" Without a word, the other man lifted her up with surprising strength and placed Amanda on her feet. He put his arm around her and began to walk towards the exit. She moved her feet sluggishly in order to keep up. The blow, coupled with the half a dozen drinks, had almost brought her to the point of unconsciousness. As they moved, they passed the gunman, who was looking over the corpses in disdain.

"They think if they mess up their hair and dress like crap, people will expect them to be like us? Pathetic" He prepared to spit, but thought better of it and turned round to help the other two out. There was a car parked in the opposite alleyway. These two had probably watched her enter the warehouse complex. As she was helped into the back seat, Amanda managed to form some words through her tired haze.

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace safe," replied the other man, Remi. She nodded, and finally passed out.

Shrike Strike
//KUIPER, CIRCUMSTANCE\\

//OCTOBER 30TH, 2556\\

//1420 HOURS\\


 * 5i-MnIN4IDM

"Master Chief, I have sighted the target convoy. Hennerman's car, plus several trucks."

"Copy that Shrike Eight. Nine, Four, Six, are you in position?"

Martin waited for the affirmatives to come back before stepping aboard the falcon with Graham. He hadn't had much time to get acquainted with the rest of Shrike, the last day or so being spent travelling or preparing for the operation. Their first target would be Johan Hennerman, a well-connected arms dealer on the planet. The Spartan could see how bad things had gotten on Circumstance since the end of the war. It had turned into a criminal haven, with the beleaguered UNSC and Colonial Militia forces barely holding back the tide. He could see why they needed Spartans.

The falcon, piloted by Leandra-B031, Shrike Seven, took off from the roof, and began to move towards the main highway. Samson's speech about not getting support hadn't been entirely true, as they had essentially been given a blank cheque as far as equipment went. As team leader, Martin had requisitioned a couple of army-issue UH-144 Falcons for the mission. Pelicans, though spacious, would be quite large and, in his experience, had a habit of being blindsided and shot down. The Falcon could easily accommodate up to five Spartans, pilot included, and had enough weapons and maneuverability to pose a formidable threat. Martin brought up TEAMCOM and checked on the others.

"Shrike Two, is your group in position?"

Grantley's gruff voice responded after a few seconds. "Ready at the pass, Chief. We've got the other Falcon on standby."

"Got it. Don't move until I give the order" His XO seemed to be quite competent, and friendly for a Spartan. Martin knew he could trust Grantley for this job. The Falcon soared over the main highway, which spanned one of Kuiper's many rivers. Martin knew little of the colony of Circumstance prior to this mission, only that it had somehow survived being glassed when the Covenant invaded the system, and that it had famous law courts and universities. Not that the former was very effective these days, if a well known arms dealer could cruise along in his expensive car, flanked with trucks filled with his wares or his well-paid gunmen.

From ONI's file on the man, which he had read on the trip down to the planet, Martin hadn't just learned that their target had run guns for just about every organisation out there. Drugs. Machinery. People. Hennerman was a real scumbag. Good. It would make him easier to take down. Martin recalled his first encounter with the insurrection, as a child on Mamore. He had hesitated to pull the trigger, almost compromising his team in the process. He was very much aware that shooting a man just for picking up a gun for what he believed in was wrong. ONI's indoctrination hadn't blinded him to that. He wasn't naive enough to believe that everyone out there was fighting for a good cause. People like Hennerman were only in it for themselves.

"Shrike Two, get word to the city Superintendent to slow the traffic flow. I want a nice jam so we can spring on this bastard."

"Copy that Chief. Standby."

Martin watched through the Falcon's door as lanes of traffic were slowly diverted, becoming more and more congested until there was only a single, slow-moving lane exiting the bridge and onto the mainland. Hennerman's convoy had been separated by the other cars, leaving his personal sports car alone and unprotected as they attempted to merge into the exiting lane. The car ended up near the back of the group, sandwiched between two civilian cars.

The Falcon moved in, swooping over the traffic until it was directly above the target vehicle. Going in low, Martin and Graham leapt from their side seats and onto the cars adjacent to Hennerman's. Ignoring the screams of terror from the civilians whose cars they had just crushed, the two Spartans moved in unison, tearing the doors off the car. The tinted windows didn't allow them to see inside. Martin thrust his rifle through the door, and peeked through. Then, he saw it.

"Bomb!"

Martin dived to the side as the small, oblong shape in the passenger seat began to blink. As he scrambled behind another car, it detonated, sending the vehicle rocketing upwards, hitting Leandra's falcon, which began to spin out of control. crawling away as his shields slowly recharged, Martin brought up TEAMBIO, which showed Shrike's roster. Graham's pulse had skyrocketed, but he seemed to be fine. Looking around, the Spartan watched the burning helicopter plummet into the river.

"Leandra!" He ran to the safety rail, hoping to catch a glimpse of orange armour climbing from the cockpit.

"I'm fine, Chief." came her voice. She was standing beside him. "I jumped out" She took a glance over at the sinking Falcon. "That looked expensive" SPARTAN-B031 seemed entirely unconcerned about the burning wreckages of the civilian cars along the bridge. Before Martin could say anything, a burst of gunfire hitting his shields snapped him back into combat mode. At least two dozen men, armed with a variety of black market weapons, had dismounted from the trucks and were firing on the Spartans. Taking cover as his shields recharged once more, Martin fired a few shots from his rifle, hitting one in the chest.

Leandra tossed a grenade and advanced to the next vehicle as the fire intensified. Martin glanced to his right as a yellow dot flashed up on his radar. Graham heaved himself over the safety railing and onto the bridge, sniper rifle on his back. Rolling over, he snapped the weapon up, and without checking his sights, headshotted two militia members. Martin activated the COM.

"Graham, you okay?"

The other Spartan grunted, taking out two more before reloading and taking cover. "I'm fine, Chief. Had to jump onto the maintenance catwalk when the bomb went off."

Martin waited for Graham to elaborate, but got nothing more. Fine. Now was no time to play therapist. "Four, Six, Nine, Find Hennerman. Two, get your group on the rest of the Militia here. No more civilian casualties, okay?"

Across the bridge, Cesare-G177 yawned, placed his helmet on and, as the familiar HUD flashed up, opened the back of the truck, jumping out into the sunlit street. Most of the cars had been abandoned as gunfire and explosions lit up the bridge. The trucks, as expected, were packed with militia, likely hired from the seedier districts of the city or abroad. One of those trucks, the Spartan reasoned, had to hold their man. He glanced upwards as the second Falcon, holding Grantley, Julian and May, flew overhead, ready to wipe out the remaining resistance on the bridge.

Amos and Alric followed Cesare out of the truck, which had been concealed in a side alley, and walked alongside him towards the street. Civilians ran past, desperate to get away from the carnage. Many stopped and stared at the trio of super soldiers as they strode forward, ready to block the end of the bridge. The machine guns on the Falcons began to fire, ripping apart any enemy not fast enough to take cover behind one of the many cars littered about.

"Shrike Six, two of the trucks are pushing forward! Stop them at all costs!"

Cesare clicked his acknowledgement light twice as an affirmative; it was quicker than talking. He wasn't sure what to think of the Chief just yet, though if he was an Alpha, then he probably deserved his position. Motioning to the others, the Spartans took up positions on either side of the exit, weapons raised. As their target would probably be in one of the incoming trucks, he kept his missile launcher safely stowed away. Amos, on the other hand, had acquired an Army issue M319 Individual Grenade Launcher, a compact weapon that, despite being difficult to use, would be perfect for stopping the truck in it's tracks.

Quickly checking down the sights, Amos fired, watching the projectile soar towards the vehicles, which were easily pushing aside smaller cars. He held the trigger down as the grenade bounced off the street, and upwards towards the front window of the first truck. Then, he let go. It detonated, blasting the windshield inwards towards the driver and passenger. The truck skidded towards the Spartans, scattering them as it turned on it's side, bursting into flames. The second truck roared past, peppered with shots from behind. Cesare stalked towards the first truck, several metres behind Amos, who reloaded his grenade launcher.

"We've got you surrounded! Come out with your hands up!"

Typical Amos. For as long as Cesare had known him, the SPARTAN-III had been surprisingly lenient against foes for a few years now. It had gotten him, and others, hurt in the past. After a few seconds, a small black object flew from the back of the truck, hitting the ground a few feet away. Amos was thrown back by the blast, his shields flickering madly. Cesare jumped to his friend's aid, grabbing hold of him before he hit the ground. As figures began to clamber out of the truck, he fired a burst from his rifle, dropping one immediately and causing the others to scramble away.

"Sorry, I messed up again," Amos said weakly. Whatever had hit him, it had done much more than just taking down his shields. A piece of Shrapnel had pierced his stomach between his armour plates. Amos pulled it out, suppressing a grunt of pain as he did so. Cesare swore under his breath, before turning to his other teammate. "Alrik, you're up!"

The green armoured Spartan nodded, and began to run after the fleeing men and women, who had managed to escape the burning wreckage. They may have been unencumbered by heavy MJOLNIR armour and running on adrenaline, but he was a Spartan. Sprinting forward and rounding the first corner, he holstered his assault rifle. Alrik wouldn't need guns for this. One man looked over his shoulder, and wasted precious time attempting to draw his pistol. A single blow planted him into a nearby wall. Two others turned in a pathetic attempt to fight. The Spartan didn't even slow down. Two swift movements dropped both of them with a sickening crunch. There were two others left. One was a large man in patchy black armour, the image of a merc down on his luck. The other was wearing an expensive, dark grey suit, and looked very, very frightened. He had good reason to be. He was Johan Hennerman.

"Nowhere to go, scumbag. On your knees!"

Hennerman glanced at the Spartan for a second before turning away, pulling out a pistol as he did so. His bodyguard began firing at the Spartan with a small SMG, the rounds harmlessly hitting his shields as he stalked forward. The weapon clicked empty as Alrik's shields were close to failing. He picked up the man by the throat and slammed him into a wall. He went out like a light. Turning back to Hennerman, Alrik caught sight of him pulling a young woman out of her car at gunpoint, throwing her to the floor before shooting her and jumping in. That pushed him over the edge, a red mist of anger descending over him as he drew his assault rifle and began peppering the car with bullets as it began to accelerate.

Alrik sprinted after the car as it sped down the near-deserted street. The police had begun to cordon off the area, but if Hennerman made it into the undercity or the docks, there was a chance of losing him. The Spartan couldn't let that happen. Activating the 'Sprint' armour plugin, which overrode the safety functions on his MJOLNIR armour, Alrik sped up, pumping a few more rounds into the vehicle before switching to his pistol and attempting to hit the tyres. The car made a sharp turn as three more Spartans rounded the corner on a warthog. It was the Chief and his team. Alrik fired a few more times before one of the tyres finally burst, causing it to spin as Hennerman wrestled with the steering wheel. It broke through a barrier at the side of the street and plummeted out of sight. There was a loud crash a second later.

Alrik kept going, pausing only for a moment at the edge before leaping after the car onto the street below. He landed on the roof, half a ton of MJOLNIR crushing it like a tin can. The driver's door was already open. After a quick check to ensure he hadn't accidentally slain his quarry, Alrik leapt off the vehicle and ran into a side alley, following the patchy trail of bloodstains that led from the car door. Keeping his pistol levelled, the Spartan moved quickly, until his radar picked up a red dot not far ahead. A quick peek around the next corner revealed a dead end, and a very worn out, terrified looking Hennerman. By the looks of him, he had jumped out of the car immediately and sprinted away without thinking.

"Gotcha."

Martin and the others had cleared the rest of the bridge quickly with the help of Grantley's Falcon. There were a few who surrendered to the Spartans, who had been left in the capable care of his XO. It hadn't taken them long to find Hennerman, who was being pursued by Alrik and quickly crashed his stolen vehicle. The Spartan had brought the target up after a few minutes. He was unconscious and battered, with two broken legs. Alrik had muttered something about him being injured in the crash before dumping him in the blood tray of a Pelican that Samson had sent in to extract them. Martin had major doubts about the truthfulness of his comrade's story, but kept quiet about it.

The Operation had been, in some part, a success, though in Martin's mind, they had screwed up. Dozens of innocent people had been caught in the crossfire and there was a lot of collateral damage. The bridge itself would likely remain closed for weeks. Despite this, he didn't blame himself. Their modus operandi had been prepared by ONI. The whole attack on the bridge had probably been Samson's idea. Had he been in charge, the Spartans would have moved in, preferably under the cover of night, and taken Hennerman in a home raid. They had injuries, too. Amos had taken some shrapnel to the lower chest, and Graham had torn a leg muscle in his haste to escape the bomb blast.

Nonetheless, ONI had determined it as a success, and it would forever remain as such on the official records. He couldn't help but wonder why it had been like this; right in the middle of the city, in broad daylight. Whoever had made that decision was either a tactical moron, or had another purpose entirely for using a supposedly secret SPARTAN team in such a way.

Innie 101
//RESIDENCE 48-B, INDIGO SECTOR, KUIPER\\

//OCTOBER 30TH, 2556\\

//1721 HOURS\\


 * 56X19PAei68

"Remi, I think she's waking up."

Amanda sat bolt upright, her eyes snapping open as she found herself in an unfamiliar place. Two men sat at a table across the room, hunched over a large sheet of paper. A third person was also present, leaning against the door frame, chewing something as she watched Amanda's eyes roving around the room. One of the men at the table stood up and walked over, holding his hands up in a friendly gesture. Amanda had been sleeping on a dilapidated sofa in the corner of the room. Someone had taken her shoes off and placed them neatly by the exit.

"Ah, you're finally up. Rested, I hope? You were out for fourteen hours, after all."

Amanda rubbed her eyes. Sleeping in wasn't exactly something she was used to doing. Then again, she had drunk a lot. The room was quite spacious, though devoid of any decoration. "That long?" she replied. Remi, who appeared to be the leader around here, nodded. She sighed. "So, I don't suppose I could join you guys, then?" Amanda asked. She had nowhere else to go on Circumstance. She had blown most of her money, but probably had enough left for a shuttle flight to Earth, though the prospect of meeting her family there made it very unappealing. Remi seemed to mull it over for a few seconds.

"What are you good at?"

"Well, I'm not bad at fixing things, and I can fire a gun. Had a few years in the Marines before I was booted out."

At the mention of the Marine Corps, the other woman tensed up, a hand slowly going for a holster. Remi shot her a dark look, and she froze. "What did you get booted out for?" There was no sense in making up a story, especially when her life could be on the line here. "Couldn't stand the way they ran things. They weren't making soldiers, they were making thugs to send out to the outer colonies. Beat the crap out of a Drill Sergeant who messed with me one time too many" She grabbed her bag, which had been left by the sofa, and pulled out her discharge papers. Remi snatched them and looked it over for a few seconds before handing them back. He smiled, holding out a hand to help her off the sofa.

"Well then, looks like we've got ourselves a new member!"

Amanda spent the next half hour being shown around what served as the base of operations for Remi's Insurrectionist Cell. It was quite surreal. She had expected to see a group of grim-faced veterans making bombs and guns, planning to blow up enemy installations. What she found were a group of reasonably friendly people brought together by their mutual hatred of what they saw as an oppressive government. Remi explained that while the Insurrectionists of the past had targeted civilians and massacred thousands, his group only sought to make Circumstance independent from UNSC control, without killing the innocent.

There were seven people in the headquarters, Amanda included. There was Remi, the leader and main planner. He had been abandoned on Reach during the invasion, UNSC forces refusing to pick up a group of civilians and leaving most of them to be killed before they hijacked a freighter of their own and escaped the planet. The other woman was Clara. She didn't talk about her past, but seemed to always carry a gun and could barely go a sentence without swearing. Then there was Mike, a long haired technical specialist, whose main job was to monitor UNSC communications. He didn't say much as they passed through his terminal-filled room. The other two were Fabian and Ganju, both of whom seemed to actually fit the typical look of an 'innie'. They were friendly enough, but paid little attention to Amanda. Lastly, there was Alexander Redford, one of the men who had saved her from the trap last night. He was out somewhere.

There was a buzz from the door. Remi and the others seemed to become wary at this, Clara unholstering her pistol and checking that it was loaded. After checking with the camera, the door slid open, revealing a well dressed, middle aged man with thinning hair and a worried look on his face. Placing a bag of groceries on the table, he turned to Remi.

"Check the TV. Now" Compared to the calm voice he had the previous night, having seen two men gunned down, he was scared. Clara switched the screen on, and tossed the remote to Alexander, who immediately turned to a local news channel. It showed images of one of the city's many bridges set ablaze. Charred remains of cars lay across it, along with dozens of bodies. The main news headline was INSURRECTIONIST STRIKE FOILED. The news reporter began to speak of how a plot to bomb the main law courts in Kuiper was foiled due to the intervention of UNSC Spartans. Three of the monolithic figures, clad in their powered armour, moved across, helping civilians and dragging bodies from the wreckage. Apparently, the 'rebels' had detonated explosives on the bridge, and were only stopped by the heroic efforts of the Spartans, who had captured Johan Hennerman, their leader. At this, Redford switched the screen off.

"Remi, did Hennerman tell you anything about this?"

All eyes were on the cell leader. He sighed. "No. Hennerman was a scumbag, there was no doubt about it, but he wouldn't be stupid enough to carry a plan like that out without consulting me or Rizhan first. This reeks of a cover up, and knowing what a snake the man is, he'll rat us out straight away. We'd better start packing."

At once, the others began to move for their private communicators, no doubt contacting other cells on the planet and warning them. Remi turned to Amanda. "Sorry if this is a bad first day, uh..." He stopped and stared at her. "Ah, I never even got your name, I apologise for that. Need to get to work."

"I'm Amanda. Amanda Wade."

"Okay then, Amanda Wade, help Clara with the armoury and get Mike to pack his crap up. We leave in three days."

Gatecrashers
//DOWNTOWN KUIPER, CIRCUMSTANCE\\

//OCTOBER 31ST, 2556\\

//2100 HOURS\\


 * cpdtenXCX64>

"Hey Chief, whaddaya think of the music down there?"

"Not bad, Julian. It's a shame we're crashing the party!"

"I hear that. Shrikes three, four and five are ready for hard drop"

"I am on standby to assist, Master Chief." That voice had come from within Martin's own helmet. Their AI, Armand, had been integrated via a neural interface. Though the SPARTAN-III could not feel any real change, there was the strange feeling of sharing his head with another entity. This time, it was his op. After contacting Samson, he was told that ONI wished for a public Spartan presence on the planet, to draw the remaining Insurrectionists out of hiding. The thirty seven civilian casualties had been laid off as collateral damage during the engagement, and after being interrogated, Hennerman had spilled the beans on just about every one of his friends on Circumstance.

"Help where you can, Armand. Grantley, is everyone else ready?"

"We're downstairs boss. Garage is locked up and there are a few guards on the doors, nothing we can't handle."

"Nonlethal weapons only, we don't want a repeat of the other day."

"I take it that means no fists, right?"

"Right. Keep Alrik out of punching distance, okay?"

Grantley chuckled at this. For a Spartan, especially one from Beta Company, he seemed very easygoing. The survivors from PROMETHEUS, himself included, had been much less so. "Got it. Let's catch us an Innie. Out."

The COM winked off. Martin peered over the side of his falcon, looking down at the penthouse below. Their target was Rizhan Kama, the son of a prominent businessman on Circumstance. How the boy had managed to get tangled up with innies was beyond him, but over the past few months large shipments of weaponry and supplies had been shipped both to this planet and elsewhere, payments being made through a proxy account. Hennerman's confession had been that Kama had been largely responsible for shipping goods and procuring equipment to various terrorist groups as well as the supposed main Insurrectionist body. This seemed to be another one who made deals on the side, and though not as morally bankrupt as their previous target, obviously had a taste for the finer things in life, as shown my the Halloween party being thrown below in the spacious penthouse suite of one of his father's buildings.

"Pilot, take us in low for fast-rope descent. Shrike Five, prepare the tear gas for launch. I want the place stormed and secured in sixty."

Beside him, May-G210 inserted a small canister of the gas into her grenade launcher. The Falcon slowly descended towards the penthouse, where the blaring music drowned out the noise of rotor blades. May nodded towards Martin. "Ready Chief" The four Spartans unhooked their drop ropes and tossed them over the side. There were shouts from below as the partygoers began to look up at the helicopter. May leaned out and fired the canister downwards. As the gas emerged, they took hold of the ropes, and leapt from the Falcon.

"Go go go!"

As he slid down the rope, May fired the canister into the crowd below. It detonated, creating a hazy cloud that began to spread out across the roof. Martin landed with a splash in the pool, immediately sinking to the bottom. Sighing inside his helmet, he waded out and joined his teammates as they advanced towards the main room, in which partygoers were running around and screaming. He had ensured that their weapons were loaded with TTR, or Tactical Training Rounds, the powerful anaesthetic within the paint being enough to put anyone down without serious harm. If they did encounter anyone who posed a threat, then those idiots would have the pleasure of fighting a Spartan at close quarters.

"Julian, May, get on crowd control. Amos, with me!"

Most of the people here were probably just partygoers looking for a good time, but Martin couldn't take any chances. For all he knew, the planet's biggest innies and drug pushers were gathered here. Ignoring the screams, Martin strode up the stairs, keeping an eye out for Kama. If it was his party, he would likely be in an office or bedroom. Nodding to Amos, he allowed the tan-armoured Spartan to move forward and kick down a door, hearing screams from inside. After a few seconds, he dragged out their target, half dressed and whimpering in fear. Martin's visor deploarised, and he grinned at the young man before taking out a datapad. After tapping it a few times, he displayed it to Kama, showing a long list of names and secret transactions.

"Looks like someone's been playing with daddy's money, hasn't he Rizhan?" Martin got no response from the man, who merely looked down sullenly as Amos marched him outside, holding one arm behind his back. As Martin turned to follow, the power cut, plunging the entire block into darkness and causing a fresh wave of screams from the terrified crowd, who had been gathered into the main room and were being watched over by Julian and May. Martin wasn't particularly bothered by this, his augmented eyes essentially giving him night vision in addition to the one installed in his helmet. One sound did get his attention, though. it was that of a Pelican.

"Amos, back inside, now!"

The other Spartan had just dragged his quarry inside as the outer area erupted into flames, missiles striking the floor as a dropship moved in, it's doors opening. May and Julian immediately moved into attacking positions as a dozen men in black jumpsuits poured out the back, raising assault rifles as they did. Grantley's voice came though the COM, sounding mildly concerned. "Chief, two trucks of militia just pulled up, they tried to storm the Atrium. Don't think they expected the four of us, though. I've sent Graham and Cesare up in the other bird, out."

Martin was impressed at how quickly his XO had acted to the changing situation, and swapped his TTR mag for one of live bullets. Glancing over, he noticed that the others had done the same, while Amos had Kama secured in one of the bedrooms. He sighted two people moving in on his left, through the glass doors that led to the roof. Luckily, they hadn't seen him. He melted into the wall of the darkened room and waited for them to get closer. As the first one passed him, Martin grabbed the man and span him round, levelling his pistol and blowing the second man away. He then snapped his hostage's neck with ease and moved onto the balcony where three others were trying to get a shot on the other Spartans, who were engaged in a vicious firefight below.

Three bursts rang out from his rifle. They hadn't stood a chance. Outside, the sound of rotor blades could be heard, followed by machine gun fire. The Pelican swerved away, it's compliment of troops slaughtered, and attempted to get it's chin gun to bear on the helicopter, which kept moving. Cesare, on the side of the Falcon, leaned out, hefting his missile launcher.

"Heads down, gonna clip this bird's wings."

Before Martin could tell him to stop, a single missile streaked away from the Falcon, and impacted the rear-left thruster of the Pelican with startling accuracy. The dropship lurched to one side, and crashed into the roof, leaving a huge trail of debris before it came to a halt, centimetres away from the edge. Cesare gave a cheer of success before jumping off the Falcon as it landed, casually reloading his weapon and striding towards the Pelican. No one emerged from it. Amos pulled Kama to his feet, and moved him onto the landing pad where the Falcon waited. Cesare gave Martin a quick salute as he approached.

"Not bad, eh Chief?"

Martin glanced at the smoking Pelican for a second. "You know, that could've crashed into a nearby skyscraper, or hit the streets. a lot of people live here, Shrike Six. Think about the effects of your actions before you act" Cesare hung his head for a few seconds before Martin spoke again. "Still, amazing shot back there."

"I try my best, Chief."

Several other Pelicans from the Kuiper police department had arrived, allowing the Spartans to leave their prisoners in the hands of the law as they boarded the Falcon. As the helicopter descended to the courtyard outside the skyscraper, where the rest of Shrike had been situated, Martin noticed three of the Spartans gathered around one spot. The moment it touched down, he leapt out and ran over, fearing that a teammate had been injured or worse. Instead, he found Grantley, Leandra and Grahan crouched by an injured enemy, while Alrik watched from a distance. He had been shot several times in the lower chest and by the looks of things, wasn't going to make it. Grantley removed his helmet and glared at the dying man, an uncharacteristic look of anger on his face.

"Who sent you? Who was it?!"

The man's lips trembled as he attempted to form words. May held out a can of biofoam, but Grantley waved her off. It would be a waste at this point. Leandra and Graham stood up at Martin's presence, and backed away to allow him room. Grantley stared unblinkingly into the man's eyes as he attempted to speak.

"It was Magnus. He...he-" the man's eyes rolled up as he breathed out for the last time and went limp. Martin noticed a strange white foam coming from the corner of his lips as he reached over to close his eyes. Grantley put his helmet on, stood up and walked a few steps away before turning to Martin.

"He was on rumbledrugs, or something similar. All of these bastards were. Took way too long to take 'em down when they attacked. Whoever sent these guys in made sure they wouldn't survive the attack."

"A slow-release poison, maybe?"

"Something like that, Chief. My guess is that they were to kill everyone upstairs, and then all die, make it look like some kind of crazy ritual stuff, y'know?"

Alrik, who had been watching the proceedings from several feet away, jumped down from the wall he was sat on and marched over, his rifle held in one hand. Even with his helmet on, Martin could tell that he was angry. He had heard nasty rumours about Gamma Company and it's aggression problems, though having been brought up with a number of psychopaths in Alpha, he was sure that he could deal with whatever these kids had. Alrik glanced at the corpse before stowing away his weapon.

"So, who the hell is Magnus?"

Escape
//RESIDENCE 48-B, INDIGO SECTOR, KUIPER\\

//NOVEMBER 1ST, 2556\\

//0423 HOURS\\


 * 5qeT2pTbZrs

"Get a move on, Amanda!"

She had been with the Insurrectionist cell for two days now, and they were already treating her like one of the family. Remi Marshall, their leader, had just received word that one of their main contacts, Rizhan Kama, had been taken down by Spartans only hours ago. They were next. Mike was busy loading the last pieces of tech into their truck, having scolded Clara for handling his beloved equipment roughly. Alexander, who had confessed his dislike for having his name shortened, was away somewhere. It was he who had informed them of Kama's capture. Fabian passed Amanda a box filled with pistols, while Ganju kept a lookout on the surveillance cameras. One of the main perks about this building was the underground garage, which led to the undercity. She sent the last few boxes down the elevator, and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"I'm all done, Remi."

"Nice work. It's good to see our newbie can pull her weight." He smiled, albeit tiredly. Unlike Clara, he used the term almost affectionately. Then, the lights went out. Swearing, he fumbled with a box, before pulling out a military-grade assault rifle. He activated the flashlight, before handing it over to Amanda. It was a definite sign of trust between them. Ganju stood up and casually grabbed his own weapon. "They hit the power grid for the building. We'll have backup lights downstairs. Are you ready, Remi?"

"Ready to leave, Ganju. No sense in dying like this."

"I'd have to disagree, sir. We were ordered to protect you by-"

"Yeah, but men like Roberts are a little over-the top. We're leaving, and you are coming with us."

"Sir, I-"

"And another thing, stop with that 'sir' crap. We're not the military. Last army I joined got themselves wiped out on Mamore. Come on."

With that, Remi began to move for the elevator, which had been called back up by Clara. As the three of them made their way down the corridor, something big smashed through the window. Remi pushed Amanda down. It was a Spartan. Luckily, it had turned towards Clara, who began to fire with her sidearm, to no avail. A crash from downstairs heralded the end of the front door, followed by shouts and gunshots. Pulling the young woman away, Remi ran for a side door, which led to a flight of stairs.

"Move!" he cried, glancing back once before sprinting downwards, Amanda in his wake. "What about Gaju?" she asked, already knowing the answer. He didn't say a word until they crashed through the door and into the garage, where they met a confused-looking Mike attempting to push a crate into the back of the truck. Remi ran for the driver's cab and jumped in. The engine thundered to life. Amanda helped Mike with the crate, only to see him go for another one.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Everyone's dead, we're going!" he screamed, and began to move forward. Mike dropped the crate and ran after the truck just as another Spartan, in orange armour, burst through the door. As he clambered aboard, he shrieked in pain as a plume of blood burst from his back. The truck sped off on a downwards slope and headed towards the undercity. Amanda attempted to calm Mike down as he began to go into shock.

"I can't feel my legs! Oh, God, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die..."

Amanda had never had to deal with a wounded person, even with her three years of service. She looked around the back of the truck until she came across a box marked with a red cross. Inside was a variety of items, most of which she'd never seen before. Remi, who had allowed them to slow down a bit, looked back, his face impassive as he surveyed the groaning Mike. "Hit him with the orange syringe, use some b-foam if it gets worse" he turned away without another word. Amanda pulled out a syringe marked with an orange band, and injected it into the wounded man's neck. She didn't have anything to sterilise the wound, but there was little else we could do. Mike promptly passed out. To stop the bleeding, she had injected him with a little biofoam, something that she had actually used in basic training, before leaning against the side of the truck and falling asleep.

By the time they arrived at the spaceport, it was already light out. The truck abruptly stopped, waking Amanda up. She made sure that her rifle was nearby, before jumping out. They were by a small freighter, labelled as the Dynasty. Remi was speaking with two men as they moved down towards the truck. One was a man in his mid-thirties, with light brown skin and thinning hair, the other was Alexander Redford. She breathed a sigh of relief at his survival; he had seemed like the kindest member of the cell. The next twenty minutes were spent in near-silence as they heaved the crates, and Mike, out of the truck and onto the ship. Eventually, after making sure that he was still alive, Alexander announced that he would have to perform vital surgery to save Mike's life.

Amanda was surprised that the Dynasty had a fully functioning medical bay, complete with some equipment that she was sure was rare even in the UNSC. The other man, a pilot by the name of Faisal, drove the truck onboard and took off, citing that staying on Circumstance would be tantamount to suicide. Remi showed her to her quarters, before sitting down, his head in his hands.

"Can you believe it? The whole goddamn operation wiped out in a few days."

"That was everyone?"

"Everyone important. The place is a shithole, but not like Venezia, Traxus IV or the Caucasus Asteroids. Oonskies still have control."

"Oonskies?"

"Yeah. UNSC people. It's a stupid name, I know, but you gotta name the enemy something, eh? We get called innies, so they get called oonskies" The door to the living quarters opened, and Redford stepped in, wearing a surgical gown. The old man seemed pleased with himself, and clasped his hands together. "The operation was a success. I've treated the wound, but he won't walk again without prosthetics or advanced leg braces."

Remi shrugged. "Well, he never did move away from his computer in the first place. Nice save there, doc."

"My pleasure, Remi. I'm sorry to hear about the others. At least our newest member survived. How are you, Amanda?"

"I'm fine, Alexander. I've been in combat situations before. Where are we going now?"

Now it was his turn to shrug. He simply lifted his hands in the air and turned to leave, before speaking in his usual, reassuring voice. "Wherever we please, Amanda. Wherever we please."

Debrief
//UNSC COLDHARBOUR\\

//NOVEMBER 1ST, 2556\\

//1440 HOURS\\

Martin took a deep breath, removed his helmet and stepped into the command room. Both Elena-071 and Captain Samson were sitting at a desk, going over datapads detailing Shrike Team's first mission. Elena motioned for him to sit, and he did so. The chair creaked slightly under the weight of his MJOLNIR armour. After a few seconds, Samson put down the pads and looked up at the SPARTAN.

"Excellent work, Master Chief. In just a few days, we've crippled the Insurrectionist operation on Circumstance, all thanks to your team." Though hard to read, the ONI agent seemed to be genuinely pleased with him. "Hennerman and Kama are ratting out everyone that they know as we speak, thinking it'll save them."

"Will it?"

"Nope. Hennerman's getting locked up in Fenwell, that's a one-way trip. Kama is getting fifteen years, stupid boy."

The SPARTAN-III nodded. Seemed fair, considering their crimes. The team seemed to be getting along nicely so far. Grantley seemed to be mentoring the ones from Gamma a little, his years of experience making him a valuable asset. Martin was sure that any attitudinal issues would be cleared up swiftly. The AI, on the other hand...

"Well, about Armand-"

The AI materialised on the table instantly, the avatar of the hooded man turning to face him, that slightly creepy smile still on his face. "Yes, Chief?" he asked, the question sounding like more of a threat. Elena, who had said nothing so far, watched with amusement.

"Where were you in that fight? As our support AI, I'd have thought that you would be helping out a lot more. I've worked with AI in the past, and I know when they're giving me a little...boost. With you I got nothing."

Armand cocked his head to one side, the upper half of his face shrouded in holographic shadow. "Nothing? Ah, I would guess that you were not informed of my other...capabilities. You and your team were capable against those foes. I, on the other hand, was engaged in cyberwarfare with a particularly stubborn intelligence that Kama had guarding his private files. I was victorious, of course."

The AI waved an arm, and at once a smaller, defeated figure materialised next to him. It was the avatar of a viking warrior, horned helmet, axe and armour. However, he looked somewhat drained, a pained look on his face as he struggled to pull himself up. Armand, still smiling, turned to Samson. "Captain, here is the data you requested. Shipments he'd been making and so on. Oh, these ones won't be on the datapad you took from Kama. He'd tried to delete these ones."

With another wave, a stream of holographic data poured from the other AI and into Samson's datapad. The viking groaned in pain, before clutching his axe and standing to face the hooded warrior. Sighing, Armand drew a dagger from his belt, flashing a deep red. Quicker than even the Spartan could see, he dashed forward, leapt over his enemy and brought the dagger round in a slash to the throat. Streams of code poured from the dying AI as he staggered back, and crumbled into nothingness. Martin was pretty sure that he'd just witnessed an artificial murder. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elena cut him off.

"Thank you, Armand. Log off and see to the rest of the team."

"Yes, commander." With a nod to Martin, Armand, who had returned to his natural blue colouring, vanished. Both Samson and Elena looked relived.

"The techs were right, he is an odd one. Anyway, we'd like to discuss your mission. I know you have some questions. Ask away."

Martin had been waiting for this. Something had felt...off during the last few days. As Spartans, they were trained to go in, strike a target, and get out. That was it. He had felt exposed in the city, many innocents being caught in the crossfire. Hadn't they been made as a secretive team for long-range ops?"

"Sir, Ma'am, I think we're being too open. I understand the severity of the situation, but aren't we better suited for the dangerous missions? Taking down isolated strongholds or entire groups at once. In my professional opinion, we're being far too noisy."

Samson merely nodded and slid a datapad over to the SPARTAN. Picking it up, Martin could see that it was linked to the frontpage of the Colonial Daily, the main source of news and info for the many human colonies, though it was popular on Earth. The front page had a picture of three Spartans-May, Graham and Julian by the looks of it- standing by the burnt out van that the rebels had used. One of them was helping a civilian out of the rubble. The page was captioned: UNSC SPARTAN HEROICS ON CIRCUMSTANCE. Briefly going over the story, it detailed how an 'unknown amount of Super-Soldiers' had managed to obliterate the Insurrectionist presence on the colony in less than a week with a series of pinpoint raids. Of course, the full story didn't detail the names of all involved or the main objectives his team had received, but there it was. Spartans in the news.

"What do you think?" Elena asked, her face was impassive, but her green eyes seemed to be scanning him. She's a Spartan too, Martin thought, before remembering that she was just as much of an ONI agent, even when in armour. "I don't understand," he replied, feeling foolish. Samson took the datapad and began to explain.

"We're scaring them. Plain and simple. See, there's a lot of rumours going round about how all the Spartans were dead, and all that crap. Now, there's at least a few hundred still alive and kicking, but we're still keeping some behind closed doors for now. This was, putting it simply, something of a publicity stunt. These pissant innies would've been wiped out in a week if the guys upstairs really wanted them out of the way. Now, they know we're fielding Spartans. They'll panic. Make mistakes. Even during the war there were spook stories being told about Spartan boogeymen."

With the truth dawning, Martin seemed to finally understand. They had been exposed. The public were aware of their existence, at least. Still, he wasn't sure if he liked it. All this scaremongering and misdirection was unusual for someone who had been trained from an early age to kill, and kill well. Martin wasn't an unintelligent man, knowing exactly why his team had been used like that, but nevertheless, it didn't seem right to him.

"I understand now, thank you. I'd best be getting back to my team now."

Martin saluted the two of them, and exited the room. After a few seconds, Samson sighed and began to gather up the datapads before turning to the commander. "You aren't saying much, that isn't like you. Do you think that what we did was wrong? The innies could retaliate with an attack, or worse."

"Who gave the order to show those Spartans to the public?" she replied, her voice level.

"Someone higher up. I got my orders, commander, and carried them out to the letter. Like you said before, the Chief fought on Reach. He's tough."

"I think he's a little bothered about the subterfuge. He's used to quick strikes, open battles and general warfare. It's new to all of Shrike, I think, but Martin was in Alpha Company. He's older than the others, more used to what he does."

"We can declassify his file, you know. What went on with SPARTAN-III? Is it gonna be a story as messed up as yours? I read what Halsey did."

"Worse. These kids were asked to fight the Covvies. Martin was part of the first generation. Got put into battle with knockoff equipment at twelve and survived the rest of them getting massacred with a few others."

"Jesus" muttered the Captain, standing up with the datapads under his arm. "So, you're saying he's not ready to handle innies?"

"Of course not, he's fought rebels before. What I'm saying is that we keep Shrike in the dark for now. It's what they're best at."

Shadow
//KAMA SHIPPING CO. WAREHOUSE, NEW YORK, EARTH\\

//NOVEMBER 19TH, 2556\\

//0230 HOURS\\

"They're all dead?"

"Five escaped. Remi Marshall's crew."

"I see. No matter."

The warehouse, packed with shipping crates ready for transport, was dimly lit. A few shafts of light fell here and there, cutting small paths through the darkness that enveloped the area. John Verensky stood beneath the light, an overcoat over his black uniform. There were a few others present, mainly guards, who watched the conversation with interest. From the darkness in front of Verensky, the sound of heavy boots pacing could be heard.

"No matter? It took me a week to get Kama on our side! The company is in trouble with the boy getting caught, and you don't care?"

"Why would I? What, did you think that the motley bands I assembled there were of any importance in attacking Earth? I needed to see if the UNSC would be as predictable as I thought. I wasn't surprised."

"But those men, the pelican lost-"

"Expendable. I ensured that they would have died before being captured. Something that, again, I was correct on, Verensky."

"What is this grand plan then, Magnus? Are you attacking Earth?"

"Not yet. You see, John, you're thinking small. The UNSC must be preoccupied for the masterstroke to fall into place, and for that to happen, patience is required. If they're biting at the little fish, then I shall supply a veritable feast for them. What about your work?"

"ONI bought the elite story. Got promoted to Liuetenant as the sole survivor. They're setting me to work on some dull crap right now. Research into battlesuits, of all things."

"Battlesuits?"

"I'll send you the data. It's not going anywhere, believe me."

"I'll see to that. Did you see the story they're plastering everywhere about the Spartans? Pathetic. Using the media to propagate scare tactics to deter those with thoughts of rebellion. I'll be sure to deal with them in time."

"But they took down the entire operation in-"

Magnus emerged from the dark. He was roughly eight feet tall, a long black coat obscuring a great deal of his body, which, Verensky knew, could crush him in less than a second. He towered over the man, glowering at him. The ONI agent was generally useful, but the bothersome remarks made him almost worth killing. Another time.

"They will be dealt with. Speaking of which, these men helped me get to Earth. I can make my own way back."

"Oh, okay then" Verensky whipped round at the onlookers, who had just realised the danger they were in. Before they reached their guns, Verensky's SMG had torn holes through half of them. One tried to run, sprinting off into the darkened warehouse. Magnus disappeared. Seconds later, there was a loud scream and a disturbingly crunchy sound. The voice of Verensky's benefactor echoed round the now empty warehouse as he calmly finished the men off and prepared to leave.

"Verensky, I want progress from you, lest our relationship come to an end. I don't care if it takes years, get back to me when you've got something worthwhile to use!"

Chapter Four
Seven Years Later

Congregation
//CAUCASUS ASTEROIDS, STATION 3B, URF SPACE\\

//MARCH 8TH, 2563\\

//1200 HOURS\\


 * rNMYEYQ_29k

The meeting room was large, sparsely adorned, and had a lot of exits. There was a single circular table in the centre of the room. It was a regular one, made of hardened oak imported from Earth itself, thus being impossible for hiding bombs, turrets or gas canisters inside. Lights illuminated every corner, where your average spy or assassin might try to hide, and there were no conveniently placed crates. Just a table, a screen, some speakers and a lot of chairs. A large door on one side slid open, and the attendees began to file in.

They were a diverse bunch, wearing various distinctive items of clothing, from spacer gear to full-on battle armour. All of them, however, were armed, and let it show. Last to enter was a man in a plain black jumpsuit. He watched over the others, and allowed them to take their places before sitting down at the table. The difference was quickly made between the sitting leaders and their henchmen.

"Well then," said one of the men cheerily. "Let's get started. For those of you who don't know me, I am John Verensky, and I've called you all here for a reason. Putting it simply, I'm giving you the opportunity to attack Earth."

"Impossible" called a man across the table. "We'd be slaughtered. We're making our own home out here, away from the UNSC."

Verensky smiled. That was Remi Marshall, one of the few survivors from Circumstance a few years back. He'd only brought two people with him: An old man, who seemed to be watching everyone in the room at once, and an angry looking young woman. Hardly a group of hardened criminals, though he'd heard rumours of the operations they'd carried out. In any case, they had been brought here for their usefulness. Verensky took out a datapad, and began to check the list of leaders he had brought here.

"Remi, you're here. Mal Roberts?"

To his left, someone raised a robotic hand. He was a middle aged man, almost bald, with a reputation for being just as vicious in his pro-insurrectionist speeches as he was on the battlefield. His profile also listed him as a former ODST. Now, while this would raise suspicion in the case of a deep-cover agent, the fact that Roberts had single-handedly blown up a UNSC armoury on Mars, of all places, and escaped to tell the tale, gave him a lot of respect, particularly around Venezia and here at the Caucasus bases, from which he managed an impressive operation.

"What, we taking roll call now?" asked the rebel leader, with the hint of a threat in his voice. "Look, are you giving us a shot at the oonskies, or not?"

"I'm just making sure everyone is here, Mr. Roberts. Can't be too careful. You and Marshall are the main leaders here, though I'm not sure about him."

Verensky pointed at a man sitting a few seats away from Roberts, dressed in typical merc attire. Half a dozen stony-faced men stood behind the man, clutching their weathered and customised weapons. They could probably wipe out the entire room in seconds, were it not for the fact that there were three or four other groups milling around who could easily do the same. Verensky stood up. "Identify yourself!" he demanded, a hand already reaching for his pistol holster.

"Jonathan Ulan. I am here representing some of the higher-ups on Venezia, as well as being a colleague of Mr. Roberts." Verensky glanced over at the other leader, who nodded. "I operate as a smuggler and pilot. Part-time engineer, too" He spoke calmly, not taking his eyes off Verensky's.

"An engineer?"

Roberts answered for him. "The kid is designing some kinda nuclear launcher, like an artillery piece or something. Thought it could be useful for fighting oonskies if the damn thing actually works."

At this, a few people around the room began to laugh. Ulan remained impassive until Verensky, who had smirked at the thought, waved them down. "An artillery piece? Well, it's an idea, to say the least, but there's one flaw in your master plan: We don't have nukes."

Ulan shrugged. "Not yet. I was told that you possessed several nuclear devices, Verensky."

"What makes you say that?"

"Word gets around. As I'm working for Roberts, I thought I'd come along."

"Look, can we please get down to business here?" That had come from Remi Marshall, sitting impatiently at his seat. Though he had quite a small group, the man was quite intelligent and would be a useful asset. He continued. "Anyway, what makes you think that we'll work for someone like you, anyway? I heard you're a big Earthie."

In response, Verensky held his hands up. "That is partially true. I'm an operative in the Office of Naval Intelligence, working as the deputy head of Project HAYABUSA."

The atmosphere in the room changed in a nanosecond. Aside from Verensky's own bodyguards, every weapon had been unlocked, unholstered, raised and aimed at the man, looks of intense hatred in their eyes. Ulan glanced over at one of Marshall's group. It was an old man, at least fifty or even sixty. While everyone else had immediately reached for their guns, this individual had momentarily hesitated, the surprise present in his eyes the moment Verensky had mentioned ONI. It was only for a second, but that made all the difference. Suddenly, the suspect moved a pace forward, his pistol drawn.

"He's a goddamn traitor! I say we kill him now!"

While there were many who seemed to agree, Ulan got up and pointed his gun at Marshall's man. "Hold up grandpa, who are you?"

"I am Alexander Redford. I'd advise that you point that thing somewhere else, right now."

Mal Roberts chuckled, a cut down rifle in his hands. "Well, who says we ain't got some culture. Where ya from, Redford?"

"Earth, though if you check my history, I've got a few million credits on my head."

"What for?"

"The usual, Mr Roberts. Blew up some places the UNSC would have preferred to remain un-blown up, killed a couple of people and ran away with a few valuable things."

"I can vouch for him, he's been with us for nearly nine years now" chipped in Marshall. Ulan seemed unconvinced, but joined the others in pointing his weapon in Verensky's direction. The man who had organised this meeting seemed unbothered by this, reclining in his chair. "You know, killing me would upset my employer a great deal, and all my work undermining ONI would be ruined."

"Well then, who the hell are you working for?" asked Roberts.

"Magnus."

The room fell silent. A few even backed off. While some people looked confused, there were others who were looking around in terror. Mal Roberts lowered his rifle a fraction, but kept his fingers close to the trigger. "Bullshit," he growled. "Magnus ain't real, he's just a spook story used to keep people in line" Ulan began to move towards the still-seated Verensky. His bodyguards began to move in front of him, but were waved back. Verensky stood up and came face to face with Jonathan Ulan.

"There's no lie. You shoot me, and he'll kill every single one of you, then obliterate this base."

"Right, and we're supposed to believe that?"

"You'll believe it because Verensky is telling the truth, for once."

The door to the meeting room closed. There was a clunk as a lock slid into place. A giant strode forward, looming over the assembled insurrectionists. Though a few trained their guns on the man, many stood back and did nothing. He came to a halt beside Jonathan Ulan, who hadn't moved an inch. Verensky sat back down.

"I'm Magnus. I ordered Verensky here to inform you that from this day forward, every single one of you would be working for me. You will be paid, of course, but the end result will be worth much more than money, I assure you."

While most of the people in the room seemed to agree with this without question, both Roberts and Ulan remained unconvinced. The former glared at Magnus. "Well, you got a plan to attack Earth then, big guy? We ain't exactly swimming in ideas here, y'know."

"A frontal assault on the heavily defended UNSC homeworld? Don't be ridiculous. What I'm planning is a slow death. If you cannot kill the beast in a single stroke, then you bleed it to death with a thousand cuts. You are here because of your usefulness; speaking to incite rebellion, the talent for creating new ways of destruction or the tactical prowess to carry off dangerous missions against the UNSC. Will you join me?"

"What if we don't want to?" asked Ulan. Magnus turned to face him, a smile playing across his face, red eyes boring into the rebel leader. "Well, then I will have to make you. Failing that, I will break you. A simple rhyme to remember."

With a motion, Ulan's guards moved forward, weapons raised. "These are my men," he said, a look of defiance in his eyes. "They are loyal to me. They fight for me. I don't care who you are, these men will die for my cause if they have to."

"Is that so?" Magnus took a step forwards. They stepped back.

"Nie martw się. Możemy go zabrać!" snapped Ulan.

Magnus sighed. "Czy jesteś na tyle lojalny umrzeć dla tego człowieka?"

Shock crossed the rebel's face. At once, his henchmen stepped back, making it clear that they were not standing with their leader. Ulan glanced round at them while Magnus leered at him. "See? Their loyalty is fleeting. Death threats will work wonders against those bought with simple promises or money. I'll ask again, Ulan. Will you join me?"

"Yes, Magnus."

"Excellent. Sit down."

Magnus paced the room as Ulan returned to his seat, utterly defeated. As he walked around the circular table, the air of a predator about him, the assembled insurrectionists all stood to attention or sat up straighter in their chairs. He was in command now, and they knew it. He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and had caught the hand of one of Ulan's men as he attempted to raise his pistol. For a few seconds, there was total silence as fear filled his eyes. Magnus smiled and tore the arm off.

"As I was saying," he continued, ignoring the man's shrieking as he walked along, arm in hand. "Verensky will be in charge. He gets the orders from me. Though he will usually be busy working with HAYABUSA, I have ensured that the project director allows our operations to proceed unhindered. Should the two of us be unavailable, I have other contacts that will suffice. Major!"

The door unlocked, and two hulking figures stepped into the room. They were Sangheili. One was quite bulky, with crimson armour and two deactivated swords hanging from his belt. The other was leaner, with more streamlined black armour and the air of intelligence about him. Everyone at the table shifted uneasily. Magnus pointed at the pair. "This is Sur 'Ranak and his brother, Rol. As of today, they will be running this particular station, using their own forces, as the previous owners decided to fight back. That is all."

Dropping the severed arm, Magnus took out a datapad, and placed it on the table before motioning to Verensky, who got up and walked out of the room in his wake, closely followed by the pair of elites. Once the door had closed, a collective sigh passed round the room. Remi Marshall looked back at his comrades, Amanda and Alexander. Both of them looked terrified. Mal Roberts snatched the datapad with his robotic arm before anyone else could get a look. He scanned it for a few seconds before tossing it back into the middle.

"Well, that was shitty, to say the least. Feel free to change your pants, people."

"What's on the pad, Mal?" asked Ulan. He slid it over to him. It was filled with information, on supply drops, safehouses and plans for each leader. At the beginning of the first section, the ONI logo was displayed prominently above the usual 'top secret' warnings. The title below was Project: HAYABUSA. With barely a second glance at the man bleeding out on the floor behind him, Ulan began reading.

Awakening
//UNSC HELIOS STATION, MARS ORBIT\\

//MARCH 12TH, 2563\\

//1457 HOURS\\

"Hey Chief, I think he's coming online."

The room was brightly lit, yet blurred to the AI. The prone form of a hooded man flickered into being on the holoprojector. Nearly a dozen people stood around, watching as data poured into the hologram, which flashed from red to green to yellow, contorting in what looked like silent pain, until he finally regained his blush hue. Armand stood up, and faced the Spartans.

"This is UNSC Artificial Intelligence serial number AMD-4080. I am ready for duty."

Martin-A136 stepped forward to look at the AI. It had taken nearly five years to piece him together again from the fragments they had discovered. It had happened so suddenly. One moment, he was hacking into the systems of a rebel outpost to kill the lights. The next, there was a scream, and his data was scattered throughout the network. A surprising amount had been recovered by ONI servers, though the gradual process of repairing an Artificial Intelligence of Armand's considerable capabilities had taken a long time.

"Armand, are you okay?"

"Ah, Chief" the AI settled into his usual calm tone. "It's been some time. My internal sensors read that it has been five years and forty-seven days since I...since I..."

"Fragmented?" The Spartan finished.

"Yes. I delved too deeply, found things that were not part of mission parameters. It was my own fault, Master Chief."

"What were you looking for?"

Armand, an entity that had become known for it's somewhat malevolent and knowledgeable nature amongst the Spartans of Shrike Team, suddenly seemed to shrink before them. His 'eyes' could never be seen from beneath the hood, but Martin was sure that he was averting his gaze. "What was it, Armand?" his voice dropped to barely a whisper.

"I had a subroutine going through ONI files. A hobby, of sorts. I attempted to access classified files. He found me, and punished me for my crime. Complete deletion is considered a blessing when compared to fragmentation, though from one such as him, morals play a little role in his job."

"Who's he?" asked Alrik-G210, who had been sitting casually on the other side of the room.

"Odin. He's a massively powerful AI stationed at ONI, and has been around for much longer than any intelligence such as myself has a right to be. I cannot say any more."

"Well then, would you consider yourself combat ready? We've got a mission coming up in 48 hours, and it'd help to have you with us."

Armand smiled up at the Spartan he'd been partnered with years ago. He was wary of his kind and the actions they took, but after a while they had all managed to get on fine, occasional arguments notwithstanding. He pulsed a bright blue and stepped forward. "Of course I'm ready. Give me the details."

Everyone liked this mission.

The nine SPARTAN-III's of Shrike Team stood around a holo-table, looking over the layout of the Jiralhanae refinery. It was located on a small moon orbiting some backwater world at the edge of Sangheili-controlled space. The refinery, which was helping to supply the ever-present Covenant remnants, wasn't worth a full assault, and it's defences would make things tough for any UNSC battlegroup. This was a SPARTAN mission. Deploy, infiltrate, exterminate, detonate.

Captain Samson, standing above the table, guided Shrike through the mission plan. The nine of them would insert via prowler and land on the moon. The newly-restored Armand would fool their rather simplistic systems while they infiltrated, getting over the perimeter wall and through the airlocks. From there, the team would split into four groups: Martin, May and Julian would be on clearing duty, attacking the control centre and getting as much info as they could, Armand riding in Martin's helmet. Grantley, Alrik and Leandra would clear the hangar and keep watch for enemy reinforcements, while Graham covered their route to the escape craft. Meanwhile, Amos and Cesare had the task of planting the det-charges on the main power generators, blowing them one by one to sabotage and destroy the mining operations below.

"Sir, do we have any backup?" asked May. "Not that we're expecting any, but say a battlecruiser shows up..."

"No backup" the ONI agent said sharply. "This mission is classified. You know your standard procedure by now, anyway. Officially, none of you exist."

The room was silent for a few moments, before Martin spoke up. "It's a zero-gee environment, I'm guessing. What have we got, equipment-wise?"

Samson brought up the schematics for what appeared to be modified thruster packs. "You'll need these to get around. Brutes haven't got anti-gravity inside the base, from what our intel suggests"

"So, EVA then?" Alrik piped up smugly. "Something that I happen to me a master of."

None of his team said anything, but Samson nodded. This seemed to finalise their preparations. As one, the Spartan unit began to exit the briefing room, heading for the armoury. Martin watched them go. Over the last few years, they had really bonded as a unit. At first, there had been a little tension between some of the younger ones and Leandra, but that had been resolved quickly. They were Spartan soldiers, fighting to protect humanity. As he turned to leave, Martin noticed Samson looking at Armand intently, as if he couldn't trust him. Of course, the AI's very vague explanation of his fragmentation was worrying, but they'd deal with that later, after the mission.

Trident
//REMNANT-CONTROLLED MOON\\

//MARCH 21ST, 2563\\

//0832 HOURS\\


 * 53okVcqnnx8

"This is Shrike Actual. Master Chief, is the team in position?"

"We'll be touching down in thirty, sir."

The 'lunchbox', as it had came to be known, was a small, squarish transport device used to insert small teams undetected. It was covered in Stealth ablative coating, with small thrusters to allow for transport without being detected. Shrike Team had been told that it had been tested extensively, but being packed into a metal box with minimal situational awareness and no visibility discomforted the Spartans somewhat. They were at home on the ground.

"Five seconds. Check T-Packs and weapons, it will be a zero-gee environment from here."

Martin, who was sitting closest to the hatch, unbuckled his safety harness and looked round at the rest of Shrike. Their armour, brand new only a few years earlier, had taken some damage over the years, fighting various rebel and Covenant groups. Each member had proven themselves time and time again in battle, and although Martin had held some suspicions regarding the Gamma's augmentations, he hadn't encountered any problems so far. A loud bump told them that the box had landed. Thumbing the switch, Martin gave a single glance back at his Spartans before opening the hatch.

Once the initial rush of air had passed, the Spartans climbed out of their box and, with some thruster support, landed on the surface of the moon. The enemy base was about a mile away, situated on the edge of a large crater. The familiar rounded, purple structures that could usually be associated with the Covenant could be seen amongst the older, metallic-looking ones. Evidently, this place had been a refinery before the Brutes had commandeered it as a military outpost.

"Chief" said Leandra, sounding slightly worried. "On that ridge, above the base."

Zooming in on his HUD, Martin could make out the distinctive shapes of Covenant T-38 AA guns, also called 'Tyrants'. He'd destroyed a few in his time and knew that they could easily tear through most UNSC ships with repeated hits. If things went south, then they'd have little chance of a rescue. They would have to be taken out.

"Grantley, take your group and destroy those guns, then head for the hangar. They're too dangerous to ignore."

"Got it" replied Grantley's gruff voice. "You heard the man, Alrik and Leandra, on me!"

As they headed off towards the ridge, Martin and the others got closer to the base. It was strange that they hadn't picked up anything yet. No sensors, no exterior turrets or patrols. It may have just been paranoia, but something here definitely wasn't right. He clenched his fist, and the others dropped to their knees, weapons raised. They sat in silence for nearly a minute before Martin finally waved them forwards again. By the time they had reached an airlock, there was still absolutely nothing. May and Julian stood in front of the door while Martin pressed his hand to the control panel, allowing Armand to open it. The airlock hissed open, and the six Spartans moved inside, still wary.

"I have accessed the schematics of the base" said Armand, his voice level. He suddenly smiled. "Ah, it would appear that the low security is due to a feast being held on a lower level. A few patrols aside, almost the entire base is down there. Seems that our enemies favour their food more than security."

Martin couldn't believe their luck. Shaking his head, he waited for Armand to mark the command room on his HUD before heading off down the corridor. The AI searched for a few seconds more, and added a second waypoint for Cesare and Amos to follow. The power generators, which ensured that the refining operations could continue, were situated below the hangar bay. It had a single patrol, nothing that the Spartans couldn't handle.

Alrik manoeuvred slightly ahead of the others, his thruster pack boosting him towards the AA guns on the ridge. He was in his element here. Sure, he was just as deadly as the others on the ground, but here the Spartan's specialised training really came in handy. The trio neared one of the guns, and half a dozen red dots flashed up on their radars. A motion from Grantley dispatched Alrik to the left. These were brutes they were dealing with, so he knew his strategy: Kill the leader, stay at range and watch out for the crazies. Settling by an entrance to the gun, Alrik peered through the energy door catching a glance of two suited-up enemies conversing inside. He waited a few seconds before stepping through, and banging his rifle loudly against a wall.

It was quite funny for Alrik to watch, really. Six bestial faces staring at him, their features going very quickly from shock, to confusion, to general rage. He smirked, and jumped backwards into space, his T-Pack boosting him upwards. Not one enemy emerged. The red blips damaged. A single corpse drifted out, perforated in a dozen places with rifle rounds. Grantley and Leandra emerged, the latter booting it off into space. A small icon on Alrik's HUD indicated that they had planted their own C-12 charges. This was too easy. Looking along the ridge, there were a few more guns ripe for destruction. The Spartan grinned behind his visor, happy to be doing this job.

Intel had been wrong about the lack of gravity. Nothing new there. Martin took point as his team made their way towards the control room. It was odd that the Jiralhanae would have such a well-fortified base, yet not bother to patrol it. With their refining operations, they could have a decent fleet ready within a year or two. Looking back, they had definitely been quiet lately. Several Sangheili leaders had been convinced not to glass their homeworld, the general reasoning being that with their leadership and military might broken along with the Covenant, they would go back to their petty squabbling.

This base, and it's potential, showed how the higher-ups had really underestimated the capability of their enemies. Martin wasn't sure why the brutes continued to fight in the name of the Covenant, which hadn't existed for a decade in any real capacity. It may have just been a banner to unite under, or perhaps they still believed in their 'Great Journey'. The Spartans finally reached the door to the control room.

"Armand, anything waiting for us in there?"

"Four guards. Spike Rifles. They haven't detected our presence."

"Any suggestions?"

"Breach and clear, Chief."

Martin nodded towards Julian, who removed a small, circular device and handed it to him. It was a detonation charge, made specifically for blasting through reinforced doors like this one. He motioned for his two comrades to fall back before affixing it. flipping open the tiny panel on the side, Martin set it for seven seconds and ran back into cover, readying his weapon. Julian and May already had their rifles aimed at the door.

Three...

Two...

One...

"Go!"

The door was blasted inwards, the metal pulverised and fragmented by the blast. Martin activated his thruster pack, propelling him into the room. He hit the floor rolling and came face-to-face with the huge form of a Brute Officer. His body moved naturally, sidestepping and grabbing the creature's right arm, drawing his combat knife as he did so. As the other Spartans stormed into the room, Martin plunged the blade into the beast's neck, making it roar in pain as he twisted it. Bursts of rifle fire from behind him dropped the others.

"Chief, down!"

Martin pushed off of the brute, falling backwards as a trio of bullets impacted against it's head. It slumped to the floor. May walked over, rifle held nonchalantly in one hand, and extracted the knife, casually tossing it over to Martin.

"Thanks."

"It's what I do."

"That one just didn't want to go down..."

"Headshot usually works, Chief."

He chuckled, and turned towards the array of alien controls that lined the room. He had no idea what any of them were for. Luckily, they had Armand. The Spartan pressed his palm to a nearby holoprojector, and the hooded man flickered into existence. Immediately, he drew his dagger, and stabbed downwards with a snarl.

"Armand?"

"It's more protected than I anticipated. Give me time. Oh, and I'm turning off the gravity."

"Wha-" Martin began. He felt something shift as the station's gravity was shut off. The boots of his MJOLNIR suit magnetised instantly. To his right, a screen activated, showing the brute feasting hall in complete disarray, a Chieftan roaring and swatting things away with his hammer. Martin resisted the urge to laugh, and turned back to the AI.

"What've we got?"

Armand sheathed his blade, and smiled deviously. "I have gained control of most of their systems, and am in the process of extracting all relevant information from their database. It's fascinating." A look of concern crossed his face for a second. "Oh, and there are three transport ships heading this way, filled with enemy reinforcements"

"When will they arrive?"

"About five minutes, give or take. Shrike Four and Six should hurry up."

"We hear you, Chief. Six out."

Elsewhere in the station, Amos and Cesare had found their target: The plasma generators that powered the enemy refining operations on the moon. They were large, cylindrical devices, humming with energy. The two Spartans moved in closer. Behind them, a Jiralhanae patrol had been slaughtered in a hail of bullets.

"'Mos, you first."

"Got it."

The tan-armoured Spartan moved up, pistol raised. His MJOLNIR suit, which had been customised for Explosive Ordinance Disposal, or EOD work, would give him a little more protection than his partner. Inside, he could make out four bright streams of pulsating energy around the room. As he crept inwards, his visor polarising as not to impair his vision, Amos flashed a green status light twice, giving the all-clear to Cesare. This seemed too easy, in his opinion.

"Right then, I get the next room, you stay here, okay?" Cesare's voice never seemed to lose it's cheery edge.

"Go ahead. Remember the Chief's warning about these things."

"Yes, yes, no arming until you are out of the blast radius. I saw the TORPEDO reports."

Amos remembered the archived footage they were shown of various SPARTAN-III operations. Though he and the rest of Gamma Company had been officially active for a decade now, they still relied on the knowledge of their predecessors to better themselves on the field of battle. Arming a charge too close to a plasma generator like this one could cause it to trigger prematurely due to the EMP field. Of course, they had planned for that possibility. Cesare moved into the second generator room while Amos took out his own C-13 pack. Of course, just destroying these things wouldn't blow the whole facility, but it would certainly render it useless to the enemy. That reminded him...

"Shrike Two, this is Four. What's your status, over?"

"One gun left," Grantley's amused voice crackled through the COM. "Alrik's having the time of his life out here. Good luck with the base."

Yep. Chances were that the UNSC would move in the heavies to flatten this place once they were done. Amos finished prepping his own charges, placing one at each end of the room for maximum damage. As the explosives expert in Shrike, he'd have the honour of detonating the place once he'd made sure that Cesare was all right. Though all Spartans were trained to handle explosives, mistakes were always a distinct possibility. As he picked up his rifle and began the slow walk towards his comrade, magnetised boots keeping him upright, Amos noticed a flurry of red dots coming into view on his HUD.

"Hey A," said Cesare, a slight hint of worry in his voice. "You getting that too?"

"Yeah. That's a lot of contacts. Are your charges placed?"

"All done, let's get the hell out of-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off by the familiar sound of spiker fire. Amos moved in to see several Brutes clambering through the doorway at the far side of the room, slightly encumbered by heavy jump packs. Cesare let off a burst of fire from his rifle as his shields flared, diving behind the sparse cover as his partner covered him. Martin's voice came through the COM, calm as ever.

"Amos, Cesare, we've got enemy reinforcements heading in. Get out of there, now!"

"Got it, Chief!" Amos responded, dropping another brute as it attempted to clamber over it's dead comrades. "Cesare, move!"

The first few they had taken down were blocking the entrance for now, but there was a veritable tide of red dots heading his way. Worse still, a few were creeping up from behind. Cesare scrambled to his feet and reloaded, covering Amos while he fired towards a group of them heading down their exit corridor in grav-boots. There were a lot of brutes, too many for the two of them. A misplaced grenade could blow the charges, and with it a good chunk of the base.

"This is Eight, I'm on my way" That was Graham, who had been standing guard by their exit point. The Spartans gunned down the remainder of the brutes in their way and turned to head away. While the green-armoured Spartan reloaded, a flurry of spikes impacted against his MJOLNIR plating. The shields flared and died. Cursing, Cesare ducked, making a smaller target against the hail of projectiles from his pursuers. While Amos began to make his way into the corridor, one of the spikes struck his friend's T-pack.

"Amos!"

Shrike Four looked back as a gout of flame burst from the pack, propelling him upwards as he struggled to remove it. Several brutes roared as they clambered through the door, unleashing a steady hail of spikes at the Spartan, who grunted in pain. Before Amos was forced to dash behind cover, he caught site of Cesare holding his flaming pack aloft before he threw it at his assailants. A single, hurried word came over the COM.

"Run!"

He did. Or rather, he began to run before activating his thruster pack, speeding down the corridor as fast as he could as the fire roared after him.

"Chief, I've got him. He's stable."

Amos' eyes fluttered open. He was lying on a bed in the medical bay of the UNSC Coldharbour. Martin, Julian, Graham and Captain Samson were all stood nearby, while a nurse checked his vital signs. The Spartans were still in their armour.

"Hey, he's awake."

Martin approached as Amos propped himself up, wincing. The Chief's eyes said everything, really. Cesare was dead. There was no way he could have survived that. As for him...

"Amos, good to see you up. We nearly lost you on that station. You would've died if not for your suit. That's in bad shape, though." Amos nodded sullenly as Martin continued, genuine sorrow in his voice "I'm sorry about Cesare. We checked your helmet logs, and it looks like he went out fighting, like a true Spartan."

"Did we complete the mission?" came the robotic response. Samson spoke up.

"The entire facility has been taken down, both the refinery and the defences. Battlegroup Prosper went in and took down the rest yesterday. We stopped the Remnant from producing more ships, Amos."

"That's good to know, sir."

The Captain nodded, and left without another word. Julian stepped forward, his face impassive behind the opaque visor. "Don't worry, we'll have you back on your feet in no time. You'll want to get back soon, right?"

"It's all my fault," replied Amos, his voice hoarse. He'd let the team down again. Then the usual tirade of supposed motivation and comforting came from his fellow Spartans. Well, as motivating and comforting as socially inept sociopathic super-soldiers could be, considering the circumstances. It was easier to nod and agree than to argue. Eventually, they left, discussing the outcome of the mission and potential targets. The last to leave was Martin. He was the only one who had removed his helmet, and the only one to look back.

"You've just got to carry on, Amos. Believe me, it's the only way to cope with things like this. Stick with your team, we're all you have."

Amos saluted weakly from the bed, and watched the last survivor of Upsilon Team walk out.

Chapter Five
Two years Later.

Reunion
//FENWELL MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON\\

//OCTOBER 17TH, 2565\\

//0847 HOURS\\


 * 4tayibILjXA

"This is Fenwell Prison. Dynasty, please state your intent."

"This is Jonathan Ulan of the Dynasty. We're here ferrying supplies and equipment. Transmitting authorisation codes now."

The reply took a few seconds. Copy that, we'll have a security team waiting for you in bay three. Out."

The COM shut off. Ulan turned round in the pilot's chair to face the others, smiling. "We're in" he said triumphantly. They were currently on approach to Fenwell, a large UNSC installation located on an asteroid in the Inner Colonies. This was where they dispatched most of the captured dissidents, rebels, terrorists and traitors. Right now, Remi Marshall and his group were about to land right in the middle, and blow it open.

Amanda opened the door to the bridge, zipping up a grey jumpsuit over her body armour. They were all here, ready for action. Remi smiled warmly at her, and passed over a carbine from the table, which she loaded immediately. This would be their most dangerous operation yet. Mike, who had largely been confined to the ship after losing the use of his legs, was prepared to run a cyber attack on the prison, temporarily harassing their security system to allow the others access. He and Alexander would stay on board while the rest of them orchestrated a prison break. Remi waved the others over to follow him while Ulan took the ship in for a final approach.

"Everyone, get ready," shouted Remi. "We'll hit them hard and fast. Ulan's men will secure the communications array while everyone else heads for the cell block. Eliminate any and all resistance en-route, got it?"

A chorus of affirmatives echoed around the quarters as two dozen people prepared for the upcoming battle. The Dynasty swept into the prison's hangar bay, the security team coming into view below. They were reasonably well-armed, with military-grade weapons, but obviously not expecting an attack of this magnitude. Amanda glanced over at her friend, and noticed a steely glint to his eye. Over the last nine years, she had stood by him and the others on dozens of covert missions, fought alongside him and saved his life on more than one occasion. She could tell that he was hiding something. He-

"Amanda, I need you up with my group, okay?" That had come from Remi, who was affixing a rebreather to his helmet. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Between you and me, I can't trust Ulan or his men. I need you."

"Of course" came the automatic reply. In all these years, Remi had never shown the slightest bit of affection for her, or anyone, for that matter, though he knew how she admired him. Of course, there had been arguments and a few fights, but all in all, they had stayed loyal to one another. The five of them had been travelling since their flight from Circumstance year ago, after all. Just her, Remi, Alexander, Mike, and Faisal, the resident pilot and tinkerer, against the universe.

"Hey, are you guys seeing that?" Ulan's excited voice came over the COM. "They've got a GA-TL1 Longsword ripe for the taking!"

Remi and Amanda exchanged looks, the former sighing before activating his communicator. "Let me guess, you want it?"

"Damn right I want it!"

Childish glee notwithstanding, Ulan was an excellent pilot and had flown Longswords back when he was in the UNSC Air Force. They might need some cover escaping and, as a few of them could agree, it might be a bonus if Ulan got himself killed. "Okay then, it's yours" came Remi's reply. Immediately, Faisal turned and headed for the cockpit, grumbling to himself. The Dynasty's landing pads activated as they touched down on the hangar floor. Two dozen rifles were loaded. One of Ulan's unit moved forward, hefting a bulky grenade launcher, and slid a small canister into it.

Remi checked his weapons, and looked to the assembled soldiers "Okay people, here we go..."

The ramp lowered from the side of the ship, revealing eight security personnel milling about. Before they had time to react, the launcher's first shot had hit the floor, tear gas streaming out. Issuing a battle cry, Remi charged forward, gunning down the choking guards as the others spilled out of the freighter and onto the hangar floor. As expected, a shrill alarm began to sound after half a minute, accompanied by half a dozen guards storming through a side passage to repel the invaders. Immediately, Amanda dropped into a crouching stance, and sent a few bursts of fire towards their attackers, one dropping with a scream.

"Amanda, on your right!"

"Got it!"

"Two there!"

"Kerenski, cover me!"

"Man down, go left!"

"Frag out!"

The firefight had in seconds devolved into a cacaphony of screaming, shooting and dying as the two sides fought. Amanda felt a pang of sympathy for the security guards, who were slowly being encircled and killed. Suddenly, in the midst of all the chaos, she caught sight of a slim, black-haired man in pilot dress leaving the Dynasty. It was Ulan. With no body armour or weapons she could see, he would be gunned down in a second if he wasn't careful. Remi seemed to have noticed too.

"Ulan, get back in the ship!"

If the pilot could hear them, he didn't pay any attention. After a second of thought, the man began to sprint across the hangar floor, ducking and dodging as bullets whizzed past him, running for the Longsword fighter. Amanda watched in horrified fascination as the mad pilot leapt over some crates, swearing loudly in Polish, before he crawled up the ramp and into the fighter.

"Son of a bitch..." muttered an exasperated Remi, who casually gunned down two more guards. The firefight was over. Unheeded, Ulan's mercenaries marched in one direction, towards the communications array and armoury. If the prison managed to get a distress signal out to the UNSC, they were screwed. Amanda joined her team, striding across the corpse-strewn floor. They had lost a couple of people, but were still pressing hard. A groan from behind a stack of crates caught her attention. A man lay there in a pool of blood, his combat vest ripped to pieces. Their eyes met, a damp gleam of hope springing into his.

"P-please, help me" His voice was barely beyond a whisper. Amanda froze, unable to look away. The man was dead, there was no doubting that. Remi, who had noticed this, calmly shot the man thrice in the head before she could react, turning away in a second. For a man who wanted nothing more than to be left alone by the UNSC and live in peace, he was a cold, methodical killer when it came to battle. Of course, Remi had seen some fierce battles against the UNSC even while the war was on. She often wondered what had made him this way.

"We're moving. Try to keep up, everyone. You fall and we're leaving you."

He wasn't lying. Their group slowly pushed through the prison blocks, releasing everyone, cell-by-cell, as they headed for whatever goal Remi Marshall had set for them. Several others had been shot en-route, and left where they dropped. There was something driving him; a fire in his eyes the likes of which Amanda had never seen before. Ulan had hijacked the Longsword, and was causing havoc outside. His sporadic swearing in Polish was still coming through the COM in intervals, usually followed by an explosion.

"Right, solitary confinement" muttered Remi. "If we go through here, we-"

The five of them stopped, and raised their weapons as three guards staggered back, a large knife protruding from the chest of one. As the other two raised their shock batons, a chair hit them, followed by a man, who quickly latched his arm around one man's throat, daring his comrade to come closer as he squeezed the life out of his hostage. Without warning, there was a dull crack, and a limp corpse was kicked forward. Before the guard could react, he had been pushed to the floor. A knife rose, and fell. Remi's team watched in horrified fascination as, after a few seconds, the inmate silenced the guard's screams forever.

Amanda recovered first. "Freeze!" she barked, aiming her rifle as she stepped forward.

The man turned round. He was wearing the same orange jumpsuit that all the innmates wore, though his was covered in fresh blood. He was of average height, with cropped silver hair, dull green eyes, and a look of immense satisfaction on his face. The man also seemed incredibly fit, in spite of his age, which Amanda guessed to be at least fifty. He raised his hands slowly in surrender, not taking his eyes off of her weapon.

"I surrender, shitheads" came a rough-sounding voice. "You gonna kill me, or gawk all day?"

Amanda moved to take another step over, but was stopped by Remi, who waved her down. He tore off his mask, and faced the older man, a look of astonishment on his lined face.

"Carlos Driscol?"

"Yeah. You sure took your sweet time in getting me out, Marshall. What's it been, twelve, thirteen years?"

Remi's whole body language seemed to change, the confident leader suddenly becoming a young, inexperienced soldier again in the face of Driscol "Sir I- I mean, we didn't, I thought you-"

"Were dead? Nah. Captured. Vaporised would be a better word, come to think of it. Oonskies locked me up here. Interrogation and all that shit. Oh, and don't call me 'sir' any more, ya bootlick. URF is dead, as far as I'm concerned, got that?"

"Yes si-, I mean, got it."

"Right then" Driscol clapped his hands together. "Let's get off this fucking rock, I want some smokes and a gun."

He took a few steps down the corridor, before turning to stare at five unmoving people. "We're offski, right? This is a rescue mission, yes? Let's go!"

Amanda was fighting the urge to smash her rifle in his face, and looked to Remi. "Well, we didn't know you were here, Carlos, this rescue isn't exactly for you."

This got everyone's attention. "Okay then" Driscol replied, folding his arms crossly. "Who for?"

"My sister, Isabelle. They got her two months ago. That's why we're here, to get her out."

A sister?! That's what this whole operation was for? All this senseless death, risking their lives, just for one person? Well, two if they counted Driscol, but the man hadn't exactly made a good first impression of being an upstanding gentleman. They had lost at least fourteen people already. Remi would have some explaining to do, for sure.

Driscol, rather than rant or complain, burst out laughing. "Isabelle? SHE'S your sister? You shoulda told me. Pretty thing, broke a guy's arm on the first day so they stuck her in solitary. Last door on the left."

Remi Marshall nodded, and broke into a run, followed by two others. Amanda turned to face Carlos Driscol, who was leaning nonchalantly against a wall. "Hey lady," he leered. "Might want to stop it with the face, the wind might change and it'll stay that way."

"What face?"

"That constant pissed off thing you've got going on. Look, maybe you've got lady problems but-"

He was cut off by a rifle but to the stomach. Driscol doubled over, but grabbed the weapon and pulled it towards him. Amanda found herself face to face with the man, still smiling. He wouldn't dare fight back, not with another soldier standing by, but that stupid grin on his face angered her more than anything.

"You're a reacl scumbag, you know that?" she hissed

"Aww, how kind" came the immediate reply. Amanda backed away, still holding her rifle as Remi and the others appeared down the corridor, accompanying a thin figure in an orange jumpsuit. She was quite a pretty girl, as Driscol had said. Her blone hair had been shaved off, though she carried herself with an air of authority, similar to that of her brother's. She stopped when she reached the three of them, allowing Remi to step forward.

"Isabelle, this is Amanda Wade, my Lieutenant." She held out a hand, allowing the young woman to shake it for a brief moment before letting go. "This is Carlos Driscol, and Jason DeMarr"

She shook their hands too, her gaze lingering on Driscol. "You are a prisoner too, no?" Amanda noticed that her accent was much more prominent than Remi. She probably hadn't left her homeworld that long ago then. How anyone so young could be considered that much of a threat to be placed here was beyond her, but now wasn't really the time for questions. Alexander Redford's voice flickered in over the COM.

"Remi, I'm afraid that Ulan's team were pushed back from the comms array, the guards managed to send out a distress signal. I'd recommend getting back to the hangar immediately if you want us to get out in one piece. Out"

"Copy that, Red. Have Faisal keep the engines warm, we're on our way"

Their group, now up to seven members, moved quickly through the cell blocks. It was pure, destructive anarchy in the prison now, the escapees wrecking, looting, or running for the supply freighters in the secondary hangar. They would never fit them all on the Dynasty, anyway. Suddenly, Driscol wheeled off round a corner, heading for a solitary room at the end.

"Carlos, what the hell are you doing?!" Remi shouted, urging the others onwards. The old man grinned, and opened the door, revealing racks of unused rifles. After a few seconds of search, he hefted down a weapon, and carried it out, a look of childish glee on his face.

"M739 LMG, also known as the SAW. I've had my eye on one of these for a while now, believe me."

Seeing the futility of questioning a possibly insane man wielding a machine gun, Amanda sighed and waved them forwards, exiting through to the hangar. There, the last three survivors of Ulan's team were pinned behind a stack of crates, cut off from the Dynasty by a dozen security guards. Laughing, Driscol strode forward and began firing, the armour piercing rounds ripping through them like paper as Amanda and the others gunned down the rest. Within ten seconds, the hangar was devoid of enemies. Remi grabbed Isabelle's hand and began to run for the ship.

"C'mon, go, go!"

Any second now, UNSC ships could arrive insystem. Longsword or not, they'd be screwed. Amanda leapt up the ramp and helped the others up, Driscol swaggering aboard last, reloading his machine gun. She immediately ran to the cockpit and took her seat, monitoring for enemy activity whle attempting to raise Ulan.

"Jonathan, we're leaving! What's your status?"

The rebel leader's exasperated voice came through after a few seconds. "Took down twelve craft alone, 'Manda. Not bad for one day, eh? I'll suit up and t-pack it over once we're clear, this bird's toast. Got that?"

"Reading you loud and clear. We'll rendezvous with you in five, out."

As the Dynasty took off from the prison installation's hangar, the events of today, lost in the adrenaline of combat, began to hit her. Not for the first time, she began to wonder why they fought the UNSC, this gargantuan organisation that they were constantly fleeing from, fighting sporadically and seemingly never getting any closer to 'defeating'. She'd been doing this for nearly a decade now, though it felt a lot shorter. But Amanda would keep soldiering on, just like mum, just like dad. Just like he probably did, came the one subversive thought, the one secret she had never told anyone. Not that he mattered, anyway. On reflection, Amanda had chosen her beliefs long ago, and would follow them to the grave, just like those she fought.

Feud
//UNSC ARMY FACILITY EPSILON-4, LUNA\\

//DECEMBER 8TH, 2565\\

//1356 HOURS\\


 * U0qTbHdZpX8

"You create a whole program, and I'm not told about it?!"

Martin-A136 strolled at a casual pace behind Captain Samson, who was currently in a heated debate with General Cole Warrick of the Army. The last few days had been strange, to say the least, for the Spartans of Shrike.

"Captain, you're with the Navy. Why should an Army unit bother you so much?" replied the General, speaking in a slow, even tone.

"I'm with Naval Intelligence, General. You know how far we go."

"Too far, in my opinion."

"Nevertheless, the Army has an entire super soldier group of it's own, that has been active for several years now, and somehow I wasn't informed?"

"Why should you be, Captain?"

"Because, General, I've got an entire SPARTAN group under my command, and it would help if we could at least be informed of your...people, rather than having to encounter them on the battlefield, without any tags or identification."

Warrick smiled, much to Samson's annoyance. "Look, I know what your little Spartans are capable of, I've seen the reports. But these soldiers are a new generation. HAYABUSA has been achieving combat results unsurpassed since the Spartans were first introduced. Besides, I'm the ranking one here, Samson."

The Captain scowled, but didn't rise to the taunt. "Well then, sir, ONI has ordered me and SPARTAN-A136 to review this facility and the masterminds behind this project before reporting back. That is all we're here for."

"Okay then, please allow me to show the pair of you around."

It had been two weeks ago that Shrike first encountered HAYABUSA. After the mass breakout from Fenwell a few months back, the SPARTAN-III team had been tracking down some of the more high profile escapees, most of whom had returned to their old comrades on the fringes of UNSC space. This mission in particular was designed to take down a large meeting taking place on some deadbeat colony world. Hundreds would be attending, though it was nothing that they couldn't handle.

"This is Shrike One. We're at breaching point one. May, is your group in position?"

"We're on the roof, sir."

Martin waved Julian and Leandra forward, looking on as the pair watched each other's backs, the latter affixing a breaching charge to a door. In their MJOLNIR suits, they could easily kick the door in, but this was safer. Particularly after Cesare...

"Breaching, breaching!"

The door burst inwards, and the Spartans moved in, rifles ready. The crashing sounds from the other side of the facility announced the arrival of the other team. Oddly, there were no gunshots. No shouts of surprise or screams of terror. Nothing. Martin waved the others forward, edging into the main hall where the meeting was supposed to take place. Alrik's voice crackled over the COM.

"Sir, d'you think we've got the right- oh..."