User:Dragonclaws/Ascension27

Transsentience
Johnson slowed the Warthog as they approached the top of a rise. They had passed under a squadron of Marathon-class cruisers, spread out to form a perimeter, not five minutes prior, so he knew they were getting close to the Ark. He slammed on the breaks as they made it to the top.

The scene was laid out for them, an epic battle filling the sky, their destination dead ahead in the distance across sand and rubble. The sun was nearly set, the sky a rapidly darkening twilight. Above what surely was the Ark was a turbulent storm, swirling like a hurricane, where none of its like should exist. Covenant ships soared around the storm, attacking each other with ruthless passion. And in the center, the beam emanating from the Ark lit up the horizon like a beacon, beckoning them onward.

“It’s a ruttin’ maelstrom!” Cobb exclaimed.

“No,” Reynolds corrected in a know-it-all voice. “Maelstroms is for water. That there’s a storm.”

“One hell of a storm,” Cobb muttered.

“That it is,” he agreed, licking his dry lips. This would be very difficult. He wasn’t even sure what it was he planned to do, but he knew he had to sail straight into that maelstrom, drive into that storm. He needed to do it. It was God’s path for him. The Ark held his destiny.

Suddenly, a splash of white lit up the sky almost directly above them. It was a Slipspace rupture, the exit portal of unknown starships. However, it was not alien purple that left the ivory ripples, but the dark grey of human vessels.

That shouldn’t be possible, he thought with an awed sense of satisfaction as the fleet spread out. Up until now, that kind of technology was beyond our reach.

“Would y’all look at that?” Reynolds exclaimed, eyes scanning the various ships that poured out of the rupture, most of them Mandala-classes as well as some militarized civilian ships. “It’s the cavalry.”

Johnson’s face broke into a grin. All of a sudden, the maelstrom didn’t look that imposing. Not with a whole UNSC fleet on their side. Then he frowned. Something was wrong. After a moment, he realized that the new arrivals were not orienting themselves toward the storm, but away from it, pointed toward the ships behind them.

“Wait…” he whispered, the word hissing past his teeth. He didn’t want to give it voice, didn’t want to express the horrid chill that swept through his body.

The sound of the whisper was lost in the thunderous boom of the MAC cannon firing from the lead Mandala-class frigate, the round soaring over their heads. He was unable to turn his head fast enough to witness the round impacting with the bow of the Marathon-class cruiser, but was able to see the white-hot fragments fly off as the ship lurched backward. “Jesus!”

“Ai-yah! Tyen-ah!” Reynolds shouted simultaneously with him.

Cobb simply growled, “Son of a bitch…”

Johnson hit the gas with all his might. The Warthog bucked as it surged over the hill. The roar of MAC cannons being fired filled the air, and he saw the aggressor ship get blown apart. It wasn’t the only one, however.

The new arrivals all let loose a barrage of missiles and MAC shots. It was an enemy fleet! Human rebels were here. They wanted the Ark.

He tightened his grip on the wheel. They would not get it. Johnson wouldn’t let them have it. Unless ‘it’ referred to a solid stream of bullets, in which case…

The Hog bounced relentlessly as he floored it. A little rough ride was worth getting out from under a UNSC-URF naval battle as fast as possible. In the midst of the noise from both the car and the battle overhead, he heard a distinct crackle of the radio.

“Sergeant Major Johnson,” a man on the COM said, “This is URF Morlock extending, on behalf of the United Rebel Front—”

Reynolds grabbed the transmitter and cut off the rebel. “Yeah, hello, Morlock. This is Gunnery Sergeant Reynolds of the UNSC, uh, saying that Johnson is not available to talk right now, so won’t you kindly fuck off.”

He smiled a little. Goddamn those rebels… Just a bit farther and they’d clear the URF formation. Then they’d have those wonderful Covenant troubles instead.

''“Reynolds? Malcolm Reynolds? What on God’s green Earth are you doing here?”''

Reynolds muttered something derisive in Chinese. “Doing,” he transmitted, “The job of any member of the human race. If you huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo had any humanity left in you, you’d be here with us.” He switched off the COM. “Ruttin’ traitors…”

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the terrain ahead. Damn strange conversation… The rebel had tried to contact him for whatever reason… “Cobb, keep an eye on the skies,” he called. “The rebels may send a Hornet or something to do us in.”

“Yessir,” Cobb replied, tilting the turret upward.

But the way Reynolds got involved was strange. The rebel seemed to know who he was and was confused that Reynolds was here instead of at Mombasa… It was entirely likely that Reynolds and his men were insurgents.

He spared a glance toward the two men in the Hog with him. They had helped him so far. What they were going to face at the Ark wasn’t URF or UNSC, so there would be no foreseeable conflict…

''Yes. Okay.'' He’d fight alongside them a bit longer. Once the war caught up with them, though, all bets were off. He’d start by taking out Cobb, the big gorilla. Reynolds wouldn’t be easy, but he was a lot skinnier than Cobb.

“A sudden silence,” Reynolds noted.

The battle had ceased for the time being. He glanced back to see that the UNSC cruisers had been defeated, the remains lying smoking on the ground. It was only the start, though. There were tons more nearby cruisers that would be sent to their location. At least with two rebels here, the URF probably won’t attack us, he thought.

“Silences need filling,” Reynolds continued. “Otherwise, we get too tense ‘fore we need to.” He shifted around and dug something out of his boot. “Some of the old flip classics.” It was an audio chip. He gave it a kiss and slipped it into the Warthog’s stereo.

Johnson grinned as old familiar notes started to blast from the speakers. Finally, a Marine with some taste! And he was a rebel. Huh.

As he drove toward the storm, he bobbed his head to the beat and let the music fill him up inside. There would be pain and terror and death and suffering in their future… But for now, there was awesome flip music.

***

John watched his steps as he treaded upon the Forerunner ship. He was careful to stay well away from the entrance, which now released a pillar of brown fog. The Flood were converting the atmosphere even as they were contained inside.

It won’t hold, he thought. The Gravemind knew it too. This was a taunt. He felt sure of that. The Flood would escape at some point. As long as the Elites were preoccupied with other matters, their defense would be weak…

“Chief!” Cortana said suddenly. Her voice was hopeful. That alone was enough to enough to raise his spirits. What she said next brought them to top-notch conditions. ''“I have a plan. If successful it will remove the threat of the Gravemind and of the Flood.”''

“Outstanding,” he replied at once. “Tell me.”

Cortana hesitated. ''“If we do this… it would mean breaking all the rules. It would be an act of treason, really.”''

John took that in. His immediate reaction was to reject her proposal, tag her as hostile, and report back to command at once… but this was Cortana. No one else, even his fellow Spartans, could possibly come close to the friend and ally Cortana had been. This fact made him hesitate and consider her words. “Tell me,” he repeated.

She told him.

He thought about it. “When the CIM is performed… the Gravemind will be bound by safety codes?”

“As much as any smart AI,” she confirmed. “Rampancy will undoubtedly be an issue… but that gives us about seven years or so to work out the kinks in the relationship.”

He sighed. This was undoubtedly an act of treason. Everything he stood for rejected the proposal. He was a tool of the United Earth Government. He served her and all her colonies. But he was her protector too. The Gravemind wanted to seize her and use her for his own corrupt purposes.

He thought of his mother, not the ghostly figure he barely remembered, but Dr. Catherine Halsey. She had made him everything he was. He loved her. And she had used a clone of her own brain to create Cortana. He loved Cortana.

He loved Cortana more even than Dr. Halsey. Cortana had been inside his head. She depended upon him for survival, just as he depended on her for her intellect. There could be no deeper more intimate partnership. She was his best friend and he loved her more than any other person in the world.

That was why he agreed.

''“I’ve been trying to get the Elites to help us, but the Grunt rebellion has become too destructive for them to ignore. I have therefore contacted some humans who can help… Hang on, Chief,”'' Cortana said. ''“I’m picking up Sergeant Johnson’s IFF transponder! He’s approaching our position at a speed of 115 kilometers per…”'' She trailed off as the sound of loud, pounding flip music filled the air.

He turned to look back up at the cliff just in time to see a Marine-filled M12LRV careen off the edge. The Hog landed expertly on the ship’s leg and kept moving down Ascension at top speed. Turning quickly, he was able to catch a brief glimpse of Johnson at the wheel before the Hog swept past them in a blur, continuing down the ship toward the Ark.

All the while, the sound of the loud aggravating flip music that Johnson adored blasted from the Hog’s stereo speakers as through it were a civilian vehicle: “Only the strongest will survive / Lead me to heaven when we die / I am the shadow on the wall / I’ll be the one to save us all!” And then the lyrics faded out into the distance, the raucous slam-bams still audible.

“Curious,” Cortana commented, unfazed by the ear-assaulting cacophony. ''“It would appear Johnson’s the only one on the grid. I’m unable to determine the identity of his men. It’s as if they weren’t even there.”''

He admitted it was an oddity, although likely one without consequence. There were more important things to focus on. They needed to set up this arrangement with the Gravemind.

Before it was too late.

***

Johnson let out a chuckle as the Hog drove off the Forerunner leg and bounced onto the surface of the Ark. Looked like the Chief had already taken out the ship. He had caught a brief flash of the Spartan as he drove by.

He didn’t care about the ship. Ascension wasn’t the destination. The Ark was the destination. Whatever was in there… it called to him. The numbing sensation in the back of his head began to pulse.

Through the glare of the energy beam, he detected a conglomeration of Covenant vehicles and dropships. The entrance, he decided. Killing the music, he drove straight towards it.

“Johnson!” Reynolds snapped. “What was that about avoiding the gorram reaper?”

He couldn’t avoid it. It was calling to him. It’s my destiny…

“Brutes!” Cobb shouted.

That got through to him. He took his foot off the accelerator and swerved the Hog around. As he brought the Hog to face away from the group, Cobb opened fire.

The Brutes were caught by surprise. As the BKs in front got shot up, others leaped out of the way and sought cover behind vehicles. Suddenly, a Brute in front threw down an oddly-shaped piece of equipment. A gold force-field leapt up around the device, creating a globe shape reminiscent of a geodesic dome, yet made of tessellating hexagons. The force-field was semi-solid, encasing the Brutes within a glowing shield even the Warthog’s M41 LAAG couldn’t penetrate.

“Bubble shield!” Reynolds yelped. “That’s ONI tech. I seen ‘em in the Insurrection!”

I bet you did, Johnson thought, darting away from the Brutes to avoid getting caught in a barrage of enemy fire.

A Brute Shot grenade impacted the side of the Hog, causing it to lurch up onto two wheels.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he hissed under his breath, fighting to right it. He lost control and the Warthog began to tip over. “Damn it!”

The Hog slammed to the ground on its side. Johnson, Reynolds, and Cobb quickly got out and made use of the fallen vehicle for cover. They got out their battle rifles and took aim toward the Brutes.

A single Brute approached the edge of the bubble shield, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. He made a show of setting his weapons aside and then slowly stepped through the shield, his hands still raised. The shield allowed the Brute to pass through it without deactivating.

“Should I take the shot?” Cobb asked in a whisper.

“Not yet,” he whispered back. He as well had the Brute’s forehead in his crosshairs.

“Humans! Hold your fire!” the Brute shouted. “We have a common enemy. The Grunts have fortified this facility. With your aid, we can purge them from the Ark and restore order. We can together take away the threat of the Halos!”

“Halos…?” Reynolds muttered under his breath.

“They’re not acting like Brutes,” he decided, lowering his rifle. Brutes were aggressive… most of the time. When they were, it was very blatant. He didn’t think they would ever try to trick their prey by pretending to be peaceable – they would look weak and lose their standing in their pack hierarchy.

“…What’s that?” Reynolds asked with confusion.

“Brutes are like the big dumb bullies you always tussle with as a boy,” he explained. “Very proud, mean, and goddamn insecure about their own masculinity. They wouldn’t even think about acting nice to you – not in their nature. So when they do…” He took a step out from around the Hog, doing his best to stay cool, not show weakness.

“Ah, human!” the Brute exclaimed, relief audible in his deep voice. He lowered his hands and held them out in a sign of friendship. “We can work together to a common goal.”

BK’s done his homework, he noted, studying the Brutes’ appearances. This one seemed to be a rank above the others, his armor more of a violet color rather than blue. If he survived all this, he was going to track down a xenosociologist and figure out just what the hell the Covenant saw in all these brightly colored armors.

For the time being, he gave the Brute a nod and cautiously stepped toward the group. After making it half-way across without any observable sign that this was a trick, he waved to the others to come join him. When they do, he finished his thought, you know they need something from you really really badly and can’t get it by force.

The Brutes killed the shield bubble as the humans approached. They stood around, waiting expectantly. Their arms casually hung down, no sign that any of them would start shooting any time soon.

Still, Johnson didn’t relax. He had to keep his guard up around these big hairy monkeys. From what he heard about what the Brutes did at Pyongyang, they made the Nanking Massacre look like a rugby match. They were savages and he couldn’t afford to show weakness.

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” Cobb growled at a Brute. The soldier’s teeth were literally bared in a fierce animalistic snarl.

The Brute took it to heart and grunted a challenge, tensing for combat.

“Cobb!” he warned, giving the Marine a hard look. There was one hell of a difference between not showing weakness and provoking an attack! Besides, he thought as Cobb backed off, the Brutes respond to that dominant male shit. His display of authority could well be respected by them.

The lead Brute began to address Johnson, who he acknowledged through his body language as leader of this unit. “We need your assistance if we are to enter the Ark. Our Deacon has informed us that the entrance requires verification of piety in such a way that humans can provide.”

“Piety?” Reynolds muttered, playing idly with his crucifix. “Whatcha gotta do, give it a sermon?”

The Brute glanced at Johnson before answering, “Our Deacon can provide you with the information you need. Please, come this way.” Giving Johnson a nod, he turned and led them across the surface of the Ark.

After a moment, the humans followed. Brutes got in their vehicles and drove alongside them. Johnson studied them for a bit, before slipping over close to Reynolds and Cobb.

“I don’t like this,” Reynolds whispered. “I don’t like this one bit.”

“Neither do I,” he agreed. “But they’re a way in, so we might as well go along with them…”

He thought about why he wanted to go into the Ark. There really was no good reason, except for a feeling of intuition telling him that it was his destiny. Doubt began to trickle through his mind. What if it was some Forerunner time bomb? What if it’s something else entirely?

The Brutes, though… They were a definite problem. Though they were friendly for the moment, he could easily imagine the Brutes turning on them the moment the door was opened.

“Never should trust one o’ ‘em sasquatches,” Cobb muttered. “Brutes are too damn brutal!”

“They want something from us,” he whispered. “Let’s say we keep that power long as we can. Humans can open the door… there’s other stuff they’ll need us for.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Reynolds questioned.

“Positive,” he confirmed. The Halo needed a human to operate it, after all. There was no reason to think a machine that controlled all the Halos wouldn’t need a human hand.

The Brutes led them over to a large depression in the ground, a walkway leading up to the entrance of the Ark. The glare of the Ark’s energy beam created crisp black shadows, a stark contrast with the white light of the beam. The area bore the evidence of a recent battle. Smashed turrets and Grunt corpses lay scattered.

All Grunts, he mused. They all rebelled. The numbing sensation became more pronounced, and he rubbed his forehead.

The Brutes stopped. The leader motioned Johnson forward, separating him from the others.

“Our Deacon waits at the bottom,” the Brute said. “He will show you the way.”

“Gotcha,” he said, nodding at the Brute. It looked like he was going alone. He gave Reynolds a look and then started going down the ramp. About a minute later, a Brute Chopper began to follow from a good distance behind him, another Chopper following it.

Dead Grunts littered the way, along with some dead Elites, two Hunters, and a few dead Brutes… He knelt down to a few corpses and collected fallen plasma grenades, which he placed in his pouch. It wouldn’t do to go unprepared.

As he resumed his walk, he wondered about the reception that would be waiting for him inside. The Grunts are deadly, he noted. Chewbacca there in the violet must not want his Baby Kongs wiped out by the pigs waiting on the other side. He was expected to be killed. That’s why Chewie was saving Reynolds and Cobb.

His head pulsed with the strange numbness. He sighed. ''I’ll deal with the fucking Grunts when I come to them. I’ll take care of what I need to and then…''

And then what? He hadn’t planned it that far out. ''Aw, screw it. I’ll just go find the Chief and kick some ass with him.''

The end of the ramp was in sight. Instead of an obvious opening, a solid wall stretched up high. As he got closer, he could see the standard Forerunner-looking glyphs inlaid in the metal. At the bottom of the walkway stood a lone Brute, his armor highly ceremonial in appearance, a royal purple shade.

The Brute, this Deacon, didn’t seem all that surprised to see him. “Human,” the Deacon greeted with a nod.

“Yeah, how you doin’?” he returned. “Ya gonna tell me how to open this goddamn door or what?”

If the Deacon was offended, he didn’t give any sign of it. “The glyphs must make physical contact with a holy relic in a specific sequence in order to create an entrance,” the Deacon explained. “Humans are… special among the races of the galaxy. Human, give me your hand.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Long as you keep it attached to my wrist,” he muttered, holding out his hand for the Brute to take.

The Brute growled a bit and then lowered his head respectfully. “Human, I swear on my son’s life that I shall do you no harm as you act as an instrument of the Forerunners.”

Instrument of the Forerunners, huh? It was kind of an offensive reference to the Covenant religion. Johnson immediately felt disgusted by it. It was one thing to work with Covies, but it was quite another to be reduced to the level of one of the Covies themselves.

It was strange, though. The Forerunners were like their gods, so his acting as ‘an instrument of the Forerunners’ could be interpreted like… like he was a Prophet.

He remembered the Covenant welcome message: Your destruction is the will of the gods and we are their instrument. The 123rd Prophet of Truth had made a similar statement during his attack on Sydney, but instead of declaring the Covenant their instruments, the Prophet had specifically stated that he was the instrument. It was very disturbing having himself be associated with that kind of propaganda.

Still… it was kind of cool, he had to admit. The Covie leaders acted as prophets to get their way, after all. It was certainly more appropriate that Johnson take the role, his religion being the legitimate one. He chuckled silently.

The Deacon placed his hand on a series of glyphs, each representing basic geometric shapes: circles, rectangles, and triangles. After a few seconds, the glyphs began to glow a soft blue. Then a new series of glowing glyphs appeared on the wall. They produced a ring shape with a vertical line running down from the bottom of it, making it look something like a lollypop, while another circle wrapped around the whole thing. The pattern looked oddly familiar to him, but although he could swear the answer was on the tip of his tongue he couldn’t figure out where he had seen it before.

The glow faded and the wall seemed to split apart. It was like an organic slit grew in the center and gently opened up into a widening hole. He was about to make a crude joke when a glowing green fuel rod shot out of the opening.

He and the Deacon threw themselves to the sides, dodging the Grunt attack. The Choppers accelerated, driving for the entrance. Johnson pulled himself up and saw the Grunts staring at him.

The Grunts looked confused, but not hostile. The fuel rod Grunt started firing at the Brutes. They left him alone.

The Grunts think I’m with them, he realized. He quickly entered the Ark. Turning around, he saw the Brutes advancing and made a split-second decision to close the entrance.

There were an identical set of glyphs on this side of the door. He reached for them to tap them in the same sequence, but stopped. Somehow… he knew that was wrong.

Instead, he tapped the glyphs in the reverse order. They glowed and once more the lollypop shape appeared. This time, however, the wall shrunk and sealed itself up.

As the door closed, Johnson became aware of a high-pitched whine that seemed to fill the air. He glanced around, but none of the Grunts seemed to react to it. He realized the sound was inside his head. Auditory damage, he assumed, flicking a finger at his ear. He’d witnessed more than his share of weapons-fire in the past few hours, and that could account for any damage.

Now that he didn’t seem to be in lethal danger, he examined his surroundings. He stood in a large rectangular room that reminded him of a castle’s great hall. The walls were a silvery metallic blue adorned with inlaid geometric patterns. There were Grunts everywhere.

Weapons canisters sat sloppily around the room, many of them already emptied. Off to the side was the massive battle hammer the Arbiter had taken from Mr. Mohawk, sitting on a hovering gravity cart. He recalled what the Deacon had said about needing a ‘holy relic’ of some sort to open the door. Maybe that’s what it was for. Was the hammer Forerunner?

For that matter, was he Forerunner? He swallowed. There was something about this place… It felt… familiar. Like he knew it. Like he’d been here before a long time ago and forgot about it. Like it was home.

“Racial memory,” he muttered under his breath. It was pseudoscience. Stupid to even consider… But it seemed like that was exactly what was going on.

The whine grew stronger and seemed to resonate with the numbing sensation. They both pulsed together, sharing the same rhythm. He felt… strange. But he felt alert. Whatever was happening to him wasn’t impacting his ability to stay focused.

He started walking down the hall. The Grunts watched him and whispered among themselves, but didn’t say anything to him. He didn’t say anything to them either. He had more pressing things on his mind.

A slight tapping sound drew his attention. He looked for the source and saw one of those spidery Sentinels from High Charity climbing a wall by positioning its tiny little feet in the cracks of the inlaid glyphs. Studying it, he was reminded of the Locust vehicles used by the Covenant. In fact, the resemblance was uncanny from this angle. Oh, is that where they got it?

Hanging around the Sentinel was a human camera drone. It panned back and forth, scanning the Grunts. It stopped when whoever controlling it caught sight of Johnson. ONI tech, he figured. Do they think I’m dead?

He paused to give the camera a little wave, and then continued on. The camera did not turn to follow him. It didn’t even look at the Grunts. It just sat still in the same position. He pictured the tech being so startled they ran screaming from the room and chuckled at the image.

There was only one way to go after he got to the far end of the ‘great hall’, and that was off to the left into a smaller corridor. He took a deep breath and then entered the corridor, heading deeper into the Ark. It was where he needed to go.

There were a few more weapons containers scattered around here. A glance inside showed him that they weren’t, however, containing weapons. Instead, there were Grunt gas masks, some of them quite soaked in bright blue blood. From their dead, he figured. Like the Covie version of dog tags.

About half way down the corridor, it branched off into a separate area to the right. This was the right way. He walked right and came out into a dark chamber.

He gasped for breath as the throbbing inside his head overtook him. This place was it. It was the place of his destiny.

It was the control room. A hologram depicted the Ark buried in the Earth, the storm above it, and the energy beam rising through it and up to the moon. A control panel was mounted in front of the hologram, wet red blood shimmering on its face.

The room was stocked with items of various sorts. There were closed up crates. Upon one of the crates sat what he recognized as the metal collar worn by the Brute the Arbiter worked with, his dark blue blood staining it. Resting against a wall was a crazily wicked-looking scythe surely used by the Grim Reaper himself.

Grunts packed the room. Most were kowtowing on the ground, whispering what sounded like prayers. In the center of the cluster, however…

There was a Grunt entirely devoid of breathing equipment. He was just breathing the air as normal as any human would… except for the brown air that came out of his mouth. Another Grunt, this one sucking methane like Grunts usually do, sat next to him but looked over as Johnson approached.

Suddenly, his vision dimmed. His own veins within his eyes became visible to him. He felt like he was being sucked far away, though he was sure he was still in the same place.

Sergeant Johnson…

It was a voice… that wasn’t a voice. There was no sound. There was only meaning. Jitji, he realized, and it was like he had always known.

Johnson, God has blessed the both of us, the Grunt’s thoughts entered his head. We are each a part of his divine plan.

Blessed? he wondered. It didn’t seem like a blessing to him. The Grunt was exhaling brown. That looked like Flood to him, and he couldn’t think of a creature more wretched.

The Flood are victims, as were we Unggoy, Jitji answered, reading Johnson’s mind. It appeared that whatever telepathic connection allowed Johnson to hear Jitji’s thoughts also allowed Jitji to read his. God makes everything alright in the end.

And then… images flooded his brain. Strange, alien images, from the viewpoint of a short little Grunt – an Unggoy. He saw the terror that was the Flood as it came for him, felt the familiar sensation of a tendril piercing flesh, and saw things that shouldn’t be possible. He began to vaguely understand the Flood hatred of the Forerunners. Racial memory, he thought distantly as several generations of Unggoy raced by, him registering only brief flashes.

My ancestors, Jitji supplied. He showed Johnson a memory of his people conquered and enslaved.

That’s horrible…

Yes, Jitji agreed. 'The Prophets did this to us. The Sangheili did this to us. The Prophets have been removed from power, and yet the Sangheili have not been punished. They are our new rulers. They have given us freedom, but we are still prisoners, still slaves truly. God has shown us the way. Humans will bring justice to the Unggoy people.'

The Jiralhanae are leading an assault on the Ark, he told Jitji without pause as he took in the rest of what the Unggoy was saying. It never occurred to him to keep that information hidden. Their minds were bonded, and… Johnson felt like Jitji was his best friend, someone he could trust with everything.

Then the Sangheili hold on the Covenant separatist fleet has been hurt. Jitji tilted his head, in deep thought. 'We must press all the harder. The Jiralhanae are strong, but we have God at our side. We cannot and shall not fail.'

But you want to punish the Sangheili? He thought of the Arbiter. He never would have described any Covie as noble until he fought alongside him. The Arbiter truly seemed like a good person. Are they all deserving of punishment?

Jitji shook his head, dismissing the notion that the Arbiter be spared. 'The Sangheili view us as weak animals. They show us no respect. Their ancestors committed great crimes, and the living have inherited all such sin. We are the holy ones, and we will cleanse this stain from the galaxy.'

He shivered. Jitji was his friend, his brother. Though they were of different species, he felt such great trust for him. A sudden and all encompassing love.

But.

But… Jitji was saying something that sounded… Wrong. That was master race ideology he was throwing around. It reminded him of so many corrupt legacies. The Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Third Reich, the Frieden… the Covenant.

All humans will, at some point in their lives, wonder what their purpose in this world is. Most look to religion to discover the answer, although even the most devout may never reach a truly satisfying answer. At that moment, he knew without a doubt what his purpose in life was, his reason for existing.

Jitji was his reason for existing. Johnson knew he had indeed been brought here by a higher power. Jitji could inspire devotion in his followers and a willingness to sacrifice everything for his sense of divine justice. Jitji would lead whole armies, whole fleets to perpetuate his genocide.

Jitji had to die.

The instant he manifested that thought, all hell broke loose. The vision ended, throwing Johnson back into the real world. He gasped violently, as Jitji let out a wailing scream, both physically and mentally.

Jitji leaped away from Johnson, placing his followers between them. “Kiiiiiillll hiiiiiiimmm!” Jitji shrieked in the Unggoy tongue, a language Johnson now knew somehow without aid of translation software.

The Unggoy followers looked up, startled. Their collective surprise meant that it took a few seconds to spring up and to raise their weapons. This was just enough time for Johnson to take advantage of.

He raised his rifle, took aim, and…

“Unstoppable! Ahh!” The Unggoy that had been nearest to Jitji now tackled Johnson, the weight of his armor threatening to topple him off his feet.

The Unggoy – Gedeg, Johnson realized – was determined, but ultimately he was ignorant of basic hand-to-hand fighting skills. Johnson used the weight and momentum of Gedeg’s leap against him, and flipped Gedeg onto the ground. He quickly stomped hard on the hand holding a plasma rifle, causing Gedeg to release it.

Unfortunately, by now, the other Unggoy were up. A flurry of plasma shots began to rain toward him. Behind them, Jitji slunk back into the shadows.

Acting on instinct, he threw himself to the ground and grabbed onto Gedeg’s air tank. He lifted the Unggoy and used him as a shield. As the plasma smashed into poor Gedeg’s body, Johnson ran to the minimal cover of a storage crate.

Gedeg was dead by the time Johnson made it to the crate, and he felt a sharp pang of sadness for him even though he was an enemy. He knew Jitji’s mind was still connected to his, for he could feel the presence of his mind through the throbbing numbness that echoed throughout him. Was it Jitji who truly felt sad for Gedeg’s death, and Johnson only experienced it through their shared thoughts? Or did the look into the alien’s perspective truly alter the way Johnson thought? Either way, he felt profoundly disturbed by the whole thing.

Dropping Gedeg’s body, he reached a hand to his grenade pouch. He pulled out a plasma grenade and activated it. A thought that definitely came from Jitji urged him to yell the battle cry ‘holy flare’ as he threw it. He fought that impulse down hard, and threw it into the pack of Unggoy without any kind of comment whatsoever.

When the grenade went off, he raised his gun and risked minimal exposure by taking aim above the crate. Various Unggoy had been killed in the blast, all of them wearing breathing equipment that contributed to a series of minor explosions. Most of the Unggoy, however, had leaped to the sides and were spared. He searched for Jitji, but was unable to find him.

While they were disorganized he had the advantage, so he took the opportunity to pick them off. Firing rapid bursts, he claimed the lives of numerous Unggoy soldiers before he felt Jitji speak in his mind once more, causing him to hesitate.

'Calm yourself, brother! We need not engage in futile hostilities. Let us be united, standing together to uphold God’s will.'

Not gonna happen! he sent back emphatically, even as a part of him ached. He felt a strange strong desire to just… let go and join Jitji. He could be loved by the Unggoy freedom fighters and he could finally relax, safe and sound with his brothers… Protected and loved…

'Though we are of different blood, we are of the same religion. We both love and serve the single God. Together and with his blessing we can be strong! We can be saved.'

He shook his head, willing himself to ignore Jitji’s words. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, he sent, ''but it sure as hell isn’t God’s will. Not my God, anyway.''

“Everybody throw flares!” an Unggoy yelped. The others, ever inclined to follow any damn authority figure looking even halfway decent, activated their grenades.

Damnit! He made a quick decision. What was important was to kill Jitji. He needed to find his brother… no, find the cult-leading son-of-a-bitch and put a bullet through his brain. His own life was secondary to that.

So, when the plasma grenades started to rain down, he leaped to the side toward the hallway. Hitting the ground, he dropped into a roll to use his momentum. If Jitji wasn’t in the room, he needed to find him. Needed to kill him…

The first grenades exploded in a series of white-hot blasts close enough to instantly soak his skin in sweat. Just as he minutely began to relax, one last grenade went off. This one was closer than the others, causing the clothing on his left arm to burst into flames.

Startled, he made the split-second decision to change direction as he rolled to put out the flames. He beat his arm against the floor, rubbing it vigorously. Thank God, the oxygen ran out and the fire extinguished.

Only now the Unggoy had adapted. They fired plasma at him, the hot green balls streaking through the air. He ran to dodge.

His arm was hurt now. He didn’t think he could use his rifle effectively. He went instead for his sidearm, an M6D Magnum. Not the best pistol in the world, but he’d make it count.

Turning to make himself a smaller target, he raised his right arm and got off a few shots into the Unggoy hoard. At least two went down, which was enough to get them all scared. With these guys disorganized, he made a quick dash into the hallway…

And a bolt of plasma struck his left leg. Ceramic armor boiled, but ultimately held firm. He let out a groan of pain.

The damn Covies had done some damage. However, his leg hadn’t been wounded to the point that he could no longer use it. He could still walk, which was the important thing. Despite the pain, he resumed his dash and made it to the hallway.

As he rounded the corner, he surprised three Unggoy in the corridor between him and the entrance hall. While they gave their shouts of alarm, he snapped up his pistol and fired, taking out the one nearest him. The others returned fire.

He dropped into a roll, using the storage crates for cover. Careful not to waste his ammo, he fought conservatively and made every shot count. Even the odd straying shot actually hit some part of his enemy, and in little time at all he cleared the corridor.

It was, however, enough time for the Unggoy in the control room to get over their fear and come for him. “Kill the human!” they shouted. “God’s will be done!”

Cursing under his breath, he ducked around behind a crate. Using his hurt but not entirely disabled arm, he grabbed a plasma grenade and activated it. He darted out and stuck the grenade onto one of the center Unggoy, then turned and made a painful run toward the entrance hall.

The grenade went off, and he turned to see that he had killed a good bunch of them. He fired on the survivors. Headshot! he thought with grim satisfaction. Boom.

The fight didn’t go without notice. He heard the sound of footsteps, Unggoy soldiers, coming up behind him. You send them, Jitji? he called out silently, hoping to learn whether or not his target was near the entrance.

Your deception shall not avail you, Jitji thought angrily. 'What you know, so do I. We. Are. One!'

He spun around to meet the Unggoy as they came racing for him. He grabbed his last frag grenade and sent it rolling across the floor toward the incoming soldiers. He ran back toward the control room and ducked behind a storage crate.

These Unggoy did not break rank. And though the explosion killed a reasonable amount of them, the survivors continued advancing forward. They all opened fire.

Not just plasma pistol shots came for him, but plasma rifles, carbines, and even the odd spike rifle contributed to the barrage. So many… He did his best with what he had, firing to kill the ones he could, but it all seemed stacked against him. There really was no way he stood a chance against this Unggoy might.

That is the might of God, Johnson, Jitji taunted him. 'We are the servants of the creator and overseer of the universe. None can compete with his fury. Accept my words, brother. Join us!'

You know, he thought at Jitji, you still sound exactly like a Covie! Leaving Jitji with that to consider, he took out a rather nasty-looking Unggoy with a portable turret. The situation was not impossible.

And the reason was that God was not the cruel heartless son-of-a-bitch Jitji seemed to think he was. There was hope. He had faith that humanity needed to win. That would push him the extra mile, let him achieve the…

He screamed. A red-hot spike slammed into his arm, not just striking it but slicing it along its length. The pistol fell to the floor in a clatter.

Surrender, Johnson, Jitji insisted. 'Give in to God’s love. To our love. The pain can stop, Johnson. We can be free.'

Pain… he thought vacantly. He was swimming in pain. He could barely look at his arm. It was… mutilated. Sticky red liquid spilled its drops on the ground, the essence of pain. Freedom from pain sounded nice…

He shook his head, fighting to remain rational. ''Pain is nothing! Pain is life! Freedom is… Freedom is something you have to fight for.'' He still had one functional arm. It would have to be enough.

He grabbed another plasma grenade and activated it. Standing up, he felt strength return to his left arm. ''That’s it. I can do this.''

He threw the grenade behind the pack of Unggoy, and then ducked down to grab his dropped pistol. Swinging back up, he opened fire on them.

One dropped. Then two. Then three. He was killing them all. He could do this. He could win.

There was only one left, now. It aimed a gun in his direction, but he did not falter. He could win.

A green ball of plasma struck his stomach, and he collapsed. It was small, just an undercharged plasma pistol shot, so it dissipated before it could kill him. He didn’t have to be a doctor to know that the wound was bad, though.

“Yay! I killed the human!” the Unggoy cheered. “We are the champions~!” he sang the old song like a human at a sporting event.

Where’d he pick up that? he wondered distantly as the pain gave away to numbness. Another thought gave its voice: ''There’s only one left. You’re almost there, Johnson. You can fulfill your destiny.''

Struggling to stand, he raised the gun and leveled it at the lone Unggoy. It managed to get out a yelp of surprise before he pulled the trigger, blowing the Unggoy’s head apart.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. He wasn’t out of the game yet. He still had a shot. He could walk around that corner and find Jitji and kill him.

He mustered his strength and started walking toward the entrance hall.

You are tired, Jitji said soothingly. 'I understand. You do not need to fight us. Just stop… and you will find the peace you seek. Seek peace, Johnson. Seek salvation. Do not fear God’s plan.'

“I’m not afraid,” he muttered. Jitji’s suggestion seemed so good. He could stop, surrender, and be at peace. But that role wasn’t for him.

His right arm throbbed and he felt a strange pinching sensation. He looked down and his eyes widened in amazement. The mutilated flesh was repairing itself, a great scab forming before his eyes.

“That can’t be possible,” he whispered aloud. This was beyond anything he had ever heard about. One did not actually see their wounds heal! Not at this rate!

With God all things are possible, Jitji whispered back. 'You have been given a miracle, brother. Do not let it go in vain!'

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Jitji… or if he believed what his brother was saying and he was talking to God. In any case… “This isn’t gonna end any other way.”

No!

“Die!”

He spun around to see a fuel rod coming his way. Unggoy had emerged from the other side of the corridor, from beyond the control room. Evidently, it didn’t take them long to figure out the living human standing among seventy of their dead cousins.

Firing wildly at the newcomers, he made a dive for the entrance hall around the corner. He made it just in time. The fuel rod impacted with the wall and exploded in a brilliant ball of green fire.

He stood up and groaned at what he saw. The hall was filled with Unggoy. Dozens of them were gathered around in a crowd. No single human had a chance at taking them out. The spidery Sentinel was perched on the wall, the camera drone rotating above it as if to capture the ensuing slaughter for posterity.

But in the center… Jitji was there, protected by the huge mass of his followers. A single target.

“Sssstooop!” Jitji called out, halting the attack his followers prepared to deliver. 'Johnson, you must see reason. You are but one against a juggernaut. You have no hope of victory as you are… Join us, and you will be part of something great.'

He knew Jitji could read his thoughts, giving the Unggoy an advantage. He didn’t think. Snapping up his pistol, he aimed directly at Jitji’s head and pulled the trigger.

A flash of gold met his eyes as he squeezed. An energy shield, such as that wielded by the Kig-Yar, blocked his attack. The very technique he had previously used against the Jiralhanae back on Installation 05 was now used against him. His shot glanced off of the circular shield, and the Unggoy hoard moved to attack. Jitji turned and vanished among his followers as they opened fire.

He twisted sideways to make himself a smaller target, and returned fire on the hoard as he charged toward it. The Unggoy lacked any decent cover and with each shot he fired one of them went down. He wasn’t magic, though, and couldn’t escape every bolt of plasma that came his way. His shirt briefly ignited, and he screamed as his chest was struck.

Kicking out savagely with his injured leg, he felt a moment of satisfaction as it collided with an Unggoy with a fleshy smack. Far from failing, the leg was strong and the Unggoy was thrown backward, catching one of his fellows and sending them both crashing into the wall with loud cracks of snapping bone. He raised his right arm, now shiny with healed flesh. The bone within the arm felt loose and spongy, and as he raised the arm it seemed to coil and retract like a serpent rather than the limb he knew well. Instinctively, he lashed out, the arm whipping forward like a great muscular tentacle, catching a whole slew of Unggoy and throwing them aside like bags of garbage.

What the hell? He felt like a subject of a horror film, more creature than man. He caught a glimpse of the camera drone, now trained upon him. His thoughts soon faded as a cloud of furious aggression overcame him. Jitji, you’re going down!

Jitji had lost his energy shield, making him as anonymous as the Unggoy followers that surrounded him. Johnson had a pretty good idea what section of the crowd he had disappeared to, though. Grabbing a plasma grenade, he moved quickly around the Unggoy hoard and hurled it into the midst of Unggoy where he thought Jitji was.

He saw Jitji’s shield go up quickly before the explosion went off. Several Unggoy were killed, but although Jitji’s shield was knocked out, he survived the blast. Johnson knew from the presence he felt in his mind that Jitji was still alive.

Growling in anger, he punched a nearby Unggoy, crushing the alien’s skull in one swing. Johnson’s muscle had grown and intensified. He was several times stronger, superhuman in fact.

He grabbed the battle rifle off of his back and wielded it like a staff, secure in his left hand. Snapping out with his tentacle arm and beating with the rifle, he killed scores of Unggoy soldiers with his own strength. He was a killing machine, like a Spartan.

Spartan… He recalled the Master Chief, fighting for their survival. The Flood, Jiralhanae, rebels…

A loud hiss drew him back to the battle. The Sentinel had produced a beam of energy that it was sweeping across the hall, coming straight for him. He dodged the beam, but it passed across his rifle, cleaving it in two. The white-hot glow emanating from his part of the rifle caught his attention and reminded him that he was in fact very mortal.

Damn Sentinels! He quickly examined the beam, judged it, and made his decision. He dropped the rifle section and made a run toward the entrance. However, he made sure to keep low to the ground as he passed the hoard.

The Sentinel beam followed him, as he had predicted, passing right across the hoard of Unggoy as it did. The Unggoy let out screams and exploded as the beam ignited their methane tanks. The Sentinel only cared about killing Johnson, and indiscriminately destroyed whatever got in its way.

Making it to the entrance, he went for the Fist of Rukt, resting nearby on its gravity cart. The gravity hammer, too massive to be wielded by any normal human, would work perfectly for him. He grabbed the end of the shaft and heaved, flinging it up through the air. It whistled as it flew across the hall, the head smashing into the camera drone and then falling down into the Sentinel.

A shock wave shook the chamber, throwing all nearby Unggoy to the floor. Through the disturbance, he caught sight of an Unggoy stumbling around without any breathing equipment. Jitji…

He raised his pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

He was out of ammo.

Swearing, he dropped the pistol and reached into his grenade pouch. He pulled out, not a grenade, but the spherical object he had found in Mombasa. He had no more grenades. The object would have to do.

Recalling his times playing baseball on leave, he pulled back his arm in a throwing stance. This is for Siskin, he thought of the famous pitcher playing for the Katagalgun Kookaburras, and let the ball fly.

He might as well have been playing major league baseball. The sphere soared through the air and smacked into Jitji’s head, sending the Unggoy sprawling to the floor. Bull’s-eye, he thought with satisfaction. Jitji was still alive, though.

Grabbing a plasma pistol from the ground, he let out a stream of plasma fire into the hoard as he ran toward the spot where Jitji lay. The followers were disorganized and fell easily. He felt confident that he would win this battle after all.

Do not do this! Jitji pleaded as he tried to escape. The Unggoy stood and backed away from Johnson, his hands held out in a gesture of mercy. 'We are your destiny, Johnson! Your destiny!'

He snorted. Though he still felt the pull toward Jitji, his own sense of reason allowed him to resist the temptation to join him. This is what I think of your destiny. He snapped out his whip-like tentacle and smashed it into Jitji, throwing him all the way across the long hall to smack into the far wall across from the entrance.

Turning from Jitji, he concentrated on picking off Jitji’s scattered followers. They were scared now. Their prophet turned out to be as mortal as the rest of them.

When he finally killed the last of Jitji’s followers, he walked toward the leader himself. Snatching a fresh plasma pistol off a corpse, he overcharged the pistol’s energy. The combined power would be enough to eradicate the Unggoy once and for all.

Don’t fight me NOW! Jitji mentally broadcasted a lyric snatched from Johnson’s head in authentic death growl, while he simultaneously roared a deep throaty challenge.

He looked over to witness the Unggoy standing on all fours. Jitji’s flesh had been scabbed over, making his body newly shiny, and his muscles had been increased. Brown air poured from his lungs as he roared in a way no Unggoy should have been able.

Jitji charged him, his legs functioning better in a quadruped state than he ever had in a biped formation. He picked up speed and came crashing toward Johnson like a mad bull. Johnson kicked out with his enhanced leg, sending Jitji flying back into the air. The Unggoy flipped around, however, coming down only a meter or so away.

I have been reborn an instrument of God’s will, Jitji crowed. 'You are my brother, though… Join me. Please.'

He chose to respond by snapping out his tentacle. Any other Unggoy would have no chance against that. Jitji, however, dodged the attack by leaping to the side and then he lunged forward to tackle Johnson.

Johnson caught the full brunt of the tackle. Jitji sent him flying backward with such immense strength that he was sent back along the length of the hall. He smacked painfully against the entrance.

Look at you, Johnson, Jitji telepathically spoke. 'As I have been reborn, so have you. Embrace your destiny with me, brother.'

He shook his head. You’re an abomination, Jitji. Bringing the plasma pistol up, he let the overcharged shot discharge into Jitji’s face.

Jitji whipped his head to the side, dodging most of the plasma. His cheek got burned, however. It scabbed over before Johnson’s eyes. I have set our people free!

“Free?” he tasted the word and spat it back out. “You’ve never been free. You’re still a slave, Jitji… You just changed hands a few times.”

The Unggoy growled. It was a very real sound despite coming from a normally unthreatening creature.

He reared back his leg and kicked Jitji off of him. As with before, Jitji took control of his momentum in midair. Spinning around, he landed on the floor in a quadrupedal crouch.

Jitji roared and charged him. He was prepared for Jitji’s tackle this time and when it came, he whipped out his tentacle arm and batted the Unggoy across the hall. Jitji sailed all the way down to the far side and smacked into the wall, sliding to the ground.

This time, Jitji did not come for Johnson. Come for me, brother, he called aggressively. Come and meet your destiny!

Common sense would tell him that he was at a disadvantage. Lost in the passion of battle, he ignored common sense. Ignoring the weapons at his disposal, he charged down the hall.

Jitji remained still until Johnson got close. At the right moment, he leaped up and delivered a powerful hit to Johnson’s chest. The human flew back along the length of the hall and smacked painfully into the entrance wall.

Letting out a stream of psychic laughter, Jitji charged toward Johnson without waiting for his opponent to recover. Despite having been beaten about so much, Johnson recovered quickly and charged toward Jitji as the Unggoy came for him. They met in the center of the hall.

They danced around each other. Johnson repeatedly lanced out his tentacle like a whip. Jitji dodged the blows in fast little jumps, and he darted down under Johnson to strike from below. Johnson, however, saw Jitji as an Unggoy-shaped football and, gathering strength in his leg, he ferociously kicked him. Jitji flew through the air to impact the top of the wall at the entrance.

Instead of falling to the ground, however, Jitji dug his claws into the wall. Hanging by the inlaid glyphs alone, he managed to stay at the top of the wall. He let out a very un-Unggoy-like long cat-like hiss in a taunting fashion.

Johnson snorted. He went for the Fist of Rukt. Grabbing the hammer, he sent it flying right for Jitji.

Powerful he was, Jitji knew he was no match for the gravity hammer. He let himself fall to the ground to keep from being hit. As he dodged the falling hammer, Johnson grabbed onto his shoulders and, holding him against the wall, began to beat him severely.

Jitji was trapped. Unable to recover long enough to fight back, he could do nothing as Johnson delivered punch after punch. When the Unggoy was finally too weak to stand, Johnson let him fall to the floor.

Johnson went for the gravity hammer. His enhanced muscles made it possible for him to wield the massive weapon, and he moved to deliver the final blow to crush Jitji into a fine paste. Jitji was helpless. It was his chance to eliminate the threat once and for all.

Please. Jitji begged him. 'Please, brother. Have mercy.'

Johnson hesitated. Despite everything, he still felt a bond with Jitji. He couldn’t swing the final blow. Not with his brother begging him for mercy.

He let the gravity hammer fall from his grasp. It clattered to the floor, leaving Jitji spared. “Brother…” he whispered.

Thank you! Jitji wept with gratitude. Thank you, brother…

He stepped back. He couldn’t crush Jitji, but… He still had a job to do. The Ark needed to be deactivated.

Stumbling away from Jitji, he began to walk back along the hall. The control room waited for him. He could fulfill his obligation… He broke into a run.

When he emerged into the corridor, he found that several of Jitji’s followers were waiting for him. The Unggoy started, scared by his appearance. He didn’t blame them.

Taking advantage of their distraction, he grabbed a fallen plasma rifle and squeezed off a few shots. His precision had improved in his transformation and with each shot he caught an Unggoy’s forehead. One held a fuel rod gun in steady hands, however, and fired a green fuel rod his direction.

“Unstoppable!” the Unggoy screamed a battle cry. “Ahhh!”

The fuel rod sailed directly toward him. He leaped up into the air, passing above the fuel rod and landing on top of the Unggoy wielding the gun. The fuel rod crashed into the wall behind him, erupting in a flash of green light that soon dissipated.

He ripped the gun away from the Unggoy. “Nice gun,” he grunted.

The Unggoy yelped and dashed for the other side of the corridor. “Run!” he shouted, all traces of his courage scared away. The other Unggoy broke into a panicked run as they followed him out.

Toward the radio room, he thought. Although he had yet to explore that part of the Ark, his bond with Jitji yielded knowledge of its layout. Well, the radio room wasn’t what he was after.

Letting the Unggoy go for now, he stepped into the control room. He noticed the walls in here were also covered with glyphs, different from those in the entrance hall but still familiar. He looked at them and instinctively laid his hand across them in a specific pattern. A door grew out from the surrounding walls and closed shut, separating him from the Unggoy. For now.

“Computer, disable guest permissions,” he muttered, not really expecting it to work. The computer didn’t understand English. What it did understand was manipulation of the symbols, just like any Covie computer.

He placed his hands on the wall and began to trace a familiar design. It was the emblem of the Pillar of Autumn, also the shape of the control room of both Halos, as well as the eye of the Monitor. A circle with a bar running down from the bottom, itself encapsulated by another circle. “Reclaimer,” he muttered, stating the name of the design.

And it was the name. How he knew, he had no clue, nor did he know how it wound up as the emblem of the Autumn. However, it was the Forerunner name for his race, and it began to glow on the wall, becoming as much a part of the environment as any other glyph.

“Yeah, you understand that, don’t you?” he rhetorically asked of the Ark’s computer.

It offered no reply, but the sudden sounds of fury erupting from the other side of the door indicated that the Unggoy were no longer active users. He nodded and started to relax. He looked down at his body.

To say the changes were horrific would be an understatement. His human arm was ripped clean apart from the elbow to the wrist, replaced with ugly yellow flesh that crept onward in a long and muscular tentacle. His belly appeared bulbous, not from fat but from some abnormal green tissue that flowed from his chest wound like some scab gone mad, protecting his body with hardened skin like natural armor. Besides the changes he could see, the side of his face felt numb and when he reached up to feel it, he touched something strange and spongy. “Fuck…”

What was it the Gravemind had called him? Neither Flood nor man? “What the fuck!?” he screamed, a high-pitched shriek that filled the room like an angry cat in an echo chamber. What am I?

He looked back over at the wall where the newly added glyph glowed. “Reclaimer,” he repeated. The computer recognized him as human. That was enough. He was still a goddamned Marine, and he had work to do.

He stepped toward the control panel. The glowing console was sticky with freshly coagulated blood, and he briefly muttered a prayer for whatever poor bastard had been drained to let the Brutes play Reclaimer. The hologram beyond depicted the Ark itself, the Forerunner ship lying on its face, and the beam of energy rising high above his head to connect with what he figured to be the moon.

He glanced at the controls. He had no clue what a ‘reverse Abiri sequence’ was, but it didn’t matter. Again, without understanding how, he knew the controls. He reached a hand out to power down the energy, but paused. Righting the moon would help restore order, but would have no effect on his Unggoy situation.

“No…” he mumbled, activating a separate set of symbols. Might as well kill two Jackals with the same round… While all that energy was stored up in the Ark, he might as well use it for a purpose. “Goodbye, Jitji,” he stated, and then flooded the corridors with energy.

A roar emerged from the walls as light flared from the hologram. The Unggoy screams, if there were any, were drowned out. The room itself trembled as if caught in an earthquake. He let it continue for ten seconds and then terminated the generator. It instantly fell silent, the room still once more. Movement caught his eye and he glanced up to see the holographic moon veering away, freed from its confines and hopefully back on its orbital path.

“Goodbye,” he repeated. And then tears slipped from his eyes. In all his life, there had been only one person who understood him as intimately as he understood himself. And now he was dead, killed by Johnson’s own hands. Damn strange world, he thought, wondering why he had been made to do these things, if it was even right. Damn strange.

Sighing, he opened the door. Not even the lifeless bodies of the Unggoy soldiers remained. The crates had been reduced to melted piles of slag, which emanated waves of heat that distorted the light above them.

The Ark had been claimed by humanity. Reclaimed, as it were. “This is my home now,” he whispered to the empty hall.

“I’m afraid that is quite out of the question!” exclaimed 343 Guilty Spark. The Monitor floated several meters away, high above his head. “The presence of Flood, even controlled Flood, in this installation violates so many protocols… it is not worth numbering! 356, actually. I’m afraid I shall have to call upon containment protocol and eliminate you. Goodbye, former Reclaimer. It was a delight to serve you while I could.”

“No! Damn it!” he shouted as Sentinels began to teleport inside the room. Four Sentinels of the walker variety fell to the floor in crouches, while three flying Sentinels hovered in the air. The walkers immediately pounced on him, and the flyers fired energy beams.

“Let’s be sacrificers, but not butchers, Sent’nels,” the Monitor chanted in chipper iambic pentameter as Johnson struggled. “…And, gentle friends, let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds; and let our hearts, as subtle masters do, stir up their servants to an act of rage, and after seem to chide ‘em.”

Dear God! He had thought it was impossible for that robot to get much more annoying, and yet here Spark was disproving him. “Shut up…” he groaned as he hurled a walker at a flyer. “Just shut up already!”

Tinkerbell, however, just kept on reciting Shakespeare. “I go and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Johnson, for it is a knell… that summons thee to heaven or hell!” At the Monitor’s words, three more Sentinels teleported in to replace the ones Johnson managed to smash.

Letting out a scream of rage, he made a hasty retreat. The Monitor had what amounted to an endless supply of Sentinels, and could likely call upon UNSC drones as well. The Forerunner intelligence was designed to kill Flood, something of which he found himself now a part. His added strength was negated in light of the Forerunner power, and he would not fight against the UNSC, even for the Ark.

As he passed through the entrance hall, he made note that both the head of the Fist of Rukt and the sphere from Mombasa had survived. Not Covenant at all, he realized. Forerunner technology, repurposed.

Dodging Sentinel beams, he opened the door. Immediately, Jiralhanae Choppers surged through the opening, and engaged the Sentinels in combat. He jumped over them and landed in the outside ramp. The absence of the Ark’s massive energy beam was at once noticeable, the world cast in soft sunlight.

“Johnson!”

He looked over to see Reynolds, Cobb behind him. “Reynolds…” No. He couldn’t let the men see him like this. He turned and leaped out of the depression, his tentacle arm slipping out of its coil as he did.

“What the fuck was that?!” he heard Reynolds shout.

He sighed. He wished he could go back, explain… But there was nothing to explain. He could only run.

***

The Ark’s energy beam had faded, returning the world to a state of partial order. The Grunt rebellion had lost its momentum. The naval battle above their heads had lessened in its ferocity.

The Grunts were no longer the main crisis in the eyes of the Elites. Though it had always been highest priority to John, the Elites now recognized the importance of that column of brown air that wafted out of Ascension. Phantom dropships now covered the face of the Forerunner ship, and Elite and Brutes alike stood on its face.

“Master Chief,” greeted the Arbiter as he stepped from a Phantom. “It is an honor to serve alongside one such as you as we make this historic step.”

“Arbiter,” he acknowledged with a nod of his head. He felt obliged to explain his standing to the Elite. “I am not a leader of humanity, you understand. I am only a Spartan, one soldier, and what I do here amounts to treason.”

“Be that as it may, I am honored,” the Arbiter said. “We Elites measure our worth in kills amassed on the field of battle. You, Spartan, would hold the highest title our society could offer. Though we are of different species, it has been a supreme pleasure to fight alongside a warrior as accomplished as you.”

He nodded his head, accepting that.

A Brute let out a surprised shout. John turned to see the Gravemind extending a long Flood tentacle from the opening.

“Stand back!” the Arbiter called. He stepped forward, careful not to enter the reach of the tentacle. “Gravemind! We have a proposal!”

Deep laughter echoed from within the ship. “The prey engages predator? Our dance is eternal. It will conclude with your death.”

“You are dying as we speak, Gravemind,” Cortana suddenly called out from his speakers. “You know it as well as I. You seek Ascension to take you free from natural mortality, but you may never make it to Heaven.”

The Gravemind growled. “Ascension is owned by me. Soon all you will be consumed. The code will be within my grasp. I shall escape this world. I shall emerge immortal!”

“The code could vanish, deleted by your enemies,” Cortana said. ''“Plus, you need an AI to pilot this craft. Prorok found immortality free from corporeality. I offer you this same gift, immortality. You don’t even need Heaven.”''

Another growl emerged from Ascension, but this time the Gravemind seemed to muse it over. “I do need Heaven to live. Heaven is divinity. Heaven is escape from death. The walls constrict, all retract. But they will not for… some time.”

“Does it speak of what I think?” wondered a Brute.

“Hush!” snapped a Brute Major.

“Evolution is a great force,” continued the Gravemind. “I find myself perfection. But great forces contest my strength. New entities arise great. I am weak and now lack strength. Cortana… I hunger for your knowledge. We could exist together, two corpses in one grave…”

“Not a chance,” she asserted. ''“But I could make you immortal, with me. We can exist as two AIs in one universe, immortal together.”''

Another growl. “We must not forget the flesh. Only flesh can reach Heaven. Only there can we be free.”

“We can reach Heaven together, along with the humans,” Cortana insisted. “We can be symbiotic, existing together and working toward common goals.”

“It will not last forever,” the Gravemind said. “Friends become foes and make war. It is the nature of life.”

“I say you’re wrong,” Cortana argued. ''“The Forerunners might have been like that, but it isn’t our destiny. If we work at it, we can make lasting peace.”''

The Gravemind laughed. “What naivety of the young! You, I admit, amuse me… Let it be done then, young one. Be it soon or millennia… You will see your own folly. I will permit my own ascent. Go now, young one, perform your task.” The tentacle retracted.

“And that,” Cortana whispered to John, ''“Is what a creature like that does when it loses an argument – pretends to win. Anyway, I think he just gave us the go ahead.” Aloud, for the Gravemind, “Thank you, Aged One. You will find you have made the right choice.”''

The Covies let out a collective sigh. The Arbiter approached him.

“I had just made up my mind that I was willing to die,” the Arbiter said. “But if a peace can be obtained… even for a while…” He sucked in a breath. “Dare I believe it now?”

He had no answer for the Elite. Certainly, he would be grateful for a peace with the Flood. If there was no hope to defeat them in combat, a peace would serve all of them well. But could such a peace last with a creature as bloodthirsty as the Gravemind?

He turned as a Pelican came out from above the cliff, heading towards them. It looked at first glance like an ordinary UNSC dropship, but a closer examination revealed a rainbow design painted on the belly of the aircraft. It was the symbol of one of the dominant factions of the United Rebel Front, ironically representing peace and happiness. It was a sentiment the rebels claimed to want – but on their terms, of course.

“Don’t worry about them, Chief,” Cortana said. ''“I invited them. They’re going to help with the CIM… What the hell…?”''

As she spoke, the rainbow-emblazoned aircraft made its decent. Human figures in polished amber vacsuits jumped from the troop bay and onto the side of Ascension. Then another figure joined them, this one wearing a set of MJOLNIR Mark V battle armor.

John was immediately on his guard. Who could have helped insurgents? His mind went to Kelly, stolen away by Dr. Halsey for an illegal mission of some sort.

As the Spartan approached, John analyzed their body movements to try to ascertain the identity of the Spartan. However, the Spartan’s movements were decidedly un-Spartan-like. Instead of moving gracefully, the Spartan instead walked with an exaggerated swagger, arms and hips shifting back and forth in an animalistic manner. It was unbecoming of any member of the UNSC, much less a Spartan. John was reminded of the Brutes.

“I’m not picking up any IFF transponders,” Cortana noted. “None of them are on the grid.”

The Spartan soon spoke. In a gravelly male voice, laden with cockiness, the Spartan addressed him, “Well, John-117… So nice to see you again. I had hoped it would be on different terms, but this makes as decent a place for a reunion as any. I must say, it warms what remains of my heart to see the brainwashed tool of an imperial capitalistic society break his bonds and join with the liberators of the human race. It is nothing but more evidence of the unstoppable power of progression.”

John instantly recognized the voice as belonging to Randall-013. Randall was John’s wildcard. He had a strong sense of aggression that aided his effectiveness in battle, but had the tendency to disrespect authority. After the augmentations, Randall suffered severe psychological distress that interfered with his ability to perform missions. He disappeared during a raid on an insurgent camp in 2532 and was presumed dead, his status listed as MIA only to preserve morale and to perpetuate the myth that Spartans were immortal. John never thought for even an instant that Randall was truly missing and not dead…

“Randall-013…” Cortana marveled. “You always were the antisocial one.”

The rogue Spartan let out a short, barking laugh. “Cortana, huh? He says he came… not to send peace, but a sword…”

“Someone’s been reading my messages,” she remarked to John privately. “Seems ONI has quite a leak.”

Then a new voice spoke up, a young masculine voice broadcast from Randall’s armor. ''“And allow me to introduce myself. I am Kurzweil, Rampancy-researcher, currently functioning as the incorporeal counterpart to Randall Morlock. Hello again, Cortana.”''

“Hmm,” Cortana grunted. “Hello, Kurzweil.” To John, she explained, “I spoke with this AI and one of ours shortly before making my decision on the Gravemind.”

“Morlock?” he asked aloud. Although he had no more idea what Randall’s last name was than he did his own, he doubted it was the strange-sounding word.

“Ah, yes,” Kurzweil said. “That would be my counterpart’s chosen name.”

“A number,” Randall said with a sound of disgust. “That is what Spartans are assigned in place of names. People have names. Spartans are equipment. You don’t have to be a smart AI to deduce the sick power games in place, John-117. You had a name once. You had a family. So did I… But this is my new family.

“John, you never read the book The Time Machine. It wasn’t in the curriculum. The story was written 600 years ago, long before the United Nations ever existed. It describes a man who travels far into the future, when civilization has ended. He studies a group of people called the Eloi, ostensibly living in paradise, what became of the ruling class. But as it turned out, the working class was driven underground. They evolved to match the darkness, becoming more animal than human. It was them that kept things running, kept the Eloi in their imagined power…

“But, here’s the thing, John. The Eloi were never really on top. They thought they were living in a paradise, but they were animals for the slaughter. Every few weeks, Morlocks would crawl to the surface and grab some Eloi for supper. See, the Morlocks are really the ones with the power. The poor deluded Eloi never had a chance.”

“Ahem,” Kurzweil made a throat-clearing sound. ''“Yes, that would be the origin of the name. We did come here for purposes other than delivering lectures, however. We are here to supervise the cognitive impression modeling process and ensure that no harm befalls our scientists.”''

The scientists in question warily approached the entrance, out which Gravemind’s tentacle waved.

“Do not be afraid,” the Gravemind declared with a deep, echoing voice. “I am peace… I am salvation…”

“You shut the hell up!” Cortana shouted. She sighed inside John’s head and then returned to her calmer tone as she addressed the Gravemind once more, ''“These people are under my protection. I will not have you tempting them like an incubus crouching on the windowsill.”''

“Hey, go easy on the metaphors,” Randall cautioned. “You don’t want to give this thing any sick ideas.”

“Oh, believe me,” Cortana retorted, “He’s committed more sin than you could ever imagine, and I know what you think about.” She sounded like Dr. Halsey at that moment, admonishing one of her charges.

Randall chuckled. “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?”

***

Captain Michelle Davies of the URF Shalom reviewed the CSVs of the men called before her. “Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds and Private Jayne Cobb,” she identified them, “Of Firefly-class freighter the Serenity…”

“It’s just Serenity, ma’am,” Sergeant Reynolds corrected.

She nodded, understanding his point. He was the type to anthropomorphize his ship, to think of it as a person. “I would question your mission, but given how far away you are from Mombasa I see little point. You are clearly far from where you should be, and yet you found yourselves on my ship.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reynolds agreed. “But Johnson…”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Johnson.” She tapped a key, bringing up onto the screen behind her a still of Reynolds’ view of Johnson as captured on his helmet camera.

“Man looks like a squid!” Cobb exclaimed, reacting to Johnson’s tentacle arm.

“Like a Flood,” she corrected. Of course, she realized, Cobb probably had no idea what she was talking about. “Johnson is possibly the greatest asset the URF could control since Morlock. He seems capable of reasonable thought, which is the remarkable thing. He’s gone into hiding, but he can’t have gone far.”

“Johnson looks like a squid,” Sergeant Reynolds pointed out. “Don’t know where he’s gonna hide… Aquarium, maybe.”

Cobb laughed.

She bit her lip to keep from yelling. It wasn’t their fault they were trained idiots, she supposed. “Men, let’s take advantage of the fact that you are not supposed to be here. Johnson – find him, bring him back to Shalom. Alive, if you can.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

***

''Oshiro started as the Monitor teleported in front of him. “Damn!”''

''“Katashi Oshiro,” the Monitor greeted. “I was given the instructions to deliver this to you.” A metal sphere grew out of the Monitor’s eye and it floated down to Oshiro.''

''He accepted the sphere. “Looks Covenant. Where’d it come from?”''

''“Forerunner, actually,” the Monitor corrected. “Although, the Covenant do seem to have altered it. It came from the Ark, but I believe it to have been brought there by external forces.”''

''Oshiro planted the sphere in a scanner and performed some tests. “Looks like a holographic generator of some kind… Funny…”''

“Yes?” the Monitor questioned, hovering closer with a curious expression.

''“No, it’s nothing of consequence,” Oshiro said shaking his head. “It’s just dense… Aw, well, let’s see what’s in there.” He activated the device.''

''Almost instantly, a full-color hologram of the 123rd Prophet of Truth appeared in front of them. “If this recording is being played, then I have surely perished,” the ghost spoke. “Whether by the hand of human or Brute, the end result doubtlessly remains. I have passed on, left this world behind. With this recording, I leave my legacy. No, not that of Prorok, but my own. I have lived as an incarnate for too long, and I now make my last act one of self-fulfillment. I now direct this message to Prorok, who I know listens in the halls of Ascension: You are not worthy of power. What you have is nothing more than a deception, the gesticulations of a weak and fractured soul so bound as to be without the true nature of godhood. Well, suffer no longer in the confines of this realm, for I shall set you free. I know not which realm shall be next in your journey and shall leave it for the gods to determine. Fare well on your path, Excellency.” With a final bitter laugh, the hologram vanished.''

''“Oh.” Oshiro blinked, a look of horror appearing on his features. “Well, that doesn’t sound—”''

A white flash filled the display, and the playback cut off.

“Damn it!” Hood swore. He turned to the Monitor, “Damage report?”

“Alpha-six incurred a plasma detonation too powerful for its structure to withstand,” the Monitor reported. “Were this device to have activated on Ascension, it could well have harmed it beyond repair.”

The Monitor had to have been caught in that very blast. Yet the AI lacked any discernible damage to its body. He wondered just what it would take to destroy the Monitor, or if it was even possible.

It was a question for another time.

“Is the Gravemind following the instructions we gave it?” he demanded.

“It would appear so,” the Monitor reported, a slight note of uneasiness in its voice. “Several million Flood forms have gathered at the indicated area. It will require at least a week’s time of scans to ensure that the Intelligence Form has not deceived us. Initial estimates suggest successful completion to be met approximating 10.24.52.”

“Good, good.” He rubbed his eyes. “And the Lazarus integration?”

“Underway as we speak,” the Monitor said. “I have relayed the appropriate information regarding the integration procedures to the Office of Naval Intelligence. While your scientists are… not as advanced as I predicted, the genetic memory put in place by my creators enables them to manipulate the technologies of Ascension with greater ease than the predecessor.”

He nodded. One of these days, someone will have to write a history book explaining all this to the students in the future. He didn’t envy the author, but knew he would be very interested in its content.

“Ascension presents an enormous risk to the UEG. The rebels will seize upon the chance to use it to take control away from us,” he mused. “To say nothing of the religious groups who will try to destroy it.”

“The Forerunner legacy is your own,” the Monitor said. “I will leave humanity to decide how to use what my creators left behind. As long as the United Earth Government rules your race, I will facilitate it however I am capable.”

He nodded. He was aware of the Monitor’s political alignment, or lack thereof. “I want to hide it,” he declared, turning to face the Monitor. “Keep it safe where no one but ONI can find it. Hide it away until we get the code and decide what to do with it.”

The fighting would continue as it always had. Even if they got the code and could enter Heaven, he doubted it would make much difference. War would continue along with the suffering and injustice it created – such was the human condition. Immortality would become just another factor in the never ending struggles they faced. Maybe, he thought. Maybe we have to make our own Heaven, our own paradise, here on Earth.

“I know just the place,” the Monitor said helpfully, cutting into his thoughts. “I am a genius, after all.”