Halo: Eclipse (IC/Reboot/OPEN)

[New Grestin]

Chaos erupted outside the pod as Carol's pistol clicked. She flicked the magazine release and had just begun to slot a new one in when Ethan dove into the pod. A hail of gunfire followed. Smoke grenades obscured the corridor, an insurrectionist in heavy armor stepping towards the pod. Ethan moved quickly, knocking the man's gun out of the way before emptying his SMG into him. The man dropped like a rock and Ethan quickly went to work on Carol.

He spoke to her, his tone stern.

“Try waiting for backup next time.”

She could barely mutter a response before he pressed a can of biofoam against the wound. Carol's breath caught as the stinging sensation entered her wounds. She winced a bit as he finished up, looking towards the dead woman. It took Carol a moment to realize that, in her panic, she'd shot a civilian. Ethan scolded her.

“Think you need to pick your shots better.”

She could do little more than sigh and lay her head against the side of the pod. The whole mission was one enormous clusterfuck. Carol slowly rose to her feet, nearly slipping as she did. Her gaze was drawn to her SMG and she quickly grabbed it, checking the magazine. It was still empty. She sighed with frustration and slung it over her back. She'd expended all of her SMG ammo back in the cargo hold, leaving her with only a few frag grenades and three magazines of pistol ammo.

The box was a bit heavy, but when she opened it up, it was clear that it was the Nav drive. She nodded to Ethan and stepped out of the pod. The pair were greeted by dead bodies and bullet holes, blood spattered on cold metal. Carol took a deep breath. Her strength was drained. She turned to Ethan.

"Let's just get the civies out and blow this fucking ship to kingdom come."

[Vacif]

SNIP

"We're supposed to be retaking the ship, and handing it off to the task force close by...." stated Hadrian a bit dryly. He had one standard mag, which was in the rifle, and the rest were shredders. Seeing as a group from Bravo was with them now, it'd appear as though most, if not all rebels had been eliminated now. For the better part of the firefight, Hadrian was pressed up against the whitening TR Steel support beam holding up the hallway, despite that, more than a few rounds had grazed his helmet, and shoulder armor. He'd taken out the other rebel during the exchange, and all that was left was the ODST from Bravo.

Even with an aged ship like the Outlast, it was still a usable ship, it had a functioning FTL drive, up-to-date engines, and aside from a few new bullet holes in the interior, it hadn't appeared to of suffered any damage. Hadrian could tell it was aged because the TR steel was practically white instead of the normal silver. "So, that all of them, or are there a few scattered groups throughout the ship like in the galley?" he asked.

[Ubaria]

In the heat of the firefight, Dragan had expended all the ammo in his current magazine, this was signified by a single hollow 'click' as he attempted to pull the trigger. Cursing he thumped the magazine release with the side of his hand and let the empty box clatter to the floor, fluidly bringing another fresh magazine from his chest pouch he slammed it in and hit the bolt release to chamber the first round. By now more contacts of hostile origin had showed up on both the VISR and the motion tracker, the Corporal couldn't lay down surpressing fire forever.

"I hope your done lieutenant. We have to lea-aghh!" A bullet from the LMG in the smoke got lucky and glanced off his gauntlet armor, the force of which threw his arm backwards and pushed him off balance slightly. Luckily the bullet had not penetrated, but the force alone was enough to inflict a small amount of pain. Dragan took a moment to re-compose himself and swiftly returned a burst of fire back in their direction.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

Bressler grunted as he and his opponent fought over the shotgun that both men held in between them in a vise like grip with Bressler pressing down and Innie pushing up. The sergeant gave a grunt of effort and began to twist the weapon's barrel up from it's sideways position towards the Innie's head; the man's visor wasn't polarized and so Bressler could see the man sweating as he attempted to fight against the marine and failed as the shotgun brushed the man's chin and Bressler depressed the trigger. The man's head was vaporized as the large ball bearings penetrated the underside of the armor, plowed through the skull and exited out the helmet's hard top trailing tissue and blood. Bressler turned to see Folk push his Innie back with the butt of his new LMG, the force sent the Innie staggering back as Folk brought the weapon up and depressed the trigger sending a quarter of the magazine into the Innie who had just been bring up a and as if to ward off the bullets.

"Folk, see to Raer" The gunny commanded as he left the corpse filled hallway and began to make his way to the escape deck when the sound of metal on metal caused him to stop in an empty hallway right outside a door marked Storage 3. With his shotgun at the ready the engineer approached the door from the right side and keyed it open; the door opened and a hail of fire resounded through the open hatch. At least a split second before the rasping sound of a rifle bolt jamming sounded and the weapon fire stopped; Bressler had at this point drawn as hand grenade and was about to toss the ordinance in when a voice sounded.

"Wait, we give up!!!!!We're coming out!!!" the voice sounded as it was followed by a figure clad in dirty marine armor that looked like they had been stripped from a dead corpse by the plasma scorching on the chest plate; that figure was followed by two more wearing ragged Colonial Guard uniforms. The man in the armor looked like he was in his late teens judging by the man's attempt at growing out his 5 o'clock shadow. One of the "Colonial guards" was a she and her uniform hung off her like she was a coat rack, while the other man barely fit into his despite him being nothing more then a "stick". Disregarding their appearances Bressler used his M-90 to line them against the wall where he secured each Innie's hands behind their backs with some flex-cuffs and searched them for weapons of which he found none. Looking back into their room Bressler saw only a jammed MA2 rifle lying on the floor with no other weapons in sight.

"On your knees, backs to the wall, heads down!" Bressler ordered as he paced in front of the Innie's who complied Bressler brought up the squad channel. I have three hostiles secured in compartment...... 4-A; just aft of the bridge. Is the situation contained?"

[Beiarusia]

The nav drive was secured. Regrouping in the corridor, Ethan and Deckard joined Racker and Ilyas, the latter treating a minor wound to the arm sustained during the firefight. The smoke was all but cleared up by now, a slight haze remaining as if dissipated. Ethan nodded to the others before contacting the team. “We have secured precious cargo. Whitfield, relocate civilians to medical. Bravo, we are moving to your position.” He cut the comm and looked over to the two men. “Good work.”

Ethan brought up his TACPAD, using it to map out where everyone currently was on the ship, every person marked as either a green or yellow dot depending on IFF tag. Whitfield and the others were escorting the civilians up towards the medical bay, and most of Bravo had reconvened on the bridge. Bressler was the odd man out, currently in storage and with three unknowns.

His voice came over the team comm soon enough. “I have three hostiles secured in compartment… 4-A; just aft of the bridge. Is the situation contained?"

Alpha and Ilyas were moving to join Bressler. Ethan checked the map once more, every living thing on ship having been accounted for. “All hostages have been secured and the ship is clear of enemies. Repeat, you have hostiles secured?”

The team were just outside Storage 4-A when Dawn spoke over the team frequency, her voice light and warm despite the message she had to give. “A naval vessel is currently in route to dock with the freighter. Mission parameters call for the elimination of all insurrection forces. ONI has no desire to take prisoners.” A pause before she added, “You may not agree but please see to it that orders are followed.”

[Feroxi]

Thorne A095
Memento Mori
2549

"As you can see, sir, we have an extensive amount of resources for our crew to make use of."

The Office of Naval Intelligence's liaison gestured to a holographic map, tinted a light shade of blue. It was almost too perfect in terms of color. It was a hue that could never be found in the real world; it was calculated and developed by an artificial intelligence or some other form of dumb robotic processing, not by natural means. Thorne found that somewhat unnerving. If humanity could create something such as a hologram, a thing that manipulated light and how we saw the world, where would they stop? Next on the list would probably be the creation of manmade planets or influencing their own evolutionary path. The Spartans, the repurposing of Forerunner technology? It seemed that the human race was speeding down the highway of reckless invention far too quickly. He wondered if their speeding car would crash one day. Truly, the question that scratched in the back of Thorne's mind was, where and when would his species draw the line that shouldn't be crossed? He decided that only time would tell.

The holographic map displayed the Memento Mori in it's entirety. Each compartment, each airlock, and every nook and cranny. The liaison pointed toward the bow of the ship, "That's the bridge. There, we coordinate most of our business, such as planning missions, briefings, and the like."

The way she said business made Thorne chuckle internally. She treated this like it was a typical job. The liaison acted like it was some sort of profession, as if they were working as emergency surgeons or workers at Moa-Burger. They weren't employees, for god's sake, they were soldiers. No, not even that; soldiers had honor, ONI didn't. The Office of Naval Intelligence and its grunts were an entirely different brand: government sanctioned psychopaths, insurgents, scientists, and manipulators. They were the wolf in sheep's clothing that drifted in and out of the symbolic herd of the UNSC.

She continued giving Thorne a walkthrough of the ship via the visual, although, he was only half-paying attention.

Finally, he spoke, "I want to see them."

The liaison was caught off guard. She looked at him curiously and with a hint of aggravation at being interrupted during her lovely presentation, she asked, "Who?"

"The team. The people I'll be conducting," he paused and tried to use her lingo, "business with."

"Urm, I'm afraid they're just returning from their latest operation. It may be better to," but she was cut off yet again.

"I want to see them in action."

"I can get you a video feed from their op and deliver it to your quarters as soon as possible," she said and swiftly began walking away, her shoes thudding against the metal floor rhythmically.

Thorne watched as she walked down the hall and quietly muttered, "Thank you."

He glanced at the map for a brief reminder and started off toward his quarters.

Although he wasn't aware, the ONI liaison had heard him and smiled as she walked away, whispering to herself, "A Spartan just thanked me... that's a first."

---

Shortly after, a crew member appeared outside the door to his quarters. He gave a light knock, but there was no response. Again, he knocked. Still, there was no response of any kind.

The crew member said gently, "Sir, uh, I have that feed as you requested. Should I just... leave it outside, or?"

The door slid open. Thorne, A095 stood in the door way, towering over the crewman. He held his gloved palm out for the feed's recording chip.

The crewman was frozen in place. Finally, he broke out of his awe and shook his head, "Right, right! Here's the feed, sir."

The Spartan-III watched as the crewman saluted mechanically and then walked off, obviously still carrying some emotional weight from the experience. Was it fear, or was it admiration? If only Thorne knew.

He returned to his quarters and made sure the door slid shut behind him. Thorne sat in a leather desk chair and scooted over to the sole monitor in his room. It wasn't the most comfortable piece of furniture, but it was reinforced by some ONI technician to suit his augmented frame, and for that he was thankful. At least they made sure he could sit down in a chair without breaking it before they sent him to kill, maim, and brutalize whoever they damn well pleased. He slid the video feed's chip into the monitor and let it load for a few seconds. Finally, it was ready.

Thorne watched the recording for what seemed like hours. For all the commendations and high renown the Office of Naval Intelligence gave them, they didn't seem like they were a stunning group. They weren't effective when working in tandem as a team, at least. It seemed that one of them, by the name of Caroline Deckard, had a bit of a lone wolf mentality. That branch would need necessary pruning from the team's already dying tree. Dragan seemed well versed in combat scenarios, but had a hinted conscious. Bressler was definitely experienced, but his stubbornness and overzealousness could be costly. Hadrian Racker was an enigma so far, albeit a tactful one. Ethan Woods intrigued him most of all. It was very peculiar to have a man that young leading an ONI black operations squadron; well, at least for the typical human being.

The biggest thought on the Spartan's mind, however, was who would die first.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

The nav drive was secured. Regrouping in the corridor, Ethan and Deckard joined Racker and Ilyas, the latter treating a minor wound to the arm sustained during the firefight. The smoke was all but cleared up by now, a slight haze remaining as if dissipated. Ethan nodded to the others before contacting the team. “We have secured precious cargo. Whitfield, relocate civilians to medical. Bravo, we are moving to your position.” He cut the comm and looked over to the two men. “Good work.”

Ethan brought up his TACPAD, using it to map out where everyone currently was on the ship, every person marked as either a green or yellow dot depending on IFF tag. Whitfield and the others were escorting the civilians up towards the medical bay, and most of Bravo had reconvened on the bridge. Bressler was the odd man out, currently in storage and with three unknowns.

His voice came over the team comm soon enough. “I have three hostiles secured in compartment… 4-A; just aft of the bridge. Is the situation contained?"

Alpha and Ilyas were moving to join Bressler. Ethan checked the map once more, every living thing on ship having been accounted for. “All hostages have been secured and the ship is clear of enemies. Repeat, you have hostiles secured?”

The team were just outside Storage 4-A when Dawn spoke over the team frequency, her voice light and warm despite the message she had to give. “A naval vessel is currently in route to dock with the freighter. Mission parameters call for the elimination of all insurrection forces. ONI has no desire to take prisoners.” A pause before she added, “You may not agree but please see to it that orders are followed.”

Confirmed sirBressler replied as he paced in front of the three kneeling Innie's. The man in the scarred armor had said nothing as he kept his eyes down. The women had looked up once at Bressler and was about to say something when his shotgun's stock struck her on the nose and sent reeling back. The other man had been silently mumbling something under his breath.

"Look what I found." Breaker exclaimed proudly as the rest of the team entered the room.

"Oh sir if you want, you can borrow this." The gunny said as he unholstered his gun metal grey M6D and offered it handle first to the officer. "I'll clean up the mess."

[Vacif]

The door mechanism unlocked, and slid open for Alpha, and Ilyas. Hadrian was first through the door, MA2B sat comfortably in his arms. He watched silently as the Gunnery Sergeant handed over the weapon. "So how're we going to go about this?" He was obviously indicating to the 3 remaining rebels, lined up for the proverbial (And probably literal) firing squad.

[Dernland]

Ghost (He is referred to as Ghost in everything, even his service record, unless you can get past all of the black ink)
Undisclosed Location

Ghost felt his legs moving, carrying him at something close to a sprint. He wasn't sure why he was running, but wasn't sure if he wanted to stop. He continued down the path he seemed to be following, eventually coming out into a large clearing. The clearing was filed with stone carvings and weathered structures. He knew this place, the stone carvings were so familiar but he couldn't place where he was. He heard rustling behind him and he turned, reaching for his M6D. He raised the heavy pistol and fired without thinking. The sound of his gun firing was followed by a sound that reminded him of breaking glass and a gurgle. A figure collapsed in front of Ghost, the figure was that of a woman. Her armor was almost identical to Ghost's, with some small differences. Her helmet's visor was cracked by a large bullet hole in the center. He knew she was dead before she even hit the ground, but he didn't care. "NO!" He tried to shout, but no words escaped his mouth. Ghost rushed to her, removing her helmet and cradling her in his arms. "No Lys, it's not my fault! I tried, I tried so hard. Lys, I mean it." His mouth worked, trying to form the words but none came. Her dead eyes opened and stared into his tinted visor. "You killed me. You killed all of us. You are a traitor and a coward." Her voice was flat and lifeless, but at the same time carried so much hate. More figures emerged from the underbrush. He recognized the rest of his team, their armor charred and blackened. He saw the figures of his family, their faces blurred so badly that he could not tell who they were. Ghost returned his gaze to the woman he held and saw that her face had changed; her face was his face. "You have killed so many, you need to be next." The voice seemed distant and strange, Ghost hadn't heard his own voice in so long. The figure in his arms grabbed his pistol and shot Ghost.

Ghost
Anchor 9, Reach orbit, Epsilon Eridani
2549 Military Calendar

Ghost opened his eyes. The world around him seemed much different than the world he just left. He gazed out over Epsilon Eridani, watching the asteroid fields, ice belts, and planets revolve around the system's brilliant white sun. Ghost was in the observation deck of the station, it was the place where he had spent most of his time waiting for the Memento Mori to return to Reach. The guard had joked that Ghost had a girl that he visited in there, and had kept trying to guess which crew-member it was. Ghost only went to the observation room to think and observe the system, watching for the moment when the covenant would finally find it and burn everyone. The day will come when Reach falls, and Earth soon after, just like every other place in the galaxy. He thought to himself, feeling only a small ping of sadness to imagine the beautiful star system before him turned to ash. He un-clipped his M6D from it's holster in his belt, flipping the safety as he did so. He slowly placed the barrel of the gun against his helmet, tapping it in a steady rhythm. Not today, you still have a mission to complete. Only then can you truly be a Ghost. That voice was not his, it was an old voice, one he barely remembered. I'm trying, but I'm not a Spartan. You saved me, you've saved hundreds of lives and who can I save? I can save no-one. The voice didn't respond.

[Beiarusia]

Ethan stepped forward, accepting the weapon handed to him, the M6D heavy in his hands. He looked first to the insurrectionist, subdued and bound with their arms tied behind their back, cowering, and then to his team, faceless behind their visors. Bressler and Racker seemed all too willing to comply with orders, Deckard unwilling to voice her obvious displeasure with Ilyas standing off to the side, perhaps annoyed if anything.

In the end Ethan didn’t make the rules.

The Lieutenant raised the pistol, firing a round into the skull of the young man. The woman had only just the time to scream out before she was silenced by the second shot. The final man said not a word as death greeted him as well, slumping to the floor alongside his comrades, blood pooling beneath them all.

“We’re done here,” Ethan told his squad, voice low, handing the sidearm back to Bressler.

2104 hours, 15 October 2549 // UNSC Memento Mori, Reach orbit, Epsilon Eridani

“Congratulations on a mission accomplished, you did well considering the suddenness of your departure, though I must say you and your team are a little… rough around the edges. The ship was secured but at a loss of two of the hostages. An acceptable amount I suppose given the circumstances. Still, you performed admirably, and those who survived the ordeal no doubt thank you for your efforts.”

Ethan nodded, saying nothing.

The Memento Mori had only just jumped back in system, currently in the process of docking with Anchor 9 on the behest of ONI. Ethan had been summoned to the bridge for a debrief with the very man who had recruited him to the BLACK Initiative, a nameless face of Section III who preferred the moniker of Jupiter, perhaps secretive by nature or by a deeper reasoning. The man looked down to the Lieutenant from the screen, dark eyed and with darker hair left unkempt, seeming casual in his demeanor if not for the unsettling aura he projected even when not speaking in person. ONI was never to be trusted, but this man even less so.

Jupiter continued. “We’ll grant you some time to grow accustomed to your new position. To settle in if you will. And don’t think we’ve been up to nothing while you were away. One can hardly man a ship with no one onboard, so we’ve made strides to transfer you a crew, including a few handpicked assets. They’ll be transferred once you’ve docked with the station. Until then, enjoy your day Mr. Woods.”

The transition cut out, throwing the bridge back into near darkness, the station, Anchor 9, visible in the distance and growing larger. They would be docking soon enough.

“That bastard still gives me the creeps,” muttered Shepherd from his command console. Ethan only nodded in response before turning to leave. The captain spun to watch him go. “Now that you got your feet wet, you regret accepting the offer?”

“I couldn’t refuse,” Ethan told the man, leaving the bridge, the door sliding shut behind him.

Shepherd could only chuckle. “Yeah, well, neither could I.”

[New Grestin]

"You think I'll be alright?"

The doctor sighed, tossing her gloves into a biohazard container. She fixed her hair as she spoke.

"Uh, yeah. Managed to get the bullet out, but the one in your leg shattered. Most of the pieces are out, but I make no guarantees it won't hurt like hell for a while."

Carol eased off the operating table and stretched. Her leg burned slightly, but nothing horrible. She nodded to the doctor and headed to the door.

"Thanks."
"No problem, just try to avoid being shot in the future."
"I make no guarantees."

Carol smiled and started down the hall. As she walked, she came across the dormitories. Nothing better to do, I guess. She shrugged and headed inside. The room was kept at a fairly neutral temperature, but she still shivered nonetheless as she wandered to her bunk and slid inside. She laid quietly and tried not to think about what had happened. She'd thought Bressler was an asshole, but now she understood. He was seriously fucked up. The eagerness with which he handed Ethan that pistol...

And I just went right along with it. I could have stopped them. I could have said something, anything.

She rolled over. Her gaze was greeted by little more than an unremarkable steel wall. Carol sighed and rolled onto her back, sliding off the bunk. For a brief moment, she looked around and, finding herself alone, she withdrew a pack of cigarettes from her shirt and lit one.

God, what the fuck are we doing? We just executed three people in cold blood. The way that woman screamed...

She jolted back to reality, wiping her eyes and sighing. She took a long drag and rolled back onto her bunk.

I just want to go home. Just forget about this whole fucking war and go back to the way things were.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

Bressler had returned his shotgun and extra equipment to the armory before he made his way to his quarters. Bressler keyed open the room to find a standard bunk and desk built into the floor, a small closest built into the wall, and his duffel and a few more hard cases laid out on the bunk. Bressler gave a sigh of relief as he moved to his duffel and unpacked his various uniforms to store in his closet except for a pair of ODST BDU's. The gunny stripped his armor off and stacked it on the desk after he piled his blood flecked clothing by the door for laundry later in the week.

Bressler made to move to the door when he stopped, after realizing he forgot two important objects. The first was his sidearm which he holstered in it's place on his right hip, the second was nestled in a hard case and had been a tradition of his unit ever since a particular drop where a beloved NCO had died.

Bressler exited the room with the object in hand and saw Folk moving down the hallway.

"Folk gather up the team in the rec room" Folk nodded and went off to get the rest of the team as the gunny moved down the hallway with a spring in his step in his clean BDU's.

OOC: Screw Auto correct.

[Ubaria]

"This is wrong"

There was to be no reply but the three claps of single pistol shots and then, nothing. Each body slumped to the floor face down in their own blood. Ilyas watched as it trickled down the floor towards his own feet. The trail snaked through the gaps in the floor plating and then into a corner of the room where it fell into a grate.

“We’re done here,” Ethan stated suddenly.

"Are we?"

---

15th October 2549 - UNSC Memento Mori - In Reach Orbit

"ONI don't scare me sir"

"They should..."

Those words now rung true in his ears. His old commander was right, and now he knew why. ONI had little regard for human life past their own, and would stop at nothing to tie up loose ends. Hell at the end of all this, Dragan wouldn't be surprised if he was on the receiving end of that gun, all he had to do was piss off the wrong person. Sighing, he tried to bury the thought as he gazed out of the observation deck, watching the grey blot of Anchor 9 draw closer against the brilliant blue and green aura of Reach. For a moment, Ilyas caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the glass, his scar a visible pink ridge over the rest of his darker skin. He brushed over it with a single finger, remembering back to the incident that earned him that feature.

---

5th November 2542 - Alluvion - Palvos Diamond Mining Complex

"Do you think we lost them..." One marine panted, placing both hands on his knees as the group of 6 soldiers came to a halt.

"I think so" The ODST to his right de-polarised his visor to take a good look at where they had ended up. It was a large almost symmetrical cavern, obviously man-made as all the tunnels before them were. About 100 foot across and at least 30 or 40 high. The roof was held up by large thick truss beams that had gantries running between them, as well as holding up large banks of halogen lights, however most of them had blown in a power surge and only two or three were still active, only giving off small pools of light at random points in the room. Deeper in the room, the silhouettes of various machinery could be made out including tunnel diggers, dump trucks and rock crushers all with the word 'Traxus Heavy Industries' written in bold white along the side.

"Where the hell are we anyway?" Another Marine, Staff Sergeant Schultz commented as he to took in the surroundings. Their frantic escape from a covenant search party had led them through criss crossing tunnels that looked almost identical, and nobody could remember which way they had turned and when. This was the first large area they had come across. The Staff Sergeant looked over to the ODST again, awaiting an answer.

"Well?" He quizzed again, this time more forcefully.

The ODST turned to him and simply shrugged, defeated for an answer.

"TACMAP is fucked, signal can't penetrate this far underground and i can't get Comms either.." He finally replied, tapping forcefully at his TACPAD mounted to his wrist.

Dragan meanwhile had finished recovering from his almost mile sprint by taking in big lungfulls of air, however the air down here was warm and full of dust, so it wasn't at all refreshing. He looked over the other two marines as well as the three ODST stood in a line before them. Dragan turned around expecting the rest of the Marine Squad and ODST detachment to be there, but they had all split up in the panic and confusion of the attack, some had ran into the mine and others attempted to fight their way back up the hill, probably being killed in the process.

"So you mean to tell us we're fucking stuck down here?" A different marine spoke, Private Moreson this time, he looked visibly pale and shaken, this being his first combat experience.

"No. These tunnels have emergency exits everywhere. We just have to find them" The lead ODST spoke whilst scanning the area with his VISR, he looked over the room three or four times all the while muttering something under the helmet.

"Alright i've picked out an exit to the cavern 40 foot to our right, vehicle tunnel. Lets move" He pointed out into the darkness and simply jogged off into the darkness. Without question the rest followed on.

The three ODST all had a fancy VISR system that allowed them to see in the dark, for the three marines however, they had to make do with helmet mounted flashlights which were significantly less effective, because you were constantly having to squint to make anything out in the bright light. As they trudged through gravel and mud they passed various vehicles parked at the side of the tunnel, some were obviously abandoned in a hurry as they were left with engines running or ditched with the doors open. Every few minutes there would be a loud thud, the roof would jolt and rocks would trickle down and clang of various metal surfaces, un-nerving the three marines, however the ODST seemed to be unphased by this. For a good fifteen minutes they walked down what seemed like an endless tunnel, passing identical roof beams and pillar supports until they emerged at another opening, this time however instead of a cavern, it was a pit. The bottom wasn't even visible and the only way across was a single gantry that expanded into a platform built into the other side.

"This doesn't look safe" Dragan commented, noticing how half the cables keeping the gantry up, had snapped or had fallen off.

"It's the only way across, and besides do you want to walk all the way back, they're probably on our tail right now" The ODST gruffed.

He was right, the only way forward was across this perilous drop, going back meant possibly running into the covenant search party again and that meant probable death. All their weapons were almost out of ammo and Moreson had even lost his, probably discarding it to run quicker.

"Ilyas, Moreson. On me. ODST's will cover our rear" Schultz ordered as he gingerly stepped onto the metal catwalk, it groaned slightly underfoot but held his weight as he proceeded across. Dragan was next, followed by Moreson who had to be nudged by one of the ODST.

"Stacker. Plant charges here. Covenant aren't following us across" The ODST captain spoke and pointed to the nearby wall.

Getting over took a couple of minutes full of careful stepping and pausing, but all of them made it across to the metal platform built into the wall at the far end. The ODST Stacker was the last across after he had finished planting the explosives.

"Fire in the hole" He clicked the detonator.

The explosive worked and blew half the wall out holding the catwalk up and it simply fell into the abyss, an audible crash coming a good 5 seconds later from the bottom of the pit, indicating its vast depth.

The group turned to move forward but were blocked by a large metal blast door, big enough to fit a dump truck through, and it was locked tight. However beside the door was a little control booth with the door left hanging open. Inside would probably be the controls to open the main door. One of the ODST was already on it and had entered the booth and stood hunched over the control panel, something was wrong however as he kept jabbing at the keypad to no effect, and had to turn over to a monitor on his left.

"The door is emergency locked from the outside. It will take a minute or two to bypass" He informed whilst tapping furiously into the console.

Everyone froze in place at once as a deafeningly loud shriek reverberated through the cavern. Flashlights danced about as they tried to pinpoint the source of the sound, and almost simultaneously everyone came to the same conclusion.

It was coming from above.

The flashlights slowly moved up to reveal large stalactites, not naturally formed however. As their occupants had all emerged from their holes and were staring downwards. Yellow eyes, dozens of them were illuminated by the flashlights.

"Fuck...FUCK! BUGGERS!"

The whole ceiling seemed to move at once, the drones dived down in unison and bombarded the group, scratching wildly with their serrated claws. The noise was overbearing, the beating of their wings, the screeching and scrabbling was almost deafening. Dragan and Shultzer opened up with their rifles into the swarm, hitting something wasn't hard as the whole area was filled with the things.

"Get the fucking door open now!" The ODST captain frantically ordered and opened up with his own SMG, downing at least a dozen in the spray of lead, though it barely made a difference as the gap was plugged by more.

Dragan went to reload and saw Moreson go down, a bugger had set upon him and was lashing at him with its forearms. As he went to move though, Dragan was knocked face down onto the floor from behind, landing with a clang. His whole head swam as he looked up, bleary eyed to see Moreson's own face get torn off by the Yanme'es set of mandibles, his screams were quickly turned to gargles, the blood managing to seep into the trachea causing a slow death by drowning internally. Though if that wasn't enough, another one started to tear at his stomach, ripping out the intestines like ribbon.

Grabbed from behind, Dragan expected to be next however it was Schultz, who pulled him to his feet with one hand, and fired his rifle with the other.

"He's dead. Fall back to the door!" Were to be his final words. A Drone snatched him up from behind, hoisting him by the shoulders before dropping him into the abyss they had just crossed. Screaming faded away slowly as he was claimed to the dark.

"Doors open! We are fucking leaving" One of the ODST had turned to help and pushed him back before being skewered by a drone straight through the chest, though Dragan didn't see what happened next as one had landed upon him, and began scrabbling at his face. Feebly he tried to shield himself with his arms but it wasn't effective, he felt a sharp pain come through his cheek as it managed to claw a deep wound right upwards, across his eye.

Everything was starting to go blurry, blood trickled from his wound and obscured his vision with a red veil, his head pounded as he was constantly battered by the chitinous wings of the insectoid like creatures. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious was a bright yellow explosion followed by a metallic dragging sound.

When Dragan finally awoke, he was being tended to by a Medic on-board a Pelican that was leaving the planet. Apparently the ODST's had used industrial explosive charges to collapse the whole nest into the mine and dragged the back then Private, into a industrial transport truck and driven fifteen miles down a highway to an exfil point. All the while under banshee fire. He never saw the pair of ODST that had saved him again, and he doubted to this day he would.

[Dernland]

Ghost
Anchor 9, Reach orbit, Epsilon Eridani
2110 hours, 15 October 2549 Military Calendar


Ghost watched the Memento Mori dock with the station. He used his helmet's view enhancer to get a better look at the ship. Single MAC gun, thirty-five Archer Missile pods, fourteen point defense guns. A true beauty, bred for war. Too bad she'll be nothing but slag in a few months, and me along with it. Ghost blinked a few times to revert his view to the regular HUD. The helmet could respond to his thoughts if he concentrated on certain things, but he found the old blinking and chinning methods to be more reliable. He reached out and grabbed hold of one of the many handholds in the observation deck. There was no gravity in this section of the station, one of the many reasons that Ghost enjoyed his time there. Something about null-gravity made him feel at peace. He pulled himself to the door and keyed the exit code. The guard gave another guess at who Ghost had been with and Ghost just replied with another shake of his head. Ghost returned to the barracks and retrieved his belongings. He had very few possessions as the UNSC had given him all that he needed, nothing more.

Ghost made his way to the docking umbilical on the starboard side of the station. He showed the guard his identification, and the guard let him pass with a wary glare. Most people mistrust ONI, but even more flat out despise them. Ghost once again felt the bliss of null gravity as he passed through the tube connecting the two titans of human engineering. He entered the Memento Mori and touched down on the deck, back on 'solid' ground. Ghost flashed his I.D. at another guard and continued on his way. His destination was the bridge, and his new commander. He caught the Lieutenant as the man was leaving the bridge. Ghost snapped a sharp salute and held out a data-pad that contained his service record and transfer documents.

[Vacif]

After the mission was over, Hadrian dropped his gear off at the armory, eager to get the vacuum suit off. He was dressed in some simple clothes, a black T-shirt, and pants. As the ship docked with Anchor 9, Hadrian made his way to the galley. It was a habit of getting a bite to eat after a mission. There weren't many people there, but there were certainly more people there than he'd seen in the ship before the mission. Grabbing a tray, and a modest amount of grub, he sat himself down at one of the tables beside the reinforced windows. There was little chatter in the room, the sound of forks clinking against trays ruled all, but Hadrian didn't mind. He just wanted to keep his mind occupied.

[Feroxi]

Beep, beep, beep...

Thorne wasn't really a morning person in any sense of the word. He really hoped that this was his alarm going off, not a ticking bomb counting down to a fiery death. The Spartan rolled over on his oddly comfortable mattress, facing his other side to identify the source of that annoying noise; luckily, it wasn't a timed explosive. He stretched his hand over to the annoying piece of machinery and fumbled as he struggled to locate its power button. Finally, he found his mark, and slammed his palm against it. That little motion swiftly silenced it. Thorne tumbled back onto his side and closed his eyes, trying to fall back into a deep sleep. Of course, that didn't happen. He tossed and turned, back and forth, until he just couldn't take it anymore.

He sat upwards and swung his legs over to the side of the bed. His feet planted themselves firmly on the cold metal flooring of the ship's deck as he stood up. Thorne stretched his arms outward, hearing the distinct pop of his joints, and let out a sigh of relief. He supposed it was probably time to go out and meet his new community of ONI sanctioned madmen. First, he'd need to get dressed. The Spartan-III never really felt comfortable in fatigues, especially around other people. He preferred having an inch or two of titanium between him and any other breathing person, rather than some fabric. Something about his Semi-Powered Infiltration armor made him feel safe, secure, and truly at home all at the same time. He slid his under suit on, then the plates, and lastly the helmet.

Thorne thumbed the keypad next to his quarters' door. It slid open with a hiss and he walked out. His room's entrance lead to a path through the barracks' main corridor. He walked through the door and began walking down the passage, where bunks surrounded him on both sides, lined evenly next to each other. It seemed there was no one around, strangely. They were most likely together in the mess hall, doing what people to do with each other when they're not under fire, which Thorne frankly had no idea of. He kept on walking towards the exit. Suddenly, he noticed an object out of the corner of his eye. No, not an object, a person. It was a woman.

Oh, it was Deckard; Caroline Deckard, the lone wolf. She was in her bunk and appeared to be wiping her eyes and smoking one of those little death sticks that people insisted on using to ruin their body and the health of those around them. What'd they call them? Cigarettes?

Regardless, she seemed to be depressed. Thorne stopped in his tracks and just stood there for a couple seconds. He finally spoke up, "Corporal... er, Caroline?" Social situations were definitely not his forte. "I'm heading to the mess hall. Care to come?"

[New Grestin]

"Corporal... er, Caroline?" "I'm heading to the mess hall. Care to come?"

Carol jolted out of her stupor at the sound of her name. She looked up and her breath caught. A spartan was standing over her. Quickly fixing her hair, she rose from her bunk.

"Uh-"

Her mind was drawing a blank. Even in her time in the service, she'd only ever heard about Spartans. She'd never seen one, let alone had one talk to her.

"...h-hi? I mean, uh, yeah, sure."

The cigarette dropped from her mouth. Frustrated, Carol quickly snubbed it out and returned her gaze to the Spartan. She was face to, well, visor, with a type of soldier she'd been convinced was just some bullshit the recruits made up to feel better. And yet, here was one. Not just standing there, but standing there talking to her. She scratched her head and walked with the Spartan towards the mess hall. The awkward silence as they trudged along was palpable. Finally, Carol simply sighed and spoke.

"So, you seem to know my name. You got one?"

[Feroxi]

Deckard, like all the others who were not of Spartan ilk, seemed to be surprised by the sight of him. He understood; if a walking tank of metal and augmented biology walked up to him, he'd be a little curious too. Whether she was filled astonishment, fear, or admiration, however, was unknown to him. The two employees of the Office of Naval Intelligence walked together to the Memento Mori's mess hall in a deafening silence.

That is, until Caroline broke it, "So, you seem to know my name. You got one?"

Thorne replied almost mechanically, "Spartan A095, formerly of Alpha Company." Afterward, he realized that he had sounded more machine than human. He found that strange; in his mind, he was always free and outspoken... but around others, it was like he was back at boot camp and going through indoctrination all over again. He found that he was holding his breath, and he exhaled as he tried to reply casually, "But, you can call me Thorne if you'd like."

[New Grestin]

"Spartan A095, formerly of Alpha Company."

His tone was utterly mechanical, as though he'd rehearsed the line a thousand times before. Carol gave him an odd look, but the Spartan quickly spoke again. He was apparently trying to be a bit more casual.

"But, you can call me Thorne if you'd like."

She smiled, stepping inside the mess hall and looking over the gathered soldiers. Thankfully, Bressler wasn't among them. She turned back to Thorne, sticking her hand out to shake his.

"Well, Thorne is certainly easier to remember."

Pausing for a moment, Carol dove her hands into her pockets and sighed.

"So, how'd you get suckered into this thing? I can't imagine ONI intimidated you into it, seeing as how you're...you know."

[GlobalControl]

Chase stepped through the docking bay doors and stepped in to the corridor leading in to the Memento Mori.
As he walked through the corridor, he glanced out the side windows and watched as longswords flew passed the station, and workers in Suites walked across the skeletons of Frigate class ships, being assembled to be used in various tasks, one such was fighting in the war. He moved passed crewmen and officers that were moving to and from the doors of the ship and station.

He stepped through the open door in to the airlock of the Memento Mori and weaved through the groups of crewmen that walked the corridors of the ship. Chase moved through numerous corridors and hallways until he finally reached the Briefing room. He opened the door, and stepped in to the room, closing it behind him.

[Beiarusia]

Ghost made his way to the docking umbilical on the starboard side of the station. He showed the guard his identification, and the guard let him pass with a wary glare. Most people mistrust ONI, but even more flat out despise them. Ghost once again felt the bliss of null gravity as he passed through the tube connecting the two titans of human engineering. He entered the Memento Mori and touched down on the deck, back on 'solid' ground. Ghost flashed his I.D. at another guard and continued on his way. His destination was the bridge, and his new commander. He caught the Lieutenant as the man was leaving the bridge. Ghost snapped a sharp salute and held out a data-pad that contained his service record and transfer documents.

Ethan had just stepped out from the bridge when he was greeted by an unfamiliar face, the younger man snapping off a well practiced salute before handing the Lieutenant a datapad that, upon closer inspection, held his service record and all other relevant data. Ethan looked first from the datapad and then to the man and then back again, feeling that the entire situation was a bit awkward at best. Not knowing what to do with the portable device he gave it back to the man, feeling certain that Dawn would have any information concerning this new arrival, and everyone on board for that matter, well within reach of her fingertips.

“Tucker. A new asset I supposed.” Ethan shook the man’s hand, being if nothing but friendly despite the man’s somewhat off demeanor. A spook. Ethan had only glanced at the information handed him but had caught mention of ONI Section III. “Glad to have you aboard. I take it you just arrived? I was on my way to the mess hall. If there’s something I could help you with you’re welcomed to come along.”

Ethan stepped around the man, feeling certain that Tucker would tag along. The ship was currently in the process of being populated with an actual crew, so it was safe to assume that most would head to the mess hall after getting settled, that and Ethan had yet to have a decent meal since arriving. It would be a good enough time to see just what he was working with. ONI may have given him the manpower, but it was up to the Lieutenant to see to it that they saw the end of this thing, alive if at all possible, and doing just that would be a near impossibility if he didn’t at least know the ground crew, the people he would be seeing combat alongside. Ethan wasn’t too keen on being overly sociable, but observing the men and women watching his back would give him peace of mind.

Perhaps he would see more of ONI’s assets sent aboard the Memento Mori.

[Taigawa]

Anchor 9, Reach Orbit, Epsilon Eridani, 2549 (Military calander)

Felicia had just been sent to Anchor 9, one of the three repair and refit stations in orbit over the UNSC fortress-world of Reach. She didn't exactly approve of her assignment there, but as a mere lieutenant, she didn't exactly have the authority to dispute it either. Eventually, she was approached by two agents, clearly in service to ONI. Without so much as a word, they escorted her onto a ship called the Momento Mori and left her with the first officer they found. Felicia said nothing, but stood at attention, awaiting orders.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

Bressler had returned his shotgun and extra equipment to the armory before he made his way to his quarters. Bressler keyed open the room to find a standard bunk and desk built into the floor, a small closest built into the wall, and his duffel and a few more hard cases laid out on the bunk. Bressler gave a sigh of relief as he moved to his duffel and unpacked his various uniforms to store in his closet except for a pair of ODST BDU's. The gunny stripped his armor off and stacked it on the desk after he piled his blood flecked clothing by the door for laundry later in the week.

Bressler made to move to the door when he stopped, after realizing he forgot two important objects. The first was his sidearm which he holstered in it's place on his right hip, the second was nestled in a hard case and had been a tradition of his unit ever since a particular drop where a beloved NCO had died.

Bressler exited the room with the object in hand and saw Folk moving down the hallway.

"Folk gather up the team in the rec room" Folk nodded and went off to get the rest of the team as the gunny moved down the hallway with a spring in his step in his clean BDU's.

OOC: Screw Auto correct.

Bressler sighed as he sat in the rec hal. Well more for me the gunny thought as he filled twelve shot glasses halfway with earth made whiskey. Brewster had five more bottles secure in a hard case in his room and the bottle he held was only half empty. The alcohol had been liberated from a freighter during a search and seized a few years back, and the platoon sergeant had started a tradition with the dozens of liberated bottles. After every mission the platoon would have a half filled glass of the liquid to celebrate a successful return and on the occasion acknowledge a departed comrade. However, most of them had been destroyed with the Resolution, the only reason these bottles existed was because Bressler had left them in a warehouse on Reach.

Well, no ones coming. Shame to let them go to waste The gunny thought as he picked up a glass and let the golden liquid slide down his throat.

Here's to Donny... Griffin...Ben..... Nine glasses later the gunny was staggering slightly as he took a swig of the bottle.

[Ubaria]

"Little early for that isn't it Gunny?"

Ilyas chuckled as the doors to the Rec room clicked shut behind him. The Gunnery Sergeant sat alone in the middle of the room, pouring himself shot after shot of whiskey, slowly slipping into inebriation. He was mumbling something incoherent under his breath with every shot he slammed back his neck. Dragan took it upon himself to take a seat opposite Bressler, he lent forward and eyed over the bottle of whiskey.

"Do you mind if i..." He motioned to the bottle.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

"Little early for that isn't it Gunny?"

Ilyas chuckled as the doors to the Rec room clicked shut behind him. The Gunnery Sergeant sat alone in the middle of the room, pouring himself shot after shot of whiskey, slowly slipping into inebriation. He was mumbling something incoherent under his breath with every shot he slammed back his neck. Dragan took it upon himself to take a seat opposite Bressler, he lent forward and eyed over the bottle of whiskey.

"Do you mind if i..." He motioned to the bottle.

"More then enough ......go....around." Bressler slurred as he shakily thrust the bottle at the corporal. " You ever kill Innies before?.....I remember my first.... Do you remember the Elysium City crackdown?"