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The Spartan was running. Running as fast as he could manage. Bolts of plasma burned through the air around him. His shields flared in the lethal heat that narrowly missed him. The dirt beneath his feet crunched beneath his enormous weight. His mind was a flurry with the dangers he faced, his only clear thoughts were screaming at him to find cover. But this area was as barren and dry as the Sahara with only a few rocks and charred husks of Wraiths dotting the landscape. But there was a single boulder only twenty yards ahead of him. Seeming to shine with the promise of safety. His run quickly moved into a mad sprint as a bolt of plasma slammed squarely into his back. The shields gave way to the hit and alarms blared in his ears. The next hit would surely fry him alive.

A series of savage yells sounded, demanding he turn and fight them. To face his death with honor. Instead, he dove over the rock and slammed into the ground heavily. His face planted firmly to the gritty dust. There he lay for several seconds, keeping a careful eye on his close range motion sensor. The tell-tale red dots not showing themselves in the diameter. He breathed harshly through his

re-breather, the sharp hisses were the only sounds to beat the haze in his head. Even though his shields blocked almost all the plasma blasts he had endured. He could still feel some of his skin burned through his layers of armor. But the pain wasn't nearly the worst part, the worst part was still ahead of him.

He put his arms out and pushed against the unforgiving earth. He managed to get to his knees and fall back against the rock. He splayed out and struggled to catch his breath. The shield generator popped and sparked, attempting to recharge to full capacity. The Spartan instinctively brought his hand up to his face to wipe off the sweat. Instead the butt of his gun slapped his visor. He was surprised to find he hadn't dropped the Magnum on his way here and cursed his armor's fried climate control. The clip dropped from the Magnum and hit the ground with an empty thud. He felt around for an extra clip but came up empty. His shields slowly began to build again but halted near the halfway mark. An exasperated sigh escaped from his lips as he looked to the sky. "You are one sick fuck." he muttered.

The Spartan tossed away the Magnum and reached for the Battle Rifle held to his back. There was a magnetic release and he pulled the gun over his head. He checked the round counter which read an astounding 21 shots left. Unfortunately he didn't have any extra clips left for it either. Which didn't surprise him. This place was crawling with Remnant Covenant forces. So many in fact, he was convinced that this had been a long-standing Covenant controlled area. With Wraiths and Ghosts and Unggoy and Sangheili, all in frankly astonishing numbers. The Commander saw fit to put a 'Squad' of Spartans in to clean up. 'Squad' apparently being the generous term for one Spartan. Along with 'clean up' being an alternative to 'Struggle for your miserable life'.

At this point he wasn't sure if this was a cruel joke. But by the way the Commander had been ordering him around it must be a very serious joke. As if on cue, his com indicator shot on.

"Crimson, what's your status on Firestorm?" the Commander asked with a hint of impatience, but even that was putting kindly.

He gritted his teeth and brought his rifle against his chest. "In progress ma'am. Only about a platoon left." he barely managed to keep sarcasm from his tone. He checked his surroundings in the time it took her to respond. The sun burned brightly in the sky overhead and was cooking a pile of grunts about forty feet to his left. Along with their standard Plasma pistols. Other than those weapons there were really no other viable options. Unless he risked a fifty yard run in the opposite direction for a Storm Rifle. Hardly worth the risk.

"We need that base down if we're going to secure the surrounding areas, Crimson. Now get it done, and quickly." With that his com shot off.

He shook his head and eyed the discarded weapons with an unsure frown. If he was going to make it through this he would definitely need more than twenty-one rounds. It was hard to say exactly how many Covenant were still left. Last he saw them there were many of the Unggoy still waddling around their esteemed leaders, hoping they would last. Maybe about six or seven Sangheili left, more than enough to snuff out a 'squad' of Spartans. The Spartan dragged himself to his feet wearily and hunkered into a sloppy dash position. He swung his rifle back over his shoulder and an audible 'thunk' sounded. If he was going to grab one of those pistols he was gonna have to be fast. His motion sensor revealed no movement in any direction near him. But he knew their weapons trained to his position. With itchy fingers at that.

He breathed in rapid successions and clenched his fists several times to limber them up. With one deep breath he pushed himself forward as hard as he could. After a half second of being in full sight the Sangheili were unloading at him, trying to lead their shots to the proper degree. At least two of them were using Carbines, the others used Storm Rifles. Again their shots were near flawless, managing to graze him and send his shield reeling. The Unggoy were firing wildly at him, not as accurate as their Elite overlords but still enough to cause damage. He dove for one of the outermost pistols and rolled over it. Grabbing it on the rebound he headed back to the solitary rock for cover. His shields exploded with its final block. He wasn't even halfway back to cover. He was sweating bullets and yelled defiantly. He would make it there, even if it was the last thing he would ever do. A Carbine shot whistled right in front of his visor and caused his vision to blur. Another struck his shoulder guard and deflected to the side.

He neared the cover, merely feet away when a plasma bolt struck his right lower leg guard. The burning sensation so intense he immediately began to fall to the ground. Before he could even think of how to react his body took over. He swung around and landed on his back, he slid along the ground for several feet and came to a heavy halt behind the cover. His leg plate was melting and in a flash of panicked strength he tore off the armor and threw it to the side. Leaving his lower leg bare, and his shield completely disabled. "Fuck!" he cursed, his skin bubbled and bled with horrible drooling blisters. The motion sensor lit up with enemy icons incoming. The Spartan instantly built a mental wall to block the pain and scrambled to his feet. The pain of standing smashed against him but ultimately failed to bring him to his knees. His whole body nearly seized in a sensory overload.

The Sangheili were shouting orders at the Unggoy underlings. Telling them to move in and finish the pathetic wretch. One of the Sangheili though was shouting something in its native tongue. It sounded a little upset about something. The others were slowly drifting from their orders to partake in the native jabber. The Grunts took little notice and hopped over to the execution area with almost excited glee that this Demon had finally been brought down.

The Spartan readied his plasma pistol to fire. These Unggoy seemed to assume he must be unable to fight, because they were all coming around one side. This turned out to be a pleasant change of pace to him. The first grunt walked around to behold a standing Spartan with a Plasma pistol held at its head. It only managed a small yelp as it's head became engulfed in burning green plasma. The others jumped in surprise at the sudden eruption of their friend's head and began to panic. They scrambled and called out to their Elite overseers with frantic babble. The Spartan dove from cover and began firing at the flailing figures dashing throughout the field. The Unggoy stood little chance against the plasma weapon without shields. Their armor and flesh burned equally under the unforgiving blasts of green energy.

Some of them thought better of their grim situation. The Sangheili had apparently forgotten their Unggoy companions and were instead arguing fiercely among themselves, and lifting their weapons at each other. Several of the stunted creatures turned back around and fired wildly at the bright green Spartan, screaming curses and swears in their own native tongue. The Spartan had been well versed with Covenant weapons in his survival course as well as previous engagements. He knew how long the Plasma weapon in his hands could potentially last. As well as its overall accuracy and tendency to overheat if fired too rapidly. The bolts never failed to strike his intended targets. Though some of the little bastards turned and fired back, most of them were still trying to find a place to run to. The Spartan was smart enough to prioritize them. The ones that realized there was no safety to be had and returned fire were the first to go. Their blue blood spilled from the sudden blistering wounds. They let out terrible screeches of pain and dropped to the earth. His motion sensor was quickly being cleared of the threatening dots.

Though three dots were moving around the rock. Appearing to move for his flank. Only two more Unggoy were left scrambling about the field in front of him. The pistol was burning in his hands, it couldn't have much of a charge left, not enough to take out the remaining five. So he settled for the two scramblers. Three bolts he squeezed from the trigger, the first one fell with frenzied gurgles. His forth shot flew for the second and engulfed its left leg, sending it to the ground with pained screams as it's weapon fell from its hand. The pistol clicked unresponsively as he pressed the trigger a couple more times. It was out. The readings on his motion sensor were approaching from behind. The Spartan turned just as the first Unggoy rounded the rock.

The Spartan thought fast as the alien leveled its gun to him. He brought the pistol behind his head and hurled it as hard as he could manage. The Unggoy could barely register the object as it slammed across its face and caused it to on its heel. The creatures back was exposed and the Spartan ran at his prone opponent. One of its comrades bumped into it and sent it stumbling back in the Spartans direction. He prepared himself to give the little bastard a kick right in its methane tank. He brought his leg back and swung it forward with a strained grunt. His foot smashed through the outer armored husk and into the methane tanks within. Methane immediately began to spray from the tanks as he pulled his boot free.

The Unggoy behind the first screamed in frustration and tried to aim its pistol to fire around his comrade. The Spartan dove back as the green bolt was released from its metal prison. Time itself seemed to slow as the Spartan watched the bolt fly through the methane gas spilling from the penetrated tanks. The gas ignited instantly at the intense heat. The Spartan was still midair as the tank exploded violently, vaporizing its wearer and propelling him through the air.

A haze of white blurred his vision as he regained his bearings. He laid on his back, looking into the smoke-filled sky with a hopeless groan. His body ached terribly and dust settled lightly to his unshielded visor. For the first time he could recall on this planet he was tempted to stay there and rest. The urge was unbearable. He gripped the ground beneath him to make sure his hands still worked. His Heads-Up-Display flickered weakly before finally disappearing completely. Letting him know his entire system had failed. Leaving only him and the thick plates of metal and layers of gel. He lifted his arm slowly, very slowly. His neurological connections had lost all the power that was driving them. Besides his speed, he also noted his armor weighed considerably more than it had before. He pulled himself up into sitting position with a harsh pain writhing through his entire body. He looked around himself in a daze. There were corpses, a lot of corpses. The sand showed a deep trench that stretched for several meters, ending with him. There was a smoldering crater next to the rock along with the charred remains of the Unggoy that were scattered about. Though all the death around him seemed something from the most heroic war stories he had ever heard. He felt like luckiest bastard that could ever hope to be. Just because he was still alive.

He could hear a scuffle not to far away from him. He managed to stand with a considerable amount of effort and reached over his shoulder to grab his gun. His hand grasped at empty air. He turned around and saw his Battle Rifle lay on the ground. As his suit had totally shut down he wasn't necessarily surprised. He picked it up and turned to where the Sangheili had been last he saw them.

There were three still standing. Two Zealot class and one... Shipmaster? It was difficult to tell, it's armor seemed reminiscent of the usual Shipmaster armor design with a few minor cosmetic differences. Though to see one on the field was unexpected, to say the least. It appeared some sort of ship-less mutiny was afoot. The two Zealots had Energy swords drawn and were approaching the Shipmaster with determined caution. The Shipmaster seemed none too happy, its own sword drawn and it was backing away from its combatants. The other Sangheili were strewn about the field with burned cuts through their chests, and one seemed to be beheaded.

The Spartan doubted his eyes for a couple of seconds, but one of the Zealots dashed in for a strike and met blades with its superior. The Shipmaster spat at the Zealot's feet and came around for the counter strike. The Zealot pulled back just in time to avoid being gutted, but not soon enough to spare his shields from the grazing blow. The shields fell and the Spartan suddenly saw his chance to inflict damage. He lifted his gun and aimed carefully for the creature's head. He squeezed the trigger and three rounds exploded from the barrel with tearing force. The Sangheili's head exploded at the sudden crushing force of the three rounds. It's lifeless body stuck the ground immediately.

The two Elites looked to him with surprise. Suddenly forsaking all hatred they harbored for each other and fixing their glares to the green and yellow Demon that stood with a smoking gun in his hands. Quite suddenly, his good idea had degraded to a poor plan. The Zealot was the first to start running toward him at alarming speed and the Shipmaster wasn't far behind him. The Spartan realigned his sights to the Zealot.

B-r-raap!

The Zealot didn't sway from its path and it's shield flared with an easy deflection.

B-r-raap!

It stumbled slightly as the third bullet struck its right leg. The shield flickered at the shot, solid but failing.

B-r-raap!

It screamed defiantly at his attempt and continued its mad charge. The shield expelled a small static discharge but continued its stubborn defense of its host.

B-r-raap!

The Sangheili's shield gave way to the final round merely eight feet away. It stumbled in failing hopes but managed to regain its footing, it eyed him with determined fury. The Spartan allowed himself to breathe a small breath of relief before he squeezed the trigger once more.

B-r-raap!

A spray of dark violet blood exploded from behind the Sangheili's head. It fell back at the force of the rounds and it's sword dissipated as the hilt fell from his grasp and into the dirt.

The Shipmaster yelled out a challenge as it quickly closed the gap between them. The Spartan had stark few seconds to act before the creature would attack. He braced himself for the inevitable swing. The Sangheili raised it sword and came in for a high cut. He brought in his rifle and raised it to meet the creatures blade. The hilt came down on the solid metal of the rifle and shattered against it, the blade dissipated as the device crumbled. He looked at the pieces of metal showering around him with disbelief, the sword actually broke!?

As the Spartan stood in shock the Sangheili slammed its foot against his chest, sending him tumbling back hard and his gun fell to the ground. The beast stood over him and lifted a foot over his visor. He rolled to the side as the foot stomped to ground next to his head. The miss seemed almost entirely intentional. He pulled himself back to his feet and struck forward with his fist. The alien caught it easily long before it even came close to connecting. It twisted his arm and he hit the ground again, knocking the air from his lungs. The Sangheili laughed in amusement and turned from him, walking back several feet before turning back around. The Spartan still lay on the ground reeling from the last attack. His breaths were hurried and hoarse. Clearly exhausted from his prior engagements of the day.

He was able to stand after a couple of moments. His movements were wobbly and unsure. Every part that made up his body begged him to surrender. There was no possibility of victory anymore. His vision refused to focus on the alien that stood a couple of yards away. He could tell that the creature watched him. Though it would be impossible to read its face in his current condition. He assumed it was some sort of threatening stare. Sangheili were always quite fond of sizing up their opponents before they took the glory of killing them. When it came down to it, he wouldn't be able to fight it off. But he would give it his damnedest.

The Sangheili watched him for longer than he thought it would. It seemed to be waiting for something. It spoke to him after a minute. The native tongue which he didn't know.

"Don't speak Sangheil'." he managed with a ragged cough.

It huffed, not surprised. It didn't reply for a moment. "Broken?" It said with effort.

"I think I could take you..." he stated flatly, a little surprised that the question seemed to pertain to his health.

The Elite grunted with frustration. "Armor, broken?" It reiterated.

The Spartan pursed his lips. He was definitely not going to answer that question. Though if it had to ask he was sure it already guessed. If this Sangheili was at all familiar with Spartans it would know he would have shields. His lack of them must be a shining giveaway.

The alien shrugged and reached behind it's back. The shields flared and dissipated with controlled steadiness. It's hand reappeared and it beckoned to him. "Fair fight." It declared in rough English.

Hardly fair, but he was inclined to accept the generosity. He decided he would put on a bit of a show, see if he could get the Shipmaster to run away. "Don't expect me to do you any favors like that." He stood up straight and shifted into a hand-to-hand combat stance. He approached the Sangheili cautiously. They were superior to humans physically and had a nasty habit of fighting with increased strength and dexterity. At least compared to normal humans, they were as capable as Spartans. Elites had one advantage against Spartans, size. They always used it wisely, but size doesn't always win battles.

The Sangheili didn't budge as he approached. As far as he could tell, it didn't even flinch. It just watched. He knew he couldn't show this one any fear. He moved forward for the first strike. The alien arm brushed it aside and swung back at him. He ducked under the blow and went in for an uppercut. The Shipmaster took a step back and his fist passed harmlessly in front of its face. The Elite lifted a fist and brought it down on top of his helmet hard. He stumbled back dazed at the blow. It laughed at him as he took a moment to clear his head. He dove back in as the creature continued to chuckle and slammed his fist in the center of its chest-plate. It stumbled back and coughed at the unexpected blow. It looked down at its chest to behold a large dent.

It looked back up to the Spartan with a hard gaze and brought out its fist. It slammed the right side of its own chest-plate and growled in challenge. The dent it created was larger than the first. A slight tinge of nervousness found its way to his throat and tightened it. Suddenly he didn't feel so confident. The Sangheili leaped to his front and struck out at him with its leg. The Spartan narrowly managed to escape the blow with a roll to the side. He shot up and took a few steps back from it, trying to spot any weaknesses in its armor or strategy. But as it was a Shipmaster, the armor guarded most of the Sangheili's body and so far it's strategy seemed flawed in only one area. Pride. Though that wasn't something he could exploit conventionally. Only the Sangheili could make that useful to him.

It brought down its leg and swung its fist at the Spartan. He pushed it aside with his arm and kept his arms up, ready to block more inevitable blows. The Sangheili stepped forward with a grunt and grabbed his arms violently. The Spartan was caught on guard, he cursed himself for being so open to the grapple. It lifted its leg again and drove it's 'knee' into his gut. Smashing the wind from him with the sudden force. Then, his weariness finally caught up with him. His knees gave out and he fell to them with hoarse breaths. The Sangheili was the only reason he managed to avoid the ground. It still held his arms and it watched him carefully as he struggled to breathe.

"Stand, Demon!" The Shipmaster ordered, seeming disappointed at his display so far. It started to squeeze his arms in its grasp. He flinched in surprise as he felt the metal plates start to bend. The metal squealed at the pressure being applied to it. The armor wasn't being crushed enough for him to get hurt, but he was sure it wouldn't be long before it gave way entirely.

Finally he was able to take a deep breath and think clearly. The situation began to fall into place and he saw an opening. He brought his leg up and planted his foot to the ground. He pushed against the Sangheili with all his might. It didn't give him much leeway. But it seemed thrilled to see him fighting back, regardless. It pushed down on him even harder, trying to force him back into submission. The Spartan slowly began to descend back to the ground. He lowered his head in concentration and pushed with every remaining ounce of energy he could summon. His muscles burned in the exertion he forced himself into. Slowly he began to rise again. Suddenly he let his arms give way to the Sangheili's opposing force. The creature stumbled forward and the Spartans helmet shot upwards into its unshielded face. Smashing into its mouth and sending it stumbling backwards a couple long steps. The Sangheili growled in pain and frustration as it cradled its face in its hands. It swore curses as it looked back to the human. The Spartan was on his hands and knees, breathing harshly through the filters of his helmet and staring to the barren dirt beneath him. The Shipmaster spat purple blood to the ground and huffed angrily. It looked to its fallen former comrade, only a couple of yards away and spotted his sword upon the ground. "Your death will be the pleasure of my new trophy!" It said in its native tongue. It moved to retrieve the weapon.

The Spartan listened carefully to the Sangheili's footfalls, which were moving away from him. For a second he couldn't believe it. He looked and saw that it was going for its dead friend. He looked for where he dropped his gun quickly. It was only a few feet away from him. He stood as fast as he could manage, which was admittedly slow and considerably painful. Mostly due to his fried leg, bruised body and malfunctioning armor. He managed to limp his way over to the gun and pick it up. He checked the counter, which had a crack running through it and the numbers read 88. Though he was decently sure there weren't 88 rounds left.

There was a sharp cry of rage from the Sangheili. He turned to see it sprinting toward him with an energy sword drawn, closing the distance faster than he would like. He brought the gun to a level on the creature and prayed there were still shots left. The Elite picked up the pace as he tried to steady the crosshairs. His best chance to bring it down was to aim for the head, as its body was heavily plated and could most likely withstand any shots he may have left. He put the reticule as close as he could manage and desperately squeezed the trigger. The gun unleashed a powerful spray of rounds with thundering suddenness. The Sangheili's head snapped back. The helmet it wore flew off and it's body slammed into the dirt with a solid thud. The sword fell from its grasp and dissipated into it's metal grip.

For the first time today, the Spartan lowered his weapon with a satisfied sigh. He would live to fight another day. He began his short trek to check if his Alien friend was still breathing. But even as he approached he could see it's chest-plate rise and fall in steady rhythm. "Of course you're still alive..." He grumbled. "Wouldn't want to make it too easy or anything." he continued to rant swears under his breath. Eager to let out all the aggression and frustration he had dealt with for the whole day. He looked over the Sangheili to spot the wounds he inflicted. However, there didn't seem to be any signs of bullet entry anywhere.

The Elite's helmet lay not too far from where it fell. He knelt and picked it up to inspect it. There was a large dent right in the front center of the forehead. "Damn." he muttered, impressed with the Sangheili's luck and his own shot. "Gotta give you some credit buddy. You put up a good fight." he noted with a chuckle. "But I can't leave you hanging around or anything." He tossed the helmet to the side and stood back to his feet. He pointed his gun to its head and pulled the trigger. Which resulted in an unresponsive 'click'. "Oh, fer god's sake!" he pulled the trigger three more times, each more pointless than the last. "Like my hands aren't dirty enough..." He shook his head and threw the weapon away from him spitefully. "You know, I'm really tired today." he vented to the unconscious Sangheili, clearly reaching his wit's end. "So here's what's gonna happen. You are now a Prisoner of War. Hooray..." he added sarcastically. "So I'm going to call for evac, let them know it's a ride for two and find something to tie you up with. I'm sure one of your subordinates would be glad to provide rope, or something to subdue you. But you can just sit here and I'll get that all taken care of. Don't worry your pretty little head." He gave the Sangheili's face a couple playful slaps.

The Spartan limped across the field to the closest corpse. He kicked over the dead Zealot with little regard and bent down. Some Sangheili kept small packs of emergency supplies on them at all times. Especially post-war Sangheili. Most had rations and small tools, even some light batteries. But as luck had it, this Zealot had some sort of small cable. He didn't know what it's intended purpose was, but it seemed strong and long enough to bind the Shipmaster.

He pushed the unconscious alien to its stomach. It was decently heavy, the bastard was big and meaty. The armor didn't make it any lighter. He tied its arms behind his back and tied its legs together. "There you go, won't be going anywhere for a while." He sat down with his back against the creature and relaxed. "So just sit and take it easy. We'll have a Pelican picking us up in an hour or two." He reached to his back and removed a standard UNSC Emergency Beacon. He activated it with disinterest and set it to his side. For the moment, he found himself pretty comfortable. Even with his entire armor system incapacitated and the searing heat of the desert sun beating down on him. It was better than having plasma burn through you. The scenery wasn't much to look at, with all the corpses and twisted purple metal strewn about. But it was noticeably still and calming despite that fact. The dust and smoke twisted through the air with the wind as a gust blew by and the sun was falling slowly to the horizon. He had spent most of the day trying to decommission this Covenant operation and several days before observing the troop movements and routines.

Regardless of the poor oversight by his commanding officers to send a lone Spartan to dispatch a force so large. He had to admit that he couldn't argue with the results. One Spartan is all it took, even if he did almost die multiple times. So here he sat and would continue to sit until his ride out of this wasteland decided to arrive. He wondered what the Commander would think of his new friend and if she would even let it on board the Infinity.

The Pelican made its atmosphere shaking approach some hours later. Daylight was still strong but would fail within the hour by the looks of it. The Sangheili still lay unconscious next to the Spartan. He had taken his free time to relax and check the perimeter for any remaining unrestrained survivors. There weren't, it seemed he had been fairly efficient.

The Pelican stopped midair and descended in a storm of kicked up dirt and flying pebbles. The Spartan reflexively brought his arm up to cover his eyes from the debris. It's landing gear lowered from its hull before it set itself on the ground lightly. The engines began to power down as the ramp released to reveal its passengers. Several marines ran down in an orderly fashion and fanned out to the sides. Each of them carrying standard MA5D combat rifles. They began to search around the area shortly after dismounting. A single Spartan walked out behind them, though she wasn't armed. It was Commander Palmer herself. She was making it clear that she intended to speak to him by the way she approached. He snapped the straightest salute he could manage.

She came to a halt a couple of feet from him. "At ease, Crimson." she ordered with some ominous disposition. He let down his arm and continued to stand at attention. "Any particular reason you didn't radio for a pickup?" Her voice always seemed to carry a tone of disinterest.

"Com's fried, Commander." he stated obediently. "Most of my suits functions have fallen into disrepair thanks to our friends here. The only way I could call for evac was with my emergency beacon."

"Hm," to her eyes it seemed his suit was less in disrepair and more totally destroyed. "You do seem to be missing a few pieces." she noted. "But you look like you've managed to keep yourself together, good work Crimson." The Spartan gave a slight nod at her praise. "Is there anything you would like to report?"

"Only one thing Commander. I've managed to capture a Sangheili Shipmaster."

The Commander cocked her eyebrow at that. "Where is it?"

The Spartan stepped to the side and gestured to the unconscious alien laying next to him. The Sangheili was one of the bigger ones she had ever seen. It's armor adorned with decorative swirls and shapes. Tinted purple armor with notches carved into its left arm plate. She grinned at the alien. "How did you manage to catch it?"

The Spartan bent down and picked up its discarded helmet to toss it to her. She caught the intricate helmet with a quick grab. There was a large dent in the front side. "Bastard got lucky." he explained simply.

She chuckled at that and handed the helmet back to him. "Getting caught by a Spartan is one of the least lucky things to them." she studied the creature for a moment longer. "But this guy's yours, Crimson. He'll be going up with you to your new post, the UNSC 'Say My Name'. I'm sure they'll be thrilled with all the extra paperwork you're bringing them."

He was caught off guard for a second. "Excuse me ma'am? My new post?"

"Yep." She replied casually. "Seems they've been sent here to pick up some of our more skilled infantry from us. Seeing as how the ship just got out of the repair bay, it needs some more soldiers. They asked me if I was willing to give up some of my best men. I told them you have been one of the most dedicated Spartans I've ever had." She shook her head with disappointment. "Command ordered me to have you moved to Captain Ordrey's Spartan Regiment when able. Seeing as how you've completed your objective, this pelican will be flying you to her. You'll receive debriefing there."

The whole time he had known Commander Palmer she had never shown him much concern. Now she almost seemed sad she wouldn't see him again. Almost like she was a real person. "Understood Commander." he replied astutely. "Could I get some assistance with this Sangheili?"

"Of course. Michaels, Wellsy!" she called out. Two marines snapped to attention. "Give Crimson here a hand with his friend!" she ordered. They moved quickly to the unresponsive Elite and struggled to lift it. "Take their help as a farewell gift from me to you." she said with a salute. The Spartan returned the salute with trained precision. "Dismissed."

The Spartan moved to the marines still trying to lift the enormous alien and was able to help them get it off the ground. They slowly made their way up the ramp and set the creature on its side in a row of seats. Two marines sitting near the far end of the pelican watched them with wide eyes. The two that helped him snapped a quick salute and ran back down the ramp. Resuming their previous duties.

The ramp slowly closed and he could hear the engines began to power up through the hull, which started to vibrate because of the power the engines unleashed. The Spartan calmly walked to a seat and fell heavily into it. Both the marines in the pelican watched him with disbelief. "What?" he asked, getting annoyed by their gawking.

The Marine on the left side just pulled his gaze away and stared to the floor. The one on the right side gave a shy smile. "That's a big catch, sir!" he replied. "Out of all the split-lips I've seen, that one's the biggest."

The Spartan gave a weary sigh. "Yeah, bastard put up a big fight too..."

"Are you gonna be alright, sir?" The left one asked. "Your leg looks pretty bad."

Truthfully, he had nearly forgotten about the burns. They still stung like a mother, but they had become a part of the unified pain that was collecting in his head. "It'll be fine 'til we get to the ship. Not life threatening yet."

"Looks life threatening." The left one said. "I've seen men die from less."

The Spartan hesitated to point out the obvious. Too tired and numb to start an argument about the difference of endurance between Marines and Spartans, not to mention several other key factors. He didn't doubt the Marine's statement though. He had also seen men succumb to less damage. Even Spartans. "Yeah." he agreed. "Doesn't feel like that though." He rested his helmeted head against the hull and relaxed.

The Marine across from him kept watching him. Showing wonder at the Spartan that sat not five feet away. It was obvious the young man hadn't been in the presence of many Spartans. He probably hadn't even been in the military very long. "What's your name kid?" The Spartan asked. Letting his friendliness get the better of him. He hadn't had any normal social contact for a couple of days. It wouldn't hurt him to make new friends anyway.

The marine seemed thrilled to be regarded in such a manner. "Leon, sir!" he replied with a grin. "Private second-class, I guard ol' Birdy here." he knocked against the wall dismissively. "Should she be needin' it."

"Birdy, eh?" he chuckled at the pet name. "Is she bound to the Say My Name?"

"Yes sir. Me and Tommy here are under Ordrey's command. Along with Boomer, he's the pilot." Leon gestured at the cockpit door. "He's a bit of a shut in though."

Tom sighed wearily. "He's busy Leo. His job requires a bit more concentration than ours you know." The marine leaned into his seat lazily.

"Yeah yeah, you've told me a couple of times." Leon turned his attention back to the Spartan. "If you don't mind me asking, sir. What's your name?"

The Spartan smiled at the question. Why would he care if he asked? "Flen." he answered simply.

Leon seemed surprised for a moment, Tom smiled at his expression. "What's up Leo? Something bothering you?"

"No, no." The Marine said meekly. "Just thought it would be something... Less weird. No offense, sir."

"None taken." Flen replied, as much as he could have scolded the Marine he decided to take it easy on him. No point in losing his patience over that pointless remark. "So, have either of you actually seen Captain Ordrey since you launched?"

Leon nodded. "Of course. She was at the Orientation. We all got a chance to meet her, for a couple of seconds at least." he said, thoughtfully scratching his chin.

Tom chuckled under his breath. "Look sir, the Say My Name was relaunched less than two weeks ago. This is Captain Ordrey's first ride on a ship this size. Frankly, even the ship is still needing some minor repairs. It's not a strong combo." he looked to Flen with a sideways glance. "Even our Spartan Regiment is fresh out of training. I use the word 'Regiment' generously. About fifty total, I think. Don't quote me."

Flen was surprised at the small number. He assumed that there were more Spartans available since the Spartan-IV program had effectively gone into full swing. The Infinity had a huge number, well beyond his counting. He had to guess that was part of the reason. Infinity had dibs on most of the best equipment available. "Any veterans aboard?" he asked.

"All the Spartans are fresh out of their special training. So you and anyone else the Infinity sends will be the only experienced Spartans we have." Tom explained. "We have quite a few Helljumpers that have seen combat. Along with the Marine Corps and UNSC Engineers."

"So it's all pretty standard stuff then." Flen noted.

"Yes sir. You'll get used to it pretty quick. May not be as big as you're used to, but nothing too different." Tom stated, trying to ease off some of the nervousness Flen might have had.

They all sat in silence for a couple of moments and let the sounds of the Pelican shudder through them. Each of them eager to get out of the tiny ship and into a slightly bigger one.

"Excuse me, sir?" Leon snapped him from his daze.

"Yes?" Flen asked wearily. He wasn't annoyed, just tired.

"I noticed your armor isn't exactly standard UNSC. I'm not familiar with Spartan code, but are you all allowed to wear customized equipment?"

Flen hadn't actually had to explain this to anyone before. He had to think about how he could explain it. "We're allowed to choose our specific sets of armor. Like, my armor I had made from a variant the UNSC calls the Aviator Hazops set. Designed to withstand hazardous Covenant weapon materials and a suit interface system that makes it easier for me to commandeer Covenant vehicles." Flen explained, keeping all the classified details to himself. "Everything I found myself to be needing in engagements. My missions usually have me infiltrating Covenant outposts and eliminating the personnel. In whichever way I can."

The Marine nodded vaguely, understanding some part of what he said. "But I was referring more to the color. Doesn't the green give you away?"

Flen looked at the bright green plate on his arm for a moment, the same bright color as his entire set and turned his attention back to Leon. "They let me choose this color for my squad." Flen was under strict orders not to reveal the fate of his other squad members. Mostly because they didn't exist, Commander Palmer had him as a one man squad during his entire time aboard the Infinity. 'Crimson' was designated as an infiltration team. Palmer was insistent that he go alone on his missions. As he had been such an effective team member of other Fireteams in the past. He was never sure why she wanted it that way, even looking back on it he couldn't remember a time when he wasn't in desperate need of help. She never explained herself to him.

"Your squad mates let you choose that eyesore of a color?" Tom asked. Not believing anyone would ever be okay with it. The yellow detail didn't make it any easier to believe.

"In fact, they were happy about it!" Flen lied through his teeth. He was glad he was still wearing his helmet. As he was a terrible liar. "Even if they didn't like it, they would live with it." he finished with a dismissive shrug. He had his reasons to choose this color. "As to your question Private, it only gives me away if I let it." he said with a hint sarcasm.

Leon shrugged. "Sounds like your team wasn't given much a choice. Guess that's military for ya. All due respect, sir." he added with a timid smile and a casual salute.

"Guess so." Flen sighed. He just wanted to get in a cot already. Let alone food and medical attention. His head was pounding with an intense pain.

Tom grinned. "We should arrive soon, sir. Once we get there I'll have Boomer call you a med table. We'll make sure your friend there finds his way to the brig. I'm sure the Captain will be glad to accommodate him."

"Good. He'll be our guest after all." he replied with a grin.

UNSC Say My Name

Once the Pelican finally landed in the docking bay, Tom had made good on his word. Some Medics had come with great haste and rushed him to the Medical center. The ship itself seemed to be built to reasonable proportions. Nowhere near the scale of Infinity but the whole place seemed a lot more organized. Some of the doctors were explaining that even though this ship was an older model it had been refitted with an entirely new design. The ship hadn't simply been repaired, it had been almost completely rebuilt. The battle at Earth had nearly decommissioned it. The engines and stabilizers had remained intact and the bridge was only half missing when they reclaimed it in orbit. They said the cost of fixing it would cost more than building a new one. But apparently someone in the higher-ups had a sentimental attachment to it and ordered it rebuilt anyway. As a sign to the remaining Covenant Loyalists that they could break our stuff, but it would still come back and kick their asses.

Now he was laying quietly in his cot with an IV in his arm. Covered in a hospital gown. His armor literally had to be peeled from his skin before they could start tending to his wounds. It hurt more than having the disinfectant they scrubbed into the burn on his leg. After they got him cleaned and bandaged up. He was content to just lay and bask in the pain of healing. He swore the bandages were the itchiest things he had ever felt. The doctor assured him that was a good sign and not to scratch under any circumstances. An order he was sure he'd break before the day was done.

"So, besides the itching. Is there any other pain or sensations out of the ordinary?" The Doctor asked, writing a series of notes on his notepad. Besides the recent battle damage he had sustained, the Spartan seemed in peak condition. He was young. His papers say he's 27 years old. He stands at six feet even with a weight of 192. A prime physical specimen with blonde hair and curiously green eyes. They almost glowed in the light. A couple of scars cut across his face. Papers said they were caused on one of his missions by a crazed terrorist. Pretty standard soldier, constantly finding his way under bandages. Though he had a significantly more slim file than most of his other patients.

"No, I just feel tired... and a little sunburned." Flen replied. The doctor nodded and kept writing. "I am a little hungry too. I ran out of rations early, cause I made a scorpion friend on my stake out. Little bastard could eat."

The Doctor looked up to him with a cocked eyebrow. "You fed a scorpion your rations?" He almost wished he had a psyche profile on him too.

"Not all of them. I shared." he replied defensively. "It was hungry. You want me to let it starve?"

Shaking his head the doctor returned to his notes. "No, I suppose not. We'll get you a meal and some water. It will be good for you to keep up your strength. With any luck you'll be back on your feet in a day or so. Probably sooner depending on how the leg does. It was a good idea to remove the leg plate though. Could have been much worse if the metal fused to your flesh."

Flen chuckled. "That was the plan."

The Doctor lowered his notes and brought them to his side. "A nurse will be by later to give you your meal. But the Captain has requested to speak to you once you have settled in. Seeing as how you maintained consciousness I'll have her sent right in. We can discuss any questions you have later today."

"Sounds good." Flen said with a grin. "Thanks for the patches!"

He turned around and walked out of the room. Leaving the Spartan to his thoughts. The room was small and bear of any colorful decorations. It was awfully dull. The only thing to do was to look around at the medical supplies scattered over the counters and try to guess what they were for. But even that was painfully boring. So he chose to instead relax and try to ignore the awful torment of the itchy bandages. There was a dull hum reverberating constantly through the entire ship. He found it oddly peaceful considering it was from the enormous power output of the engines and reactors. Being in a ship was never a problem for him. In fact he had grown quite fond of being in them. The Infinity was the exception however, for him the thing seemed way too big. He preferred tighter quarters. Such as the Say My Name seemed to have. Part of him was glad he had been re-stationed.

It wasn't long before there was a knock at the door. The Captain peered in through the window with a questioning gaze. Flen waved her in with a smirk. It wasn't often Commanding Officers showed manners. He admired the gesture, even if it was ultimately a pointless one. She stepped in lightly and was almost floating with a solid stance. She seemed a bit rigid and nervous but it hardly showed as she approached him. Her hair was short, black and graying a bit. Her face was only lightly wrinkled. The bags under her eyes revealed many sleepless nights but her eyes were bright with a resilient fire. She looked tough, just not in the conventional sense. Her Captain uniform cut sharp lines over her body. Revealing no softness on her, she folded her hands behind her back professionally.

He snapped the straightest salute he could manage laying down. She smiled slightly. "At ease, Lieutenant." he relaxed back into the bed. "Glad to see you made it here in one piece. Even if that piece is pretty banged up." she was looking over him and checking the damage.

"I'll be fine, Captain." he replied reassuringly. "They just picked me up from my last mission and had me sent directly here."

"So I gathered." she said. "They told me that when you had completed your objective I could have you. I was willing to wait. I've read over some of your mission reports. Seems you've been busy on Requiem."

"Not as busy as they could have had me."

"Oh, now don't be modest. I was surprised they were willing to part with such a valuable soldier. Even with orders to relinquish anyone I deemed necessary to my roster, I thought the Commander would be more hesitant." she said thoughtfully. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." she said, trying to get herself back on track. "Your debriefing will be handled when you're able. But I wanted to talk to you about the Sangheili Shipmaster you brought with you."

Flen wasn't sure what to think about the Sangheili. The only reason he didn't kill it was because he ran out of ammo at the last second. "What about him, ma'am?"

"He regained consciousness about fifteen minutes ago. He's in for interrogation now, they'll let me know if he talks anytime soon. Though I won't hold my breath. I just wanted to know why you chose this specific Sangheili for capture?" she asked the question with an almost accusing tone.

He chuckled under his breath. "Besides that he's a Shipmaster?" he noted.

"C'mon now, Lieutenant. I'm sure this isn't the first Sangheili of that rank you've tangled with"

He looked at her with a questioning gaze. It seemed like she was trying to pry a specific bit of information from him. He decided to give her the good reason, the truth. "True. My orders were to eliminate all Remnant forces from the base. However, for some reason the Sangheili that were supporting the one I captured turned on him after they thought I had been brought down. The one we have now took down four of its comrades before I engaged them. Killing two Zealot's and disabling the Shipmaster, respectively. Curious as to the reason for the betrayal, I decided to bag it. Maybe it has information that can be useful." The last part he made up, but it was still true. Maybe the Shipmaster would be more willing to divulge information if he had become subject to an internal power struggle.

The Captain nodded. She would have to wait for his full report before deciding whether she believed him or not, but something seemed off. Spartans weren't typically soldiers that captured enemy combatants. The story she just heard sounded unbelievable at best. She was very discerning when it came to things like this. "Alright," she conceded. "but I'll want to see your report on this. For now though I just want you to focus on resting. We'll deal with this Sangheili when you're back on your feet. Now-" she said as she snapped to attention. "Let me be the first to officially welcome you aboard the Say My Name. We're glad to have you aboard."

Flen saluted her. "Glad to be here." he added with an honest grin.

"I guess I'll let you get back to it then, Lieutenant. Try to get some sleep if you can." She turned back to the door and walked from the room. Flen watched her leave. Her walk as stern as when she entered. It almost reminded him of the Commander. Except just a bit more seasoned. The thoughts barely lingered as he rested his head on the pillow. Now was a good a time as any to get some sleep.